RESTAURANT REVIEW: Il Santo Bevitore, Firenze, ITALY

In many ways, I feel romana (Roman) at heart. Like many Romans, I certainly adore eating out in the Eternal City, always a convivial and interesting social experience. But I cut my Italian denti (teeth) in Firenze (Florence, in English), as a college student studying abroad. And though I'm a huge supporter of all that Rome has to offer, sometimes I just have to go Tuscan. 

In comparing the restaurants on offer in the two cities, the overall dining scene in Firenze seems much more refined to me. I'm not discussing high-end restaurants, which are a category unto themselves. But for me, in the Tuscan capitol, the classic trattoria feels more cozy and inviting. The bars are more pleasant places to sip an espresso or grab a panino. And the mid-level restaurant's menu is more varied and accomplished, the staff more personable than the brusque Roman waiters and proprietors, the lighting a touch dimmer and more atmospheric. So it was no surprise to me that I found Il Santo Bevitore in my beloved Oltrarno section of town (the "other side" of the Arno River -- the slightly alternative side of town that most European cities have...think Left Bank in Paris or Trastevere in Rome). And I found it to be one of those exceptional mid-range spots for which Florence is renowned.

I've been to Il Santo Bevitore in smoldering summer weather, and I've been here in cold, wet winter. And though most Italian cities are preferable when you can soak in the sun by day and linger in the piazzas by night, I'll admit that I love Florence, and Tuscany in general, in the cooler months of the year. The food here is so hearty that being somewhere cozy and indoors, with dark wood furniture and candlelight and a warm hearth going (oftentimes used for searing enormous Tuscan steaks and slow-cooking cannellini beans), just feels right. Which is why I especially loved Il Santo Bevitore when I returned this January.

The place is sprawling, and hopping, and you're immediately greeted by a friendly face -- in fact, the restaurant is run by a young team of men and women who excel at warm service (another thing often missing in Rome). The place is usually packed, though waiting is never an unhappy circumstance as there are seats at the bar here, where you can sip a prosecco and watch the barmen slice prosciutto on the antique meat slicer, or you can nip out for a drink at the owners' enoteca next door. 

Once you're seated, you'll need some time to peruse the expansive menu, as there are lots of antipasti and "specialties" that can be eaten as starters or mains. In fact, cobbling together a meal here is a little different than at your classic trattoria, as the structure of antipasto-primo-secondo is a little more fluid. Basically, just select what tempts your palate, and the servers will help you navigate. The same could be said for the wine list, which offers the classics, plus a lot of lesser-known labels, and variations on a theme (the theme? Tuscan reds). Server suggestions are a great help, and you can find some unusual blends and interesting Super Tuscans along with the classic Chiantis. I always enjoy beginning a meal with a glass of prosecco or spumante, which opens up the palate and the appetite. Then, once I've selected the food I'll be eating, I select a wine that will compliment the courses, and not vice-versa. I've always found it strange when, in the States, servers ask you for your wine order right off the bat, before you've even had a chance to look at the cuisine on offer. Servers in Italy don't even normally take your wine order until you've had a chance to consider the menu. A really interesting food-wine pairing is one of the greatest pleasures in life, and opens you up to wines you may never have tried otherwise.

So, then, what to eat? Like most ristoranti in Italy, the menu here changes according to the season. There are Tuscan specialties aplenty, including a riff on the most ubiquitous antipasto in Tuscany: chicken liver crostini. Here, the chicken livers are whipped until smooth and formed into a luscious terrine, which is served warm in a fortified wine sauce, the aroma of rosemary wafting from the plate. Smear a bit on the accompanying brioche toast points for some of the best cool weather comfort food ever imagined. Here too, the classic Tuscan bread soups are on the menu: pappa al pomodoro in summer, when tomatoes are at their finest, and ribollita in winter, when Tuscan kale and hearty white beans add heft to the bread-thickened minestrone. Both are perfectly, classically delicious, and are improved with a glug of green Tuscan olive oil drizzled on top. 

The kitchen does, however, look to outside the region for inspiration, as well. To wit: a gorgeous plate of fresh riccioli pasta with a tomato-'nduja (spicy soft Calabrese sausage) sauce and shaved aged pecorino cheese. It's incredibly more-ish with its unctuous, stinging bite. Another specialty is the burrata -- a rich, cream-filled mozzarella from the southern Puglia region, here served on sauteed spinach (very Florentine) and drizzled with pesto (classically Ligurian).

And bringing various regions together on the plate is the summer offering of borage (a green vegetal herb) ravioli on a burrata sauce with marinated leeks, topped with shaved Sardinian bottarga (cured mullet roe). This dish is a wonderful balancing act of creamy, verdant, briny, and acidic -- and unlike anything you'd find in your average trattoria. Another interesting specialty is the vegetable tortino -- basically a crustless tart, somewhere between a souffle' and a vegetable frittata, done seasonally to highlight a single ingredient. This January it was a tortino di cardone, or cardoon tortino, which is just as Tuscan as it is Sicilian or Piemontese.The vegetable looks like a big, craggy stalk of celery, but tastes more like an artichoke (they're members of the same vegetable family). The tortino was topped with red wild lettuce and a  piece of frica (Friulian baked parmigiano crisp) to mirror the taste of the cheese fonduta sauce on which it sits, making this a perfect warming winter veggie dish.

Secondi include a "crispy" octopus on a puree' of celeriac and sunchokes, with hazelnuts and turnips. The octopus was not, in fact, crispy, and could have used some sauce to improve a dish that tended toward dry. But the elements themselves were tasty and the flavor combination quite interesting. Better, and certainly more Tuscan in feel, was the roasted duck leg.

Wild fowl and game and wild boar are what leap to mind when I reflect on great cool weather Tuscan food, and this duck dish fits the bill. It's braised and roasted and served with a jus with red wine added, and accompanied by a foie gras mousse and sweet-sour radicchio -- a great foil which cuts the richness of the dish. And of course, when all of these are accompanied by interesting wines paired well, the whole experience is elevated.

I'm always so stuffed after eating here that I can barely think about dessert. My theory, however, is that something rich and chocolate-y is always worth trying. If you have room and it's on the menu, try the chocolate mousse: I had it paired with avocado sauce and bruleed bananas on a recent visit. Often in Florence, however, I'll just go for a vin santo, the classic Tuscan dessert wine, amber in color and musty-sweet with notes of dried fruit and toasted nuts. The tradition in many places around town is to serve it with tozzetti, little almond biscotti, though I like the dessert wine on its own as well. It's the perfect way to cap off a great meal at a warm and inviting restaurant in the Oltrarno, this always-interesting and picturesque quarter of the lovely flower of a Renaissance city that is Firenze.

IL SANTO BEVITORE
Via di Santo Spirito 64/66, Firenze, Italy
+39 055 211264
www.ilsantobevitore.com
Open daily 12:30 - 2:30 pm, 7:30 - 11:00 pm (no lunch Sunday)

RECIPE: Beet and Carrot Latkes: Not Just for Hanukkah

Hanukkah is a time for traditions, but I often think that new twists on old traditions can be the most fun way to celebrate. Latkes are of course the most popular food connected to Hanukkah, but really, they're pretty great any time of year. For festive winter holidays, using root vegetables makes seasonal sense -- and this recipe is a wonderful new way to take beets and carrots out of salads and put them into a starring role in a delicious starter or side dish: Beet and Carrot Latkes.

These latkes don't even require any potatoes to make them work. Their vibrant color makes them perfect for parties and entertaining. And the sweet earthiness of the vegetables make them a great match for exotic spices from North Africa and the Middle East: toss in some cumin or curry or Moroccan spice mix ras-el-hanout to add dimension. Paired with Greek style yogurt or labneh instead of the traditional sour cream, with some torn cilantro leaves on top, these latkes really shine. Enjoy!

BEET AND CARROT LATKES
(Serves 6)

2 cups shredded beets (raw)
2 cups shredded carrots (raw)
1/2 medium-sized onion, shredded on a grater
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup flour (more or less as needed), to make the mixture the thick but still wet
Salt and pepper to taste
Optional: 1 tsp. cumin, ground coriander, curry, or ras-el-hanout 
Olive oil or vegetable oil for frying (approx 1 cup)
1 cup plain Greek yogurt or labneh
Small bunch of cilantro

- Mix the shredded beets and carrots together, tossing with salt and pepper (and spices, if using) to season. Add the eggs and mix, then add the flour, 1/4 cup at a time, until the mixture holds together on a spoon without running.

- In a frying pan, heat enough oil to coat the bottom of the pan, until shimmering. Add the beet and carrot mixture in heaping spoonfuls to the pan (they should sizzle upon contact with the oil), pressing down on each spoonful to flatten it into pancake form. Fry on first side until golden brown around the edges, 2-3 minutes. Flip. Cook until golden brown on the other side. 

- Remove from pan with a spatula to a paper towel-lined platter or plate, to cool and absorb the grease. Continue this way until all of the mixture is used, adding more oil if necessary. 

- To serve, place the latkes on a platter and top with the yogurt/labneh and cilantro, or put the yogurt in a dish in the middle for guests to help themselves.

RECIPE: Zuppa di Zucca

Pumpkin time!

Yesterday was Halloween, today is All Saints' Day, and we're smack in the middle of pumpkin season. Depending on the kind of pumpkin you may have picked -- possibly literally -- you can use more than just its seeds as a snack. 

Pumpkin soup is a delicious seasonal dish, with a green salad and some crusty multigrain bread for lunch, or for a first course at dinner. The recipe is quite simple. The hardest part is probably peeling and cutting the pumpkin -- you'll need to put a little force into it, as pumpkin flesh is dense, and the outer skin is tough. Once you have the pumpkin cubed, it's pretty straightforward. 

And the dish is so versatile, you can use the basic recipe and tweak it slightly to make a delicious pasta sauce, a puree to go into a risotto, or as a sauce base for protein preparations (Grilled sea bass on pumpkin sauce? Pumpkin seed-crusted chicken with spicy pumpkin sauce? Yes, please!). It's also a great dish for a gorgeous, autumnal presentation. This soup one-ups the clam chowder in a bread bowl: serving pumpkin soup in a pumpkin shell is beautiful, natural, and just makes aesthetic and culinary sense. And finding the adorable serving pumpkins can be half the fun! So follow the recipe below, and with practice, you can modify it to make it your own...and to make pumpkin soup into something other than pumpkin soup. It's a jack (-o-lantern) of all trades!

ZUPPA DI ZUCCA 

(Serves 6-8 people)

3 medium-sized butternut squashes -- or any dense pumpkin variety

2 cloves garlic

8-10 cups vegetable broth

Salt & pepper to taste

Few sprigs of fresh thyme, sage, or basil

Spices to taste: garam masala, or smoked paprika, or curry powder

-Peel the butternut squash, slice in half, scoop out the seeds. 



- Cut into 1.5 to 2-inch dice.

-Place the butternut squash cubes in a large pot and cover with the vegetable stock. Add the garlic and the herbs and a dash of salt, and cover.

- Boil squash until tender but not falling apart, about 30 minutes or so.

- Remove from heat and let cool down a bit. Remove the herb sprigs.

- Alternatively, you could roast the pumpkin cubes in a 375 degree oven, tossed with a glug of olive oil and some salt and pepper. This will make the flavor a bit more concentrated.

- Using an immersion blender, or working in batches with a food processor, puree the squash until smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste, along with other spices if desired. 

- Top with chopped fresh herbs (thyme, basil, sage, or parsley, to taste) and serve. 

*Special touch: I like to drizzle a balsamic vinegar reduction over top, as in the photo above -- it gives some extra pop and a sweet-sour finish to the soup that cuts the rich creaminess of the pumpkin. Very Modenese (Italy)!

ESCAPES: Tel Aviv, White Hot. Part 2: Center City North and the Beaches

In my first blog post about Tel Aviv, I discussed the wonderful energy of the city on the Mediterranean, and introduced readers to the street foods of Israel -- a very important part of the food culture in this wonderful country. This time around, I'll delve deeper into the stellar dining experiences in town, from cute cafes to elegant culinary temples, which are such an important part of the always-energized nightlife scene in TLV...and why it's one of the hottest destinations on the planet right now.It's a city of about 400,000, but the vibrancy of the urban setting and the cultural richness paired with the beachside setting...well, it makes it all feel like a cosmopolitan center of 4 million. 

To wit, there is a vast assortment of options around town, and in this installment I'll focus on dining along the beaches, and the city center and north towards the Port (Namal). The area comprises a large part of Tel Aviv, extending down from the Namal and the north of the city, near the Yarkon River, to Jabotinsky Street, and east to the Tel Aviv Center and the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, down to Dizengoff Square, and finally to Sheinkin Street -- and stretching all the way west to Ha Yarkon and the Tayelet, the beachside promenade pictured here. (I am always reminded of Rio de Janeiro's beachside promenade, with its tiles in a similar wave pattern and the city abutting the ocean...but I digress). 

Obviously, this is a large swath of the city, and I don't have enough room to include all of my favorite spots. But I will include as many must-try locales as possible in one posting. And keep in mind that I'll offer a more detailed breakdown of two of the city's top eateries, Messa and Raphael, in a separate restaurant review post.

Starting from the north, on the water, we have the rebuilt, spiffed-up Port area known as the Namal, and its waterside boardwalk, seemingly sculpted out of a sandy-colored wood, undulating (to the delight of many a skateboarder) to blend with the surroundings. Warehouses and industrial structures have become restaurants and bars, boutiques and food markets, and the area is now busy morning through late night. Mul Yam is a seafood-lover's spot, the name a pun on its translation, "across the sea" in Hebrew, and the word for "mussel" in French (moules, pronounced "mool") and "yum," as in delicious. The food is incredibly refined and very European, for the most part -- and outrageously expensive. For a much more casual spot, there's Shalvata, near Hangar 25, and for market-to-table (literally), try Kitchen Market, hard by the Port's food market.  

Just inland from Hilton Beach, on major thoroughfare Ben Yehuda Street, chef Sharon (male) Cohen runs a casual eatery and bar called Shila. I stayed in an apartment practically upstairs from this place for close to a week, and it was always busy, always full of a young (but not too young) clientele, day and night. The atmosphere is lively and friendly, much like the staff, and the food is genuinely really good. A perennial favorite on the menu is a seasoned fish tartare tossed with pistachio oil and fresh mint. It's served wrapped in a beet carpaccio sheath, alongside a mache salad and finished with a yogurt drizzle and pistachios. This would make a wonderful lunch in and of itself, paired with the highly addictive parmigiano bread twists they serve with a red pepper butter (carb-averse patrons, you've been forewarned. Resistance is futile!). Together with a glass of crisp Israeli white wine from the refined list, it's a perfect hot weather meal. But there's so much else to explore on the menu. 

A good choice for a follow-up -- and since you're only a block or two from the Mediterranean, after all -- is the Mediterranean sea bass. The iteration I ordered was perfectly cooked, all crispy skin and flaky white flesh, and served on a bed of shaved fennel and fresh greens, all atop a variation on Romesco sauce. Though I was completely satiated by the end of the meal, I wasn't uncomfortably full and the food never felt heavy. This is the mark of a restaurant that becomes a neighborhood favorite: you leave satisfied but comfortable. You don't feel you've overpaid or overeaten. You can even head back to the beach for a little afternoon sun.

Raphael, located next door to the Dan Hotel on the beach, is a classic top eatery in Tel Aviv. I will write a more in-depth review in a future post, but suffice it to say that chef Raphi Cohen merges superb classic French technique with Israeli and Moroccan ingredients to create a cuisine that is refined, local, and elegantly-presented. The drumfish fillet, pictured, with olives, roasted tomatoes, and herbs is a perfect example of this homespun-to-elegant cooking style. 

At Messa, across town to the east, chef Moshe Aviv is creating art on a plate, with influences from all around the Mediterranean, Middle East, and North Africa. The setting is a gorgeous, low-lit white room, and the combined effect of the surroundings, the food, and the sexy servers presenting it all makes the diner feel beautiful, as well. There are plenty of luxe offerings, from foie gras to seared tuna to sweetbreads to truffles to more foie gras. But the ingredients are treated with respect, and though Chef Aviv is clearly a risk-taker, he's not creating his menu for the sake of showmanship. The food is inarguably delicious -- expensive, artful, and delicious.

Another top-notch offering further south along the beach is the beautiful Herbert Samuel -- a spot at once international and very Tel Aviv. The restaurant is part of the Alma Hotel, and its design is airy and modern, on two floors (upstairs is the open kitchen, for voyeur-diners), at the south end of Ha-Yarkon, across from the beach. You can sit at tables with windows looking onto the Mediterranean, or you can eat and drink  at the large square bar in the center of the downstairs dining room. It's a social spot and always lively with personable bartender-servers. Many of the plates are designed to be shared, and this allows a group to order a variety of dishes to taste the Mediterranean and greenmarket-inspired fare.

We started with a grouper tartare, deliciously seasoned and beautifully presented on a bed of eggplant puree, with a few slicks of inky charred eggplant sauce along the plate's rim. We also, upon recommendation of our server, tried the "famous" tomato salad. I was worried about tomatoes possibly not being in season (though Israel grows some wonderful greenhouse produce), but it did not disappoint. The tomatoes -- various heirloom varieties from sun gold to crimson to greenish-black -- were incredibly flavorful. These were tossed with various microgreens, thinly-sliced red onion, scallions, pistachios, and the Israeli feta-style cheese called tzfatit. Coming from the Italian school of thought on food -- that good food is simple, high quality, and balanced -- I was won over by this salad. I finished it and immediately craved another.

Instead, we moved on to a light main course of octopus, shrimp, and artichokes on a delicious labneh-cream dressing and tossed with all kinds of goodies from land and sea, including roasted potatoes and sea beans (one of my favorite vegetables on the planet). This was such an interesting juxtaposition of flavors in one course, and presented as if on an artist's palette, a slab of gray slate with a slather of garlicky yogurt sauce topped with an assortment of colorful delicacies. The dessert menu was too tempting to pass over, so we indulged in the churros and chocolate sauce with vanilla and chocolate gelato on the side. All was accompanied by another exceptional bottle of Israeli white wine -- a crisp sauvignon blanc, this time around.

From high-brow to egalitarian fare, center city Tel Aviv even offers a fun burger-and-schnitzel joint, on lovely Rothschild Boulevard: Moses. This is a fun place, ranging from family-friendly lunch spot to a surprisingly hopping bar and date spot later in the day. And I would be remiss in my reporting if I didn't mention Benedict, the small chain of restaurants open 24/7, specializing in breakfast foods from around the world. And one cannot leave Israel without having tried shakshuka at least once. This is the Israeli national breakfast dish, and it's savory and delicious. It consists of a base of tomatoes, onions, and peppers stewed together with chili pepper to make a spicy tomato base. Into this stew, the eggs are cracked, basically poaching them in the tomato sauce. There are green versions, made with everything from tomatillos to spinach -- and they're ALL delicious. The version at Benedict is classic, and something I've indulged in more than once...after a night out on the town...at 4 am...with a glass of champagne. As you can see from the photo, the shakshuka comes with delicious bread, eggplant puree, an Israeli salad, and various other sauces. This is good stuff, and all but guarantees you a good night's sleep afterwards, if you want it.

And while I'm on traditional, I have to include one of my favorite kinds of meals to have -- not just in Israel, but in the entire world. Perhaps this is because I've only ever found these restaurants in Israel, so the pleasure of an indulgent meal of traditional Yemenite cuisine is one I look forward to, and a happy but infrequent occasion. The Yemenite neighborhood in Tel Aviv is central and pretty much surrounds the Ha-Carmel market, a bustling sprawl in the city's heart. One restaurant where I enjoyed this food is an old reliable called Maganda. There's an interesting mix of diners: locals and kosher Orthodox Jews and tourists all enjoy the festive, casual atmosphere here. Yemenite food is famous for its variety of mezze (starters) -- a selection of dips and salads and pickled vegetables, including the omnipresent hummus, baba ghannouj, and pickled cucumbers and olives. There's also a tomato-based eggplant salad, garlicky hummus made neon green with cilantro, a spicy pepper dip, and the list goes on. It's best to just try everything with an open mind, and a warm pita in hand. For main courses, you have grilled whole fish, roasted chicken, and various delicious kebabs over rice from which to choose. This is a place where you can fill up quickly on the mezze -- not a mistake, since these can be the highlight of the meal -- but you should try to leave room for a main course. The variety of flavors really satisfies.

Lastly, I must mention a restaurant that started in Ramat Hasharon, north of Tel Aviv, and opened a second location in the city center which has, as I understand it, closed its doors. It's a shame because the food and the atmosphere were great, and great fun. But the original still exists, so it's worth taking a cab ride to try the homemade kosher Persian cuisine of restaurant Edna. Here you'll find a variety of food well beyond the Israeli staples. Items like Persian stuffed vine leaves are rich and flavorful, and like many items in the Persian repertoire, incorporates a sweet-sour flavor profile that lends Persian cuisine such dimension.   

The main courses run the gamut from "regular" restaurant fare (steak, etc.) to Persian specialties like the beef with eggplant stew, or the meatballs with dried fruit and beets, tomato, and okra. These are definitely hearty meals-in-a-bowl, served with an addictive onion bread to sop up the liquid...but the local clientele, and presumably those in Iran who eat this way often, are not fazed by high humidity or heat. They eat here year-round, and outside, and happily so. The food is incredibly delicious and flavorful -- like you're eating a meal with your best friend whose grandmother happens to be an amazing Persian cook. This food is worth discovering.

Mul Yam (in the Port), Hangar 24, 03/546.9920

Shalvata (in the Port), near Hangar 25, 03/544.1279

Kitchen Market (in the Port), Hangar 12, 03/544.6669

Raphael (next door to the Dan Tel Aviv), 87 Hayarkon St., 03/522.6464

Shila, 182 Ben Yehuda St., 03/522.1224

Messa, 19 Ha'arbaa St., 03/685.8001

Moses, 35 Rothschild Blvd., 03/566.4949

Herbert Samuel, 6 Koifman Street, 03/516.6516

Benedict, Ben Yehuda 171, 03/544.0345; 29 Rothschild Blvd. 03/686.8657

Maganda, 26 Rabbi Meir St., 03/517.9990

Edna, 3 Trumpeldor Street, Ramat Hasharon, 053/809.4838

QUICK BITE: Salade Nicoise

It's the perfect encapsulation of the Cote d'Azur. It's sunshine and the south of France on a plate: The Salade Niçoise, or Niçoise Salad.

This is what is known as a salade composée (composed salad), in which the ingredients are not mixed, but rather plated in lines or groupings of ingredient, to be mixed at will by the person eating the dish. (The Cobb salad is another classic example of a composed salad). This is also great for those who want to serve the salad family-style, to a group. It is a meal in and of itself, with briny protein and fresh vegetables brought together by a high-quality olive oil of the variety commonly found in Provence.

There's discussion over exactly what the classic Salade Niçoise includes. The necessary ingredients? Tomatoes, hard boiled eggs, olives, and anchovies and/or tuna. Some say forego the haricot verts, the thin French string beans that should bend and snap in your mouth. Some claim the boiled potatoes -- or in fact, any cooked components -- do not belong in a true Niçoise. There are purists who believe that the salad can contain anchovies OR tuna, but never both. And most claim that the tuna cannot be fresh tuna steak, as has become popular in this time of sushi-grade yellowfin. Some people add red peppers, or artichokes, or radishes. I've seen asparagus, capers, green peas, hearts of palm, and spring onions.

Normally I'm a purist. And since Nice and the area was ruled by the Italians until relatively recently (probably why I love the food so much), I can filter much of what should go in the dish through an Italian culinary lens. Which means, despite protestations otherwise, I say include what's fresh and good, and what works! Genova is just a few miles across the azure waters of the Med from Nice, and they classically use potatoes and green beans in their most classic version of pasta con pesto alla genovese, so I say they make sense in the Niçoise as well. Even some basil works. Radishes, a very French ingredient, seem to work well and popped up in many versions I enjoyed in Nice. Same with artichokes. I much prefer a delicious, tiny cherry or grape tomato to slices of tasteless "salad" tomatoes, but that's just me.

I would even go so far as to say that if you have access to really beautiful fresh tuna steaks, by all means use them -- cooked properly, of course: seared on the outside, ruby-pink in the middle. Still, Italians are known for their excellent tuna, jarred and preserved in olive oil: miles away from Starkist canned nothingness in water, this. And without question, we know that the olives to use are the petite, sweet black olives known as, what else? Niçoise olives. As for dressing, some would claim to just use a couple of glugs of local olive oil. I prefer to make my dressing as French as can be, with some chopped shallots and a spoonful of dijon mustard to start with, some fleur de sel, and a bit of either red wine or champagne vinegar, or balsamic. Which brings us to the olive oil.

If you're lucky enough to actually prepare your Salade Niçoise in Nice, I highly recommend heading to the Alziari store on 14 Rue Saint-Francois de Paule (phone +33 4 93 62 94 03). You'd probably recognize the olive oil can before you'd recognize the name (Italian as it is): the un-mistakable blue checked round metal canister, pictured here. You could even pick up some great milled soaps made with olive oil, or try some of their infused oils. I like to stick to the classic canister, however. It brightens my kitchen and reminds me of the almost surreal blue of the waters of Nice, and looking out upon them as I ate my perfect Salade Niçoise...whatever version I was served on that particular, glorious day.

SEASONAL INGREDIENT: Blackberries

One autumn in the early aughts, I headed down to Charlottesville, Virginia to see a football game at my alma mater, UVa. I saw many old friends that weekend and one in particular, a guy from Mobile, Alabama, was asking me detailed questions about living in Rome, and my everyday life in Italy. As we walked from the stadium into town for drinks, I remember him positing this question to me: "Do y'all have blackberries in Italy?" As a chef, my first thought is of course food. So my answer was "Well yes. We have blackberries, raspberries, strawberries -- delicious wild berries unlike what you find in supermarkets over here." I remember he looked at me with his head half-cocked, trying to read my expression to see if I was joking, and understanding that I was not, he simply walked ahead of me and started a conversation with someone else. I was confused by the exchange, until hours later, when I realized he was asking me about smart phone technology in Italy, not produce. Oops.

But the truth of the matter is, even today, someone says "blackberry" and I think immediately of the luscious fruit. I have fond memories of picking blackberries on Ponza, after swimming in the piscine naturali ("natural pools") created by funky rock formations on the northwestern coast of the island. The brambly bushes lined the road above the pools, and the berries were our inky reward after the steep climb up the dusty foot path.

In fact, these delicious blackberries, fragrant from the late summer sun, are not berries at all. They're technically, botanically, considered an aggregate fruit: composed of small drupulets, the blackberry is a collection of seeds derived from the plant's flower, enclosed by flesh and an outer membrane. But that's just a technicality. The good news? Blackberries contain numerous antioxidants, phytochemicals including the all-important polyphenols, flavonoids, salicylic and ellagic acids (which fight against cancer), and dietary fiber. A recent health research report placed blackberries at the top of more than a thousand antioxidant-containing foods consumed in the U.S. They're also high in Vitamins C, K, and the essential mineral manganese.

As a fruit, blackberries are versatile in both sweet and savory dishes. They're great as is, tossed in a salad like the one pictured, with freekah (a Middle Eastern grain), mixed greens, herbs, and a blackberry vinaigrette. Speaking of that vinaigrette, you can infuse vinegars with blackberries, strain the fruit, and have the flavor for weeks after the season is over. You can also pickle the berries in a light brine with herbs and use them in salads or with rich meat dishes, into the fall. I love duck dishes with fruits and berries. Blackberries pair really well with figs in savory dishes, and can round out your September summer-into-fall cooking, deliciously.

Blackberry upside-down cake with blackberry-white chocolate mousse

But most of all, I love blackberries for dessert. They're the perfect sweet ending -- maybe even to a meal containing blackberries throughout every course. A simple bowl of blackberries with fresh, organic whipped cream is a beautiful thing. A favorite of mine in recent years is the blackberry-bottom cake, at left. I paired it with a blackberry-white chocolate mousse and blackberry gastrique, with fresh blackberries and mint.

Coconut tapioca pudding with blackberry-buttermilk ice cream

Blackberry cheesecake

Another favorite iteration is my coconut-tapioca pudding with blackberry-buttermilk ice cream and fresh blackberries, with a dusting of dried coconut flakes. Obviously, blackberries pair well with dairy: the creaminess of the milk-based products is a great foil for the dark, bright floral and sour fruit notes of the blackberry. Blackberry panna cotta and creme brulee are great ways to transform the blackberry into dessert, and beautiful too -- the purple-black becomes anything from bright royal purple to a pale lilac when paired with dairy. One of my all-time favorite blackberry desserts I made was a blackberry cheesecake, beautiful in its simplicity, and again pairing cream cheese and sour cream with the berry (though ricotta and mascarpone would have been just as delicious, with an Italian bent). I mixed a blackberry puree into the cheesecake base, and topped the cake with a sweetened sour cream spread and more fresh blackberries and some just-picked mint leaves. Rustic perfection.

And now, since we just lost the great Irish poet Seamus Heaney on August 30th, I wanted to share one of my favorite poems of his. The first line here, of course is "Late August" -- but since the summer took its sweet time getting here this year, the season is extended into September, and we're the beneficiaries of an Indian Summer and lovely weather in which to enjoy our blackberries a little bit longer.

Blackberry-Picking
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.

- Seamus Heaney

MARKETS: La Boqueria, Barcelona, SPAIN

The Boqueria market in Barcelona, Spain is a very special food market, and one of my absolute favorites in the world. And with good reason. The variety of colorful produce, unctuous Spanish hams and cheeses, fresh meats and poultry, and refreshing fruit shakes and ice popsicles are mind-blowing. The seafood section alone is worth the airfare to Spain! And like many central food markets in great European culinary capitals, the Boqueria offers several casual dining spots within the open-air walls of the market itself.

The Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria -- the market's full name -- has been operating as such since 1840, but there has been a market in this general location since as early as 1217, when tables were installed in the area to sell meat. It operated as a pig market from 1470, and in a later incarnation became known as the Mercat della Palla (straw market) until 1794. Until the 19th century, the market was considered an extension of the market in Placa Nova, and was not enclosed. The market gained official status, and construction was begun in its current location, in 1840. It was designed by architect Mas Vilà and was inaugurated in 1853. You can ramble down Las Ramblas and walk into the main entrance here to the largest food market in Europe


There are plenty of tourists clogging the market's arteries, of course, but overlook the crowds and enjoy the scenery. This is where the locals shop, but even as a tourist you can purchase fresh fruit or veggies to snack on. The prices are more expensive than some smaller neighborhood markets but it's hard not to buy something, getting swept up in the atmosphere of the place. 


I'll continue with mostly photos, since they offer the real feast for the eyes...

Gorgeous tropical fruit
















and fruit juices.

Vibrant tomatoes, or tomate in Spanish...

...and jamon iberico de bellota...at 159 euros a kilo, or about $100 a pound. Yes. But it's really, really exquisite ham...

Cured anchovies, anchovies in vinegar (boquerones, one of the Mediterranean's greatest culinary inventions), and brandade, a dish of salt cod whipped with potatoes and garlic...

...as well as other cured fish products, like bottarga (cured sacks of mullet and tuna roe -- very expensive, and can be likened to a kind of "caviar prosciutto")... 

...and salt cod. This is stock(fish) in trade in the Mediterranean. It's the single most popular fish on the Iberian peninsula, even though it's not a local fish. It's a testament to the permanence and importance of salt cod since the days of the Spanish and Portuguese explorers in the 15th and 16th centuries.




Which brings us to the seafood part of the Boqueria market. Ahh, the seafood. It's spectacular. There really is no other way to describe such a bounty. If you like fish, crustaceans, or cephalopods (especially cephalopods!), like I do, you'll be in heaven here. This market makes me want to open a restaurant in Barcelona just so I can patronize this market. There are the usual suspects in Mediterranean fish (branzino, gilthead bream, turbot, etc.), sure. But there are cuttlefish and calamari, razor clams and octopus, too.

There are chipirones, the teeny-tiny baby squid the size of a thumbnail, which are sweet and delicious, and used in all sorts of preparations in Catalonia.

There are lobsters and crabs and navajas (razor clams, those long, thin stacks of clams to the left of the photo), as well as the ever-popular sea cucumber, or cohombro, which has a texture not unlike squid.

There's the scorpion fish, which looks mean but its meat is sweet and often used in fish stews.

There are shrimp and clams galore, in all sizes and colors, perfect for paellas, fideus, and all kinds of soups, stews, tapas, and seafood dishes one can imagine.

And if we look closely, we see baby clams, snails, and even some of the gorgeous red shrimp I spoke about a few posts back. All of the seafood you see here is uncooked, and these are their colors in nature. Truly amazing.

And of course, we can't forget the female fish butchers, doing their job day in and day out with aplomb...and a very large knife!

No market shot would be complete without a little gore...

...like sheep heads and trotters and tripe (oh my!)

And of course, we can't forget the gentleman selling all those hot peppers.

Don't forget to stop by for lunch some time -- the offerings on hand are delicious, authentic, and prepared right before your eyes.

And grab a popsicle for a sweet ending to your market stroll! I hope you've enjoyed this virtual market jaunt as much as I enjoyed taking these photographs (and tasting the food). I'll explore more of Barcelona's food culture soon, in the ESCAPES section of my blog. Adios!





La Rambla 89, Raval neighborhood. www.boqueria.info. Open 8 am-8:30 p.m., Mon-Sat.

LOCAL INGREDIENT: Burrata

It's become a newfangled menu staple in every Italian restaurant worth its sale, of late, and even higher-end specialty markets and Italian grocery stores sometimes carry it. But burrata is one food item that really benefits from being consumed in its area of production. And that's Puglia, Italy.

The WHAT: Let's first explain what burrata is, by explaining what it's not. This is not your ordinary mozzarella cheese. It has a creamy, liquid center that some people claim is melted butter, simply because the word in Italian translates to "buttered." It is not. It is, in fact, the "ritagli" or unspun curds from the mozzarella-making process, when the warm cheese is stretched into form. Instead of being formed into a ball, like mozzarella, the burrata is stretched into a pouch, and the ritagli and fresh cream are poured into the center of the pouch. It's then gathered at the top and pulled together like purse strings, and closed shut to keep the soft insides from spilling out. 

The original version is made with water buffalo milk (same as mozzarella di bufala), which has about 40% butterfat, and so is much more rich and flavorful than regular cow's milk. Believe me, this makes a HUGE difference, both in flavor and consistency. Once the burrata is formed, it's generally wrapped in a couple of leaves of the asphodel plant (cousin to the leek). The thinking here is that the leaves will only remain green as long as the burrata is fresh: generally advised, that's 24 hours, and after 48, the cheese is past its prime. This covers the WHEN.

Which brings us to the WHERE. This cheese comes from the region of Puglia, the heel of the boot of the Italian peninsula. In Rome, many shops would get supplies of fresh burrata trucked in every day, just as we'd get fresh mozzarella di bufala from the Campania region -- often still warm from the cheese-making process. I've tried burrata here in the States, on many occasions and from various producers, from numerous food markets and at several restaurants. It never even comes CLOSE to what I've eaten in Italy, and of course, specifically close to the source, in Puglia itself. Yes, large producers in the U.S., like BelGioioso (based in Wisconsin) approximate these Italian specialty cheeses. But they don't use buffalo milk for their burrata, and the mass-produced aspect is in great contrast to the artisanal process of its origin, as well-made as it may be.

So, my advice? Head to Italy for a taste of the real thing, burrata in its place of origin. Puglia is lovely this time of year...

RECIPE: Saute' di Cozze (Sauteed Mussels)

In the heat of July, when stepping outside during sunlight hours seems like asking too much, we tend to eat more than our fair share of salads and cold foods. But sometimes, we want something more, something actually cooked -- albeit quickly, so as not to warm up our kitchens too much. Preparing a quick, easy seafood dish seems about right. 

This mussel dish, Saute' di Cozze, is just perfect: it's a taste of the sea that's light and flavorful and only takes a few minutes to prepare. It's great as an appetizer on its own, or as a main course (maybe with some homemade fries?), and can even be tossed with some pasta for a filling primo piatto. Add some chopped tomatoes for color and sweetness, a pinch of saffron for a southern French twist. Substitute the parsley with cilantro for the Portuguese version of this dish, or grind a lot of black pepper into the mussel pot as they're cooking for an Italian variation called pepato di cozze. There's lots to play with here. Enjoy it and make it your own -- but make it, pronto. The perfect summer seafood saute' is in your future!

Saute’ di Cozze 
Serves 4 people

4-5 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil

1-2 cloves of garlic, peeled and left whole

5  lbs. fresh mussels

½ cup white wine

Bunch of parsley (Italian flat-leaf), chopped finely

Pinch of red pepper flakes

Salt + pepper to taste

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

- Drain mussels, and using your fingers, quickly peel away the “beard” (the hairy-looking thing hanging from the lip of the mussel shell). It will require a quick yank, so hold the mussel closed with one hand, and quickly rip off the beard with the other. Do this on all the mussels that have beards.

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

- Add the mussels and stir a bit. Add the white wine, the parsley, and cover, cooking over medium-low heat for 3 minutes. Add the chili flakes and salt and pepper to taste, and continue cooking until the shells of the mussels have fully opened. Mix to make sure all are opened, adding olive oil and/or salt & pepper to taste, and turn to coat thoroughly. Serve at once with nice, crusty bread.

QUICK BITES: Sgroppino

Il Bel Paese in the summertime: there's no place quite like it on earth. When the temperatures rise in Italy, we tend to spend entire leisurely days in the sun, and close to water. Around Rome, the quickest escape is to the beaches of Ostia and Torvaianica, only about 15 miles from the heart of the city.

One of my favorite memories of life in Italy is the feeling I'd have, returning from a day at the beach: suntanned skin, salt in my hair, I'd clean off under a quick shower and then dress and head out to dinner with friends. This meal needed to be light and fresh, so as not to weigh me down in the intense Italian heat and humidity. Inevitably, this meant seafood. And nothing is more refreshing after a meal of fish tartare and carpaccio, pasta alle vongole or branzino baked in a salt crust, than a sgroppino served in a frosted champagne flute.

For the record, I'm not big on Italian desserts. There are only a handful in the repertoire anyway. And I've always believed in the idea of cocktail-as-dessert: it makes sense, aids in the digestion process, and keeps the drinks flowing even after the meal is technically over. The sgroppino is this wonderful combination of refreshing dessert with liquor that acts as a digestivo: perfect! Of course, like any Italian invention there is the original (said to hail from the area around Venice, also where tiramisu' originates -- quite the elegant epicures, those Venetians!)...and then there are the other versions. A true sgroppino should not be a drink with a ball of sorbetto plopped into it. Nor should it be a 'slushie' with a champagne floater. It is the perfect equilibrium of lemon sorbetto (that means it's made without dairy) + vodka + prosecco. Punto. 

Now, there are those who add a bit of limoncello to the recipe, and actually it's an addition that I don't protest, since I am of the school of "everything is better with limoncello." It's kind of a southern Italian tweak to the northern original, and I can't argue with that. The lemons from the Amalfi coast are big and beautiful and lend their particular variety of concentrated citrus flavor to the liquor, and therefore any drink containing it. But on the whole, the basic recipe, on which it's hard to improve, is comprised of just three ingredients. And like Italian cuisine, with Italian drinks, the high quality of the handful of ingredients is of the utmost importance.

1. Sorbetto al limone: You should use either homemade sorbet or a brand you trust to use all-natural ingredients, without chemicals or loads of stabilizers. Ciao Bella and Il Laboratorio del Gelato are great Italian-style options available stateside. You'll want to make sure this is thawed a little bit so it can be mixed with the other ingredients. Let it sit out at room temperature for 15 minutes before using it.

2.) Vodka: Of course this should be high-quality too, even though it's going to be mixed with other ingredients. Think well-produced, clean vodkas like Belvedere, Ketel One, or a locally-produced option. Although I'm a fan of Grey Goose, I left it off of the list because it's French...out of respect for the Italians, who would prefer not to have the French mixed up in their Italian cocktails, grazie.

3.) Prosecco: This is not sparkling wine, not spumante, even -- it's prosecco. That's the name of the grape and the name of the drink made from that grape, and that's what should be used in this cocktail/digestivo. It's drier, crisper than other sparkling white wines and since it's made in the Veneto, it goes into this Veneto-created mix. I adore most prosecchi, but Nino Franco happens to put out an excellent product. He's also a cool guy -- I visited his estate and tasted his product over the course of 30-plus years, and it's incredibly well-made. Bottoms up.

Once you have all of these ingredients at the right temperatures (sorbetto softened, vodka and prosecco well-chilled), you mix them together, either with a whisk in a chilled bowl, or quickly in a blender. E basta. It should be the consistency of a slushie or a loose granita: liquid enough to drink from the glass, but thick enough to be able to use a spoon as well. Serve in frosted champagne flutes or tall shot glasses -- even an icy martini glass would work, though it's not classic. The important thing is that the consistency is right, you can taste the alcohol...and that it's consumed subito, right away.

Buon estate a tutti! Happy summer, everyone!

LOCAL INGREDIENT: Gambero Rosso

Il Gambero Rosso. The Red Prawn. It's the name of Italy's most important dining and wine guide (and now culinary center and TV cooking channel). It's the name of the legendary osteria in the story of Pinocchio, to which the Fox and the Cat lead Pinocchio, where they eat a huge meal. And most importantly, it's the variety of red shrimp in the Mediterranean, especially common off the coast of Sicily and southern Italy, that's one of the most delicate and delicious flavors that exists in these waters. The gambero rosso del Mediterraneo (Aristaeomorpha foliacea) is a fiery crimson color before it's cooked, and remains this bright red after it's been exposed to heat, unlike most other shrimp that turn from gray to orangey-pink.  

For me, the first time I tried gamberi rossi in Italy, it was love at first sight. Its flavor is much more delicate than that of any other shrimp, its color beautiful on the plate. This was my entrata into understanding the importance and beauty of eating simply-prepared, high-quality local seafood that one might not be able to find in other parts of the world. I've never seen the gambero rosso in America, though perhaps some upscale seafood eateries are importing it somewhere stateside. But it's a go-to whenever I'm in any coastal area in southern Italy. I seek it out. I always order it when I find it on a menu. I prefer it uncooked. And since the Mediterranean red prawn lives at a depth of between 200 - 1000 meters beneath the sea -- deeper waters tend to be cleaner waters -- its wonderfully delicate flesh is amazing when eaten raw.

The flavor is briny and lacks the iodine punch that some shrimp deliver, and the texture is melt-in-your-mouth. When I was in Puglia recently, in the southernmost part of the heel of the "boot" of Italy, my friend and I headed to Gallipoli, an adorable whitewashed-and-pastel town surrounded by sandy beaches with Caribbean-colored water. We headed into town after a day at the beach, to get a gelato and nose around the shops. And as we walked up to the gelateria, along the water, I saw below us a small piazza where fisherman were coming in with their catches, and tables were being set up for a makeshift evening fish market. 

My friend Monica, who moved down to Puglia from Rome with her husband Marcello, and has lived in the area for a few years, had told me earlier that Gallipoli was renowned for its gamberi rossi -- possibly the best on the Italian peninsula (I'm excluding the island-region of Sicily, as they'd claim to have the best on the planet!) Naturally my priority was to head to the fish market directly after finishing our gelati. There, among the varieties of fish and various sizes of calamari, were the beautiful ruby-colored shellfish I'd been hoping to find. I asked how much they cost, knowing that their price tag in Rome can run as high as 40 euros per kilo. "Dodici" said the fishmonger, and I tried to hide my smile. 12 euros, less than 8 U.S. dollars a pound! I bought a kilo and we headed back to our friends' house for aperitivi. When my friend Jessica had asked earlier in the day what a gambero rosso tastes like, I told her it was delicate and rich, basically "the burrata of the shrimp world" -- and having feasted on burrata a-plenty of late (the cheese originated in Puglia), she knew exactly what that meant. 

When we got back, our 4 friends were already sipping vino rosato poolside in the cortile. So I quickly showered and dressed for dinner, then headed directly to the kitchen to prepare the red shrimp for us. This is a simple preparation that highlights the shrimp's rich flavor and texture, leaving it uncomplicated and allowing you to taste the true gambero rosso flavor. 

To prepare: I cleaned the shrimp, removing the shells (don't discard! Keep the heads and shells to make a wonderfully flavorful shellfish stock!)...and cleaning out the intestinal line with a knife. Then I split the shrimp in half lengthwise. I rinsed the shrimp very briefly under water and dried them before spreading them out on two plates to make a layer of what is essentially shrimp carpaccio. Then, I very simply squeezed a bit of fresh lemon over top (and if I'd had a microplane, I would've added some zest, too), topped with some herbed salt (you can mix sea salt or kosher salt in a food processor with your favorite herbs to make your own), and sprinkled some of the wonderfully buttery and green Pugliese olive oil on top. And that's it. We enjoyed it with some local rose wine, and it was the perfect treat to accompany our lively conversation as the warm southern Italian sun sank behind the walls of the courtyard. 

A Toast To Dads, And To You, Patrick!

I met Patrick just weeks before his 27th birthday. Looking back on that now, it amazes me: we were both so young and optimistic and the city of Rome held so much potential for us. We'd make it our oyster. And for years, it felt like we had done just that.
 
Being back in Italy this year for another June, another one of Patrick's birthdays, without him -- it feels strange, surreal. It's been two years since we organized his memorial party here in Rome, and though time does help soften the pain of missing him to some extent, these vie and vicoli, piazze and passaggi are imbued with the history of all of us. Patrick was such a big part of my life in Rome that it always seemed half-empty to me whenever he wasn't here. 

Today, I'm in Florence as I write this. Firenze: the beautiful, small gem of a city where I first lived as a student. It's the place that made me fall in love with Italy, and Italian food and culture and art and the people. And it's where Patrick's older sister still lives with her family, and where his mother Barb lived for many years while we were all in Rome. We'd spend Christmas Eve in chilly Florence with Barb and Erica and the family, enjoying some home cooking and exchanging gifts, drinking eggnog (my first taste of the dangerous elixir!), and laughing into the wee hours. Of course these streets, too, hold countless memories for me. It's strange to think how just being in Florence or Rome makes me about as happy -- both content and elated -- as I can possibly be, and at the same time, as forlorn as I can imagine feeling. 

Patrick and his boys

Still, when I think of June in Italy, Patrick embodies this time and place. His birthday, and now Father's Day, are bittersweet holidays, as I'm reminded of what a wonderful father he was to his two boys, how he saved them and did everything he could to give them a wonderful childhood in the time that he had. And I'm reminded of the birthday celebrations we shared on many June tenths in the warm heat, and on the numerous terraces of Roman friends, and in the back streets of Trastevere (indeed, it felt like "our" neighborhood, as if we owned it).

The gang at Patrick's farewell Roma dinner

I fondly remember the farewell dinner I prepared for Patrick when he decided to leave Rome and move back to the States. It was a series of Patrick's favorite dishes -- simple, hearty fare like steak and potatoes and salad. Lots of cocktails, of course. And for dessert? I used a little creativity to come up with something that said Patrick, in a nutshell: Jack Daniels ice cream, with a coke-and-chocolate sauce. Jack and coke was his drink of choice. 

Patrick, guitar, bottle of Jack

I kept a bottle of Jack at my apartment on permanent "rotation" for our many happy hours we'd have each week. So I thought it was only right, in the heat of the approaching summer, that everyone share Patrick's drink of choice for dessert. With a cherry on top.

Try it. It's actually delicious, and a perfect way to toast to Patrick -- to wonderful Junes remembered, and to beloved fathers the world over, who deserve to have their cocktail and eat it too, in one delicious cup.

JACK-AND-COKE SUNDAE

For the ice cream:
3 cups whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup sugar
6 egg yolks
1/3 cup Jack Daniels whiskey
pinch of salt

-In a sauce pot, heat the milk, cream, and 1/4 cup sugar over low heat until bubbles form around the edges.
-In the meantime, whisk the egg yolks with the remaining 1/4 cup sugar.
-When the milk mixture starts to simmer, pour half of it into the yolk mixture, and whisk quickly to incorporate (you're trying to avoid scrambled eggs here). 
-Pour that mixture back into the sauce pot, whisk to incorporate, and heat on low, stirring with a wooden spoon, until the mixture thickens enough to coat the back of the wooden spoon.
-Take off of the heat, add the Jack Daniels and the salt, and stir.
-Set the sauce pot in an ice bath to cool. Once cooled significantly, cover the surface of the cream mixture with plastic wrap to prevent a skin from forming. Place in fridge overnight.
-The following day, spin cold mixture in an ice cream maker and freeze.

For the coke-and-chocolate sauce:
half liter of Coca Cola (not diet!)
6 ounces of dark or semi-sweet chocolate, in chips or chopped

-In a small pot, heat the coke and reduce to 1/3 of its volume.
-Add the chocolate, cover for a minute, then whisk to smooth.

Serve the Jack Daniels ice cream with the warm coke-and-chocolate sauce and top with a maraschino cherry. Cin-cin!

Portuguese Pasteis de Nata + Recipe

How good could it possibly be? I mean, it's a dessert that contains no chocolate. So went my thinking, after all I'd read and heard about the Portuguese cooked custard and filo-thin pastry-crusted tarts, pasteis de nata. 

I'll admit, I was smitten with the food in Lisbon, at first bite. In my experience, the food in Portugal -- the basic, raw ingredients -- have more flavor than one would ever expect, a phenomenon with which I was quite familiar from all of my time spent eating up and down the Italian peninsula. Call it culinary terroir. I ate a simple boiled potato in a simple casual lunch spot, served alongside a piece of carrot, broccoli florets, cabbage, and a few octopus tendrils...and it was one of the most flavorful potatoes I've consumed, all earthy, spuddy goodness. Ditto its veggie and aquatic sidekicks. 

I dined on some salted and grilled sliced Iberian pata negra pig for dinner, and it was the single best piece of pork I've ever eaten (and I've even butchered my own locally raised hog in Italy). Even the plump, smoky grilled sardines we bought from street sellers during a patron saint festival were packed with briny flavor like nothing else. But somehow, the idea of these little pastries didn't thrill me.

So one Saturday afternoon in June, my friends and I hopped onto Lisbon's canary-yellow streetcar to head out to Belém, the western Lisbon neighborhood that boasted many tourist sites and a gorgeous view of the Teja River, the other side of the city, and west to the Atlantic. We shared a delicious seafood lunch outdoors in the shade, walked along the water, visited Cathedrals and towers and the tomb of Vasco de Gama.

At the end of the afternnoon, we stopped in to the Antiga Confeitaria de Belém,founded in 1837. I'd been told by various sources that this was a must-try. And the thing to get, of course, was the pastel de nata, here called pasteis de belem, as they were supposedly invented in a monastery a few doors down from this pastry kitchen. So, we waited on the ever-present line. We pointed to the pastries and held up 4 fingers, and the mandarin-sized pastries were put on cardboard, wrapped in the signature blue-and-white paper, and placed in a bag with some packets and napkins. We got back on the tram and once I sat down with the bag on my lap, I realized the pastries were still warm from the oven. This started to entice me.

We returned to our apartment to relax, shower, and freshen up before cocktail hour, World Cup viewing, and dinner. We unwrapped the pastries, and I admired their eggy yellow custard fillings and golden, blistered tops. I realized the colorful packets they included in our bag were powdered sugar and cinnamon. We sprinkled their contents on top of the pastries and as I picked up the pastry, some of its crispy shell flaked off and fell to the plate. And then I had a bite....and another. A few more bites and the pastry was gone. I looked up at my friend who had just devoured her pastry as well. And then my friend Matt, who wasn't interested in trying them. Wow. They were ethereal, light, full of flavor and the crackling outer pastry shell was an amazing textural contrast to the sweet, creamy custard contained within. Matt simply said "It looks like I may be hopping on the trolley tomorrow morning to get these for breakfast, ay ladies?" At the very least! I replied: "I'm thinking of sending you back right now." What a treat.

Though nothing beats these pastries fresh out of the oven of Antiga Confeitaria de Belem, the recipe below has been adapted from NYC's Alfama restaurant, and approximates the pastry. You know, a placeholder while you plan your trip to Lisbon...

Portuguese Pasteis de Nata Recipe

The secrets to a crispy, flaky pastry are to make sure the butter is evenly layered, all excess flour is removed, and the dough is rolled very thin and folded neatly. A thermometer will help you to accurately gauge the custard. 
Note: Because home ovens can’t match the heat of those at the Antiga Confeitaria de Belém, where these treats were first made, your pasteis may not get the beautiful golden color like those in the photo. They'll still be delicious, though, and best eaten warm, same day as they're made.

Special Equipment: a mini-muffin tin with 2-by 5/8-inch wells

• 2 H, 30 M
• Makes about 40 pastries

Ingredients

For the dough

• 2 cups minus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 1/4 teaspoon sea salt
• 3/4 cup plus two tablespoons water
• 16 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature, stirred until smooth

For the custard

• 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 1 1/4 cups milk, divided
• 1 1/3 cups granulated sugar
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 2/3 cup water
• 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 6 large egg yolks, whisked
• Powdered sugar
• Cinnamon

Directions

Make the dough:

• 1. In a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook, mix the flour, salt, and water until a soft, pillowy dough forms that cleans the side of the bowl, about 30 seconds.
• 2. Generously flour a work surface and pat the dough into a 6-inch square using a pastry scraper as a guide. Flour the dough, cover with plastic wrap, and let it rest for 15 minutes.
• 3. Roll the dough into an 18-inch square. As you work, use the scraper to lift the dough to make sure the underside isn’t sticking.
• 4. Brush excess flour off the top, trim any uneven edges, and using a small offset spatula dot and then spread the left two-thirds of the dough with a little less than one-third of the butter to within 1 inch of the edge.
• 5. Neatly fold over the unbuttered right third of the dough (using the pastry scraper to loosen it if it sticks), brush off any excess flour, then fold over the left third. Starting from the top, pat down the packet with your hand to release air bubbles, then pinch the edges closed. Brush off any excess flour.
• 6. Turn the dough packet 90 degrees to the left so the fold is facing you. Lift the packet and flour the work surface. Once again roll out to an 18-inch square, then dot and spread the left two-thirds of the dough with one-third of the butter, and fold the dough as in steps 4 and 5.
• 7. For the last rolling, turn the packet 90 degrees to the left and roll out the dough to an 18-by-21-inch rectangle, with the shorter side facing you. Spread the remaining butter over the entire surface.
• 8. Using the spatula as an aid, lift the edge closest to you and roll the dough away from you into a tight log, brushing the excess flour from the underside as you go. Trim the ends and cut the log in half. Wrap each piece in plastic wrap and chill for 2 hours or preferably overnight.

Make the custard:

• 9. In a medium bowl, whisk the flour and 1/4 cup of the milk until smooth. Set aside.
• 10. Bring the sugar, cinnamon, and water to a boil in a small saucepan and cook until an instant-read thermometer registers 220°F (100°C). Do not stir.
• 11. Meanwhile, in another small saucepan, scald the remaining 1 cup milk. Whisk the hot milk into the flour mixture.
• 12. Remove the cinnamon stick then pour the sugar syrup in a thin stream into the hot milk-and-flour mixture, whisking briskly. Add the vanilla and stir for a minute until very warm but not hot. Whisk in the yolks, strain the mixture into a bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and set aside.

Assemble and bake the pastries:

• 13. Heat the oven to 550°F (290°C). Remove a pastry log from the refrigerator and roll it back and forth on a lightly floured surface until it’s about an inch in diameter and 16 inches long. Cut it into scant 3/4-inch pieces. Place a piece cut-side down in each well of a nonstick 12-cup mini-muffin pan (2-by-5/8-inch size). Allow the dough pieces to soften several minutes until pliable.
• 14. Have a small cup of water nearby. Dip your thumbs into the water, then straight down into the middle of the dough spiral. Flatten it against the bottom of the cup to a thickness of about 1/8 inch, then smooth the dough up the sides and create a raised lip about 1/8 inch above the pan. The pastry sides should be thinner than the bottom.
• 15. Fill each cup 3/4 full with the slightly warm custard. Bake the pasteis until the edges of the dough are frilled and brown, about 8 to 9 minutes.
• 16. Remove from the oven and allow the pasteis to cool a few minutes in the pan, then transfer to a rack and cool until just warm. Sprinkle the pasteis generously with powdered sugar, then cinnamon and serve. Repeat with the remaining pastry and custard. If you prefer, the components can be refrigerated up to three days. The pastry can be frozen up to three months.

MARKETS: Campo de' Fiori, Rome

For the first of my posts focusing on great MARKETS around the world, I feel compelled to start with what feels most like my "home market": Campo de' Fiori in Rome. I know there are those who claim that the Campo is a market for tourists, and increasingly over the years, the market has indeed started to cater to travelers and tourists, selling phallic pastas and aprons emblazoned with "anatomical" images of Michelangelo's David statue. But it's also most definitely a market for locals, and provides produce for some of the top restaurants in the city as well. I should know. I was a local there for many years, and have been shopping the market in Campo de' Fiori since I first moved to the 'hood in 1999. My ex-boyfriend is one of the top toques in Rome, and he bought produce there for his restaurant. As one of the first chefs to teach cooking classes in the city, I took students there to buy ingredients for our menus. I saw elderly Italian nonne picking over produce, and I ran into chef friends ordering cases of specialty baby peppers or fresh porcini mushrooms for their ristoranti. There were tourists, sure. But as with any market in Italy, the mercato di Campo de' Fiori is a central meeting place where people of all varieties come to enjoy the aromas and the scenery, to catch up with friends and gossip, and of course to buy food: home cooks, professionals, and tourists alike.

Campo de' Fiori, in Italian, means field of flowers, which this piazza once was. And it was here in 1600 that Giordano Bruno was burned at the stake for heresy, and where, six years later, Caravaggio (the first bad-boy Italian artist) killed a young man in a sword fight that ended in Caravaggio fleeing Rome for the rest of his life (sadly, only another 4 years). Today there's no statue for the murderous master of chiaroscuro, but there is one for Bruno, who overlooks the square from its center. These days, though, the only fights you'll see in the piazza are people haggling over the price of pomodori, or inebriated twenty-somethings fighting over young female tourists' attentions in the piazza's bars.

The market is a riot of color and noise, with the season's offerings on tempting display. As I always explained to my cooking students, Italy as a united country is a century younger than the U.S. Of course, as a place and a culture it's been around for thousands of years. But Italians tend to think of themselves even today as they always have, historically. They think locally. Regions and cities and towns have always had rivalries, teamed up to fight common enemies, killed each other's kings and overthrown each other's governments. And though all of these places, these regions, these kingdoms are technically united under the Italian flag and its government today (troubled as it is), these historic differences run deep. So instead of conjuring a coup, in modern times, these rivalries are translated to two places: the soccer pitches and kitchens -- for the most part, less dangerous than government overthrow. For the most part.

So, what does this all mean for food? Well, it's on display at the Campo market. Italians haven;t experienced the locavore movement like America has, because Italians never really strayed from eating and cooking locally in the first place. What you will see in the market are Roman artichokes, globe-shaped beauties instead of the tulip-shaped variety you'd find in Venice. (Venice! chu-puh!). The greens are local, bitter greens for which Rome is famous. The fiori di zucca are found at the end of the zucchine romanesche, which have vertical striations that make them different -- and better, of course! -- than zucchine from elsewhere in Italy. In fact, most everything you see here is grown within Lazio, Rome's region.

The vendors prefer to sell strawberries from nearby Terracina. They want arugula ("rughetta" in Roman dialect) that grows wild along the road heading out of the city. They want to sell you pecorino Romano, not that other sheep's milk cheese from Sardegna or Tuscany. No. Here, you get what this wonderful city gives, and it gives a bounty. 

I have so many great memories associated with this market and its vendors, and the countless wonderful meals I was able to make from purchasing items from here. There's the charming father-son fruit and veggie sellers, always quick with a compliment, who have great puntarelle in cooler months. There's the woman with great tomatoes, in all shapes and sizes, that perfume the whole piazza when the sun warms their tender skins. There was the elderly "donna del bosco" as I dubbed her: she sold everything from the forest (bosco), from berries to earthy mushrooms. She must have passed away a few years ago, as she's no longer at her stand. I miss her. There's Anna and Erasmo, the couple who took me in as one of their own, feeding me delicious cheeses and salumi over the years (they're forever my source of the best ricotta di bufala around), and chatting away with me and my family and clients, offering hugs to everyone. And there are the butchers in the center of the piazza, who have always been warm to me, and always impressed clients with their capacity to cut the most tender, paper-thin slices of veal scaloppine for saltimbocca: no pounding needed.

But the ones I call "my guys"? The ones who will deliver to my home, and to my restaurant,
the most exquisite ingredients (lots of) money can buy? The ones who let me film with a crew any time, 7 am or 2 pm, to get the shots we needed for various food shows over the years? The guys I'd sometimes pass by on my way home from a late night out, when they were setting up at 4:30 a.m., and we'd wave at each other and say "a dopo!" (see you later)? The ones who listened to me when I requested that they stock "strange" ingredients like cranberries at Thanksgiving, and lemongrass and cilantro throughout the year? The ones who offer me tastings of jewel-like fruits and baby cherry tomatoes so sweet they're like popping candies? Da Claudio, of course. Some Romans call this place "Da Bulgari" because it's pricey. But sometimes, you need to pay to get the good stuff. That's Claudio behind me in the photo, hamming it up for my Mom who was taking the picture ("Is this your beautiful sister?!") -- he's a real character, always yelling and selling and making a scene. But he's a good guy, and I've been a client for more time than I care to admit. And still, every time I go back, whether I've been away 6 days or 6 months, I always get a "bentornata!" (welcome back). The Campo will always feel like home to me.

ESCAPES: L.A. Eats Part 1: Hollywood and WeHo

It's no secret that I'm a true east-coaster: I love the fast pace and multiculturalism of New York City, the lights of Broadway, the densely-populated Eastern seaboard, the cool waves of the Atlantic, intellectualism, brunettes, and sarcasm. But I've always maintained that the west coast is a nice place to visit. I've been vacationing there since I can remember, but the food was never the most memorable part of my trips out there. We all know the importance of food and wine in Northern California, and they've got some great restaurants, vineyards, and food purveyors up north, no doubt. But Los Angeles has only recently come into its own as a culinary destination. Now, don't get me wrong: it's no New York, despite the numerous New York dining establishments that have opened L.A. branches. But strategic planning can get you some very good food -- both low-brow grub and haute cuisine -- in the varied and sprawling nabes of the City of Angels. 

I began my L.A. stay at the Hotel Roosevelt, a revamped iconic spot on Hollywood Boulevard, in the thick of the city's most kitschy, touristy neighborhood. But it's hotels like this one that have made the area a destination for locals as well: there's a hot bar scene, some good restaurants, and a pool and pool bar that -- I shit you not -- is cordoned off by a velvet rope and bouncers with a guest list. The food at the poolside Tropicana Bar is perfectly refreshing for a lunch lounging by the pool, or a little happy hour ceviche-and-mojito deal. But if you're not on the guest list, the burgers and fries in the hotel's 24/7 burger spot, 25 Degrees, are pretty damned delicious. 

My next move was to a design loft apartment in wonderful West Hollywood. This is as close as a New Yorker can come to a semi-walkable neighborhood, where I could avoid renting a car and could walk to a great selection of top restaurants, bars, and shopping (think Manhattan's West Village). I highly recommend chef Suzanne Goin's Lucques, where a warm dining room awaits beyond the ivy-covered entrance...and a gorgeous back patio beyond that. Goin is renowned for her comfort food elevated to elegant, and her "Sunday Suppers" are a great prix fixe value. Another great spot is David Myers' Comme Ca, also in WeHo. The classically French-trained chef-surfer has created a spot that is both laid-back California and European luxe, serving everything from burgers to bouillaibaisse to bone marrow. The mood changes dramatically from lunch to dinner, so it's worth stopping in for both.

My college friend Deb, a former pastry chef and fellow food lover, moved to L.A. from New York about 5 years ago. She gets excited when I come to town, since she knows I'm always interested in hitting some great dining spots. At her recommendation, we headed to Hatfield's, owned and operated by a husband-and-wife team with experience in some of the top kitchens in New York (Jean-George, Gramercy Tavern). Quinn is the chef and Karen is the pastry chef, and they work with a team behind the glass of an "open" kitchen, where diners can observe the cooks at work. 

Since I've been on the other side of that glass, I prefer to enjoy the dining room -- here, a soaring space made to feel intimate with lots of booths and banquettes in a neutral room with greens and oversized honeycomb light fixtures.
There is always an a la carte menu, but we chose seasonal tasting menus, which offer lots of flexibility.

Highlights included a raw Hawaiian kampachi with jicama, avocado, roasted peanuts, and black lime creme fraiche. The paprika-dusted shrimp with white beans was light and tasty, and the black cod with asparagus cream, roasted asparagus, and mushrooms truly tasted of spring (and the Pacific Northwest).

Desserts ended the meal on a high note, with a caramel semifreddo with Mexican chocolate sorbet, its warm-spice and chile pepper kick pairing nicely with the rich, decadent flavors of caramel and chocolate. 

Similar flavors were used in a very different way in the cinnamon sugar-dusted bomboloni (little donuts), served with dark chocolate sauce for dipping, and a vanilla date shake, in a nod to Southern California and its many date palms. In all, the meal was very satisfying without stuffing us, and the cocktails and great wine list proved the perfect accompaniment. I was a little jet-lagged and ready for a good night's sleep.

One spot I'd been looking forward to trying since I'd read about its opening was Red O. Mexican cuisine is not necessarily at the top of my list of favorites, as it is for many people I know, but then again we don't have the variety and authenticity of places on the east coast like those that exist in California, particularly Southern Cal. And now, perhaps the most revered American expert on Mexican cuisine, Rick Bayless (based in Chicago), has opened a spot in L.A. I'd taken an insider's chef's class from Bayless at an IACP Conference in Dallas years ago, and he always left an impression on me. His food is delicious, his knowledge of regional Mexican food encyclopedic. And I wanted a really good Mexican meal of the variety that's hard to find in New York. The decor of Red O was gorgeous: full-length windows and glass ceilings with gossamer white curtains and white canvas draping that resembles boat sails, wrought-iron details and artful dining room dividers.

The lighting was perfect, spot-lit walls surrounding tables with candles and low-hanging mod wicker chandeliers. Potted palms are everywhere. We sidled up to the bar while our table was being prepared, and I started on the first of many delicious cocktails. I'm not much of a tequila drinker, but the La Dama cocktail was quite more-ish, as the English say.

The mix of top-shelf tequila with mango grenadine, serrano chiles, pomegranate liqueur, and pomegranate seeds was perfectly balanced between sour, spicy, and sweet. Once we sat down, it was in extremely comfortable surroundings, on a banquette with lots of pillows and low-lying tables -- and of course as is the norm in WeHo hot spots, we were surrounded by plenty of beautiful people. 

One of my all-time, hands-down, favorite things in life? Ceviche. So starting off with the ceviche trio was a no-brainer. My friend and I spent a good 15 minutes trying to decide which of the three was our favorite: the albacore, ahi, or yellowtail (in the end it was a tie -- we'll need to try several more to pronounce a winner!). 

The menu is vast so we asked our server for some guidance, and in the end we selected courses from each menu category, as it's not really organized in courses as we know them. After the ceviche we went with a classic tamale, made contemporary with goat cheese. We followed that up with some beef short rib sopes, kind of a fried pastry base, formed into a cuplet and filled with pulled short ribs in a rich red tomato-chile sauce and topped with queso anejo. 

We were also tempted enough by the Oaxacan offerings to try an Alaskan halibut cooked in the style of this famous Southern Mexican town. The fish was perfectly seared and served with a chile sauce, oyster mushrooms, and a tomatillo-radish salsa. Light, spicy, and interesting.

Of course, if you want some inexpensive and authentic Mexican street food, you can always head, as we did, to roadside taco stand Pinches Tacos, right across Sunset Boulevard from the Chateau Marmont and retro-fabulous Bar Marmont. It really is a little shack where you order your tacos, get a tray, and wait for your number to be called. The small tacos are all under $3 a pop, and the larger entrees of burritos and enchiladas and sandwiches are all under $10, so it's hard to go wrong here. You can fill your belly and save your cash for tippling across the street.

Where else can I recommend in this part of L.A.? I did meet an old friend for drinks at Fig & Olive on Melrose Place (note: I'm well over Fig & Olive in New York, but its L.A. counterpart is a real scene), and had a girls' night out at Koi, which had some very tasty sushi -- something I'm always excited to get on the west coast. And of course, no stay in West Hollywood would be complete without a smoothie from Urth Caffe', location of many an Entourage scene, and the spot where everyone in this part of L.A. heads for coffee, shakes, and some major star gazing: L.A. Style.

Lucques

8474 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  900
(323)
www.lucques.com

Comme Ca
8479 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  90069
(323) 782.1104
www.commecarestaurant.com/los-angeles

Hatfield's
6703 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  90038
www.hatfieldsrestaurant.com
(323) 935.2977

Red O
8155 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  90046
(323) 655.5009
www.redorestaurant.com

Pinches Tacos
8200 West Sunset Blvd.
West Hollywood, CA  90046
(323) 650-0614
www.pinchestacos.com

Fig & Olive
8490 Melrose Place
West Hollywood, CA  90069
(310) 360.9100
www.figandolive.com

Koi
730 N. La Cienega Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90069
(310) 659.9449
www.koirestaurant.com/los_angeles/about

Urth Caffe
8565 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  90069
(310) 659.0628


ROOSEVELT HOLLYWOOD
7000 Hollywood Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA  90028
(323) 466.7000
www.thompsonhotels.com
25 Degrees
Tropicana Pool and Bar

SPRING HOLIDAYS: Passover, Pasqua, & Pasquetta

Springtime holidays celebrate a renewal of life, reinvention, rebirth. Both Passover and Easter have Biblical stories behind them, though historically there's always been a spring solstice celebration of fertility and life. Personally, I grew up going to family Passover seders as a sort of obligation. But as an adult, I've grown to enjoy the holiday, and really came to appreciate it when I began hosting my own seders in Rome. I would invite friends over, both English speakers and Italians, and everyone would participate in the reading of the haggadah (the book that contains the story of Exodus and the prayers said before, during, and after the Passover meal). There were rarely other Jews present. For my friends, this was simply an interesting twist on one of my dinner parties.

But it was a fun cultural experience for everyone, and friends got to explore and enjoy some traditional Passover foods, things they'd never tried before. Another plus? Everyone loved the idea of the requirement of consuming lots of wine throughout the meal. And there were so many passages to be read and prayers to be said before we actually got to eat the dinner that one of my friends, upon spreading the apple-nut mixture haroset on a piece of (tasteless) matzo, proclaimed, "This is the best thing I've ever eaten!" Yes, he was starving and half-drunk. But it was a happy moment nonetheless!

Easter, while not a holiday I generally celebrate, is a day of great importance in Italy. Still, I could always appreciate the trappings of Easter in Rome (to wit: people camping out alongside the Coliseum to witness the Pope's Stations of the Cross, and the accompanying sound checks, was more reminiscent of desperate fans scalping tickets to a rock concert than devout Catholics hoping to glimpse their religious leader). And I've certainly enjoyed my fair share of the Easter feasts with friends and loved ones. 

In Rome, it's a celebration of spring itself, La Primavera: lamb, artichokes, asparagus, eggs, cheesy parmigiano Easter bread, salumi and formaggi...the list goes on.There's a saying in Italy that states: Natale con i tuoi, Pasqua con chi vuoi...which basically means Christmas with your family, Easter with whomever you want. I like that it's a more community-friendly holiday in Italy. People certainly turn out for church, but beyond that, the Easter meal can be with family, friends, or out in a restaurant. Eating well is the priority. 

And the next day, Easter Monday, or "Pasquetta," is basically national picnic day. In Rome we'd head to the vast and beautiful park, Villa Pamphili, for vino and nibbles and sun and frisbee. It was always packed, but this was the perfect gathering spot for everyone in Rome to soak up some springtime sun and get out of doors without trekking to the beach just yet. And a picnic is a wonderful excuse to eat up leftovers, make delicious panini and frittate and drink crisp vino bianco in the afternoon...

This year, I catered clients' Passover seders, and today is barely warm enough in New York City to make a picnic tolerable. Lovely as Central Park is, it's no Villa Pamphili, there are no umbrella pines, and precious few people in the U.S. celebrate Pasquetta. I miss Rome in the springtime. But I brought a little bit of The Eternal City along this season in my Passover carciofi alla romana (Roman style braised artichokes) and sauteed greens "Jewish Ghetto style" with sultanas and pine nuts. Preparing them brought me back to my 17th century apartment in Largo Arenula, to my Passover seders in my large living room with the wood beam 15-foot-high ceilings, the noise of the city's cars and vespas passing beneath my windows.

It brought me back to preparing for Pasquetta picnics, chilling bottles of Falanghina, and packing up the coolers to hop on the tram outside my door, which took me across the river to Trastevere where I'd meet my friends. We'd head in a caravan to Villa Pamphili, to our spot, to our own "famiglia romana" in the park, eating and drinking wine, laughing, tossing the frisbee until our shadows grew long and we headed back out along the walled Via Aurelia Antica, through Monteverde Vecchio, down the hill into Trastevere, at dusk.

 Buona Pasquetta a tutti.

QUICK BITE: Sachlav

The last few days of 2012, and the first few of the new year, were gorgeous in Israel. I was having leisurely lunches on the beach in flip-flops and a t-shirt. I swam in the Dead Sea and toured Massada in summer gear. It was all very mild Mediterranean. And then, suddenly, the weather changed. Storms blew throughout the country. It snowed in Jerusalem. I was caught in a hail storm in Haifa. And I experienced torrential downpour in Tel Aviv for days on end. Every Israeli assured me that the weather was never like this. It hadn't been this cold and rainy in 50 years, said everyone. Lucky me!

But in a way...lucky me. I'd always been in Israel during the summertime or early autumn. I got to experience something different. Hot spots in Tel Aviv were a little less crowded, and the stormy weather drove everyone indoors: to museums, theaters, intimate bars and cute cafes where one could enjoy languid conversation and numerous glasses of superb Israeli wine.

And so it happened, after one of these rainy nights I stayed out too late and imbibed a little too much, I slept in the next morning, disinclined to arise from under the cozy covers, in my adorable apartment in the Neve Tzedek neighborhood. But my friend had promised to treat me to a wonderfully warming drink in Jaffa that morning, followed by brunch in a local cafe. And since it was just a 10-minute walk away to the oldest port in the Western world, I was soon inspired to dress and venture out. Jaffa is historically a very Arab part of Tel Aviv, and this drink my Israeli friend wanted to introduce me to has Arab roots, so we were headed to the right part of town. Ironically, the drink also proved to be an excellent hangover salve, warming us on that cold, gusty day. The drink? SACHLAV

This thick milk-based drink was originally made with orchid tubers (called sahlabin Arabic). Its preparation varies a bit from country to country: some versions add rose water or orange blossom water, and some add coconut and cinnamon. Many are topped with nuts and dried fruit. In Turkey (possibly where it originated), its consistency is thick like pudding. In Israel, it's more of a drink, though often served with a spoon. It's warm. It's comforting. It was perfect on that cold morning in January.

Sachlav, beyond its capacity to comfort, has always been considered an aphrodisiac. Maimonides even comments that one should drink it “to revive the spirits and to arouse sexual desire.”

It's true that there is something wonderfully romantic about the drink's origins, the preciousness and exoticism of the orchid tubers that are the base of the drink in its original form. But in modern times, these orchids have become rare and prohibitively expensive, so they've mostly been replaced with thickening agents like corn or potato starch in today's versions. Less romantic, perhaps, but still really delicious.

Some claim that sachlav dates back to the Romans. Others argue that the orchid used to make the drink -- most likely indigenous to the tropics -- would not have arrived in the region until the Middle Ages. Regardless, the Medieval Arabs and Turks adopted the culinary tradition. The Germans and English got on board as well in the 17th century, replacing the milk with water and calling the beverage saloop. It even made an appearance in colonial America, but with the rising popularity of tea and coffee in the U.S. and Europe, the drink faded from the scene rather quickly. Their loss, our loss.

Sachlav is still a beloved drink in the Middle East, kind of what hot chocolate is to Europeans and Americans. It's often sold out of metal samovars at outdoor markets to warm shoppers, which is exactly how my friend and I enjoyed it in Jaffa. Various toppings are set out for you to choose from, including cinnamon, dried fruits, nuts, and coconut flakes. We enjoyed the sachlav as a precursor to brunch, though it could be considered a meal in itself. And as I drank the warm vanilla, coconut, and cinnamon-infused treat, those clouds hovering over Tel Aviv seemed to blow away for a few minutes, allowing us to stroll the streets of the ancient port village -- no longer under the cover of an umbrella, but out enjoying the animated street life that's colored this corner of the world for thousands of years.

ITALIAN CLASSICS + RECIPE: Cicoria

A little about one of my favorite vegetables in Italy, wild chicory, called cicoria in Italian: we are not talking about curly endive. We are not talking about the root of the plant that is grown, roasted, and ground as a coffee substitute in areas like Louisiana.  We're talking about the lovely leaves of the wild chicory plant, native to Europe, its bitter leafy stalks calling out to be tamed by caring cooks, particularly around Rome, in Liguria, and Puglia, where famous dishes like cicoria e fave (with fava beans) are staples. It's also popular in Catalonia, Turkey, and Greece, and is one of the first plants cited in literature: Horace mentions chicory as being a principal part of his diet. Egyptians used chicory to treat liver and gallbladder problems.The blue chicory flower is considered a romantic inspiration, and in European folklore was believed to have the power to open locked doors.

  Now, if you find the notion of a sauteed green eliciting pure joy in grown adults to be strange, then you haven't been to Italy during the cooler months of the year. It's more exciting than spinach, more delicate than various wild greens like dandelion or collard. As Gordon Gekko might proclaim: wild chicory, for lack of a better word, is GOOD.  
And in trattorie all over Rome, it's prepared ripassata in padella: once the greens are parboiled to remove some of the bitterness, they're tossed back in a hot pan with garlic, olive oil, and a healthy pinch of spicy peperoncino. This produces a side dish so simple in its awesomeness as to render most other green vegetables...unimportant. When restaurants run out of the dish before all of their customers have ordered, you will hear sighs and gasps coming from tables when they're told the bad news, "la cicoria e' terminata." Faces are long, hopes are lost. Nothing can replace it. At least until the following day, or until the springtime when artichokes are in season...

CICORIA RIPASSATA IN PADELLA 
(4 people)

2 large bunches of chicory

extra-virgin olive oil

2 cloves garlic

hot pepper flakes

salt to taste

Water

-Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.

-Cut stems off chicory and rinse the leaves. (Discard stems or slice and use for puntarelle). Add to pot and boil until soft and cooked through.

-Prepare a bowl of ice water. Remove chicory from boiling water and “shock” in ice water to stop cooking.

-Once cold, remove from ice water, drain, and pat dry.

-Heat a thin layer of olive oil in a skillet. Add peeled whole garlic cloves and cook over medium heat for 3 minutes. Remove garlic.

-Add chicory and toss to coat.

-Add red pepper flakes to desired “heat”, and salt to taste.

-Cook for about 3 minutes to heat through, and so chicory absorbs flavor of the garlic oil. Serve at once or at room temperature drizzled with red wine vinegar.

RESTAURANT REVIEW: Salinas -- New York, NY

Iberian cuisine in New York City has experienced a surge in popularity in recent years, following in line with its emergence in the aughts as cutting-edge, its chefs as leaders in the gastronomical world. But even as El Bulli has served its last liquid olive, and foodie followers have moved on to Foraged Nordic Nouveau (copyright pending) as their food trend-of-the-minute...Iberian cuisine deserves a continued closer look, more menu perusals, deeper discovery by interested diners. My love of Mediterranean cuisines and exploring the subtle differences between one regional dish in coastal Spain and another version in Southern France...the similar threads between Greek moussaka, Bolognese lasagna, and Neapolitan eggplant parmigiana, and on and on...it knows no bounds. And of these Mediterranean cuisines, I find Spanish food to be one of he most interesting. One place to explore all things Iberian, Mediterranean, and delicious is SALINAS, a gorgeous, somewhat-hidden gem of a Spanish spot in Chelsea.

The entrance is a bit subtle, shall we say, but when you walk through the front door, the warmth of the space immediately hits you. There is a small bar area and lounge up front, but to dine you are whisked down a narrow corridor to a gorgeous dining room that is intimate but spacious. Nothing here screams 'Spanish restaurant decor,' especially not of the kitschy variety we're used to from decades past, all wrought iron railings, red tablecloths and posters of bullfighters and flamenco dancers. In fact, the dining room has more of a zen Asian feel, with dim lighting and a fireplace in cool weather, a retractable roof that allows for semi-alfresco dining in warmer weather.

All of this atmosphere sets a tone for the sophisticated, urbane cuisine that comes out of chef Luis Bollo's kitchen. Chef Bollo hails from San Sebastián, a town in the north of Spain that boasts more Michelin-starred restaurants per capita than any other place on the planet. Bollo is a much-lauded chef who helmed Meigas, which opened in '99 in Manhattan (since relocated to Connecticut, along with another place called Ibiza: both named by critics as some of the country's best Spanish restaurants). He also partnered with the Meigas owners on launching Mediterra, one of my favorite hometown dining spots in Princeton, NJ.

SALINAS opened in 2011 with a focus on Spanish cuisine and that of the Balearic Islands. The name refers to the many open-air salt flats along the Mediterranean coast of Spain and its islands. As such, seafood plays an important role on the menu, which features various iterations, including fresh ceviche of seasonal fish, seared octopus, boquerones (white anchovies) with avocado on multi-grain toasts, and a tuna escabeche (a Spanish version of fish "cured" in acid -- often vinegar instead of citrus juice) with chickpeas and cauliflower. Depending on the season, you can also find Patagonian baby calamari with purple potato salad and pumpkin, and other various vegetable-based tapas. And of course, as any good Spaniard knows, the restaurant must also offer great Spanish charcuterias, including the famed Iberian cured hams that are considered the world's best (mi dispiace, Italia!) 

Squid ink fideos with shaved seppia and saffron aioli foam

As for larger courses, there is a separate category for fideos, the Catalonian version of paella made with broken vermicelli noodles. If you're not familiar with it...EAT. IT. NOW. It's addictive and delicious and I highly recommend the squid ink version, which comes topped with shaved seppia (cuttlefish), saffron foam, watercress, and beet powder. My dining companions who tried fideos for the first time were completely enamored of this dish. Other versions include the pasta with braised lamb shank, wild mushrooms, and goat cheese aioli, as well as a vegetarian vegetable version and one with chicken, chorizo, fava beans and a poached egg. These are seasonal, so expect these fideos to change according to the best of the market's offerings.

Among the platos principales, the house-cured bacalao (codfish) with Galician octopus, cockles, sweet potatoes and artichokes in a parsley broth is a standout. There's a delicious grilled chicken, a fairly traditional mixed paella (with delicious bites from sea and land), and a fish of the day. But probably the most famous main course, the dish for which Salinas is mentioned in the food press most often, is the porcella, the slow roasted suckling pig.And it's prepared just as it should be, with a crispy skin you could shatter with your fork, and meltingly tender and juicy pork meat underneath. It's served with light watercress and frisee lettuce to cut the fat, grilled quince to bring out the sweetness, and drizzled with a PX sherry reduction. Spain, in a nutshell -- or rather, on a plate. 

The sides are reliably delicious, if fairly basic: a mixed salad, sauteed garlic greens, addictive patatas bravas (spiced crispy potatoes), and a confit of piquillo peppers that just screams out to be sopped up by some crusty bread. 

Dessert is not really the point in Spanish restaurants, though there are always sure to be a few good pastries: the ubiquitous flan, a decadent chocolate dessert of some kind...Here there is a profiterole with passion fruit pastry cream and a rum and coconut panna cotta -- whisking you away to Mallorca or Ibiza for an island-breezy finishing touch to the meal. Or, do as I like to do and indulge in a "dessert cocktail" in place of an actual sweet. The Morena is a chocolate martini made with organic mezcal and passion fruit. Si, por favor! 

SALINAS 136 9th Ave 
New York, NY 10011
(212) 776-1990
www.salinasnyc.com
Monday 6pm-10pm
Tuesday – Saturday 6pm-11pm
Sunday 5pm-8pm

QUICK BITE: Provencal Treats

In the Old Town section of Nice, on the Cote d'Azur, there is a wonderful jewel box of a confectionery shop called L'Art Gourmand. The place features beautiful French confections like an assortment of chocolates au lait, noir, and blanc (milk, dark, and white), marzipan fruits and animals that are well known in southern France, and various cookies and baked goods. 

Perhaps one of the most special of the spécialité are the fruit gelées. Made from intense, natural fruit flavors like raspberry, grapefruit, and apricot, these fruits are pureed and mixed with some fruit pectin (a plant-derived gelling agent) and sometimes a bit of sweetener and citric acid to maintain the flavor balance and brightness of color. These jellied strips are rolled in some sugar for crunch, and...voilà! You have a delicious candy that contains all the ripe juiciness of the fruit, in concentrated, delicious, portable form.

Another of the local specialties is torrone, a culinary remnant from the days when Nice was better known as Nizza, part of the Italian kingdom of Savoy and thereby ruled by the Italians, on and off until 1860. The nougat-with-nuts, of which there are various famous versions from northern Italy, Sicily, and Sardinia (all territories ruled by the Duke of Savoy at some point), comes with various combinations of nuts and is sometimes covered in chocolate. Alongside the torrone you can find candied fruit, another specialty dating back to the 14th century, with its origin muddled between Spain, Italy, and France, when borders were more fluid. Probably a gift from the Arabs who dominated areas of Southern Europe at the time, candied fruit became an important part of many of the region's most famous desserts, including the Piemontese panettone and Sicilian cassata. 

Of course for real chocolate lovers (and I count myself firmly among the true chocoholics of the world), chocolate is always in season and always the thing to get. And L'Art Gourmand has a great selection of chocolates and truffles from which to choose. From chocolate-covered nuts and praline-filled chocolate squares to chocolate-dipped candied fruits and peels and cocoa-dusted truffles, there's an almost embarrassing variety of chocolate treats. It's easy to fill up your bag quickly from the offerings on hand.

During the spring, summer, and early fall in this temperate part of the Mediterranean, the crème glacés and sorbets are particularly delicious here. Artisanally-made flavors like a deep, dark chocolate, a delectably tart passion fruit, a toasted nutty pistachio, and an aromatic raspberry-violet are so satisfying that a small cup will do...though you may not be able to resist a larger portion. And when the weather is pleasant and the Nice sky is a cloudless celestial blue, there's nothing more enjoyable than a stroll through the old town with a cup of that glace in hand, taking in the scenery.

L'ART GOURMAND
21 Rue du Marche'
Vielle Ville de Nice
Nice, France 06300
+33 493 62 5179