ESCAPES: Tel Aviv. White Hot, Part 1

Israel has been in the news a lot lately, unfortunately for the violence happening in Gaza and beyond. But Israel as a country, and an idea, is such an amazing place -- one I think is difficult to fully understand until you've spent time there. 

I've always felt an affinity for Israel and Israelis. This started in the late '70s when I was a little girl, and we lived down the street from a house that was always lived in by Israelis, passed down from family to family as they came to America to work for one host company. Some of the kids living in that house were playmates, and some became long-term family friends (Amir, Irit and Ron, the list goes on...). I also have cousins who moved to the Negev Desert for kibbutz life, several decades ago -- I even had my bat mitzvah there on the kibbutz. Their children, now grown and married themselves, are Sabras. And suffice it to say I've dated my fair share of Israeli men. I don't know. We're simpatico. 

So when I felt the need to get away and escape some difficult times in Rome a while ago, I decided to head to the place that I knew, besides Italy, made me feel happiness in my chest, in my head, and in my heart. And not incidentally, in my belly.

Tel Aviv is one of many cities around the world known as a "white city," here for its many whitewashed buildings and Bauhaus architecture, particularly concentrated in the city center along Rothschild Boulevard. Even the view from my point of first arrival (a deluxe hotel on the beach in the north of the city) was of a cityscape with a white haze about it. Part of this was the sweltering July heat that inched above 100 degrees on most days, with excessive humidity. But this was also the overwhelming color of the city itself: sandy-white, Mediterranean in feel, and now with an actual skyline. It had been 13 years since the last time I'd visited Israel, and Tel Aviv had really changed since then.

One thing that hadn't changed much, though, was the beach, and its focal role in locals' lives. On the whole, it's amazingly well-kept and clean for a city beach. During warmer months, this is the place Tel Avivans come to cool off, relax, play matkot (beach racquet ball), and maybe grab breakfast, lunch, a snack, or a cool drink. 

And speaking of, Israelis are a casual people when it comes to most meals, and they're big on local street treats -- foods they've adapted from various cultures that comprise their population, perfected, and made their own. We're talking about falafel, hummus, shawarma, sabich, and the like. So for the uninitiated, a little background info.

Hummus is a chickpea puree made with tahina or tahini, a sesame paste also eaten on its own and frequently used as a condiment in Israeli cuisine. 

Falafel is a middle eastern deep-fried vegetable fritter, in Israel most often made from ground chickpeas, herbs and spices. They are served tucked into sandwiches in pita or lafa bread or served on their own with hummus and other dips and salads.  

Shawarma is a spit-roasted meat, often turkey or lamb in Israel, seasoned with spices and basted in its own juices as it roasts, and is shaved to order in thin slices and piled into a pita sandwich or served in a platter. 

Sabich is a simple dish of Iraqi origin, most often in pita sandwich form and containing some or all of the following ingredients: fried eggplant, hard-boiled egg, hummus, tahini, chopped Israeli salad, potato, parsley, and amba (a mango pickle sauce). Most of these street foods are available in cafes, fast-food-style shops, or from street carts, and are served with a variety of homemade pickles and salads that are a wonderful contrast, and a wake-up call to the eyes and palate. 

And since Israelis tend to worship at the altar of eggplant, as I do, I must give a little space to the local preparation of a roasted or baked whole eggplant. I had it served to me on the beach -- cold, with chickpeas, tomatoes, parsley, and tahina...

or as presented to us at Abraxas North, Chef Eyal Shani's wonderful restaurant where fire and a few choice ingredients turn vegetables into something transcendent: cut in half and served warm, with burnished skin, and a swirl of tahina and tomato sauce, olive oil and egg. I can never really get enough of the eggplant dishes and their iterations, just as I can never really seem to get enough of Tel Aviv itself. Each time I go, it gets harder for me to leave. The energy of this metropolitan city, the beach side location and warm weather, the fabulous food, and not least of all the people themselves: these combine to create an irresistible pull. And I will be back, again and again.

More to come: Israel's cool city and hot restaurant scene + night life in my next Escapes: Tel Aviv.

RECIPE: Feeling Bleu -- Salsa di Gorgonzola

When the weather outside is frigid, as it's been in New York and in many places around the globe in recent weeks, we crave comfort food. Foods that are rich, packed with flavor, and remind us of home tend to fit the bill when all we want is to curl up on the sofa with a movie, a blanket, and a plateful of "yum." One of my go-to dishes in cold weather reminds me of long dinners in cozy trattorie in Florence when I was a student there. For 8,000 lire, or about $4, we could order a large plate of gnocchi al gorgonzola, potato dumplings bathed in a creamy, pungent sauce topped with parmigiano, and it was heaven. Sometimes my Florentine "mamma," Cristina, prepared the dish at home. And now, when I crave the comfort of my home-away-from-home in winter months, this is one of a handful of dishes that I make to bring me back to bell'Italia.

I've been a fan of strong, stinky cheeses since I was a young girl, precociously ordering blue cheese dressing at every restaurant my parents took me to at the age of 7. Waiters did double-takes. As a teenager, I developed a deep love for well-prepared buffalo wings, particularly those from Chuck's in Princeton -- and the extra blue cheese dressing I'd use for dunking the wings and celery sticks was half the reason for eating the wings in the first place. So when I discovered gnocchi al gorgonzola as a 20 year-old student in Florence, of course I flipped. My love for this dish has not waned over the years, though I know it's not something in which I can indulge too frequently. It's not exactly diet food. But sometimes, indulge we must. Weather that stings your face when you step outside qualifies as motive enough.

Note that this sauce is classically paired with gnocchi, which are best when homemade and ethereally light and airy, though you can also toss a short pasta with the sauce, like a penne or rigatoni. You can use conchiglie, or shells, and even bake this topped with bread crumbs and parmigiano for a rich, Italian, adult version of mac-and-cheese. And keep in mind the classic Italian pairings that work well with gorgonzola: pear, radicchio, prosciutto, and pancetta.

You can toss cooked pancetta or strips of prosciutto in with the pasta. You can add the sauce to a cooking risotto and finish it with chopped radicchio. You can grill some radicchio and pour the sauce on top for a great winter antipasto. And you can toss pear slices in with the gnocchi, pasta, or risotto. Or use the sauce for a pizza in bianco, topped with pear slices and cooked in a pizza oven...and finish with some sliced radicchio and prosciutto. The possibilities are as endless as your imagination.

GORGONZOLA SAUCE

Makes about 2 cups

 

6 oz. gorgonzola cheese

2 cups heavy cream

4 TBSP. unsalted butter

Salt & pepper to taste

Chopped parsley, chives, or basil

- In a sauce pot, on medium heat, warm the gorgonzola cheese together with the heavy cream.

- Cook 4-5 minutes on medium heat,  until the cheese softens and melts into the cream a bit.

- Using a whisk, gently stir the mixture together so the chunks of cheese melt down and the sauce is relatively smooth.

- Add the butter and whisk gently to incorporate it into the sauce. Cook for another 5 minutes or so, over low heat, to blend the flavors. Add salt and pepper to taste.

- Taste and adjust for seasoning. Add chopped parsley, chives, or basil if you like.

 

SEASONAL EATS: Latkes for Hanukkah

Sometimes the simplest things are the best. For me, this holds true for the classic potato latke. It's a Hanukkah staple; all fried foods are (8 days of dieting this is not). And while I love fried chicken and fried rice balls and fried doughnuts in which many indulge during the Jewish Festival of Lights, I will take the lovely latke over all of them, any day.

Socca street vendor in Nice, France

The latke (the word is Yiddish) is a basic pancake or fritter, something most cuisine cultures share -- think Swiss rosti, French pommes anna, and German kartoffelpuffer. On a larger scale, savory pancakes and fritters are found all over the world, from Chinese scallion pancakes to South American corn arepas, from Russian blini to chickpea pancakes in Sicily (called panelle) and Nice (socca). 

Chinese scallion pancakes

And we haven't even crossed over into sweet versions. 

But back to the latke. The potato pancake seems to have originated in Eastern and Central Europe, where basically every country has its own version, though versions can be found north to the UK and Scandinavia as well. It's even considered the national dish of Belarus! Before the potato -- a New World food item -- arrived in the Old World, these pancakes were made with various other types of legumes, vegetables, and tubers. But once the lowly, most basic of ingredients was introduced, the potato brought fame to this fritter and put it on the map, so to speak.  And on Hanukkah menus the world over.

I had a cooking instructor in culinary school who once called potato-salt-fat "the holy trinity of food" (thanks, Erica). And it's true: as long as the proportions are right, there's nothing better. My straightforward, classic potato latkes are damned good. But I think it's best not to put this into recipe form...I'd rather tell you as a grandmother might explain how to prepare a favorite dish. Then you can decide on quantity.

So. You're going to want to make a pretty big batch of these babies. No one goes through the process to make a couple of latkes, mostly because no one can eat just a couple of latkes. To start, let's say for every 3 large russet potatoes, you want one medium onion. Both need to be peeled and grated on a box grater, into the same bowl. 

Once this is done (and work swiftly, to keep the potatoes from turning dark), squeeze the potato-onion mixture either in a dish towel or with just your hands, to get the water content out. Once the mixture is fairly dry, add 2 eggs and about 1/2 cup to 3/4 cup of a half-flour-half-matzoh meal mixture. Add plenty of salt and pepper to taste.

Use a good skillet -- cast iron is always great, but any seasoned skillet will do, even non-stick. I like a combination of vegetable and olive oil mixed (that Italian influence again) with a little shmaltz (chicken fat), though you can use anything from all-veggie oil to duck fat or lard, or whatever your little heart desires. Obviously, if you're using lard, kosher eating is not your lifestyle choice. But hey, everyone loves latkes.

So, fry the latkes in patties by dropping the mixture by spoonfuls into the hot oil (it should sizzle when it hits the skillet). A couple of minutes each side, drain on paper towel-lined plates, and you're done. The best way to see if they're seasoned to taste is to make one, fry it, then taste and adjust accordingly. Once you've logged some latke-making time, it will become instinctual.

These are traditionally eaten with sour cream and some scallions, and apple sauce. But I make all kinds of toppings for my latkes. (for an elegant party app, try creme fraiche, smoked salmon, and caviar). I also make a sweet potato version that's kick-ass. But that version's recipe is for next year...  

HAPPY HANUKKAH, everyone!

SEASONAL FOODS: Pumpkin

Autumn is represented by many things: colorful leaves, apples, jackets and sweaters and boots for cooler weather. But perhaps most representative of the change in the kitchen from summer garden to fall's harvest bounty? The pumpkin. 

In the U.S., the image we have of pumpkins is often of the jack-o-lantern. The members of the pumpkin family that we generally consider good eating fall under the "squash" moniker: butternut, acorn, spaghetti...but they're all members of the gourd family, which also incidentally includes cucumbers, melons, and zucchini. 

These plants are all native to The Americas -- particularly Central America and Mexico -- which is why pumpkin and squash are often featured in our traditional Thanksgiving meal. Pumpkin can go savory or sweet (or straddle the line between the two): served as a vegetable dish, roasted with garlic, onions, and savory herbs...or in the traditional pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake, doughnuts, even ice cream. 

It's said that Columbus brought pumpkin back to Spain from the New World, introducing this (among many other food items) into the European culinary vernacular. Like so many other vegetables and fruits that have become integral to Italian cooking, pumpkin landed on the Italian peninsula with Spanish and Portuguese Jews after the Inquisition. Venice, the city that invented the word ghetto (stemming from gettare, to throw or toss aside) to describe the neighborhoods where Jews were "thrown out", also gave rise to numerous dishes that include pumpkin, and the Jewish population of Mantua is often credited with creating the much-loved ravioli con la zucca. In the Jewish-Italian tradition, pumpkin pastas often combine savory and sweet elements. 

Ravioli are stuffed with a pumpkin puree and are served with sage and butter sauce, and topped either with parmigiano (savory) or crumbled amaretti cookies (sweet) -- and sometimes with mostarda di Cremona, from the town of Cremona -- candied fruit in a mustard-flavored syrup that accents the sweetness of the pumpkin filling. 

Any way you slice it, these pumpkin dishes are of a northern Italian bent. But pumpkin is also popular in Rome, where the country's largest Jewish population resides. I often purchased chunks of zucca gialla at the market in Campo de' Fiori, instructing my "guy" Claudio to cut me the perfect size slice for what I was making. Sometimes the pumpkin would get roasted, or thinly sliced and grilled. 

Sometimes I would turn the pumpkin into a warming risotto, like they often do in the Veneto in colder months. Sometimes I would also buy the zucchine flowers. A favorite Roman antipasto is fiori di zucca fritti, stuffed with mozzarella and anchovies, and battered and fried, found in every pizzeria worth its sale in Rome. I'd often prepare them stuffed with an herbed ricotta and goat cheese mixture, topped with a butter and herb sauce. I've done my fair share of cooking with pumpkin products.

One of my favorite dishes to make is a simple pasta dish. I often taught it during my autumn and winter cooking classes in Rome, and it's remained a favorite of mine since I started cooking professionally. The sous chef at San Domenico NY once made a similar version as a special on the menu. I remember loving it, and over the years I tweaked it and made it my own. I like to think it's something that's a little bit Roman, a little bit northern Italian and Italian-Jewish, a little bit New York, a little bit New World. A little bit like me -- at heart, anyway.


PASTA ALLA ZUCCA (4 people)

3-4 TBS extra-virgin olive oil
4 TBS. unsalted butter
1 clove garlic
1 small-medium-sized butternut squash or other creamy pumpkin variety
8 oz. heavy cream
Salt & pepper to taste
1 lb. ziti, bombolotti, or short pasta of choice
1/2 cup grated pecorino romano (for the Roman touch) or parmigiano reggiano
Fresh thyme or chiffonade of basil

- Bring a large pot of water and one medium pot of water to a boil. Once boiling, add a generous dash of salt to the water.

- Peel the squash and/or pumpkin and cut into 1-2-inch dice.

- Boil squash in large pot of boiling water until tender but not falling apart, about 15 minutes. Drain...OR roast the pumpkin on a sheet pan in the oven, tossed with olive oil and salt and pepper, until tender, 30 minutes or so.

- Heat a large skillet over medium heat, and add the oil and butter together, until bubbling. Add garlic clove (whole) and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes.

- Add squash/pumpkin and saute over medium heat for 5 minutes. Turn down heat and cook covered for another 10 minutes.

- Add cream and cook for another 5-10 minutes, stirring. The squash/pumpkin flesh should break down into a chunky sauce.

- Cook the pasta until tender but firm, al dente.

- Remove pasta from the water with tongs, or drain in a colander and add it to the pan.

- Turn pasta to coat, add the pecorino, and turn to mix thoroughly. Add fresh thyme and/or basil and serve.

 

RESTAURANT REVIEW: Primo -- Rockland, Maine

Primo, in Italian, can be a double entendre: it means first (and often the best), but also primary, as in ingredients. And at PRIMO restaurant in Rockland, Maine, where the growing season is shorter than in many places in America, chef Melissa Kelly has managed to draw on the natural resources of the land. She runs what she dubs a "full circle kitchen," the idea of which I love. 

Like most kitchens that understand the restaurant business model for turning a profit, the idea of not wasting anything figures heavily. But Chef Kelly also raises animals for food, from hens to pigs, collecting eggs, curing meat -- and grows vegetables on acres of land and in greenhouses, harvesting edible flowers and collecting honey produced on-site. Not everything she uses comes from her land, but everything that comes from her land gets used. The rest is filled in by local producers she knows and trusts. In a time when so many chefs throw around terms like "locavore" and "farm-to-table," Primo is really doing it, as they've done for years, and the end result is a happy place to eat and drink. 

Primo encompasses both an American culinary ethos and an Italian adherence to tradition. Seasonality is obviously paramount in a kitchen so reliant on produce and proteins that are grown and raised locally: this has always been the way Italians cook, and eat. The idea of vegetables and fruits playing pivotal roles in a cuisine -- also Italian. So is the custom of serving cheeses and salumi and artisanal pizza, all center stage here. What's American about Primo is the dedication and hard work that are behind making this restaurant a success despite the odds, and that the driving force behind this is a woman -- something all too rare in the restaurant industry, though the U.S leads the way in this department.

So here, I'm writing less of a review of the restaurant's menu -- that changes a little too frequently -- and more of the restaurant on the whole. Though I can tell you that it's worth trying their house-made salumi and local cheeses. It's definitely worth considering one of their homemade pizzas, and often there's a pizza bianca with some seasonal greens, local tomatoes, and delicious, gooey cheese.

Quite often you can find a great foie gras appetizer, like the one pictured here, seared to perfection over garlic toast with champagne grapes and a frisee salad with figs and a sour-sweet port sauce. Who can argue with classic flavor pairings and high-quality ingredients, especially when it's so lovingly presented on colorful dishes?

Primi -- that's Italian for first courses, mostly pastas -- are expertly-prepared at Primo. And the pasta is homemade, like the fettucine served with shrimp, arugula pesto, roasted tomatoes, and lots of parmigiano (though most seafood pastas do not get cheese under any circumstances, shrimp is the one sometime-exception to that rule. I'm assuming Chef Kelly knows this about Italian food...)

Main courses include various iterations of local seafood, like cod, or dayboat scallops, sometimes even the ubiquitous Maine lobster. But chances are, even if the ingredients are common in these parts, the preparations won't be. Seared duck breast gets paired with an earthy warm farro salad and grilled cipollini, and grilled swordfish gets a spicy tomato-and-chile broth over charred vegetables. And all dishes get a flourish of homegrown greens and edible flowers so they look picture-perfect. 

Sometimes the dishes are a little heavy-handed in their presentation. Sometimes one too many ingredients are used in a dish. Not everything is perfect. But that's also part of the charm here. You can't find fault with the quality of the ingredients, nor the provenance. The flavor is there, as is the love in the preparation. And pride in the whole operation. When our attentive waiter found out I am a chef, he pulled me aside on my way back from the ladies' room and offered me a tour of the establishment. He showed me the other dining rooms and more casual bar where locals come to order pizza, appetizers, and share a bottle of wine. He brought me into the kitchen and explained how things work, where their in-house primary ingredients become their homemade menu items. It was a general and thorough behind-the-scenes: transparency, and pride in what they do as a team. They were happy to share all of this with a colleague, and I really appreciated it. 

We all loved our meal, some of us visitors from Manhattan, others relative natives who live nearby and can call Primo a top-notch local spot. Lucky them. In this restaurant they have a warm and wonderful place where they can eat, and dine (we know these are two different things), welcomed to a homey spot where the food is a bit more formal than the service, but neither is overbearing. And they can rest assured that the food they're eating has been raised, cultivated, butchered, caught, cooked, and served with love and pride. We need more places like this in America, and everywhere.


PRIMO
2 South Main Street 
Rockland, Maine
(207) 596.0770
www.primorestaurant.com 

*Additional locations now in Orlando, FL and Tuscon, AZ

Have Knives, Will Travel

Cradling my beloved Sicilian pachino tomatoes at Da Claudio, my favorite stand in the Campo de' Fiori market

I don't want to be boastful here, but it's not every day that you have an article written about you and your work in The New York Times. So, like a special birthday or anniversary, a milestone, I am going to celebrate this occasion. I'm showing my appreciation for the profile in this week's Frequent Flier column by re-posting the link to the article that ran this past Tuesday, October 16th in the business section of The Times, page B8. 

The column is dedicated to those who travel a lot, for business and/or pleasure. And I certainly do travel, and overall, I love it. The flying part of it? Not as much. Those who know me know I've had my fair share of travel drama (and missed flights -- particularly when going to or coming from London. Not sure what it is with that place and me missing my plane!). Flying has become considerably less fun since 9/11, and ever more complicated when traveling with knives, as one might imagine. For me, bringing my knife roll along is like a business person carrying a briefcase: it is my work stuff. But try convincing an overworked and cranky TSA agent of that. Anyway, the article sheds a little light on how it is to travel when your business is cooking for clients. 

This column, however, is not long enough to discuss all the fun I've had traveling and cooking for clients along the way, and over the past nearly-10 years that my company, Blu Aubergine, has been in existence. From teaching cooking classes and giving culinary tours in Rome when it was my full-time home, to traveling outside of the city to teach in a gorgeous villa in Tuscany, or a beautiful home in Westchester, to working with corporate clients on team-building cooking classes among international employees, I've loved teaching others about the food I love. And I've loved traveling to cook for others all over the world, whether it was for clients from New York City to Martha's Vineyard to South Florida, or overseas, from up and down the Italian peninsula to raucous dinner parties in London, to cooking for friends in the French countryside or in southern Spain. And while eating during the course of all of my travels around the world, I've gained enormous inspiration that informs my cooking, from Thailand to Argentina, Sardegna to Croatia, Israel to Brazil, the Greek Islands to the Caribbean islands. I explore so that wherever I might be, in whatever kitchen I find myself, I bring a taste of the world to my cuisine. And I hope to keep doing so for a very long time. 

If you need a hand in the kitchen, anywhere around the world, I have the answer: I have knives. And I will travel.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/16/business/a-chefs-travel-adventures-in-pursuit-of-culinary-inspiration.html

Passion. Fruit. Passionfruit!

It's one of my favorite flavors in the world, and one of the best names for any food, in almost any language: passion fruit. Frutta della passione in Italian. Maracuja in Portuguese. Hawaiians call it lilikoi. Beautiful. The taste is sour and sweet at once, and the small black seeds lend a crunch to the pulpy fruit. It's used in savory and sweet preparations all over South and Central America and the Caribbean, Southeast Asia, Australia and New Zealand, and in Portugal and South Africa. The fruit is one of many species of the passion flower. And though one might assume the name came from the passion this tasty fruit can elicit from those who adore it as I do, it was actually named by missionaries who thought parts of the flower resembled devices used in the "passion" (torture) of Christ prior to his crucifixion.

But I'd prefer to equate the fruit and the flower with passion and love -- definitely a more romantic notion. The flower is the official flower of Paraguay, by the way, so I'm not the only one who prefers to romanticize the passiflora.

When I'm in countries of the world that feel as passionately as I do about passion fruit, I try to indulge in the fruit in all its forms. I equate the fruit with tropical climes and vacations I've taken to far-flung islands and south-of-the-equator escapes. I definitely enjoyed passion fruit in Thailand, where locals sell fruit juices and salads from pushcarts all along the coast and on the islands in the Andaman Sea. I indulged in a refreshing frozen passion fruit smoothie on the beach in Tel Aviv last summer: perfection.

But where I came closest to overdosing on passion fruit has been in Portuguese-speaking countries: Brazil and Portugal. One of my long-time favorite cocktails has been the caipiroska, the sister drink to Brazil's national drink, the caipirinha.

The "-oska" uses vodka in place of the rot-gut sugarcane liquor, cachaca (also known to fuel a Brazilian car in place of gas in a pinch. I kid you not). When I'm in Brazil, make mine maracuja! I remember lolling on the beaches of Rio de Janeiro, and in restaurants and bars in the evenings on the island of Morro de Sao Paolo, in northern Bahia...a place where you never have to wear shoes if you don't want to, where all the bars have tables sunken into the sand, and you can while away the hours listening to amazing Brazilian music, sipping your caipiroska while chatting with the locals. Pretty heavenly.

In Portugal (we're talking about the mother country of Brazil, after all), passion fruit is just as ubiquitous. Here I am at right, enjoying a passion fruit popsicle on a hot day by the water in Lisbon. It was humid and incredibly sunny that June afternoon, and I spotted an ice cream truck by the park where my friends and I were strolling -- and jumped at the chance to indulge my passion, and to cool off.  

In many of the delicious restaurants of Portugal's capital city, passion fruit figures in various custom cocktails, in sauces for meats, in salad dressings, and of course in dessert as well. I couldn't resist a very Portuguese pairing of passion fruit sorbet with a glass of port.

If you've not yet developed a passion for a particular food -- and I don't mean a food group, like chocolate (wink-wink), or a prepared food, like french fries -- I mean one ingredient, one fruit or vegetable...well, I highly recommend it. To have (at least) one food item that you can enjoy in numerous forms, in various preparations, collected from cultures around the globe that cultivate and celebrate this food, is a wonderful thing. And lucky for me, and my travels, and my work, passion fruit is one of my top 5 single ingredients about which I'm passionate. (And when I have a passion fruit caipiroska, I'm drinking two of my most beloved ingredients at once!). Passion is great. Passionfruit is fabulous. It inspired the dessert below, into which I poured a whole lotta love: passion fruit cheesecake topped with fresh summer fruits.

What food are you passionate about? Do share....
    

RECIPE: Spaghetti alle vongole

What's the perfect seafood dish for seaside summer dining? In Italy, a peninsula surrounded by gorgeous Mediterranean waters and beautiful beaches, it's hard to choose just one. But at all the restaurants at all the stabilimenti (beachside establishments) in the country, and trattorie up and down the coasts, the top answer just might be SPAGHETTI ALLE VONGOLE. 

Now, the classic Italian version of this is not what many Americans are used to in various red sauce joints in America. This dish, in Italy, is prepared in a manner called "in bianco" -- "in white," meaning without tomatoes, just some olive oil and white wine. 

And in this case, it's prepared with the addition of the natural briny "liquor" from the clams as they cook, plus plenty of garlic and butter to finish it off. Lots of fresh chopped parsley keeps it clean-tasting, though you can mix it up and add another fresh herb at the end: basil for a hit of anise flavor, a little thyme or chervil for a French touch, or freshly chopped cilantro for a Portuguese twist. But we're doing it all'italiana today, so we'll stick to flat-leaf (Italian) parsley.  

If I were preparing this in Italy, as I've done countless times, I would be using the Italian vongole veraci which are the tiny little clams perfect for this pasta dish, because they're small (so you can put lots in with the pasta), lightweight (their shells are thinner so they cook quickly), and deliciously sweet and saline. But since I've never been able to find them on this side of the Atlantic, we have to do as the Italians would do and use local ingredients -- in this case, cooking in New York, I'm using Littleneck clams from Long Island. I'm also lending  a little color to the dish with fresh spinach tagliolini, just for fun. Feel free to play with this basic recipe as you like: once you have the process down, you can swap out various wines and liqueurs for the white wine, use various kinds of oils, herbs, and spices to change the end result. Adding a little chorizo or spicy sausage, for example,though not for purists, does bring the pasta dish to a new level. 

So, like most classic cooking, I say this: learn the dish in its original, purest form first. Get that under your belt. And then, feel free to riff and play as you like. All true artists learn the classics first...then they branch out and become the fauves and the cubists, the Twyla Tharps, the improvisational jazz musicians, the comedians with perfect timing, like Italy's own Alberto Sordi...

Buon appetito.

SPAGHETTI ALLA VONGOLE

3-4 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil

1-2 cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped roughly

2-3 lbs fresh clams

½ cup white wine

bunch of parsley (Italian flat-leaf variety)

Pinch of red pepper flakes

Salt & pepper to taste

1 lb. spaghetti (or pasta of choice, usually long pasta)

- In a large bowl/pot of water, add the clams and a healthy bit of salt or cornmeal. Let sit for 10 minutes. Then, using your hands, pick up a handful of clams in each hand, lift them out of the water a bit, and scrub together using the clams themselves to clean the outer shells. Repeat several times.

-Bring a large pot of water to a boil.

-Heat a large skillet over medium heat, and add the garlic and chile flakes to cook for one minute.

- Add the clams and stir a bit. Add the white wine, and cover, cooking over medium-low heat for 3 minutes. Add the salt and pepper to taste, and continue cooking until the shells of the clams have fully opened.

 - Add the chopped parsley and the butter to finish the sauce.

-Add a generous toss of salt to the boiling water, and cook the pasta until tender but firm, al dente. Remove pasta from the water with tongs, or drain in a colander and add it to the pan.

- Turn pasta to coat, adding olive oil and/or salt and pepper to taste, and turn to mix thoroughly. Serve at once.

QUICK BITE: Cremolata

 

It's not sorbetto,it's definitely not gelato, and it's not granita, either. So what in the world is cremolata, anyway?

The short answer is that it's like a fruit sorbetto but made with the pulp of the fruit and all the good bits mixed in, not strained to make a juice-only base like most sorbetti use. The result? Something a little chunkier, and more substantial -- and less creamy -- than sorbetto. But fewer ice crystals than granita. No dairy, so not gelato. 

But enough about what it's not. What is IS: delicious. And refreshing, particularly on a hot summer day in Rome. Which brings us to a nondescript little bar/gelateria right down the street from my apartment in the Jewish ghetto, and famous among those in-the-know frozen treat lovers in Rome: Alberto Pica. This bar, featuring some of the grumpiest counter help and cashiers on the Italian peninsula, does one thing very well: frozen desserts. Their gelato flavors change all the time, but they're most renowned for their riso alla cannella gelato, which is basically a cinammon-scented frozen rice pudding. Yeah. Pretty delicious. Their sorbetti feature a range of unusual flavors as well, including rosa, flavored with rose petals.

But the cremolate: it can be hard to select among the flavors, their juicy, bright fruity colors beckoning you to add a scoop of wild cherry, or Amalfi lemon to your cup...but choose I did. Watermelon and peach-spumante, as featured in the photo above. On a long afternoon passeggiata (stroll) through the center of Rome, it's just the ticket to refresh and revive.

Bar Alberto Pica; via Della Seggiola, 12 (corner of Via Arenula); +39-06-686-8405

RESTAURANT REVIEW: Miami's OLA

There weren't many chefs starting back in the '90s whose career trajectories I followed. But Douglas Rodriguez was always one of a handful of creative culinary figures of interest to me, in large part because of the exciting cuisine he pioneered along with his south Florida-based colleague, Norman Van Aiken: Nuevo Latino. 

Though he started in south Florida, his ground-breaking PATRIA in New York City was what brought his food to national attention. I loved that place: raucous and fun, yet sophisticated, like a great party. And the food was always not only delicious, but truly beautiful on the plate: plantain arcs bisecting ruby chunks of tuna speckled with electric green cilantro and creamy white coconut milk. Plus, my friend who's been a vegetarian since the age of 9 claimed it as one of her favorite places to eat in the city, because when you asked for a "vegetarian option" you left it up to the creativity of the kitchen, which always presented a gorgeous combination of vegetable and starch that was clearly no afterthought. 

Eventually Patria closed after a long run, and Rodriguez opened both Chicama and Pipa, one block apart, still in the Flatiron area. And Chicama became one of my favorite spots: great drinks, and an amazing assortment of ceviches that were out-of-this-world. Now, I could eat ceviche all day long and never tire of it. I hope to tour Peru and the rest of Latin America on a "ceviche grand tour 2013." To say that I still have dreams about his spicy, tart, and sweet ceviche with tuna, octopus and tamarind (note: if anyone can get their hands on this recipe for me, I'd be forever indebted!) -- reflects that it was truly one of the best things I ever consumed.

So when, after closing his New York outposts, I read that Rodriguez had opened in Miami, I knew I had to make the pilgrimage to worship at the altar of my favorite ceviche master. Though I have faith that all of his restaurants have been and will be excellent, his De Rodriguez Cuban place holds less interest for me than his ceviche-centric cocina, OLA, opened in late 2010. It was voted as "The Best Ceviche" by The Miami New Times's Best of Miami list. So to OLA I went.

The space is intimate, sultry, with Latin music humming in the background (this was lively, but certainly lacked the din and energy of the old Patria). We settled in for a very comfortable dining experience. The enthusiastic wait staff brought us some deliciously strong cocktails, including a cooling watermelon mojito that hit the spot on a steamy summer evening. The perfect accompaniment? Ceviche, of course: but how to choose?! I went for the mixto ceviche, with octopus, cobia, and shrimp in lime and orange juices with limo pepper, cilantro and kalamata olives. Delicious. 

But other amazing and diverse ceviches include the wahoo (love this fish!) with watermelon jalapeno juice, basil, diced cantaloupe, red onions and cucumber sorbet. Also interesting and rich is the tuna and foie gras, with kumquat-yuzu sauce, lemon oil, black pepper, serrano chiles and baby arugula. And for ceviche with an Asian twist, the himachi nikkei is mixed with yuzu, thai basil, togarashi peppers, cilantro, sweet soy glaze, and crushed seaweed and sesame seeds. And these are a separate menu from the starters, which are a series of mostly empanadas (try the short rib, lobster, or foie gras versions) and salads.

I must include some gorgeous photos of Chef Rodriguez's ceviche creations: truly edible art...

 

Back to OLA. Main courses tend to be generous portions of well-prepared proteins -- again, it's difficult to select from among all of the enticing options. I chose the sugar cane tuna, several pieces of adobo-rubbed and seared bright pink loin skewered on sugar cane and served over malanga goat cheese fondue, spinach, and shrimp escabeche. It's a playful preparation and offers a nice interplay of flavors and textures. Another signature dish is the mahi mahi crusted with green plantain, served over a braised oxtail stew with tomato escabeche. 
Another friend got the pescado a lo macho (macho fish?), which was the day's catch seared and served over sauteed baby spinach, grilled red onions with aji amarillo sauce, and clams, calamari, shrimp, and black mussels for a sort of deconstructed Latin seafood stew. And for meat lovers, there's the filet mignon churrasco, the signature carne, with grilled asparagus, chipotle crabmeat dressing and chimichurri. Of course, after all of this great food we were stuffed, but the desserts at Rodriguez's restaurants are always a treat as well, and worth saving a little room for.

Perhaps Chef Rodriguez's most iconic dessert, the "chocolate cigar," is an almond chocolate cake enrobed in semisweet chocolate mousse made to look exactly like a cuban cigar, and is served in an ashtray dish with coffee ice cream and a candy matchbox. Clever, adorable, and exquisite. It was my friend Mauro's birthday when we went, so when he excused himself to head to the men's room after the main course, we ordered a birthday dessert for him. Once he returned to the table, out came a beautiful plate on which was written "Happy Birthday Mauro" in chocolate sauce, with a flan de queso ice cream, pistachio cake, mixed berry salad, guava foam, and balsamic vinegar reduction: delicioso! 

Kudos to chef de cuisine Horacio Rivadero and Rodriguez's entire crew at OLA. I wish you all continued success, and hey Chef: come back to New York soon, we miss you!

OLA Miami at The Sanctuary
1745 James Street (between 17th and 18th Sts.)
Miami Beach, FL  33139
Phone: (305) 695-9125

www.olamiami.com

ESCAPES: Isola di Ponza, Italy -- Part 2, Eating on the Island

It's that time of year again, the early months of summer, when I would head down to Ponza for my annual trip to the magical hidden gem of an island off the coast south of Rome. This year marks the first in a long time that I won't make it there, and that I won't even be in Italy during June and July. Which, of course, makes me long all the more for the blindingly sunny days and bracing swims in turquoise waters, as well as aperitivi in the main piazza with locals and visiting Romans and Neapolitans. And it really makes me miss the wonderful dining one does while on Ponza. Whether in one of the local restaurants, or cooking in one's apartment (the way to go on the island, where hotel rooms are limited and overpriced -- and which of course allows you access to your own cucina), the fresh local seafood is the focus of the food on Ponza.

To really get a feel how you'll be eating on an "Avventura Ponzese" (Ponza adventure), we should start with the pizzeria in the port of departure, in Anzio, the beachside resort town 35 miles south of Rome, birthplace of both Nero and Cicero, as well as famed site of the World War II Battle at Anzio. But for our purposes, it's where the hydrofoil departs from, and where a dockside pizzeria serves a damned good seafood calzone, rich with an herb-laden tomato sauce and stuffed with octopus, calamari, and shelled clams and mussels. Perfect for filling your belly up before the hour-long journey to the island of Ponza.

Once you arrive in the port, you can see all of the fishing boats coming in with their daily catch. Some of the white foam crates filled with maritime goodies go directly to the back door of the island's best restaurant kitchens, and some items are for sale in the island's fish markets located among the winding rings above the harbor that are the tiny piazze and vicoli of Ponza town. Among the catch are always various sizes of shrimp (gamberi) and squid (calamari), octopus (polipi) and anchovies (alici or acciughe), as well as various types of local white-fleshed fish in the bream family, prized among them the sarago, fragolino (for its rosy hue), and pezzogna (recognizable by its oversized eyes). 


A great place to try the local catch, with a view of the port from on high, is at Ristorante EEA. It's fun to treat some of these restaurants a bit like tapas bars: ordering various antipasti,when they're this fresh, can be a great way to try various preparations of the local catch. Marinated anchovies are a fairly common preparation of the fresh fish in southern Italy: they have a lemony-vinegar kick and are refreshing in hot weather. Served here with panzanella, a cold summer salad made from old bread and ripe tomatoes, is a brilliant way of kicking the old standard up a notch. We also tried the octopus salad, and a tasty tempura-fried merluzzo (fresh codfish) with a sea urchin mayonnaise: fabulous.

One of my favorite types of crustacean in the world is the gambero rosso, or red shrimp. It's in fact bright red before and after it's cooked, and the flavor is phenomenal. At EEA they're done in a parmigiano crust, which worked, and highlighted the pairing of shrimp and aged cheese as one of the only examples in Italian cuisine in which cheese and seafood are matched. We continued to eat our way through pasta courses (spaghetti with pressed fish roe, called bottarga) as well as the classic southern Italian pasta pairing of swordfish and eggplant. Secondi included a delicate branzino (sea bream) with a pistachio crust. Add plenty of white wine and a gorgeous view and you have the perfect meal.


One of my favorite places to eat on any Italian island in the Mediterranean is perched above the other side of the port, at Orestorante. Chef Oreste (hence the pun) Romagnolo is a lively presence, riffing on Italian seafood classics and tweaking Italian cucina novella with local adaptations. My chef ex and I discovered this place many years ago, and I've been returning ever since with various friends in tow. Everyone is wowed by the vista, the light breeze up high, the tranquil candlelit setting, and the always-gorgeous and tanned crowd the place pulls in. The food is pricey, but it's also really delicious. 

 

The plates that arrive from the kitchen are presented beautifully -- like the crudo di pesce, basically a mixed fish tartare, served with a citrus sauce called "acqua di Ponza" for its electric-hued aquamarine color. Another memorable and very locally-themed starter is the fish on "hot rocks." Skewered pieces of Mediterranean ricciola are sent out on a plate with a blisteringly hot sea rock, on which you sear the pieces of fish, and then you dip them into a lemon-olive oil emulsion.

It's what a gourmet Robinson Crusoe might conjure up if he'd been lucky enough to be stranded on the Pontine islands.  And it's interactive. And zen! And then, to remind us we're still in Italy, the pastas are plentiful and most include some kind of shellfish or crustacean, like the rigatoni with mussels, gorgonzola, and tomatoes. A great choice is the playful primo piatto called Calamari due volte ("squid times two"): the chef uses fresh local rings of calamari and the pasta shaped like these rings, and tosses them with fresh tomatoes, capers, and wild fennel.

Paired with a crisp white with mineral and fruit nuance, like a local Fiano di Avellino or Falanghina, these seafood dishes soar. If you want a main course, there are items like the swordfish cutlet, simply seasoned, breaded and fried like a veal scaloppine might be served in northern Italy. I'd recommend, rather, that you leave room for a light dessert -- get the "chocolate salame" if it's on the menu -- and of course, the best digestivo one could have in these parts: ice  cold limoncello. 

Cin cin!

 

Ristorante EEA

Via Umberto I

04027  PONZA

+39 0771 80100 // +39 338 445.6849 (cell)

www.mondoeea.it

Orestorante

Via Dietro La Chiesta 3

04027  PONZA

+39 0771 80338 // +39 338 813.5730 (cell)

www.orestorante.it

To be continued...

 

 

SEASONAL FOODS: Fragoline di Bosco

It's strawberry season in full force right now, both in the United States and Italy. And in Rome, the bulk of the fragole you find in the green markets come from the nearby towns of Nemi (in the hills) and Terracina (by the sea).

An Italian chef ex-boyfriend once said to me "of all the fruits out there, the strawberry is the one that's changed the most drastically over the years." And on this one point, I agree with him (don't get me started on everything over which we disagree!) When I first lived in Rome, even before I attended culinary school, I noticed how different the smaller, flavor-packed local berries tasted compared to the gargantuan California monstrosities one finds year-round in the States. The berries in Rome aren't grown to impress the eye, but rather to excite the palate. And so...let's just say I ate my fair share of strawberries in Rome.

And then I discovered fragoline di bosco. And I was ruined for other berries forever. Now, I've always been a berry fan. I remember all the family vacations to Maine in my youth, tasting the sweet wild blueberries used in everything from ice cream to breakfast everything (once you have wild blueberry syrup on your pancakes, you'll be saying "maple wha-who?"). Ditto cranberries on Cape Cod: cranberry juice was always the only juice I drank, starting from about age 5, and cranberry fudge? A must, people, a must. And sure, I've always been a fan of raspberries and blackberries as well, so picking wild gelsi (a southern Italian large, plump blackberry) on the Italian islands from Ponza to Panarea -- and enjoying them in sorbet form, post-swim, made me giddy. Even more recent forays into esoteric, more exotic berries -- gooseberries, various currants, acai, and kiwi berries -- yes, all good. And all good for you. But fragoline di bosco still top my list.

The people of Nemi are as crazy about their local harvest as I am, and feature strawberries in just about every form you can imagine at their annual sagra di fragole, or strawberry festival. The town is perched above beautiful lago di Nemi, a picturesque volcanic lake that makes this hillside town a fabulous day trip destination from Rome. Throughout the town, vendors sell strawberries of various sizes, including the fragoline di bosco (literally "tiny strawberries from the forest").

In the center of town, not only are the crimson berries tossed into one huge glass bowl for the crowd to enjoy, they're made into delicious comestibles. From savory salads with arugula, parmigiano, and aged balsamic vinaigrette...to being tucked into tiramisu' and tiny fruit tarts topped with the baby berries...from icy-cool sorbetti to sweet-tart liqueurs featuring the fabulous fruit -- if you can imagine it, you can probably find it in Nemi.

But the way I really fell in love with fragoline di bosco? Well, plain and simple, purchased as is from the market. I would taste them at Claudio's stand at the mercato Campo de' Fiori in Rome, rinsing them off under the stream of water flowing from a nearby fountain, and popping them into my mouth to make sure they were in fact at their peak of flavor. And besides eating them out of hand, the best way to enjoy these little gems -- or any great Italian strawberries, really, is of course the local way: tossed in a mixture of aged balsamico di Modena (good quality aged balsamic vinegar) mixed with a little sugar, to form a syrup. Just mix that in a bowl to dissolve the sugar, toss the strawberries in, and gently...gently toss to coat. It sounds strange to the uninitiated. It has confused many a diner, and plenty of my clients as well. But trust me: it is a marriage made in heaven.

RECIPE: Pasta con Salmone, Cavolo Verde, e Pomodori Secchi

As a chef, delicious food is my top priority, and I believe the simplest route to eating well is using great quality ingredients. Even better is making delicious dishes that incorporate healthy, vitamin- and nutrient-rich foods. As a general rule, the more colorful the plate is, the richer the variety of vitamins and minerals. I think I've struck that balance of delicious, nutritious, and beautiful with a spring pasta dish combining 'super food' ingredients.

Salmon is rich in omega-3 healthy fat, and now is the peak season for wild salmon varieties. Kale is one of the most healthful things you can consume: it's packed with fiber and vitamins A, C, and K, and boasts a bevy of antioxidants and anti-inflammatory agents which make this cruciferous veggie a great tool in lowering cholesterol, linked both to heart disease and risk of cancer. Sundried tomatoes are full of vitamins A and C, and lycopene, a phytochemical that has been shown to lower the risk of certain cancers and heart disease as well. Lycopene is fat-soluble, so its potency is increased when paired with the olive oil in this recipe, for example, and processing increases its availability, so a cooked tomato has more bioavailable lycopene than a raw tomato. The garlic is great for fighting off carcinogens as well. And if you want to up the healthy quotient even more, use whole wheat or quinoa pasta for extra fiber and protein. 

Beyond all of these healthful benefits, this pasta dish is absolutely delicious -- enough to make any Italian proud! So dig in, and feel good about it. Oh, and serve with a glass of wine, particularly red wine which contains heart-healthy resveratrol. Now you can toast as the Italians do, and really mean it: Alla Salute! (To good health!)

PASTA CON SALMONE, CAVOLO VERDE, E POMODORI SECCHI
(Serves 2-4)

5-6 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil

8 oz fillet of fresh, wild salmon

1-2 cloves of garlic, peeled and roughly chopped

1 shallot, minced

1 bunch kale -- regular or lacinato variety, cleaned and sliced into a chiffonade

1/4 cup white wine

1/2 cup sundried tomatoes, chopped

Pinch of red pepper flakes (optional)

Salt & pepper to taste

1/2 lb. whole wheat or quinoa spaghetti or fresh tagliatelle (or pasta of choice, usually long pasta)

-Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Once boiling, salt the water generously.

-Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat, add 1-2 TBSP. olive oil, and heat until shimmering. 

 - Sprinkle the dry salmon fillet with salt and pepper and place in pan, skin side up. Cook for about 3 minutes until the fillet is browned and shakes free from the surface of the pan. Flip, and cook for another 3-4 minutes over medium heat. Remove from pan.

- Add the garlic and shallot and cook for about 1 minute. Add the kale, and stir to start cooking the greens down. Add the white wine and cook to evaporate the alcohol for about 3 minutes. 

- Remove the salmon fillet from its skin, and roughly chop/flake. Add to the pan along with the sundried tomatoes. Add the chili flakes and salt and pepper to taste.

- Cook the pasta until tender but firm, al dente. Remove pasta from the water with tongs, or drain in a colander and add it to the pan.

- Turn pasta to coat, adding olive oil and/or salt & pepper to taste, and a little bit of the salted pasta water if needed for consistency, and turn to mix thoroughly. Serve at once.

BUON APPETITO!

RESTAURANT REVIEW: Colonie -- Brooklyn Heights, NY

It took me way too long to finally get to Colonie. For one, I know one of the owners, Elise, whom I met through a mutual friend from my Rome days, Matt. Elise was the wine director at Public, which happens to be one of my favorite spots in the city since it opened almost a decade ago, so I had a hunch the new place was going to be good. Second, Colonie is right down the street from my Brooklyn Heights-dwelling friends, who frequent the spot and have been telling me I have to get my culo over to their neck of the woods. For dinner.And so finally, and recently, I made it there. 

Colonie opened in February 2011 and was the first restaurant project in New York City to be helped along by donations collected through kickstarter.com -- an innovative fundraising vehicle, and an even more clever marketing tool for these first-time restaurateurs. The locale uses the Dutch spelling of colony, and even Brooklyn ('Bruijkleen'), and is a celebration of New York: the menu is a collection of American dishes with a wink to NYC's history as New Amsterdam. As with most any restaurant that opens in New York City, the owners went through their trials and tribulations, but Elise, Emelie, and Tamer (they all met working together on the management team at Public) have managed to pull off a cozy restaurant and bar that's new for the neighborhood, where there was a dearth of great dining spots. But it also feels like it belongs, like it's been there for years. 

So, let's get to the food, the creations of chef Brad McDonald.

The menu focuses on locally-grown produce and proteins where it can. It's seasonal, in step with local culinary trends. And it's certainly casual, what with an open kitchen that offers bar stool seating where you can converse with the line cook plating your dish, and get recommendations on the chef's favorites, on specials of the day, whatever. It's laid back and interactive and low-key. Of course, there's also more traditional table seating in the dining room, chunky natural wood tables and benches that encourages casual interaction among diners. The food that arrives in front of you, however, is accomplished -- and delicious.

Yes, waiting time here can be an issue. But the time passes quickly when you're sipping refreshing cocktails and a delicious, springy fried baby artichoke appetizer with an herb-laden aioli for dipping. A cheese plate also helped to curb our appetites (and create a food base for our second cocktails...). Once seated at the rear bar, overlooking the operations of the kitchen, we started with the rabbit and foie gras terrine with a port reduction, which felt both suited to the rustic-farmhouse/industrial-chic dining room, and just right with a bit of nip still in the air.

I also couldn't resist ordering the beet salad. Does every American and French restaurant in the five boroughs of New York City feature some form of beet appetizer or salad? Indeed. And while this beet salad -- here served with horseradish syrup, violet mustard, and sorrel -- was not the most memorable I've had, it was tasty and tangy and earthy, and certainly looked beautiful on the plate, painterly strokes of gorgeous magenta covering the bottom of the bowl.
I also indulged in a delicious bowl of salsify soup, here given the Middle Eastern treatment with a 'shmear' of tahini, crispy fried eggplant balls, and the added zip of meyer lemon. It was truly lick-your-bowl-clean scrumptious. We then moved on to a couple of main courses.

This included a new arrival. The latest fish dish was a sea bass, I believe, the night we were there, which has since been replaced by tilefish. The preparation remains the same, however, as it is on the current menu: the fillet is seared and served over roasted potatoes and dressed with an herb-walnut pesto. This was flavorful and light, beautifully executed fish cooking at work. 
The pork chop was a heavier undertaking, with caramelized onions and turnips still representing the comfort food of an admittedly mild winter. The sauce was sweet and savory with a touch of mustard and wine -- perfect for sopping up with a bit of bread.

To close out the meal, my friends decided on the doughnuts with a salty caramel custard. I, however, took a slightly more savory route, and went for a final cheese course, a nicely veined blue cheese with fig marmalade and sliced green apple, accompanied by a glass of ruby port. How very European of me, no? And not a bad way to end a thoroughly enjoyable meal. We stepped out into the night and breathed in the air of this once-Dutch colony by the water. I peered inside and viewed the patrons still tippling at the bar. This, I thought, this is what it means to be a neighborhood spot. I'll be back again, with the hopes of colonizing a bar stool, for many languorous hours.
 

COLONIE

127 Atlantic Avenue (Bklyn Heights)

Brooklyn, NY  11201 

(718) 855.7500

www.colonienyc.com

  

RECIPE: Festa della Mamma & Veggie Frittata

Auguri, mamme! Yes, it's Mother's Day in America, as well as many other countries around the globe. And while mothers are revered the world over, Italy is known for having huge ties to, and love for, its mothers. Perhaps it all started with the Madonna? A quick pondering of the Italian vernacular reveals that sayings like "mamma mia!" and "Madonna!" are still very much in everyday use, and that "mammone" are a very real Italian phenomenon -- "mamma's boys" who live at home well into their forties while their mothers continue to cook their meals and do their laundry. I'll hold my tongue on the culture of men and their mothers in Italy, and simply offer up the recipe below...

It's a vegetable frittata, one of many simple-but-satisfying meals that's vegetarian-friendly, and can be prepared for a brunch just as easily as it could for dinner (which is actually when most Italians eat frittate). 

And what could go more perfectly with this easy meal than a "Mammosa": a mother's day version of a mimosa, here made with prosecco instead of champagne, and orange juice (try blood orange juice for a Sicilian twist).

Auguri, mamma!

Vegetable Frittata

(for 6 people)

Feel free to use any seasonal vegetables you have on hand in this recipe. It's nice to have a variety so the end result is colorful.

 

Pat of butter

10 eggs

½ cup whole milk

¼ cup parmigiano cheese

2 cups broccoli florets

1 red pepper, cut into strips

2 small onions, thinly sliced

1 TBSP olive oil

Salt and white pepper, to taste

-Par boil the broccoli and red pepper strips and shock in ice water.

-Saute the onions in a pan with a little olive oil, until translucent and lightly browned. Set aside.

-In a bowl, whisk the eggs with the milk, parmigiano cheese,  and a touch of salt and pepper.

-Grease a glass pyrex rectangular pan with the butter, or melt butter in a round frittata pan or cast iron pan.

-Put the vegetables into the pan, and pour the egg mixture on top of them. Mix to get the vegetables evenly spread throughout.

-If cooking in a pan, fluff the eggs over low heat as they cook (like scrambled eggs) and then let them set .

-Place into a 350 degree oven for about 25-35 minutes, until the eggs are set on top and the whole frittata has puffed up a bit.

-Remove from oven and let cool; cut into slices or squares or portion as you like.

ESCAPES: Caribbean Cool -- St. Lucia, Pt. 1

Ahh, the Caribbean. Warm waters and powdery beaches and penetrating sun. The lilting local patois, the reggae and calypso music. The scent of local spices searing on meat and seafood cooking over makeshift beachside grills. And rum punch -- ohhh, the rum punch. All of this can go to a girl's head...particularly if that's exactly why a girl heads to the Caribbean in the first place.

There are so many gorgeous spots to experience in the Caribbean, but until this past Christmas, I hadn't been down to this part of the world in decades. (Living in Italy allowed me to travel to many places proximate to Europe, but I tended to ignore "The Americas," as it were, during that time). Having worked my tuchus off during the holiday season this year, combined with wanting to be anywhere-but-here for the anniversary of my dear friend's passing, my friend Helen and I decided to escape to somewhere warm and wonderful. Helen was coming in from London so our selection of islands was narrowed according to what Sir Richard Branson had on offer for Virgin Airlines miles-holders. And then it was decided: St. Lucia. 

This lush, verdant island closer to Venezuela than Miami, is nestled north of Barbados and south of Martinique along the southern end of the chain of islands in the Caribbean Sea. Its pedigree is multi-ethnic, and though discovered some time soon after 1492 during the time of the Columbus expedition, St. Lucia's first official European colonizers were the French, in 1643. The island then passed between the French and British 14 times before it fell definitively into British hands in 1814. Much later, in 1979, St. Lucia became an independent state of the Commonwealth of Nations (associated with the UK) -- and they've been celebrating ever since. 

The island's topography is different from so many other Caribbean islands, which can be arid and rocky. St. Lucia is incredibly green and lushly tropical. Its "silhouette" is a very-recognizable pair of volcanic mountains called the Pitons, the triangular forms which also grace the island's national flag. These mountains are scalable, though it can be a tough feat. We preferred to view them from out at sea, where you can get some perspective and see the sinking sun cast shadows across the island.

We also loved taking in the Pitons from the beach at Jalousie between the two peaks, one of the most beautiful spots on the island. The pristine white sand beaches here abut waters that provide great snorkeling and allow a glimpse at local colorful underwater life. It's also a prime spot for a sunset cocktail. With the breeze blowing through one's hair and a strong rum drink in hand, it's hard to be anything but content. And things only get better when you follow Jalousie Beach cocktails with a delicious dining experience up above that beach, among the trees with a hilltop view of the valley between the Pitons at the restaurant Dasheene at the Ladera Resort.

Dasheene has a magical feel -- the whole resort does -- as a sort of luxe Robinson Crusoe-meets-Serengeti chic outpost, seemingly suspended on the precipice of a cliff overlooking Jalousie beach and the Pitons. The best tables in the house look directly over the railing down to the water below, and at night it's a twinkling sea of ship lights scattered across an onyx bay. It can be incredibly romantic (I imagine, anyway). But the menu is beautifully eclectic and the food too good to be overlooked by starry-eyed lovers anxious to get beyond the meal and back to their honeymoon suites. 
 

Both because it was the holiday season, and because being on a tropical vacation makes you feel festive, we accompanied most of our meals with bubbly -- mostly crisp bottles of prosecco. This accompanied our courses, often heavy on the local catch, quite well, from starters through to dessert. Starters we enjoyed included a local fish ceviche, served beautifully on a banana leaf tucked into an iced bowl, and eggplant fritters with a carrot-curry sauce.

We moved on to the next course with a lobster risotto topped with a seared scallop -- a little taste of Italy in the Caribbean, but sauced with spice and fruit that said West Indies. Then we moved on to main courses. I enjoyed a gorgeous mixed grill, which included both meat (local chicken and lamb) and seafood (sugarcane shrimp and fish from the waters we were looking out upon), brought together with a tangy tamarind sauce. There was also a simple, perfectly-cooked grilled Mahi-mahi with a citrus lime butter. All the ingredients at Dasheene are locally sourced, many grown specifically for the resort's use. The servers at the bar and the restaurant itself were beyond charming, the views were breathtaking, and the presentation of the dishes was always artful. And most importantly, the meal was delicious. 

We had to finish it off with something sweet, of course. So we chose some real local flavor in the chocolate rum mousse with a coconut tuile -- all cleverly served in the hollowed-out cocoa pod from the trees we'd viewed earlier in the day (more on that in Part 2). After dinner, the ride back to the far northern side of the island where we were staying, was literally a long and windy road. Our new local friends drove us back and blasted their reggae favorites in the car and we zig-zagged and hugged the cliffs and descended down into the capital port city of Castries, and then back up again. And we laughed and shared stories and made it back in time for a strong rum drink nightcap in Rodney Bay. Then we strolled out into the night, a light rain clearing the way for another sunny day: tomorrow, our island trip by boat awaited us.

To be continued...

Spring on a Plate, Pasquetta Perfection

We all know that the almighty egg is the signature food of spring: it symbolizes rebirth and renewal, and it's pretty much a miracle ingredient, for all the forms it can take and things it can do together with other ingredients. 


Think about it: what other single item turns into fluffy scrambled eggs or an omelette or frittata, eggs benedict when poached or deviled eggs or egg salad when hard-boiled? What else helps a souffle rise, makes a cake light and fluffy -- then helps a meatball or a crab cake stay together? What else can top a cocktail and make a meringue? I could go on...

So it makes sense that I feature a simple, humble preparation of an egg in a delicious dish for today, also known as Easter Monday in some places -- and pasquetta, or 'little Easter' in Italy. Yes, it's a national holiday in Italy, a kind of forced picnic day up and down the Italian peninsula. But who's arguing? Everyone packs up leftovers from the Easter meal (lamb sandwiches? frittata squares?) with some fresh salumi and cheese and bread, and heads to the parks and the hills. 

 

But maybe you want something light, a dish that works for breakfast, lunch, OR dinner. Something that won't fill you up too much during a time of vernal equinox celebratory meals. Something that can be made kosher for Passover. Something that uses the ingredients of spring to their fullest, with the lightest touch and least amount of fuss. Then you want...Asparagi e Uova. Asparagus with egg.

The brilliance is in the pairing: fresh egg with a yolk the color of the sun, and crisp green stalks of asparagus, which taste best at the height of spring. Feel free to play around with the preparation and any other ingredients you may like to add to the pairing. You could scramble or poach the eggs, add some smoked paprika or truffle butter. You could maybe serve the dish with another related spring veggie, the artichoke. If you're a pork lover, add some crisped bacon. It's easy to enhance, refine, play with, and make it your own. Best not to put all your eggs in one basket, as they say. Be flexible and creative.

My way as shown here?

1. I blanched and shocked the asparagus --  that is, boiled the trimmed stalks in a pan of well-salted water, then dumped into ice water when they were bendable but still firm. Dumped the water out of the pan and put back on the burner.

2.  I added a little extra virgin olive oil and a clove of garlic to the pan, warmed it, and added the asparagus to sear it a touch and warm it through. The first cooking helps to lock in the bright green color and crisp texture; this just adds some searing to the outside. Place the asparagus in line on a plate.

3. Crack a fresh, organic egg into the pan with a little melted butter, sprinkle with sea salt and cracked black pepper, and cook until the yolk is firmed up but not cooked through. Slide the egg out of the pan and on top of the asparagus.

4. I sprinkled some fresh shelled peas (also blanched and shocked ahead of time) around the plate, shaved some parmigiano reggiano cheese over top, and added a few slices of bresaola (like lean beef prosciutto -- the kosher version of which you can find in the Jewish ghetto in Rome as well, called carne secca, or "dried meat"). 

5. Break into that oozy egg yolk...now, magna (pronounced 'MAHN-ya', Roman dialect for "eat").

ENJOY! BUONA PRIMAVERA!

RECIPE: Spaghetti Aglio Olio Peperoncino

Italians excel at making something from nothing — anzi, something great — from nothing much. This is especially true when it comes to food, and the culinary embodiment of this magic is spaghetti aglio olio peperoncino.

This pasta is a standard go-to and a real comfort dish for Italians everywhere. The thinking is that at any given time, every Italian worth his or her salt in the kitchen has some garlic, olive oil, and dried chile pepper on hand. And pasta, of course. It's comfort food because the flavors are the backbone of so many Italian dishes, and a standard because it's easy and quick.

Years ago, when I'd been working at San Domenico New York for only a matter of weeks, I threw a holiday party with my roommates at our apartment. I invited my new amici from the kitchen, who showed up in a group after dinner service was over, some time after midnight. This arrival en masse didn't only give a jolt to the party (comments of the "where did all these hot Italian men come from??" variety were overheard). It also provided for late-night feeding. When the guests who remained into the wee hours got hungry again, after finishing off all of my cocktail party nibbles, the Italians came to the rescue. 

All of a sudden, the ragazzi were in our kitchen, whipping out pots and pans, pasta and provisions. And somehow, in a flash, they were all shirtless as well! (perhaps they were not used to the stifling heat of Manhattan apartments in the winter?). And in seemingly the time it took to open another bottle of prosecco and fill glasses, we were all being served by lovely, topless Italian cooks, the perfume of browned garlic and spicy chile lingering in the air.

Buon appetito! they announced. And silence fell on the crowd as everybody stuffed their faces appreciatively. Friends still remember that night fondly, noting that is was "one of the best pastas ever." Sometimes, simplicity rules. (And drunken hunger pangs help. As do sexy shirtless Italian men).

So, the basic formula is this: Boil water. If using dried pasta, boil the pasta (if using fresh, throw the pasta into the water once you've already infused the oil). While it's cooking, you heat some olive oil, chopped garlic, and peperoncino in a pan. When the pasta is done cooking, toss it into the pan, add salt to taste, lots of chopped parsley if you have on hand, and there you have it. It's basic. The art of the dish is in the timing, the flourishes, the additions and modifications. 

I give the recipe as 'spaghetti', though the pasta could be any kind, keeping in mind that pasta lunga (long pasta) really is best. Fresh pasta works equally as well, as the tagliatelle in these photos will attest. I add parmigiano reggiano cheese when I have it on hand because I like it, but you can add any kind of grated cheese, or not, as you see fit. Same with the parsley, or any green herb (I've often thought that a handful of chives would add an interesting verdant, onion-y dimension to the dish). Once you get the timing down, and know enough not to burn the garlic and chile pepper, you can have fun with personalizing your very own version of aglio olio peperoncino. Topless Italian men optional.

SPAGHETTI AGLIO OLIO PEPERONCINO 

(4-6 people)

4 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil

2-3 garlic cloves, chopped up finely

Generous pinch of red pepper flakes (or whole peperoncino broken up)

Salt and pepper to taste

¼ cup finely chopped fresh flat leaf parsley

1 lb. spaghetti

1/2 cup grated parmigiano cheese

- Bring a large pot of water to a boil.

- Once the water comes to a rolling boil, add a generous couple of pinches of salt (the water should be briny, almost like seawater), and toss in the pasta and stir.

-After the pasta has been cooking for 6 minutes, heat a large skillet over medium heat, add the olive oil until warm, and then add the garlic and

peperoncino

, cooking until the garlic is barely browned, a minute or so.

- When the pasta is al dente, drain the pasta and add directly to the pan with the oil in it. Add salt and pepper to taste.

- Toss pasta to coat it with the oil mixture. Add the parsley and the cheese and stir until evenly distributed. Taste and adjust for salt. If the pasta is dry, add a little of the salted cooking water to the pan.

-Dig in!

QUICK BITE: Spremuta di Melograno e Mandarino

The Campo de' Fiori market in Rome is a great place to come during the late morning and early afternoon. Not only can you do your produce shopping, order your favorite cuts of meat and game from the butcher, pick up some delicious cheeses and salumi, and get a slice of one of the best pizze bianche in the city, but you can also get a quick snack between meals. The variety of fruits and vegetables in the market, ready to be rinsed under the constantly-running Roman water spigots and eaten out of hand, is astounding -- and seasonal.

So when I was strolling through the market square one afternoon in January, my guys at the "Da Claudio" fruit and vegetable stand insisted that I try one of their fresh spremute, or fresh-squeezed juices. On offer for winter? Melograno e mandarino: Pomegranate juice and mandarin juice. My friend and I decided to try the two blended, which I highly recommend. It packs a vitamin C and antioxidant 1-2 wallop -- and it's incredibly delicious, sweet-tart, and the perfect way to beat the midwinter blues, even if spring is just around the corner...

 

DINING OUT: Grano -- Rome, Italy

Fresh from the process of updating and rewriting the Where to Eat section of the Fodor's Rome Guide 2012, I thought I'd post an expanded and modified (and personalized) review of one of the restaurants I added to the section this year.

GRANO is a contemporary trattoria in a charming piazza around the corner from the Pantheon. Aesthetically, the white walls covered, in parts, with colorful children's drawings, give the main dining room the look of a postmodern architectural schoolhouse. 

The smaller, second dining room with the addition of bookshelves, seems the school's library. And the outdoor deck with large white umbrellas and numerous tables would, in this metaphor, be the playground. On the whole, Grano is a light and lively restaurant, serving tasty food, at not-too-steep prices, to a mostly local crowd. All good things.

The kitchen is not quite chemistry lab, but it does turn out re-invented versions of Italian dishes, both Roman and from other regions up and down the Italian peninsula. For starters, the polpette di brasato con salsa verde are smallish meatballs of the famous piemontese wine-braised beef, here pulled, breaded, and deep fried, served on a slick of bracing green sauce. It's unusual and delicious. And for traditionalists, there are portions of pristine mozzarella di bufala and marinated anchovies served simply on a few leaves of arugula with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil. 

A delicious tweak of a Sicilian classic is the octopus antipasto (which could also be a primo): instead of pairing it with chickpeas or canellini beans as is the practice, a grilled baby octopus is placed atop a mound of orzo perlato, a grain -- not the pasta version of orzo -- with a bite that matches the chew of Sicilian polpo (octopus), here rendered tender by a braise before being grilled. The primi here are often standouts, including, when available, a pasta with tiny baby clams paired with asparagi di mare, know in English as sea beans. This is a delicious, fresh-tasting combination that encapsulates the brininess of the sea in every bite. 

Also looking southward -- this time Campania -- is the simple pasta dish of tiny ditalini with a vegetarian "ragu" of sundried tomatoes, Gaeta olives, mozzarella, and basil. As for secondi, they're often less interesting. Porchetta (roasted suckling pig) with rosemary potatoes should be called 'porchetta...che peccato' (what a shame) because serving a so-so version of what can be one of The Greatest Things To Eat On This Planet is a sin.

Ditto the tuna with caponatina: Sicily has some of the most prized fresh tuna on the planet, and caponata is one of the world's great traditional vegetable dishes (trumps ratatouille ANY day). Italians now need to learn how to cook said tuna, and Roman chefs could use some schooling in the ways of making sweet-and-sour eggplant-veggie-heaven the way it's meant to be made. Still, the breaded calamari is perfectly good, and with a side of broccoli or sauteed chicory, it makes a tasty main course.

Desserts here are relatively delicious, even though they don't stray far from Italian standards like tiramisu'. But the atmosphere is so pleasant, it's worth poring over the wine list to find a dessert wine or digestivo you can enjoy with your dining mates. A limoncello, or an amaro, perhaps? I liked the setting so much that I chose to have a recent birthday dinner here, surrounded by a dozen or so dear friends. We lounged and lingered, we ate, drank, and were merry.

And my lovely friends showered me with wine and prosecco and limoncello (my holy trinity?), and lots of gorgeous gifts, like the handmade earrings of breathtaking bronze freshwater pearls and jet I'm modeling in the photo below. And when all was said and done, they managed to find a tasty chocolate dessert into which they lodged a candle. I made my birthday wish -- and although it's bad luck to divulge that wish, I can say that it involves a lot more good food, great friends, and delicious fun in the future.

RISTORANTE GRANO

Piazza Rondanini 53

Roma 00186

+39 (06) 681 92 096

www.ristorantegrano.it