The Gourmet Pig

Fine words

2009-06-15T02:20:00.003-04:00

I haven't posted in months, so this is a weak way to get back to blogging, but when I read this, it reminded me why I started blogging in the first place.

In the Financial Times, Daniel Patterson gets it right again. I've spend the last few years defending fine dining and preaching technique over recipes. Thanks, Daniel, for reminding me why.

Posts are coming soon...ish.

Is Pizzaiolo losing it?

2009-03-03T15:30:00.000-05:00

For a long time, Pizzaiolo has been what I consider one my favorite Bay Area restaurants. The price points are right, and the quality of the ingredients and perfection of some dishes assures that any disappointment in other dishes can be forgiven. Even the bad service can be ignored.

However, our most recent visit, which came nearly nine months after our last, made me wonder if things are on a downhill trend at Charlie Hallowell's popular Oakland spot. Service was as bad as usual, but this time, they managed to bring us our pizze at the same as our primi. The waiter seemed completely unphased when we looked suprise at the pizze's arrival. By the time we got to the pizze, our artichoke and mint, already underseasoned, was tough to eat and kind of bland. As for our primi, they seemed to lack the execution of previous ones we've had there. Only the dish of a poached duck egg with chick peas, olives, rapini and harissa was truly excellent (well, that and the desserts, which are always fantastic). Everything else had too many flaws, and combined with the service and the fact that it was a particularly slow night, I'm not pressed to return there.

Here's some crappy pics:

Done

2009-02-26T03:04:00.000-05:00

I'm never watching Top Chef again.

Colicchio, my heart goes out to you.

Beijing, Part 1

2009-02-24T16:20:00.001-05:00

Having just returned from Beijing, it's going to be the focus of the blog for the next few posts. I'll try not to get into the habit of making generalizations about China as a whole, as the food alone is hard enough to get a grasp of. I'll leave the poorly-researched writing on how China is the future of the world for anecdote-loving journalists a la Thomas Friedman/Malcolm Gladwell and their connect-the-dot writings. However, I'll pepper my meal reports with little idiosyncracies about the parts of Beijing I visited that I found interesting. Please do not draw any meta-conclusions from these. They'll be italicized. Remember: italicized equals not about food and probably grossly misinformed.

First of all, Beijing is fucking huge. Estimates of the population place it between 15 and 18 million, mostly because no one knows how many workers from the countryside pour in to the city on a daily basis. I lived in London for eight years, and thought that was big. Beijing feels similar to London, area-wise, if London had high-rise buildings. I've never seen so many high-rise buildings in my life. Some of them are very cool and modern, but most are ugly apartment blocks.

I'll divvy up the posts in chronological order. As a summary: I ate a lot of dumplings, tried many different cuisines, bargained for clothes and electronics (much more pleasant than bargaining in the Middle East or North Africa) and saw the Forbidden City and the Bird's Nest, the old and the new.

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Day 1:

(Just to explain the random trip to Beijing, first of all: Lauren's parents have lived there for almost eight years. We've never visited together, and this seemed like a good time, as flights were cheap and we had time.)

After arriving in Beijing on a Friday night and being amazed by the new airport built for the Olympics (most beautiful airport I've been to...or is it Toronto?...definitely not Oakland), we took a cab ride to Lauren's parents' apartment building. Let me tell you something: don't go to China without either knowing a local or an expat with decent language skills. Looking at the groups of tourists being led around Beijing's tourist traps and 'clean' restaurants, I realized how lucky I was to be in the company of expats who knew how to make a reservation and order a variety of dishes (and, you know, tell us where to go). While Beijing may be transforming itself superficially, it was very hard to find almost anyone who spoke basic English, even in the aftermath of the Olympics, and even in tourist centers.

We had our first meal at a nicely appointed restaurant specializing in the cuisine of the Guizhou region. A nice thing about Beijing's capital status is that all of the very diverse cuisines of China are well-represented. Though I won't claim to have begun to really understand Chinese cuisine, it's a great place to get a first taste. Anyway, the meal yielded some good and some less good dishes. We were some of the only people in the huge dining room as it was still the Lunar New Year holiday, when many Beijingers head back to their home towns. Lauren's dad did the ordering, and out came a succession of spicy and very savory dishes, including kun bao ji ding (the ancestor of our awful kung pao chicken), which was a revelation, and which we ate a few more times on the trip. Another favorite was a dish of fried eggplants topped with a mound of seasoned ground pork and peppers. I love that the Chinese use meat to flavor their vegetables. We actually went there to try a famous rib dish, where braised ribs are topped with a potent mixture of peanuts, braised mustard greens, mushrooms and spices. Apparently, they hadn't anticipated anyone coming in that night, and so hadn't started the ribs early enough. We got a quickened version of those ribs, which were still quite good. The only problem was that I'd eaten too much rice by that point, as I was famished from the 12 hours spent on Air China and its incomprehensibly horrendous food. I only managed a few bites of the ribs. There were some weaker dishes, including mashed potatoes (......) and a dish of shrimp and steamed vegetables that supports my theory that it's best to stay away from seafood in Chinese cuisine...just a theory. A good introduction to Chinese dining, though.

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Day 2:

Everyday, breakfast usually consisted of home baked bread and coffee. Lauren's sister and mother are starting a 'hidden kitchen' in Beijing (more on this later), and thus we were guinea pigs for various bread doughs. And when I say breakfast, I mean FIRST breakfast. I tended to find extra street food I wanted to try before lunch.

And so, during a visit to a local produce market that morning, I found a litte puffy pancake that's stuffed with a fried egg and some scallions, hot sauce and hoisin sauce, for about 10 cents. This would be a precursor to the jian bing, or simply "bing" (Chinese for 'pancake'), a snack whose virtues Lauren had preached since I'd first met her and that I was dying to try. The puffy pancake was tasty, and two of them would have made a cheap and hearty breakfast.

The market was a simple neighborhood produce market, and didn't seem to have any kind of exotic produce, except for a few pickles I didn't recognize. The market was packed with locals, and everyone seemed to have their favorite vendors. Of course, it's hard not to think of how much we prize bi-weekly farmers' markets when most of the world shop at such places daily, and just calls them 'markets.' This one, however, couldn't have prepared me for the much larger covered market we went to later that week.

After a trip at Ya Show, a clothing market (I'll talk about these more later), I felt peckish again, and found myself ingesting my first bing, a substandard example from a grocery store. The bings are simple thin pancakes, which are topped with a couple of eggs, flipped over, then smeared with a variety of sauces (chili, hoisin, etc.) scallions, cilantro, and then wrapped around a fried cruller. I have to say I wasn't impressed by this one, but vowed not to write bings off until I'd sample at least five, a goal which I more than easily achieved. (Of course, they're quite delicious, and super cheap). Here's a video of a jian bing being made:

We then found our way to Houhai lake to meet some expats for an afternoon of ice-themed fun. Houhai is man-made, and more of a pond than anything. It freezes over in the winter, providing various sources of fun, such as ice-skating, old-man-ice-water-diving, and what we came for, ice sleds. These are constructed from what look like kindergarten classroom chairs, affixed to two rails. You push yourself along with what is essentially is a giant rusty nail.

I had a great time frolicking on this pond, and wondered why we didn't have more usage of such public places back home. When I asked Lauren's brother, he quickly said "lawsuits". Lawsuits get in the way of fun.

Between sled races and posing for tourists from Hong Kong (weird), I managed to sneak in another common street food item, known to my girlfriend as 'fruit on a stick.' In fact, these are usually hawthorns, covered in different ways with sugar and sesame seeds. I found these to be to sweet to have more than a few bites. They did have the distinct flavor of Chinese desserts, mostly due to the sesame.

Feeling spent after one too many sled races, people started clamoring for chou dofu, also known as stinky tofu. Lauren's bro, Russell, and his friend Sarah, are chou dofu enthusiasts. I'd actually had chou dofu before, in NYC's Chinatown, but again, things tend to taste better where they come from. Stinky tofu is a type of fermented tofu, obviously named after the smell, which is reminiscent of the foulest of kitchen trashcans. It's no wonder, since it's usually fermented for months in a brine of milk, meat and whatever else can be found to help the process. Once it's fried and served in chili sauce, the taste is quite mild, no where near as strong as blue cheese. I'm not going to say it's something I truly enjoy, but it's fried, so it's a tasty snack. Still, I wonder who first decided it would be a good thing to eat.

For dinner, we rushed right in to that Beijing specialty, Peking duck (or roast duck, or Beijing duck...they're all the same, and please don't post about political correctness). After some debate, we decided to go all out, and headed to Da Dong, one of the most famous roast duck restaurants in Beijing, and the one most often mentioned by visiting food lovers as having the best duck.

Da Dong is an upscale restaurant, and not just by Chinese standards. The cooks here are trained in manners as rigorous as any Michelin-starred kitchen, and the chef specializes in delicacies not commonly found in lower-end restaurants. In China, that tends to mean the preparation of the weirdest creatures on the planet: the restaurant's awning proudly advertises the chef's specialty, braised sea cucumber, with the roast duck also mentioned in what seems like an afterthought. I'm generally up for eating anything, but I was here to eat duck, which was my excuse for not trying sea cucumber, or any of the many other odd sources of protein on the menu.

The menu is a far cry from the minimalist printouts of fine dining restaurants in the West. It's a huge coffee table type of book, with beautiful pictures of each dish. We ordered two ducks, and some vegetable dishes on the side. One of the vegetable dishes was a simply sauteed black fungus, that common Chinese mushroom. The dish's flavor was more restrained than most Chinese vegetable dishes I've had, which was probably a bad thing as the fungi don't tend to have much flavor. We also accidentally ordered a dish of braised cabbage and chestnuts which turned out to be quite delicious.

The duck came out with its accompanying professional carver. He promply slipped the crispy skin off the duck, cut the meat into even slices, then reassembled the deboned duck onto a bed of lettuce, with the skin covering the meat. It was nice to see such crafstmanship.

Our accoutrements were served in what looked like TV dinner trays, with little compartments for each one. Vegetables were cut into perfect batons.
Clockwise, from top left compartment: sugar, hoisin sauce, spring onion, crushed ginger, pickled mustard greens, cucumber, radish, crushed garlic

We were also given the option to eat our duck in either the common pancakes or little buns. Both were delicious options:

Traditionally, you eat the skin first, dipping it in the sugar. Then, you make pancake wraps with the duck meat, and the accoutrements of your choice.

I'm a huge fan of Peking duck. When I was a kid, and we were living in London, we often went to eat Peking duck at a place called Mr. Kai, well known for its roast duck. I still remember it being one of the food items I looked forward to the most. I hadn't eaten roast duck as good as Mr. Kai's until our visit to Da Dong, which of course blew Mr. Kai out of the water. What distinguishes a place like Da Dong is that the skin is completely crispy without a trace of fat. Only proper care and technique can achieve that result and properly render all of the fat. Eating the skin was better than the best roast pig skin I've had, and the duck meat was also fantastic. Some people say that Da Dong has lost its touch as it becomes more touristy, but for a first time visitor, it was quite excellent.

The meal ended with a rather gross almond pudding, which looked (and tastes) a lot like shampoo. I really can't get in line with Chinese desserts.

Next Beijing post: Szechuan heat, dumplings, and the Great Wall.

Toronado Barleywine Festival

2009-02-17T13:02:00.002-05:00

I spent a part of Saturday tasting barleywines at Toronado's Annual Barleywine Festival. Toronado is an excellent beer bar with a wide selection of microbrews right near me, and they host this festival as part of SF Beer Week. Although it was a zoo, I got to taste a wide variety of these alcohol-heavy brews, made easier by the reasonable prices. Since I didn't have my camera, I wanted to link to one of my favorite blogs, Beer & Nosh, who has this report from the event.

While-u-wait

2009-02-13T18:21:00.005-05:00

I'm trying to write up posts on Beijing and other things while starting a new job, but I wanted to point out something grand. As any good gourmand knows, eating out on Valentine's day (and during restaurant week) is pointless. Not only are reservations impossible to get, but the food is usually of poor quality and 'special' menus are developed to make the volume easy on the kitchen, which tends to mean worse food.

However, some chefs do try to take it seriously. This year, Gabrielle Hamilton of Prune, one of my favorite restaurants in New York, has a series of three-course menus based on her favorite Valentine's experiences. They are all unique, sound delicious, and knowing her restaurant, will be delicious too. Gabrielle Hamilton is what we often refer to as a chef's chef. Prune is the kind of restaurand where chefs like to eat. By that, I mean they serve the kind of food that can't fool the knowledgeable cook with an educated palate: no party tricks and chemicals, no dainty presentations, just delicious food, properly seasoned and executed. Check out the menus on Prune's website, linked above. Then kick yourself for the money you're about to spend on filet mignon with mashed potatoes and molten chocolate cake.

Traveling Pig

2009-01-29T10:13:00.001-05:00

I just came back from a week-long trip back East, which was wonderful (and comes with a couple of restaurant reviews, coming soon). Tomorrow, I'm headed to China for a little over a week. Should result in quite a few posts, I hope.

Just wanted to explain the scarcity of posts lately.

NEWSFLASH: The Washingtonian, DC's high society magazine of sorts, publishes a top 100 restaurants in DC list every year. This year, my favorite DC fine dining resto, Komi, has managed to unseat Michel Richard's long running #1 spot with Citronelle. I've eaten at both, and though Citronelle was excellent, Komi is quite special. Well done, Chef Monis. It is well-deserved. Thanks to Ben for the info.

Le Beurre Noisette

2009-01-28T19:06:00.002-05:00

Again, I apologize for the crappy pics. I'd say I'm working on it, but that would be a lie.

So, I've raved about my 'bistronomic' meals in Paris (and boy will I be glad when I don't have to type that word again). Le Comptoir was robust French food, with no holds barred in the richness department. The suckling pig dish was phenomenal, one of my top ten dishes of all time (maybe). Chez Michel did regional specialties with the care of a fine dining restaurant. At Le Pre Verre, vegetables were the stars of the dishes, and the price couldn't be beat.

While all of those meals were excellent, it wasn't quite fine dining, nor was it trying to be. Though the skills in the kitchen and the quality of ingredients were top notch, these restaurants are still bistrots. I went to Le Beurre Noisette the night before I left expecting a similar experience. Instead, I ate one of the finest meals I'd had in a long time.

Le Beurre Noisette is located on a very residential side of the fifteenth arrondissement, close the edge of the Paris banlieue. The restaurant's decor is much more subdued that most of the other restaurants I'd been to on this trip. The tiny dining room packs in around 40 diners. There are no printed menus. Instead, the wait staff bring you a large ardoise with the day's choices, a 32 euros three course menu. In addition, there is a 6 course tasting menu available for 40 euros, which, judging by the variety and portion sizes that I saw on the table next to us, is an amazing deal. We didn't really have time for it that night, but it's definitely the way to go.

So, first cost-saving measure: the ardoise. It's big and heavy, and though they bring it to you, it's your job to hold it up as you decide. Is it smart? Maybe. While some customer satisfaction may be lost at the idea of working out your forearms and shoulders during dinner, the losses are surely recouped as the customers must decide quickly and not waste time chattering. Which brings me to something I've neglected to cover in these last few posts: the service at these restaurants is generally sub-par. I'm one of those people that doesn't really care about service if the food is excellent, but if you were looking for attentive, competent, caring service, you won't find it here. This is probably why I enjoyed these types of restaurants so much, and also one of the reasons why they can charge such low prices. Of course, the service wasn't terrible: our food was hot, not spilled all over us, and came quickly. And of course, it was way better than the crappy service we're used to in the US, especially in San Francisco. Still, at Le Comptoir, the waiter had the traditional 'French waiter' indifference going on; at Chez Michel, the grungily dressed waitresses always seemed to be in a panic; Le Pre Verre actually had excellent service, though the host was rude; and at Le Beurre Noisette, the two waiters/cum hosts/cum sommeliers were rushing around frantically, and managed to serve the table next to us their main courses twice.

In any case, the food was quite sublime. The meal starts off with gougeres, those little gruyere studded pate a choux balls. While in most restaurants where they've served these as a canape/amuse they've often been reheated, these tasted right out of the oven, and they're probably the best ones I've ever had. Of course, I haven't been to the French Laundry, so my opinion on gougeres is probably irrelevant.

I had a tough choice with the appetizers. Thierry Blanqui is famous for his carpaccio of pig's foot, and though I really wanted to try it, I'm a sucker for boudin noir, which was on the menu that night. I went with the boudin noir, which was phenomenal. House-made, of course, then smashed and seared, and served on a top of a caramelized apple sauce and a gorgeous salad of winter greens. The flavors were very traditional, but perfectly executed. Even more impressive was my dining partner's celery root soup, served over sauteed pieces of foie gras, breadcrumbs, and parsley. It was reminiscent of the artichoke soup at Le Comptoir.

The main courses really sealed the deal. My braised pork belly with celery root-truffle puree was wonderful. The piece of pork belly had been braised with with whole truffles, which had subsequently been used to scent the celery root puree. The pork belly itself was astoundingly meaty, showing again that it's not just technique that differentiates the US from France, but ingredients too. The additional licorice foam added a lovely touch of anise flavor. I was also impressed by the other dish, which was a brandade of haddock. Brandade has a very negative connotation for me, as it was a stodgy regular item in my primary school's cafeteria that I absolutely loathed. This one, however, was nothing like my childhood nemesis. Light and fluffy, with home-salted haddock retaining a somewhat fresh fish flavor. It was top with a perfectly poached egg, likely done in a controlled water bath, and the yolk enriched the brandade and cut through the salt of the fish. The dish was finished with crispy cabbage for texture and a parmesan foam.

Dessert was also excellent. My gateau breton, a sort of extremely buttery pate sablee topped with sliced poached pears (poached in almond milk), sliced almonds, cocoa powder and an exquisite caramel sauce would have been just fine on its own, if a little predictable. The biscuit was crumbly and not dry at all, and the pears had imbibed the almond essence, which paired very well with the caramel. However, the dessert was pushed over the top with a quenelle of honey-lavender ice-cream. It was a clinic in ice cream making, and the slight floral flavor turned something delicious into something refined.

As for the other dessert, it was one of my favorite chocolate desserts of the last year. A perfect dacquoise of milk chocolate and hazelnut meringue had pieces of roasted pears interspersed through it, and was draped in a thin layer of high quality dark chocolate. It was accompanied by two sauces, one white chocolate, and one dark.

To top it all off, we were served an excellent guimauve, and the best madeleine I've had in a long time. Petits fours? Not bad for 32 euros.

Le Beurre Noisette was a little finer than the previous meals I had on this trip. There's more flair involved in the food, and the dishware is more modern. Again, it is an exercise in restaurant management and business as much as a show of culinary artistry. You'll notice in my writings and in the pictures that several ingredients were repeated (pears, celery root, etc.), something which tends to be avoided by chefs here and in more expensive restaurants, but which I have no problem with. It eliminates waste, shows off the versatility of ingredients and unless you're ordering everything on the menu for yourself, isn't boring at all. Most importantly, all the dishes were well composed. I've been thinking a lot about composition lately, and how many 'modern' chefs are losing the flair for it, preferring a list of 'surprising' ingredients which give a shocking, sometimes pleasant, but rarely outstanding combination of flavors. I'll write more about it later, but needless to say, there is no doubting Thierry Blanqui's composition skills. Having had no expectations for Le Beurre Noisette, it was a tremendous meal, and my highest recommendation for those looking for a great meal at a reasonable price in Paris.

Le Beurre Noisette
68 rue Vasco de Gama
75015 Paris

Le Pre Verre

2009-01-18T23:03:00.001-05:00

Sadly, no pictures for this post. My last lunch in Paris was at this other star of the 'bistronomic' movement. With a focus on wine (hence the wordplay in the name, for you francophiles), Le Pre Verre takes affordable lunching to great heights.

Though they have a large a la carte lunch menu, the best deal is the 13.50 euro lunch 'formule.' One appetizer, one entree, a glass of wine, and a coffee. The food, of course, is of the finest bistronomic pedigree. Even weekday lunch reservations are tough to get.

The chef, Philippe Delacourcelle, is known around Paris as the 'spice-man', or something like that. Though he's fond of his spice cabinet, he uses it in very restrained manners, which is very French. Though I do love spices myself, fine cuisine is based on the subtlety of flavors, which can be lost in aggressive spicing.

My meal was actually quite sublime. The first course was a little cast-iron pot filled with different cauliflower preparations (raw, roasted, pureed), gently scented with garam masala. It was very reminiscent of a dish I had at Ubuntu in Napa, except that one was spiced with vadouvan. This version somehow managed to bring out the full spectrum of cauliflower flavors. Outstanding.

My second course, though a little less flawless, was still excellent. A small piece of sea bass had been baked slowly, and served with tomato preserves, turmeric, cumin and fondant potatoes. The portion was small, but at 13.50 euros, I wasn't complaining. Again, the spicing was present but not overwhelming, giving the dish a somewhat exotic scent without masking the quality of the ingredients.

Maybe lunch is the key to a great food culture. Most French people, regardless of their profession, still take the time to enjoy lunch. Many places of work provide lunch vouchers, which can be redeemed at many if not most restaurants. They drink wine, eat well and slowly, and then go back to work. In the US, going 'out' for lunch usually involves either a business lunch or a fast option. However, lunch can be a great way for finer restaurants to break even, or even make money. With a restricted menu and simpler dishes, chefs can have the cooks, who would have been there prepping anyway, work on the line at the same time. If this simple economic difference can make or break a great restaurant, our lunching habits may be the key to explaining the difference between our food culture and Europe's.

In any case, I'd love to go back and try Le Pre Verre's dinner menu.

Le Pre Verre
8, rue Thenard
75005 Paris

Pierre Herme

2009-01-15T23:04:00.000-05:00

A little rest from the gastro-bistros for now.

The holidays are also macaron season in France. They're usually given as gifts, and a few bakers have managed to reach cult status for their macarons. Until this trip, I'd only tasted the famed products from Laduree. This time, we happened to be staying near Pierre Herme's latest boutique.

On Christmas day, Pierre Herme had set up a tent on a nearby square to help cope with the demand for his macarons. The line was at least 150 persons long. I wanted to try them, but every time we walked by the store, the line seemed to be getting longer.

Thankfully, when we were chillin' at the retirement home one day with our grandparents, my grandma received a package from her sister, who lives in the South of France. The package was cold, contained a plastic bag-type thing with a futuristic freezing contraption, and a case of thirty macarons of various flavors.

Over the next few days, my brother and I dug in, sampling flavors such as three different varieties of rare Mexican chocolates, coffee and caramel, and even rosewater (gross). On my last day, I bought seven macarons to give to Lauren, including combinations like foie gras-fig and foie gras-chocolate.

Herme's macarons, aside from being beautiful to look at, are an almost perfect expression of the treat. The meringue is just chewy enough while retaining lightness, and the ganaches are smooth, not too sweet, and perfectly balanced. After eating one, you realize why Pierre Herme's store looks like a jewelery store. The foie gras macarons, in particular, are outrageously decadent. While I enjoy the macarons at Miette in San Francisco, Herme's are close to perfect, and actually worth the price.

The inside of the foie gras and chocolate macaron.

Good article

2009-01-14T02:23:00.004-05:00

Thanks to my pal James for this article.

I often read Francois Simon's blog, (he translates it in English too, if you're interested) and find his undercover videos quite funny. Though he's not the only one doing such things (another favorite blog of mine, tastingmenu, has a few videos of their own). I like that he challenges the fine dining establishment in France, especially the ludicrous prices of Alain Ducasse's restaurants. If he's a bit too acerbic, he's also extremely entertaining.

However, his failure to cook successfully for a few nights in a restaurant, as described in the article, is revelatory. There are plenty of home cooks (even good home cooks) who imagine they might be the next undiscovered Daniel Boulud. Often, I wonder if those cooks forget that we are far more forgiving of our own creations, and far less forgiving of the food in expensive restaurants, which makes sense. However, it does cloud judgment if trying to compare one's food to restaurant food. I used to think my food was the bomb before I worked in restaurants. What I learned, aside from how little I actually knew, was that the structure of restaurants isn't really replicable at home, no matter how hard one tries. This is why I get annoyed when Rachael Ray makes three course meals for each of her thirty-minute meals. Home cooking gets a lot more from simple dishes that require few components, I think. (Of course, you can make exquisite food in a home kitchen, but it's hard with the time constraints of a real job and the cost of ingredients).

When I was about to head to law school and changed my mind to go work in restaurant kitchens, my parents tried to steer me away from that choice by mentioning a lawyer in Montreal who they knew who is a self-described 'home chef' and has been cooking on the line at a modest bistro once a week (trying to get me to temper my passion). The Montreal Gazette had an article about him (which I sadly can't find right now) and his restaurant exploits, and it was clear that, aside from the rigors of working on the line, he had begun to rethink his skills. The restaurant had allowed him to put one dish on the menu, and he chose his rendition of beef wellington. He said that once he tasted it in juxtaposition with the restaurant's other dishes, he felt quite humbled.

Francois Simon once said he could cook a chicken 200 ways. Does that mean he could cook a chicken well 200 ways every time? To paraphrase Thomas Keller, professional cooking is about repetition. Only by repeating recipes, knife skills, techniques and developing one's palate through repetition can one get to the level of restaurant food. Of course, I'm not saying I couldn't make food better than an Olive Garden...I have to keep the comparisons relevant. However, even in my best efforts at fancy home-cooked meals, I can't replicate the food I make in restaurant kitchens. I guess that's why my favorite food critics are the ones who limit their roles to tasting and evaluating food, like Frank Bruni of the Times. I also like Michael Ruhlman's approach to home cooking: he went through culinary education at the CIA, worked in restaurant kitchens, has been a co-author on the French Laundry and Alinea cookbooks, and yet keeps his home cooking to a minimalist best.

I don't know what inspired this little post, but it's probably because I've found myself recently losing many of the touches I had developed in kitchens. I completely overcooked a steak the other day as I was distracted by something else. I also managed to partially screw up a braise (don't ask...). It's only been a few months since I last set foot in a restaurant kitchen, but the daily routine of mincing shallots, the reflexes of keeping different pots and pans working at the same time, the things that become almost like muscle memory and let you focus on the intangibles have left me a bit, and it's taken me by surprise. I guess these are the things that still make restaurant cooking valuable, and that we should remember before saying "I could do this at home." Cooking at home, we're a lot more forgiving.

More posts from France tomorrow.

Chez Michel

2009-01-12T23:03:00.000-05:00

Thierry Breton, of Chez Michel, wants people to taste the food of Bretagne (Brittany). Yes, he's from Bretagne and his name is Breton. His menu at Chez Michel is rustic and doggedly regional. With haute cuisine, much of the regional subtleties in France had been lost to a sort of codified general French cuisine. However, though France may not be as geographically diverse as the US, there are very distinct differences between regions. France has mountains, valleys, vineyards, ocean fronts, sea fronts, Germanic ancestry, and several colonies to draw from. The food in each region has its own strong identity, as does the culture in general.

If I have regional affiliations, they are to Bretagne and the Rhone-Alpes regions, where my grandparents are from. I have a particular affinity for Brittany as it is where I spent most of my childhood summers, and where my grandma draws inspiration for much of her cooking. Since she is one of my greatest inspirations in cooking (she taught me how to properly season food, for one), it's no wonder I feel drawn to the food of Brittany. It's also probably why I've never been able to stand any crepes made in this country.

Thierry Breton opened Chez Michel not long after Yves Camdeborde opened La Regalade, no doubt inspired by his friend's success. They are both products of top Parisian kitchens, including the legendary Tour d'Argent. However, while Camdeborde retained a bit cosmopolitanism in his cuisine de terroir, Breton went for an all-terroir approach. Stepping into Chez Michel, you feel transported to a countryside restaurant room. Not an ounce of urban touches. Same goes for his menu.

Choosing Chez Michel as one of my dining destinations was done several years ago, and wasn't really my doing. I was reading Jeffrey Steingarten's article on these 'gastro-bistros' in The Man Who Ate Everything (one of my favorite food writing collections) and saw Breton's name mentioned. A few days later, I was speaking with my mom, who had just returned from Paris, and she mentioned that she had eaten at a great restaurant fitting the description of Chez Michel. I asked her if that was it, and she said yes, informing me that Breton was actually the cousin of a good family friend. One thing led to another, and I almost went to work for him, though I eventually chose California. Still, small world.

Breton wasn't there on the night in question (even chefs take vacations at normal times in France), but we still ate damn well. Chez Michel is in the 10th arrondissement, near a strip I would have avoided as a kid, but which has found popularity lately with its cheap rents and the canal St-Martin. As I mentioned before, everything about the restaurant is rustic, and the tables are packed in to every tight and inaccessible corner of the room, making service quite hilarious.

They start you off with a plate of bigorneaux, or periwinkles in English. My great aunt used to eat these by ton in my childhood summers, but I've never really taken a liking to them. Still, better than crackers. Comes with an excellent mayonnaise.

Then comes the house-made bread and Breton butter. I probably would have been content eating just that. The butter had that deep yellow and crumbly quality that many celtic butters have (the Bretons are celts, after all).

The menu at Chez Michel is composed of two parts. There is a roughly permanent printed menu, with three courses for 30 euros, highlighting the very traditional Breton dishes that form the core of Breton's arsenal. Then, the table is also presented with an ardoise displaying the day's specials, which are quite numerous, and which all have a surcharge. For our visit, the blackboard menu was very game-heavy, but we mostly stuck to the classics.

We ordered a pre-appetizer of foie gras and shaved truffles on a warm tartine with a sprinkling of fleur de sel. It was truffle season after all, and ended up being comped. Though it's hard to credit the kitchen for this, it was about as decadent and perfect as food gets. The slight heat from the bread softened the foie and released the scent of the truffle while maintaining its raw texture. The truffle was of a very high quality, maybe one of the best I've ever tasted raw.

Like at Le Comptoir, most of the appetizers require very little line work in the kitchen. There are the obligatory soups, but instead of charcuterie, Breton offers different raw-ish fish preparations, more in line with his coastal home region. These come to the table in little canning jars, with a simple green salad. My sardines, which had been quickly preserved with tomato 'tartare', salt and lemon, were a revelation. I've never tasted sardines this good. Our family friend Carole (also our gracious host) had a salmon that was also extremely fresh, but less interesting. My brother, the soup fiend, had a very typical soupe de poisson, which was also excellent. While the food at Chez Michel may be rustic, you can see Thierry Breton's skills in the flawless executions. I also loved that many of the dishes are served in a kind of 'family style' way, emphasizing the intended rusticity: for example, my brother's soup was served from a large pitcher which was left on the table to refill his bowl at will.

My main course was where the kitchen really showed its skills. I had a beautiful piece of cod, roasted and served on top of a ragout of chard legs, sauteed chard leaves and carrots. The skin was crispy yet tender. The dish was put over the top by the accompanying broth: veal feet had been braised in shellfish stock, giving the broth a meaty flavor and a consistency and mouthfeel almost like liquid gelatin. This made every piece of fish have a luscious texture. Carole had a sort of Breton-style bouillabaisse, whose Breton name escapes me. Though it looked like a bouillabaisse, the flavors were entirely different. The seafood was excellent, including four exquisite razor clams placed on top. I also loved the cast iron pot it was served in. The only low note of the night was my brother's dish, a daily special that was reminiscent of blanquette de veau. The veal chunks were dry and sparse, and the broth was underseasoned and watery.

Just as with everything else, desserts are homey and comforting classics. Chez Michel is supposed to have one of the best renditions of the Paris-Brest, that old French standard of choux with whipped cream of varying flavors. However, we went for different offerings that night. I had a kouign ammann, a layered pastry with tons of caramel and butter that I loved as a kid. It's one of the richest desserts out there, and Breton's is sublime, served warm on a wooden cutting board. Carole had the riz au lait, a traditional rice pudding which was again served family style in a large bowl to eat at will. Again, this was delicious and comforting. My brother, never really much of a sweet tooth, had the cheese platter, which was also all-you-can-eat. Like a home-cooked meal.

I must also mention the wine, which was robust and perfect for a cold winter night. The bourgueil from Pierre Breton (no relation) is one of those small-production organic wines championed by both Thierry Breton and Yves Camdeborde.

Looking around the other tables and listening in, we realized that a good portion of the guests at Chez Michel that night were foreigners. Since this isn't a neighborhood you'd go to as a tourist, it is clear that Thierry Breton's food has earned a worldwide reputation. I suspect that some of the out-of-towners might have been a little disappointed at the utter lack of daintiness in the food (at least the Americans behind us were). This is robust, rustic, country food, and a cuisine that may be lost if not the work of people like Thierry Breton. It also happens to be pretty damn delicious, and it helps to keep alive one of the roots of haute cuisine, which has to be France's greatest gift to the world.

If you're traveling to Paris and are looking for something a bit different, book a table at Chez Michel.

Chez Michel
10, rue de Belzunce
75010 Paris

Le Comptoir

2009-01-09T15:02:00.002-05:00

Again, sorry for the crappy pics.

The first of these 'bistronomic' meals was at Le Comptoir, one of the more famous of these types of restaurants. The chef there, Yves Camdeborde, was one of the pioneers of this movement, opening the now-legendary La Regalade in 1992, which became the model for these 'bistronomic' restaurants. Joel Robuchon himself said that La Regalade wouldn't work when it opened, but after eating at Le Comptoir, you quickly see that Camdeborde is not only a great chef, but a great businessman.

Reservations for the dining room at Le Comptoir are very hard to come by during the week, when Camdeborde himself is in working the line and choosing the courses for the 45 euro tasting menu. Everyone in the dining room gets the menu. Sadly, we couldn't get a reservation for dining room (harder to get than many 3-Michelin star...around 3 months wait right now). However, Le Comptoir has an extensive a la carte selection that shows the range of Camdeborde's skills.

The appetizers are divided into a small section of two or three soups, and larger selection of charcuterie, pates, and foie gras preparations. They range from 9 to 16 euros, running a little higher than most 'bistronomic' places. Here lies part of the genius behind these business plans. Since most of the appetizers require very little work on the line (since soups and charcuterie are obviously made earlier in the day), Camdeborde doesn't need to hire as many cooks. Also, while the food is extremely refined, the presentations aren't ornate or ostentatious.

My brother's cream of artichoke soup was poured tableside, in a bowl containing chunks of sauteed foie gras, tiny tapioca pearls, and broken croutons. There was also foie gras pureed in the soup, which managed to remain incredibly light despite its creaminess. Absolutely wonderful, and the little tapioca pearls added a nice surprising dimension.

My pressed foie gras and confit pears turned out to be a huge slab from a terrine of foie gras, confit pears, and bacon. The foie was as smooth as any I've had in fine dining restaurants, though it was packed a little dense. Still, just the value of that portion was too good to be true. The confit pear and bacon added the requisite sweet and salty notes to the foie, but the real star of the dish was the little sad of toasted pine nuts, pears and chives served on the side. Well, maybe not the star, but the tour de force.

The real culinary tour de force of the evening was in the main course, their famed suckling pig dish. I'm usually pretty comfortable identifying the methods behind a dish, but this one was baffling. From what I can tell, they had boned the whole animal, made a roulade, kind of like a porchetta, and then poached it til tender. Afterwards, they had placed a round of pig skin on the slice of roulade, and seared and roasted it. Now when I say it was tender, I'm not doing it justice. Tender is a word reserved for top notch barbecue, or braised meat. This went beyond that. As soon as I touched it with my fork, it fell apart. Seriously, the resistance of jello, but it still retained the integrity of meat, in a way that's often lost in sous-vide cooking (which is why I scratched that option). It was served on top of lentille du puy with bacon in an intense pork broth subtly seasoned with espelette pepper. One of the best things I've ever eaten.

My brother's dish was the only low note of the night. It was a tuna 'a la plancha' with baby vegetables and provencal tastes. The seasoning and execution were good, but the dish lacked inspiration. I wish I could have convinced him to order something more on the offal side.

We skipped dessert as we were sitting outside and the heat lamps couldn't do much to combat the December cold. However, I have to note that the wine, a light 2004 bordeaux from the St-Emilion area, was a bargain at 25 euros. Fruity and complex, it was suprisingly well-paired with all of our food. (However, I don't think it's useful to compare wine prices in France to those in the US. Wine is just generally cheaper in France, as the market for it is entirely different.)

Camdeborde's food at Le Comptoir is good combination of rustic and modern. Presentations are simple, but the technique behind most of the food is excellent. The foie terrine, for example, was one of the best I've ever had, and could have held its own in any fine dining restaurant. And that suckling pig. Absolutely amazing. There were no flaws in seasoning and execution in any of the dishes, and most importantly, the dishes all had a lot of soul.

What was fascinating, in the end, is seeing how revolutionary Camdeborde's business model is. Reservations at Le Comptoir can have a 7 month waiting time, according to some. Yet he keeps prices low, the food is excellent, and the atmosphere populaire. If only we could have had the tasting menu, a steal at 45 euros.

Le Comptoir du Relai
5, Carrefour de l'Odéon
75006 Paris

And here's an article on Camdeborde in English.

From Paris

2009-01-08T15:02:00.001-05:00

I just returned from a ten day stay in Paris. This is much less glamorous than it sounds. I mostly went to visit my family, most of which still lives in the Paris area. I spent many hours at my grandparents' retirement home outside of Paris, and others visiting cousins, old friends, and riding the Metro and RER. Though I didn't find much time (or money) to eat away at the food that often makes me wish I still lived there, I managed to fit a few delicious things in. I'm not going to get into too much detail about my entire visit: this is a food blog after all. However, I'll use this post to talk about how I think about eating in Paris, and then over the next few days I'll post a few reviews.

Going back to Paris is kind of strange for me. I certainly don't feel like a tourist; I grew up there and have spent more time there than anywhere else in the world. However, I haven't been able to go back that many times since I came to the US for college a little over seven years ago. Returning to Paris (or anywhere else, I assume) with the perspective of an 'adult' (I guess...) changes the way one looks at this city. With Paris, I've begun to see the romantic sides of the city, not just in the famous landmarks like Notre-Dame at night, but in the little everyday journeys that make it so special. Of course, there's more complexity to these thoughts, but I won't bore you with my emotional state and various identity crises.

In terms of food, this rediscovery and maturity plays heavily in my appreciation of things. Again, I am not a tourist in Paris. However, I often find myself reacting giddily to certain morsels of food consumed in Paris like an American tourist, having been deprived of the savoir-faire of everyday products for so long. I feel like an idiot for loving Acme baguettes so much after biting into even the most mediocre Parisian baguette. Even the random bistrot steak-frites can be a revelation, especially for the price. There are also the finer dining establishments, which I have a more recent affinity for. The appreciation of such things can only come later on in life, unless you grew up with incredible wealth.

Then again, I am a Parisian myself, and I don't just apply American standards for the food in Paris. I can be critical of my morning croissant, no matter how much better it is than anything I've had in America in recent memory. I also know Paris's limitations as a food city: though it is excellent for tourists, it pales in comparison to New York in its non-French food selections. There's good food from the former colonies (Vietnam, North Africa), and strangely, good Korean food too. However, almost everything else tends to be disastrous. The French don't like spicy food, so stay away from anything Indian or Mexican. In fact, a couple of years ago, I found myself eating in a "Mexican" restaurant in Paris. I don't know what was Mexican about what I ate, but I nearly threw it up in my mouth a little later. Gross. However, some things are changing, and the Asian communities in Belleville are strong enough in numbers now to provide quality Asian food if you're willing to go look for it. And then of course, there's the litany of bad bistrots. And while there are of course some excellent ones, Paris' domestic reputation for bad bistrots, which probably only exist because of the tourists (see below), is warranted.

Still, it is an incredible place to eat. From the bakeries to the hidden restaurants in the less popular arrondissements, there is more than enough to satisfy even the most curious of foodies for years. Even locals are continuing to discover and rediscover the countless hidden culinary joys of this city, and to debate which bakeries make the best croissants. Even when I was there, the restaurants I had previously researched were generally unknown to members of my family, and provided several happy surprises. And if the Parisian bistrot really does deserve its horrendous reputation in France, it is a testament to the quality of food in France in general. While we, in America, continue to look to a few major cities (and the odd regional specialties) to define our culinary landscape, the food France is quite splendid from Paris to the smallest of towns. The Michelin guide's criteria for two star and three star restaurants ("worth a detour" and "worth a special journey") speak volumes about the ubiquity of gastronomy in France.

Of course, I could write volumes about all of this, but there are already plenty of books written on the subject. I'm here to write about my trip. I guess that the eating portion of my trip could be divided neatly into three distinct sections and a few side dishes: bakeries, 'bistronomie', and luxury.

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Les boulangeries:

It's hard for me to go back to France without spending an inordinate amount of time in bakeries. I've always thought that if I hadn't gone the chef route, I would have loved to make bread. There's something so wondrous about the art of breadmaking, from the basic ingredients to the subtle but undeniable differences between good and great bread. If there's one thing that the French do better than anyone, it's bread and pastries. Walking into your average corner bakery in Paris will still yield something better than almost anything I can find in San Francisco.

There's also a childhood attachment to French bakeries that I can't shake off; I ate a baguette and a chausson aux pommes almost every day I was there. Though my family cooked very well when I was growing up, especially my grandmother, we rarely went out to eat. However, there was never a day when we didn't purchase at least a baguette from a bakery.

When I first get to Paris these days, I'll scarf down almost anything from a bakery, no matter how mediocre it is. After a couple of days, however, I start looking for the primo stuff. As you can imagine, there's a great debate over the best baguette/croissant/pain de campagne in Paris, or in France for that matter. (Jeffrey Steingarten, easily the best food writer in this country, has a great article on the annual bread-baking competition in Paris that tries to find the best specimen). (Of course, there's also a debate over whether or not baguettes are actually good bread. Just to settle that: baguettes are cheap white bread. They don't have the complexity of sourdoughs or other natural-rising breads. They are for the common people: the common baguette is actually the product of government regulation...but I won't get into that right now. Baguettes are delicious as an accompaniment to food, or as a vehicle for a sandwich. They're not the best or most refined bread in a French bakery, but they represent for me what makes France's such a superior food culture, as even the most pedestrian products are made with high standards. There are people on forums like egullet and Chowhound who have tried to say that since baguettes are so low on the totem pole of bread in France, it shouldn't matter who makes the best baguette. I think the baguette, as the symbol of culinary excellence in the lowest common denominator, is worthy of such reverence.) (Too many parenthetical sentences. Sorry). I began to ask around to find people's favorite artisanal baguettes, which I will use as a catch-all term for baguettes a l'ancienne, or sourdough baguettes...basically a natural-rising baguette.

After consuming too many carbs, I found a couple of legendary baguettes, one around the corner from where I was staying, in the fifteenth arrondissement. The Pichard boulangerie, on the rue Cambronne, makes an excellent baguette a l'ancienne. The crust is sturdier than the common baguette, but the dough retains the lightness of its more inbred cousin. Similarly, the baguettes at La Boulangerie Julien in the seventh arrondissement are stellar. These baguettes de tradition have much more flavor, the type of flavor that can only come with natural yeasts. This being France, these natural starters may have been around for over a hundred years, greatly adding to the complexity of the bread.

My favorite new discovery for this trip was somewhat serendipitous. I spent most days in Sceaux, just south of Paris, where my grandparents lived when I was growing up and where they are now in a retirement facility. On the way to their home, we passed the Franck Debieu bakery, L'Etoile du Berger, a new addition to the scene in Sceaux (ok, there's no scene at all, but there's plenty of good food). The line was out the door, and the awning proudly advertised artisanal products. One bite of his sourdough baguette, and I was hooked. Then I tried his other breads, and it was clear that I was in the hands of a master. Aside from the typical French country loaves and levain breads, there were several fruit breads, as well as more German breads with rye and pumpernickel flours, though they didn't feel as heavy as most German breads (yes, they let you sample). And of course, his pastries, notably the chausson aux pommes and croissants au beurre were out of this world. People in France have been talking about the new wave of bakers returning to artisanal ways, and it's clear that Mr. Debieu, who was behind the counter even on Christmas day, is a leader in his field. Before we left, we bought a galette des rois, traditionally served for the epiphany (in January), to have with our grandparents, as we had done as children. If you're not familiar with it, it's essentially a traditional butter pastry dough, filled with frangipane, in which the baker has hidden a small, usually religiously-themed porcelain figure. Whoever gets the figure becomes king (based on the three kings, of course), and can choose a queen. Vice versa if the winner is a queen. The winner receives a paper gold crown (see pics). Mr. Debieu's was, of course, one of the best I've ever had.

Of course, I didn't just eat baguettes. I chomped on plenty of croissants, chaussons aux pommes (my favorite), pains au chocolat, pains aux raisins, etc. The Julien Boulangerie also had an excellent doughnut soaked in brandy. In most cases, these pastries made me wish I didn't have to return to San Francisco. While we do make some good bread in the Bay Area, you really have to look for it, and then fork over too much hard-earned cash to pay for the fact that it's so rare. The croissants at Acme, for example, are only mediocre in comparison, and they cost $2.50.

Why do I care so much about bread? Because it says so much about a food culture that their most humble foods are treated with such reverence.

Boulangerie Julien
85 rue St-Dominique
Paris, 75007

Boulangerie Pichard
88 rue Cambronne
Paris, 75015

Franck Debieu (L'Etoile du Berger)
6, rue du Docteur Berger
Sceaux, 92330

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La bistronomie:

Oh, the French. They do some things so well. Then they go ahead and bestow on the world such atrocities as French pop music. Another crime against culture is their insistence on coining new, goofy terms for things that don't need naming (not that we don't do it either...I think specifically of the term "foodie").

If you're wondering what 'bistronomie' is, it's the name given to the trend (it's actually been going on for over fifteen years) of Parisian chefs who have trained in the top kitchens in France to open small restaurants, often in old bistrot spaces, serving affordable yet gastronomically outstanding food. This new-ish type of restaurant has given rise to Michelin alternative Le Fooding (another sad exercise in branding), an excellent guide to more affordable eating in Paris (though it's not a 'cheap eats' guide: more of a bargain dining guide. For example, L'Astrance's 70 euro lunch is in the guide).

At this point, I should clarify that when considering the value of things in France, particularly food, I considered a roughly equal exchange rate of dollar to euro. Of course, the euro was at around $1.40 when I was there, but I find it more valuable to analyze these eating experiences from the point of view of purchasing power. Assuming roughly equal salaries (with a 1:1 exchange rate), it tells me a lot more about what the average French person can afford. Since most of the places I went to are as much for locals as for tourists, it paints a better picture for comparative purposes to look at those prices in this way. Of course, if you're planning a trip to France sometime soon, you should feel free to convert.

Anyway, back to 'la bistronomie'. Since I am in no position to eat at Pierre Gagnaire or L'Arpege these days, I focused my reservation-getting on these types of restaurants. In any case, I would much rather travel to Michel Bras, Marc Veyrat or Pic than eat in Parisian 3-Michelin star restaurants. With price tags of over 300 euros, these restaurants are not in the price range of most French people. Anyway, many people now swear by these 'bistronomic' restaurants, promoting their experiences there above many 2 and 3 star restaurants. I now know why.

Though I will review each restaurant in separate posts, in keeping with the style of the blog, they were all revelatory meals, if only to see how these people have re-thought the way gastronomy can be packaged (more on this in later posts). The history of these places, like in much of the food world, is one of necessity. In the early nineties, the French economy was waning. Many of the sous-chefs of the great Parisian restaurants of lore like La Tour D'Argent found themselves wanting to break out on their own, but the economy wouldn't allow for another 3-Michelin star hopeful. In fact, I don't think any economy would allow for the number of hopefuls out there to each open their own gastronomic temple. In addition to the economic situation, many French diners were fed up with the pomp and circumstance of three-star dining. This is understandable: after working in restaurants, I've become rather disillusioned about high-end dining. While it can sometimes yield moments of revelation, it can be so disappointing that I've turned my attention to more casual, but technically excellent food. I often find that high-end dining is too often focused on presentation and other such frivolities that goal of fine cuisine falls by the wayside. The high end restaurants I do want to eat at (L'Arpege, Bras, L'Astrance, Le Bernardin) tend to be more focused on getting the most out of a few stellar ingredients rather than presenting a muddle of conflicting flavors to shock and awe easily-amused diners. And don't get me started on so-called molecular gastronomy.

The restaurants I ended up eating at really have nothing in common except for their size and price points. These 'bistronomic' restaurants don't connote a type of food, but a type of menu. Usually, they tend to have a three-course prix fixe menu with several options, for a price between 30 and 40 euros. Some even offer tasting menus. Many don't let you pick a la carte. As for the food, it can range from down-home French cooking to modern food worthy of the finest of dining rooms. At Le Comptoir, Yves Camdeborde's food was foie-gras centric in the appetizers and offal-centric in the main courses. I didn't get to try his tasting menu, a steal at 45 euros. At Chez Michel, which obviously kept the name from the restaurant's more plebian past, Thierry Breton makes 'terroir' cuisine of his Bretagne home. With French regional cuisine difficult to find in Paris, nevermind in the US (I did work briefly at a certain San Francisco restaurant supposedly specializing in Gascon cuisine, but I don't think that counts), it was fascinating to eat a different type of 'classic'. At Le Pre Verre, affordability took on a new name as I enjoyed a two course lunch with a glass of wine and coffee for 13.50 euros. Finally, the most modern of my 'bistronomic' meals came at Thierry Blanqui's Le Beurre Noisette, where the amateurish service did nothing to take away from the refined yet comforting modern French food. Reviews to come.

Though I will expound on these thoughts in the restaurant reviews to come, I was almost glad that I didn't gamble my money on a 300+ euro 3-Michelin star meal. Almost everything I ate was excellent, and my meal at Le Beurre Noisette ranks among my top meals of all time. I wonder if these kinds of restaurants could work, or even exist in the US. In a way, they do a much better job showing how far behind we still are when it comes to gastronomy. These places are packed every night, and their value comes from being to identify the savoir-faire behind the dishes. I think it would be hard to find that kind of demand from discerning diners here. However, the biggest obstacles to places of this caliber opening here is the difference in skill between French and American chefs. A chef like Thierry Breton of Chez Michel was around 30 when he went out on his own. Since most chefs in France start apprenticeships at age 14 or 15, that means he had 15 years of experience. I don't know of any US chefs who have been that patient, and it shows in the quality of the food. Of course, we do have the occasional wunderkind like Grant Achatz or Johnny Monis. However, it suddenly makes a lot of sense to me that my favorite Bay Area restaurant, Pizzaiolo, has a chef who trained for years before going out on his own. Another such restaurant is Prune, in New York City, where even brunch is a revelation.

Vive la bistronomie!

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Le luxe:

I love charcuterie. It is one of my greatest food passions, and so I spent a good deal of time in Paris trolling for good charcuterie. This being Christmas and New Year's season, many of these stores were packed with foie gras products.

I don't know why, but I am completely in love with the traditional luxury products of Western cuisine. Since I have no money, it's not a question of conspicuous consumption. I also wasn't raised to eat them on a regular basis; like most French families, we ate foie gras during the holidays. I also remember tasting truffle once, but not liking it.

However, although I generally love all food, I am totally smitten by foie gras, truffles and caviar. Maybe they are luxury products for this reason. Being in France over the holidays, and seeing the ubiquity of foie gras shops that sell other Gascon products, I couldn't help but think that this is another part of a great food culture. Of course, the average Frenchman, gastronome or not, can't afford to eat foie gras and truffles on a regular basis, but it's the fact that these things are appreciated and prized by all for special occasions that reveals a lot about the relationship that the French have with food.

And of course, when you walk down the street and see this:

We have yoga classes, they have foie gras classes. I know which one I want!

I spent a lot of time in these stores, mostly sampling different foie gras preparations, and shopping for luxury canned goods to bring home. Here is some of my yield:

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...et les autres:

Other things from the trip:

- The bad Parisian bistrot. The first night I was there, my brother and I found ourselves wandering around the rue Mouffetard, often remembered for that famous Henri Cartier-Bresson photograph. Rue Mouffetard is adorable, but it's also tourist central, and thus the food that comes along with it is pretty dreadful. Most of the menus offer the same 'traditional' French slog at seemingly affordable prices. We were too starving to do much thinking, and wandered in to the first warm space we found open. The meal was disastrous. I had a soupe a l'oignon that had no flavor whatsoever, followed by a dry boeuf bourguignon with the requisite three 'side vegetables.' I don't know which tourist first requested those random veggie sides, but there's nothing French about them. So weird. Mine had a pasta with a strange tomato product on them, green beans, and boiled potatoes. The dessert, an apple tart that tasted straight out of a factory, was the highlight of the meal. These places are sadly all over Paris.

- L'as du fallafel. I mentioned above that it's very difficult to find good 'ethnic' food in Paris. One exception to this is fallafel (that's how they spell it...). L'as du fallafel, on the rue des Rosiers in the Jewish quarter is probably the best falafel I've had outside of Israel. I've mentioned before that I am a falafel and shwarma snob, and these little fried balls satisfy all of my cravings. Adorned with just cabbage, tehini and hot sauce, as should be, they are a perfect expression of this sandwich.

- Public face. I grew up in the second arrondissement, and my local park was the Palais Royal, a beautiful park surrounded on all sides by galleries. It's a very French park, and thus not the best place for kids to play (not much green space, very manicured...give me the English parks of my later youth any day). However, as an adult, it's an architectural wonder. At one end of the park is a monument that consists mainly of black and white columns of varying height, created by Daniel Buren. It's a very public work of art, and I spent many hours roller skating there and jumping off of them as a child. The columns are currently being renovated, and so the entire area has been fenced in. However, to make sure that people can still see them, several 'windows' have been placed in the fence, which are framed by the same black and white stripes found on the columns. This is another area where Paris shines: placing the conservation of its many public works of art as a priority, no matter what obstacles may exist. They could have just fenced it in.

- Nursing home food sucks in France too. Check out this abominable fish with thick hollandaise and boiled potatoes.

- I'll also post about this in a separate entry, but Pierre Herme's macarons are works of art.

- Walking into a butcher shop or produce shop in Paris is such a pleasant experience. The meat is so good and the affordable. Chicken tastes like chicken. The produce is fresh, and tastes like it's supposed to.

- Another thing I miss is the color of egg yolks there. They are a deep orange, instead of the weird yellow we have here.

That's all.

The Real Top Chef

2009-01-07T23:15:00.003-05:00

This installment of Top Chef is really losing its umph. These 'chefs' can barely cook, and most of them are delusional.

However, we still have Tom "The Don" Colicchio to do the culinary establishment proud. Everything he says is spot on. He is principled, knowledgeable, and I hope people learn from what he has to say. Tonight, he gave us the quote of the day, the week, the month, year, fuck...the century:

"I don't think risotto makes a very good garnish. Risotto is a dish all by itself."

With all the food mags and blogs talking about 'trends' for 2009, I only hope to see one trend: going back to basics. Learn how to actually make risotto. Stop serving "sushi" with mango, cream cheese, and other random ingredients that are an utter disrespect to pristine fresh fish. Stop making dishes that are defined by individual components that are no greater than the sum of their parts. We have gotten way ahead of ourselves when it comes to cuisine in this country. Let's slow down, learn, think, and go back to basics.In saying all of this, I am talking about restaurants in general, not Top Chef contestants. Sorry if that wasn't clear. I don't really care about that Top Chef that much!

Sorry if this feels like a diary entry.

Blast from the past

2009-01-05T21:46:00.003-05:00

A little delay on the Paris post. I'm feeling a little lazy about writing...

In the meantime, enjoy this fantastic clip:

I normally hate the "Check Please!" series on PBS. It is usually composed of three morons who take you to their favorite restaurants like Bucca Di Beppo and other such atrocities, and then talk about it with an unbearable passive-aggresiveness. The Bay Area version is particularly excruciating. However, Mr. Obama uses his 'debate' cadence to provide a mouth-watering description of Dixie Kitchen in Chicago. He is his usual charming self, and the other panelists can't help but smile when he riffs on their johnnycakes. I wonder if they could tell he would be president some day.

The full episode will air on January 16th.

NOPA

2009-01-03T21:16:00.003-05:00

There are restaurants in San Francisco whose popularity baffles me. Of course, Chez Panisse comes to mind, but there are many other, usually "ingredient-driven" restaurants that have what seems like an inordinate number of advocates. NOPA is one of those, a newer player on the scene. It is the only real 'dining' establishment on the strip of Divisadero St. that marks the beginning of the so-called Nopa neighborhood, aside from some suspect Thai and Nepali restaurants. Well chosen location, as it is generally packed on most nights.

We first went there last year for a late-night meal. NOPA does do a couple of things well. They're open til 1am, a rarity in this sleepy town, and they give you an amuse-bouche. Aside from that, it's an extremely mediocre restaurant. It's the type of 'California cuisine' restaurant that we've tried to stay away from. That first visit yielded a forgettable duck dish and a fish dish with roasted sunchokes that I didn't finish (an accomplishment for me). However, the saddest part of the meal was a starter of arancini, those normally delicious fried risotto balls, that came out cold and with a bland tomato dipping sauce. Though the food wasn't really bad, the execution was poor, and it was the type of food that's easily made at home and thus feels very overpriced. We swore never to return again.

Last night, however, we were jonesin' for some good burgers. In DC, we loved going to Palena to eat their awesome $10 burger. It was the perfect combination of a home-style food made by a talented chef, and the price was right. Since we live near Nopa, and didn't feel like waiting for Zuni to switch to its late night menu, we headed over to try their supposedly great burgers. The wait for a table was an hour and a half when we got there, but we were able to get a seat at their free-for-all communal table after a half hour. The service was actually decent, considering how packed the place was, and we had our orders for medium-rare burgers and a side of grilled escarole. We also ordered a delicious lager called Toast (Slightly Burnt) from Moonlight Brewery. It had much more complexity than most lagers I've had, but still paired well with the food.

The amuse that night was a small crostini with a nice tarragon flavored Dungeness crab salad. This was by far the culinary highlight of the night. The burgers were mediocre, especially for a $12 burger. Mine was mid-rare on one side, but closer to mid-well on the other. Lauren's seemed almost mid-well throughout. The bun was dry, the fries that came with it were standard Sysco brand, and the accompanying harissa-feta dip was grainy and bland. It's sad when the best thing on your burger plate is the pickled onion. I wanted to send the burger back, but my empathy for cooks in the weeds on a Friday night stopped me. To top it all off, they charge you $1.50 for cheese, but don't specify it on the menu, or when the server offers it to you. That is simply unacceptable.

Though we actually quite enjoyed our side of grilled escarole with capers and breadcrumbs, we're in no hurry to come back. I feel like NOPA is one of those places that has been affected by the lax standard of San Franciscans. The ingredients are good, but there's nothing beyond that. The dishes are uninspired, the menu isn't cohesive or focused, and the kitchen seems to be lacking experience. In addition, NOPA's decor is tacky and has very corporate-looking mural. It's a perfect example of the crappy interiors of most San Francisco restaurants that other bloggers have complained about. I really wish that NOPA was good. I like their philosophy, and I actually had an excellent spanish tortilla with romesco at a fundraiser from their chef. However, it has to fall into that category of California cuisine restaurant that's not worth wasting money on.

Sorry about the lack of pics. I get self-conscious taking photographs of food sometimes.

NOPA
560 Divisadero St (Nopa)
San Francisco, CA

Happy New Year

2009-01-01T15:11:00.002-05:00

I'm back in the US, and I have several posts planned on Paris.

Happy 2009 to all.

Happy Holidays

2008-12-22T12:32:00.004-05:00

There will most likely be no blogging until after New Year's. I'll be in Paris until then though, and I'll have plenty to write about when I come back. Reservations are made, bakeries have been scouted, and my childhood favorites will all make an appearance.

Merry Christmas, Hannukah, etc.

Hogs are fun

2008-12-21T11:00:00.001-05:00

This post is a bit late to come, as it happened a couple of months ago, but I just got the pictures.

Lauren's aunt Sarah and her family like to eat, have a beautiful house in Berkeley with a perfect kitchen (and a six-burner Wolfe range!), and are the only people I know who own a Caja China. They started a not-quite-yearly tradition of having a pig roast at their place a few years ago. The tradition is quite simple: a whole pig, roasted in the caja china, with a potluck for the other dishes. There's also bourbon involved. Sounds pretty perfect, doesn't it?

In years past, they always ordered their pigs without the head, for it does not fit in the Caja China, and it's a bit more of a challenge to eat than the other parts. This is year, I begged them to keep the head. They pay for it after all! You see, one of the things I love most in this world is charcuterie, and one of the most fun pieces of charcuterie I've ever had the pleasure of making is head cheese, the curiously named product of pig or cow head meats usually set in its own gelatin. I'd made it before in a restaurant, but I wanted it to be my contribution to this lovely party.

In looking around the internet for information about head cheese, I found out that most European countries have some variance of the stuff, and that it's even spread to destinations as far-flung as Korea and South Africa. Interesting that people see livestock heads and want to make jellied cakes out of them. Some people pickle it, and some people stuff it back into a deboned head and cure it. Here, I sought to make a rather typical 'testa' log in an Italian style, without too much gelatin and with distinctly Italian spicing.

The process of getting the meat ready for this type of head cheese isn't actually that complicated. You start by trimming any nose hair and other nasties from the head, and proceed to essentially make a stock. The idea is quite simple, really: there is so much collagen in the head of the pig that the resulting stock is full of gelatin and flavor. Reduce that stock, and use it as your binding agent for all the meat you can pull of the head.

This happened in October, before Obama was elected, so the Berkeley residents in charge of bringing the pig's head to its new home proceeded to put lipstick on its face, in honor of Ms. Palin, mother of Trig. Doesn't he look pretty?

But let's get down to business. Prepping the head is actually quite simple. After washing off the lipstick and cleaning the head, I removed any extra visible hair, and tied the jaw and ears with twine so that it wouldn't come completely apart in the pot.

Then, just do as you would do for a stock. Mix with some aromatics (I used plenty of rosemary and garlic here, as I wanted those flavors in the gelatin). Cover with cold water, and bring to a simmer, for about three or four hour, til the meat slides tenderly off the bone.

Oh wait. At that point, I was told that the pig's legs were too long for the Caja China. Fantastic, I thought, more gelatin! Pig's feet are chockfull of collagen, so I proceeded to hack the feet of the pig, which was chillin' (literally: covered in ice) in the spare bathroom's bathtub. After this massacre, I wound up with four lovely pig's trotters, ready to play their part.

Anyway, after braising, I carefully removed the pig's head, which is hard to do as all the meat is trying to come off the bone. Strain the stock, and reserve just enough for the head cheese, about two quarts. I seasoned it with fennel seeds, chiles, cloves, allspice and white pepper, then let it reduce. We wanted the gelatin to be very hard, so I reduced it by almost two thirds. Then add the salt.

While the stock is reducing, gather the kids, and start taking apart the pig's head! I could have done more cleanly, but it was much more fun to let everyone dig in. Again, this is a pretty simple process. Find the meat, put it in a bowl. Usually starts with taking the bottom jaw out, and then the tongue, which has to be peeled of its outer skin. After that, it's a hunt. There are some bigger pieces, like neck meat and the jowls, but most of the meat has to be pried away from the layers of fat.

And then there's the eyeball...

By the end, it's a complete mess, but everyone's had fun.

At this point, the only tough part. Actually rolling it all together. I laid out a large amount of plastic wrap, made sure the meat was torn up a bit, and lay it out in a rough log shape. Pour the liquid on top, making sure it doesn't go everywhere. Then roll, making sure both ends are tight. It's a bit more complicated than it sounds, and I remember screwing this method up a lot when I first had to do it in restaurants. Eventually, it should like like this:

Ideally, it would have hung in the fridge to keep its round shape, but the fridge was packed with food for the roast, so we had to settle with laying it on its side, and one of the sides flattened a little.

I served it in pretty thick slices, treating it more like a pate. With some toasted sweet batard from Acme, cornichons and whole grain mustard, this was a perfect rustic plate of charcuterie. I'm a modernist in general when it comes to food, but there are certain things that shouldn't be touched. Good charcuterie is one of them. I really liked how this turned out. Not too much gelatin, lots of identifiable pieces of pork head, a good, mildly spicy flavor, redolent of fennel. I ate quite a few slices.

As for the pig? Well, just look at this baby:

There's nothing better than a whole roasted animal. Crispy skin, moist meat, slapped into a sandwich with a little chili sauce. Mmmmm........

Top Chef Debacle

2008-12-18T19:45:00.004-05:00

Who watched Top Chef last night? I've normally been pretty defensive of this show, even when many other culinary professionals derided it. In the past four seasons, there were at least a few people worthy of the money, putting out dishes that seemed like they could be developed into something I would pay for.

However, this season seems to be a complete mess. At least half of those cooks couldn't cook their way out of a paper bag. We're down to eleven cooks, and I think only three should be on this show: Jamie, Jeff and Stefan. The others have consistently produced uninspired food from the eighties. How does someone win a quickfire challenge with seared filet mignon on cauliflower puree? Are they catering someone's wedding circa 1985? Weak.

Then there's the matter that this "Christmas" episode was filmed this summer, and thus the chefs were asked to cook completely out of season. And let's not forget that this benefit dinner was probably fake anyway.

Of all the chefs and cooks I've worked with, I can only think of a couple who would have trouble beating Melissa, Radikha, Hosea or Ariane in a cook-off. This is just sad.

------------

However, I stumbled upon this today:

http://www.larakastner.com/alinea/

Please look through this entire photo essay. I looked at it at least six times today. This is what true top chefs do. People have made a lot of noise about the $1500 price tag on these dinners, but if I could get a reservation, I would have been there, regardless of my employment status. This is a little piece of culinary history. And Grant Achatz needs a stylist.

Batali

2008-12-17T17:41:00.000-05:00

I just received my January issue of Food & Wine, and part of it is devoted to "trends" in the food world for next year. Statistically speaking, it's a bit counterintuitive to talk about trends in the future. However, it's funny to read about these supposed coming attractions, knowing that most will probably be short-lived. 'Trends' have been responsible for culinary abominations like Asian fusion and the iceberg wedge salad. I think things have to stand the test of a few years to really be called a trend. Besides, the only 'trend' in food should be that it tastes good, right?

If we can point to real (and positive) trends in the food world of late, they have to be: the branding of farms on menus, the casualization of fine dining, 'small plates' dining, and the opening of countless Italian restaurants (meaning, of course, 'real' Italian, and not red-sauce houses). The latter trend has been, in part, due to pioneers like Mario Batali, who went to Italy, discovered the joys of true Italian food, and came back to bless us with its effortless deliciousness. Add to that the fact that Italian restaurants are infinitely more profitable (less labor, cheaper ingredients) than French restaurants while maintaining a comparable level of refinement, and you have the makings of a trend. While reading 'Heat', I learned that although Batali was cooking this way for his own personal pleasure, he was lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time, which is probably the primary factor in a restaurant's success (aside from good food, of course).

Since Batali opened Po, in competition with the more Italian-American Village restaurants, there has been a veritable wave of real Italian restaurants opening up in US cities. Oftentimes, the story behind those chefs is the same: classically trained (i.e. French-trained) chefs goes to Italy, falls in love with the food, comes back wanting to share their discovery with their home country. In the Bay Area, we have Delfina, A16, SPQR, Farina, and my favorites, Dopo and Pizzaiolo. Many of these restaurants have focused on fresh pasta and Neapolitan-style pizza. Some, like Quince, have gone for more of a fine-dining route. But no one has come close to achieving what Batali has done. He now has some ownership in some fifteen or so restaurants, most in New York City, and most Italian in some way. From his flagship Babbo, one of the hardest reservations in New York, to the extremely affordable Otto, he's managed to keep the quality high while developing a true culinary empire, which defies traditional restaurant economics. Think what you will about the culture of celebrity chefs, but Batali can only be seen as good for the culinary world (except for his little mishap on PBS). Batali keeps his street cred with moves like his controversial Food Network departure, showing that while he may like enriching himself, he's not a corporate whore.

This summer, I had the opportunity to eat at several Batali restaurants, and they were all positive experiences. I'll review each one in the order I dined there:

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Otto:

I accidentally stumbled into Otto with my friend Dave when visiting New York for stages last April. It was close to midnight on a weeknight, and though they were soon closing, the place was pretty packed and felt very alive. Though it's on a quiet block near Washington Square Park, the place had a uniquely New York energy. We were sat quickly, and the service was fast and professional, if a little curt. Still, better that than friendly but incompetent service. We ate a margherita pizza, spaghetti alla carbonara, and a couple of appetizers, and walked out spending less than $20 each.

I went back to Otto several times this summer, mostly because it was near my restaurant and was open late. It is more of a testament to Batali's skill as a restaurateur than as a chef, though the food excellent, especially considering the prices. The formula is quite brilliant: a large space, with a wine bar in the front and restaurant in the back. You wait for your table with the name of a train station in Italy as your place marker, and the table appears on a "departure" board behind the host, complete with spinning blackboard letters. Very cute. The wine bar has no seats, just counter-like tables, which really packs in the revelers. The wine list is huge, and very affordable. There is nothing pretentious about Otto. In the wine bar, you can order from the antipasti menu, serving typical cold vegetable dishes like olives, peas with prosciutto, spicy Sicilian cauliflower, and Tuscan-style lentils, at $4 a pop. Not only is this extremely affordable for the diner, as these are skillfully made and with the finest ingredients, but they are great for business, as they require no preparation during service, since they are served at room temperature. Much like the treats on the counter at bars in Spain, these are what best represents a truly developed food culture. Spaghetti with sausage and escarole

The rest of the menu has some excellent salumi selections (the coppa is oustanding) for $9 a plate, fish for $8, and salads for $8. The menu changes with the seasons, and there are some daily specials, but the prices never change, and always stay this low. Otto must be doing very well in this economy. The main courses are pasta and pizza. The pasta dishes are very traditional, like carbonara or puttanesca, with some more americanized variations. Again, just a few excellent ingredients, and at price ($9) that can't be beat. This streamlining of prices must make menu-planning easy for the restaurant. The pizze are more varied in price, but still moderately-priced. They are not traditional Neapolitan pizze, but are cooked on a griddle. The crust is a little crispier and denser than a Neapolitan, but the toppings and sauce are again of the highest quality. The pizza menu is divided into two sections: one more traditional, and one with simple fresh ingredient combinations like potato, anchovy and ricotta. Again, with prices that range from $9 to $14 (for pizze that have things like prosciutto or bottarga on them), we're talking about a very good deal. Since I lived on the Upper West Side, my cheap friends and I often went to a place called Celeste that was theoretically cheap Italian food. However, the prices were a couple of bucks higher than at Otto, and the food was significantly worse. Otto was perfect for going to with friends who weren't that into food. You can get out of there with a full belly for less than $20, which is amazing for the quality of the food. Put it this way: a plate of linguini with marinara sauce at my local Olive Garden (I checked the menu online) costs $11.95, compared to Otto's $9 a plate. Yes, they have that neverending pasta bowl, but that's just gross.
Pizza con arugula e prosciutto

When Lauren came to visit, we went to Otto one night without the intention to pig out. However, a look at the menu and wine list, and we were ordering from every section of the menu: four antipasti, pasta, pizza, an excellent bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the Bastianich label (Joe Bastianich is the wine director and partner in Otto), and the bill came to less than $100 after tax and tip. We even finished with one of their amazing gelato concoctions, which are a must-try.

I love Otto because the food, while not memorable by any means, is still excellent, and priced more affordably than most restaurants of this caliber. I highly recommend it if you're looking for a fun place to go with friends who aren't too into food. You may even spot a semi-celebrity, like Dave from Season 1 of Top Chef (who ate about five plates of food by himself at the table next to us).

Otto
One Fifth Avenue (West Village)
NYC

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Lupa

I went to Lupa one night after work, and found one of the warmest, most festive restaurant spaces I had been to in a while. Though the food at Lupa is a little more detailed than at Otto, the restaurant has a quieter version of the atmosphere in the wine bar at its sister restaurant. With its typically West Village location, it's a great place for a weeknight meal.

Lupa is the brainchild of Mark Ladner, one of Batali's proteges and the nerdy guy who is his sous-chef on Iron Chef America. I once had the pleasure to read the Art Culinaire issue on his work, and he is one of the rare intellectuals of the food world. His respect for Italian tradition is inspiring, and comes through in his food at Lupa.

The menu at Lupa follows the traditional osteria format: antipasti, primi, secondi, desserts. What Otto does in large volumes at a low low cost, Lupa does with more care and slightly higher prices. For example, the antipasti cost $6, for a slightly larger portion and a finer touch. My favorite dishes came from the 'fish' antipasti section, including a splendid whipped baccala with potatoes ($10).

The pasta is first-rate; my tagliatelle with wild boar ragu was one of the best things I've ever eaten, and I know my ragus. The secondi are very simple, but executed perfectly. Again, I loved all the fish dishes I tried from that section. At prices around $20, these provide a great deal to diners.

However, my favorite part of dining at Lupa was the wine. I was lucky to be eating with someone who knew the bartender, so we were served a litany of wine tastes. Lupa was built with the wine list in mind, and my meal there contributed to my new interest in Italian wines, which I had previous shunned in favor of French and Spanish. The wine has a lot of unique selections, and the waiters know their wines.

Again, Lupa is does the casual Italian osteria right. With the West Village location, you may even thing you're in Europe somewhere. It reminds me a lot of my favorite osteria in the Bay Area, Dopo, though a little better.

Lupa
170 Thompson St (West Village)
NYC

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Casa Mono/Bar Jamon

Casa Mono is Batali's foray into Spanish cuisine. After reading Heat, you find out that it was a reward for Andy Nusser, a chef de cuisine at Babbo for years, whose passion for Catalan cuisine prompted the creation of Mono. Though it is Batali-financed and managed, Nusser is the executive chef. That is another one of Batali's skills as a restaurateur: he finds incredible culinary talents like Ladner and Nusser, nurtures them, funds their restaurants, but doesn't act like an overbearing owner, leaving them the freedom run their restaurants as they would like. Normally, those protégé-mentor relationships only last until the protégé opens his/her own place independently. However, in Batali’s case, his protégés seem to have no problem staying under his wing.

The food at Casa Mono is litany of Spanish-style dishes, mainly with influences from Catalunya. They have a varying degree of authenticity, but stay very true to their roots. Though I hate to use the word tapas when it’s not really anything but small plates, this is a fancified tapas restaurant. The traditional bar snacks are done up with fancier ingredients, and it’s easy to get addicted to the many small plates on Nusser’s menu. In a tiny kitchen and a tiny restaurant space, the flavors really remind the diner of being in one of the many small and exquisite restaurants in Barcelona.

My favorites included bacalao croquettes with a unique and delicious orange aioli, and a piece of seared foie gras with a sweet onion relish. What Nusser does best, though is the less-used cuts. The pigs’ trotters were wonderful, not too greasy and beautifully seasoned, as was the lamb’s tongue.
Bacalao croquetas with orange aioli

Again, this restaurant offers a great combination of festive atmosphere with quality, reasonably priced food. I spent around $25 and got to try many different dishes, including wine. Since it’s a little removed from the buzz of the East Village, it’s a great place to come before a night out. I also highly recommend trying the charcuterie from the adjacent Bar Jamon.

Casa Mono/Bar Jamon
52 Irving Place (Union Square/Murray Hill)
NYC

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Babbo:

My ‘last supper’ in New York was at Babbo. Babbo is Batali’s flagship restaurant, the one that started his culinary empire. Ten years later, it’s still almost impossible to get a weekend reservation there, and it’s tough on weeknights too. I got myself a seat at the bar on a Tuesday night, and at 5.30pm, the restaurant was packed. It’s on a lovely block off Washington Square Park, and has a more stately feel than Otto, Lupa, and Mono. That night, the pre-theater crowd really was a pre-theater crowd. Neil Diamond was in town to play Madison Square Garden, and many of the tables were packed with characters straight out of the Sopranos, ready for the big concert. Jersey was representing, and the bartender and bar clientele had a good laugh about it. (Sorry if I offended anyone with that, but it was really amusing).

The menu at Babbo isn’t too differently structured from Lupa’s, but the food is less traditional, or at least less rustic. There’s also a much greater selection. The menu digs around Italy’s deep culinary heritage to go beyond the classics and find new and interesting dishes. They started me off with a crostini of marinated ceci beans, which seemed almost large enough to be an appetizer. My appetizer of grilled octopus with fennel, lentils and limoncello vinaigrette was simply outstanding. It’s not hard to cook octopus, but you have to pay attention to it. If grilled, it has to be done on a very hot grill so that the outside chars nicely but the inside doesn’t cook for too long. This octopus was expertly grilled, had crispy skin and the desired consistency of moist chicken, and the refreshing salad of lentils that accompanied it was subtle and well-seasoned. The limoncello vinaigrette was an unusual way to bring acid to the dish, and added a subtle hint of licorice to the plate.

My primi of black spaghetti, salami, rock shrimp and green chile was also phenomenal. Though the shrimp themselves were a little bland, the pasta has a wonderful essence of the sea, and the little pieces of fried spicy salami were an incredible foil for the oceanic flavor. With the delicate spice of the chile, the dish was a tour de force in balance on the plate.

I finished with the excellent olive oil gelato. With a glass of wine, the three course meal came in at under $50, which makes Babbo quite affordable for the quality of the food. The service is extremely professional, and their wine director is one of the foremost authorities on Italian wines in New York. I’ve heard people say Babbo has slipped in recent years, but it seemed to be on top form when I went there. Now if I could just go to Esca and Del Posto, I would be a very happy Batali fan.

Babbo
110 Waverly Place (West Village)
NYC

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I love Mario Batali. That's all I have to say.

Cafe Mums Shabu Shabu -

2008-12-15T17:15:00.000-05:00

Last weekend, I partook in a celebratory binge drinking session for two friends who had just finished an exam that may guarantee them future monetary success or something. We went to an all-you-can-and-drink shabu shabu place in Japantown, and much of the night is a blur to me. Let's just say that this night rivals Cinco de Mayo 2006 in my hall of fame of drinking.

The concept is pretty simple. Unlimited beef and vegetables, and unlimited beer and sake, for $43. Sadly, like most of the food in Japantown, it is horrendous. Of course, you're not there for the culinary experience, otherwise you probably wouldn't simultaneously partake in something that would result in your body's expulsion of said culinary experience. Still, you'd think they would make a bit of an effort. Normally, shabu shabu starts off with a typically subtle but definitely flavored hot pot of broth. Here, we only had water. Beef boiled in water is not good. Neither are most of the vegetables on offer. The only redeeming thing was the soy-ginger sauce which was imbibed by most items if they were soaked in it long enough.

The beer is Asahi, and the sake is warm and gross, which is fine as it is mostly used for sake bombs. I felt bad for the staff there. They have to deal with drunk customers all night, but without the tips that come from working at a bar. But hey, no one's making them work there.

If you want a truly sloppy experience with an Asian theme, I'd highly recommend this place. Otherwise, I wouldn't recommend it at all.

Cafe Mums
1800 Sutter St (Pacific Heights/Lower Pac Heights)
San Francisco, CA

The election isn't over

2008-12-14T16:26:00.004-05:00

One of the things that flew under the radar in national politics is agriculture. Most people are so disconnected from their food supply that they have no idea how much of an impact it has on the world. While we worry about the war, which will most likely end soon, or at least in our lifetime, we continue to commit grievances against our health (and thus the healthcare system), the environment, and the world's food supply, by sticking to poor dietary choices and always shooting for the 'best deal' when buying food. I don't think that most of the changes we need are going to come from government action. We still live in a mostly market-driven economy, and as consumers, we have the most power to affect change. I don't need to repeat the talking points, as they are all over the internet and beyond, but if you are still clueless: read The Omnivore's Dilemma, stop eating so much meat, and spend a greater percentage of your income on food that may cost a bit more (though maybe not) but tastes better and is better for the world, instead of on shoes, TVs, cars, and stupid shit like that.

That said, Mr. Obama did run as the candidate for change, and we need to hold him to that. I am generally impressed by Obama's intellectual honesty, and if he is to continue to be held in this kind of esteem, he must at once overhaul the Department of Agriculture. Aside from the economy, the environment is the most pressing issue we face. Nicholas Kristof had an excellent column about this in the Times, and I have to agree with him. Everyone knows the buzz words. Factory farms. Agribusiness. Ethanol subsidies. And yet we continue to accept this farming system as the status quo. We need to pressure Obama to pay more attention to the Department of Agriculture. Instead of paying small farms to grow food, let's pay them to help them invest in their small-production systems and to build a sustainable infrastructure. Let's change the landscape in Iowa and Nebraska to include more than corn and soy. Again, I still think that the change needs to come from consumers. I don't trust that government can do that much to influence what is mostly a cultural problem at this point. Still, you can get the ball rolling my signing this petition. It's time to stop looking at these issues as some kind of elitist foodie boner. They are universal issues, and I hope Obama will see them as worthy of a spot on his agenda.

Recession Special?

2008-12-11T23:28:00.001-05:00

The recession hasn't been kind to me: I haven't worked in a while, and thus haven't been able to go out to dinner either. At least not anywhere nice.

But I've been getting by with some good home cooking and a few tacos here and there. However, I finally faced recession's ugly face head on when I walked in to Popeye's earlier this week to partake in their fantastic 2 pieces for 99c Tuesday special. I knew as soon as I'd walked in that something was wrong. The sign was the same, but the price...$1.29! There's not supposed to be dollar signs on Tuesdays! I still bought the chicken, but it just didn't taste as good. This was one of the only things I had left in my life!

"The Foreclosures didn't phase me
The Dow Jones was a lil scary
JP Morgan Chase made me a lil dizzy
But the Tuesday special put the recession in da hizzy."
- Recession Special, Da Gourmet Pig (from "Tha Carter MMVIII")