Enoteca Maria - June 19, 2011

I am an advocate of equality; I fight against discrimination. Let me expand this a little: I respect each and every kind of animal and each and every body part; and I disdain the generic, uneducated and, worst of all, hypocritical aversion that people have for certain parts of the body of their slain animals. A frog is as much alive as a calf, a chicken or a cow; and for all we know, a rabbit is just as sensitive as a pig. Moreover, the insolent ignorance, or the ignorant insolence, toward offal – the cast-offs - of the masses infuriates me: If you have already killed a chicken, respect the life it has given up for you and eat the damned feet, too. When you order that sautéed chicken breast or a roasted rack of lamb, you are ineluctably a part of the killing even if your hands are not bloodied. Would you condemn someone less if he merely paid for the murder rather than did the actual deed? Although the order of events are reversed here: the demise of the chicken that is served on your plate is not directly caused by your order which has been placed 30 minutes ago (most likely not, every since my grandfather stopped having a chicken coop), but your order will indirectly cause its kin to be killed for someone else’s dinner because your appetite for the chicken has shown that there is demand. Econ 101: Supply and Demand. Therefore, the proper respect a human being can show to the lives that are lost in order to be turned into coq au vin or honey-glazed pork chop is not to waste any and appreciate all – feet, brains, hearts, intestines and testicles. As a matter of fact, a sense of common decency demands it. And, I must say, these generally less desired body parts are, in fact, quite gustatorily desirable.

Pepolino - Italy only exists in Italy (April 3, 2011 / June 1, 2011)

“It is cheaper than flying to Italy” – People always say; and people are generally wrong (if not always). The amount of money I have gullibly squandered, grudgingly shelled out and indignantly disbursed into the coffers of New York restaurants over the years would have earned me enough frequent flyer miles for the rest of my nomadic lifetime: Too bad I was not fond of Healthy Choice pudding as Mr. David Phillips was.* For a blissfully ignorant two months, I had harbored the hope that I finally could merely glide down to TriBeCa for a hearty Tuscan fare, sans the jet lag, swollen calves and missing luggage; and perhaps even one day, I dreamed that I could build a Gourmand’s Corridor linking my front door to Pepolino in the fashion of Cosimo I de' Medici. However, the problem with a dream is: You have to wake up.
*Apparently, he did not consume all the 12,150 of pudding.

Dell'Anima - May 21, 2011

In order to acquire the citizenship of Dell’Anima, one is first put under a test of survival: the prospective agélai must survive suffocation by smoke, due to the inadequate ventilation system, and the claustrophobic low ceiling in the back (or one could cheat by asking to be seated in the front).

Al Di La - May 14, 2011

Over and beyond - al di la - Manhattan, there is another world, another possibility, another promised land filled with promising restaurants, just beckoning me to take the bridge over into the unknown. After more than a dozen constipated years of countless meaningless meals in the great metropolitan island, it had come to this: Either I move out of New York or I move myself out and over into the outer boroughs, at least, for a few hours. For these particular few hours, however, I was in good hands – the hands of a seasoned Brooklynite who was conversant with Italian food in general – thanks to the Italian grandfather who used to whip up a storm in the kitchen – and equally importantly, with this restaurant, Al di La. 

Keste - May 7, 2011

The simpler a thing is, the less there is room where you can hide – e.g. make-up, with vs. without (or a pinstripe suit vs. bathing suit, if you insist).

Sfoglia - May 4, 2011

A restaurant should serve good bread, solid bread and decent bread; but not a bread of such monumental and demonic magnetic property, which is simply delectable but absolutely disastrous. If it were an Italian bar with antipasti and affettati, excellent bread will not have been a hindrance, but a serious attraction; however, not so at a ristorante, and most certainly not at one named “a sheet of uncut pasta.”

Celeste on Trial - April 11, 2011

Some bright-eye law students were told on the first day of orientation – before the disillusionments and disappointments – that once they went down this particular road, there was no turning back: in the course of three years, every last trace of illogicality, imprecision and laxity, and consequently with these human fallibilities, much, if not all, humanity, would be eradicated from their minds and they would be forever cursed. However, as no one had left the hall in indignation and horror upon this revelation, these tough youngsters were then warned against “being a lawyer” to their families and friends because their loved ones would just hate them for it. Talk about disclaimers.

Yes, tonight, I came to Celeste to judge, to judge the hands that have fed me over the years. 

Felidia (Umbrian Food and Wine) - March 23, 2011

This was my last attempt to save my relationship with Felidia (no, I am not monogamous, but): Our marriage has run its course from the honeymoon – the first exquisite pleasure of chewing the perfectly al dente pasta and cutting into the artistic mosaic of octopus; then to the comfortable domestic life of solidly agreeable entrees (which the Italian restaurants in New York seem to have even harder time to execute than boiling pasta); and gradually to the taciturn evenings filled with recurring disappointments and bitter resentments, some of which directed toward the invariably inedible desserts – be it tiramisu or bomboloni; and finally, in the last year or two, to the extramarital affairs to discover greener grass and recoup the lost years. Even the expensive truffled tagliolini had failed to rouse my interest: Money neither buys heart nor stomach. Now, this last dinner was the ultimatum; let us see if the family reunion - a.k.a. Winemaker Dinner celebrating Umbrian Food and Wine - with Signora Lidia and Signore Nicotra – and a third-party mediator – Signore Salvatore “Toto”* Denaro – would be able to rekindle my love and interest.

*In Sicily, “Toto” is the nickname for Salvatore, like in Cinema Paradiso.

Ostermia Morini - March 20, 2011

Even something bad can be grand and acknowledged for its very monstrosity, abominability and provocation since it has the power to make you react, to stimulate your thoughts and to force you to see things in a different light – like the painting, Scissors and Butterflies by Clemente. Fine arts have this visual sensory power. The same can be said about food: For example, natto (Japanese fermented soy beans), stinky tofu (Chinese fermented tofu), surströmming (Scandinavian rotten fish), and hongeohoe* (Korean fermented ammoniac skate) can all derive strong responses from both ends of the spectrum. Therefore, in a sense, the good and the “bad” all have a place in the world of art. As a corollary, then, what should not be accorded its existence is a thing of banality, boredom and insipidity – the petit bourgeois mentality or taste, as embodied in Osteria Morini.

*Which is “neutralized” by ingesting a large amount of makgeolli, a type of rice wine.

Torrisi Italian Specialties - March 17, 2011

“Italian-American” was a bad word; it had been one of the premier, primary and predominant red-flag and red-herring words to watch out for in navigating through the myriad restaurants in New York. “Italian-American” translated to saccharine rainbow cookies, ax-proof canolis, sodden penne alfredos and uncouth spaghetti meatballs. Such ox-headed fixation over inadequate food had never ceased to dismay, sadden and confuse me as I walked, quickly, past and out of Little Italy. The early immigrants were of a less fortunate social stratum, which, only to be expected, had less differentiating palates and skilled hands. Yet, good food does not have to be expensive or haute; a simple pappardelle bolognese is enough to make me weep. However, when such group was transplanted in a new world, with unfamiliar ingredients and lack of access to authentic condiments, and further encumbered by the daily toil of survival, the quantity of food was naturally prioritized over the quality. In addition, in order for the culinary arts to truly flourish, there must also be fertile historical and cultural contexts – e.g. the Italian Renaissance – of which the United States was also lacking at the time of the influx. Under such unaccommodating conditions, the second generation grew up, exposed to less than optimal standard of food – an uncertain portion of which was cooked, not by dedicated and talented chefs, but by ordinary people for the sole purpose of earning a living and otherwise not suited for such métier. This negative cycle has continued, and as a result of which, there are shockingly few good Italian restaurants in New York today, despite the large Italian population. This nascent theory of mine has so far proved applicable to many foreign cuisines in many countries: For example, the Chinese food in New York is generally despicable; the pho sold in New York will find no takers in Ho Chi Ming City.

Nevertheless, a phoenix is born occasionally out of such primordial soup, or shall we say, a crystal from this American crucible. Torrisi Italian Specialty is not Italian-American due to compromises; It is proudly and righteously Italian-American because it is traditionally Italian in its method, but American in its use of new ingredients.

Felidia - February 9, 2011

There had constantly been two good things at Felidia – the octopus and the pear and pecorino ravioli. There had been two constantly bad things at Felidia – the sub-zero temperature in the upstairs dining room and the desserts. In this tag of war of good and evil, the last two had had the upper hand; therefore, although Felidia had been on the back of my mind like an obligatory phone call to in-laws, I had not been back for quite some time.

Il Buco - February 2, 2011

As I hurried to the restaurant, for as ever, I was running (or walking) five minutes behind schedule – they say your glass is either half full or half empty, but in my case, I am perpetually five minutes behind no matter how you look at it – and I was meeting someone for the first time, I was seized by a sense of déjà vu. I had been here; I had hurried along the same desolate pavement. However, the time then was summer. How do I not remember this restaurant, famous for the rustically charming décor reeking of romance? Yes, at that time, I sat outside, looking at the closed storefronts across the street. And yes, I do not remember it because the food did not merit a space in my limited supply of gray cells. Oh no. Not only did I pick the restaurant again, but picked it for a meeting with a fellow gourmand. Not good.

Convivio - December 30, 2010

The New York Times review on Convivio, titled “The Empire’s New Clothes,” should have been “The Emperor’s New Clothes” because Convivio is that embarrassing, hypocritical and false.

Mondays at Celeste - December 27, 2010 & January 3, 2011

I hate Mondays – nothing personal, but Monday just has the shittiest luck of being the first day of the week. In order to get into the mood, you can sing along the Carpenters song, “Rainy days and Mondays…” There is really nothing to do but frown on Mondays; but if there is a bright spot, it is Celeste.

Il Matto - November 6, 2010

Pici

As much obsessed about, fixated on, and patronized by food as I am, I am against the so-called experimental cuisine where you squeeze a paste into miso soup and out it turns into noodles.  Becoming cenophobic and metathesiophobic in my old age, you may think, but I would like to eat my food in reasonable peace with a certain amount of dignity; after all, if food experiment were such a foolhardy venture as squeezing a tube or foaming sauces, then I would have joined a local kindergarten.  Could someone please tell me why so many restaurants foam their sauces? Foam is textually unappealing and visually unappetizing.  The foam on capping is good because there is milk fat so that the foam is smooth and silky and luscious.  However, when you do the same with sauces, unfortunately often such are clear, light sauces for the fish, you get the ugly, blotchy and porous foam, which would shame any barista into tears. I think this is where I draw the line between "creative" and "foolish."
These were my pre-conceived fears, surfaced by my reaction to the name, Il Matto, translating into A Mad Man.  I looked at the menu and nodded sagely to myself in self-congratulation for avoiding another laboratory which caters to marmots rather than human beings. Then I looked at the menu again and, again, dismissed the restaurant. However, belatedly I realized that there was no foam, spray or a tube; moreover, something stayed in my head -Pecorino creme brulee? black squid ink gnocchi?  After taking a close look at the menu for the third time, I made a reservation.  After all, many geniuses were/are extraordinary in the truest sense of the word, extra-ordinary, although the "extra" does not always suggest a positive attribute.  

Eataly - November 4, 2010

Paninoteca

So, it has come to this: Mario Batali's already over-blown ego has blown up to the size of one city block.  Eataly is a Disneyland for - obviously not the chefs as they have better sources for Italian necessities, for example, as in flown from Italy in the morning and arriving at JFK at 4PM - for the lazy gourmets, misguided foodie wannabes, blind Mario-Batali worshippers, harmless Bastianichi followers, starry-eyed tourists, recession-free investment bankers and a handful of wary OCDs* toward novelties; all these people susceptible to the lure of a nougat with a $25 price tag.  *Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

Maialino - October 30, 2010

Roasted Rabbit

Hotel restaurants are one of the things I avoid when I travel for two reasons: 1) Those restaurants are rarely any good, I suspect, because they can just rely on the flow and the laziness of the hotel patronage, and therefore, there is much less pressure to draw in a regular customer base (the good old days where hotel dining stood for the ultimate luxury, I am afraid, is gone); and 2) I want to squeeze out maximum experience out of my trip, so if I dine and sleep in the same building, I have to wonder how much I am missing outside. An auberge is doubly risky because any mishap in dining can easily kill off the joy in the sleeping arrangement, or vice versa, and if both turn out to be bad...then the result is simply unthinkable - i.e. my stay at Le Moulin de Mougins.

However, I became curious about the restaurant in the Gramercy Park Hotel when it was still the Chinese/Japanese restaurant called Wakiya because I missed the fine Chinese cuisine in Japan and Wakiya seemed to be the answer. Seriously, why aren't there fancy Chinese restaurants in New York? All that there are are the awful Chin Chin with the despicable Grand Marnier Shrimp and not-even-worth-to mention Mr. K's. While daily distraction kept me away, Wakiya had become Maialino. Meyer-ino so Maialino? Very cute, indeed... Since I am not a big fan of the famous Union Square Cafe or even less a fan of the Gramercy Tavern and an opponent of Eleven Madison Park and the enemy of the Modern, I was not too keen on visiting Maialino. Nevertheless, upon my vegetarian friend's recommendation that the food was good and the roasted suckling pig very good - yes, you read correctly, my vegetarian friend with much credibility since I was introduced to the best samgyetang in New York (or anywhere) by her, I decided to give it a try.

Celeste - October 22, 2010

 

Celeste at its best

Dining at restaurants is similar to having a relationship:  There are many first dates and even one-night stands, some of which, aside from the many thoroughly unmemorable and the others that you do not want to be reminded of (you know which), can be enjoyable for the moment in one way or the other, yet nonetheless they miss the critical something in order to be elevated to the next level.  Then there are those, despite their faults and imperfections, that keep drawing you over day after day, week after week, and for the very few, year after year (assuming implicitly that you have not gone completely nuts).  To truly experience a restaurant, it is necessary to embrace it with understanding and a sense of humor - not only should you share in its glory, but also stand by it in its hardship; you know the rap, "in health or sickness" and "in rain or shine" and all the rest of it.  The bottom line is:  You need to love it.  Especially at Celeste, you need a lot of love and some more and all the magnanimity you can spare because here, you are dealing with the omniscient and omnipresent dictator reigning over Celeste in a puffer vest and a handless device (it must come in handy in order to coordinate with the daily shipment from Italy).

Spiga - July 17, 2010

Capesante con Purea di Asparagi e Aceto Balsamico

In Italy, many vegetable purees are used as sauces for the meat or fish; yet, asparagus puree as the bed for seared scallops was new to me. The searing of the scallops was on the well-done side, which I actually do not mind at all. However, I was slightly troubled by the bitterness of the asparagus puree.

Once someone told me that the problem with the produce in the United States is that the farmers got paid by weight, not by quality per se. Therefore, the heavier the produce, the higher price it would fetch. And, how do you make them heavy? You grow them big and full of water. Naturally, in the case of asparagus, the result is that per gram of asparagus, there will be more water and less asparagus. While this unfortunate trend of watery, gigantic vegetables and fruits is not always the case, it may be applicable to the asparagus used in this puree.

Ravioli de Carciofi con Ragu di Salsicce di Pollo e Ricotta Stagionata

I cut off a corner of one big raviolo and scooped some of the chicken sausage ragu and the tomato and the shaved ricotta stagionata (a.k.a. ricotta salata): Fresh artichokes, lovingly enclosed in a perfectly al dente ravioli dough, happily shone through to mingle with the chicken sausage ragu in my mouth. The delicacy of the artichoke plus the boldness of the ragu, along with a few accents, hm...it was a beautiful dish.

Trancio di Baccala con Purea di Cipolle e Porri Fritti

I have to be honest: This must be one of the best cods (or the very best cod since I cannot remember a better cod; but I just do not want to give up without a thorough search in the deepest corner of my mind - come on, there must have been one in Portugal). The cod was nestled between pureed sweet onion and fried leeks so that two types of onions played against each other on the cod. It was a happy time: Take a bit of cod with the onion puree, take another bite with the leeks, so on and so forth, until, wait, what happened to my cod?

Gelato di Ricotta con Fico

I am guilty: I betrayed my favorite restaurant (it starts with a "C" and ends with a "E," but I trust you will keep my secret, won't you?) just around the corner by coming here (Operation Stealth) and I praised Spiga's dishes, well, minus the scallops, so much... Will I ever be allowed to be back into the good grace of Don Carmine? However, fear not, the gelato at Spiga cannot even kiss the foot of your cousin's churned-by-hand-using-a-50-year-old-antique-machine (is it really true?). I liked the figs, but I also like the figs I stew in my own kitchen in red wine.

Strudel di Pere e Noci con Gelato alla Cannella e Salsa allo Zenzero

Don't I hate a soggy pie crust? I recommend apprenticing at Cafe Sabarsky to figure out how the strudel stays so flaky after 12 hours.

Salumeria Rosi – June 28, 2010

Sette Fagioli

Some say bean salads are boring. I am sympathetic: I still think vanilla ice cream is boring and will give a look of pity (or contempt) to anyone who orders vanilla ice cream over 20 other interesting flavors in an ice cream shop. But sette fagioli mean "seven beans" Please, does it sound boring to you? How about when these seven little and not so little guys (one is just the size and shape of the first joint of my thumb) are perfectly seasoned with onions and herbs? Besides, you need your vegetables, right? Vegetables are not a common commodity at a salumeria, OK? So, eat your beans. See the picture? I ate mine.

Il Parmacotto; Prosciutto San Daniele; Finocchiona

Let me start with finocchiona, this is a seriously good salume (or is it "salumi" - do you count by the slice or by the stick?). I tend to avoid salami because I am a snob. Why would anyone choose salami over, let's say, Prosciutto di Parma? Why would you eat a piece of a hard and dry sausage with globs of fats all over it? The answer: Because it is delicious. Fennel (I am sure this word is featured somewhere in "finocchiona") mellows out the gaminess of this salame and leaves a nice, subtle aftertaste.

Il parmacotto is cooked ham. A bit too thinly sliced for my taste. I would have liked a thicker slice as this ham was very tender. A quarter-inch slice would allow the taste of the meat to truly come out. Otherwise, we just gobbled it up.

Prosciutto San Daniele is good but not memorable.

Porchetta Caprese

Have you ever had a good Cuban sandwich? Piles of ham, roast pork, pickles, mustard and whatever little twist they add on (no mayo on mine, please) then grilled? Simple but so delicious... Yes, this posting is at the right place under Salumeria Rosi; No, I am not reviewing a Cuban sandwich. This porchetta caprese made me very sad because it made me dream of a good Cuban sandwich, only to wake me up with this Italian impostor in front of me. Shouldn't be too harsh, but can I just have some of the earlier il parmacotta and some sliced asiago and I will make my own grilled sandwich?