Category: food

Dishes on My Mind: Spring, Delicate and Bold

Sitting at a table on Wednesday evening with four other diners, 1999 Perrier-Jouët and 2006 Nicolas Feuillatte in our glasses. We talked about memorable meals and weekends, the Kentucky Derby, and California wines.

The occasion: A winemaker was in Houston, and I was in the middle of a two-day tasting tour with him, his national sales director, and his wines (Component and State of Mind). The day had been full; joining us at dinner was a couple who had supported his wines from early on. Michael celebrated their patronage with this meal (and this couple shared their 20th wedding anniversary with us) at Tony’s.

Let’s get to the delicate part, and a dish I ordered on that evening, called Spring’s First Harvest. It was white asparagus, fava beans, and baby bibb lettuce, plated in a beautiful manner. I was in Spargelzeit heaven.

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White asparagus and fava beans, on the tasting menu at Tony’s in Houston.

The spear of asparagus — the best part, the tip and a small portion of the stalk — had a lingering crispness, and a taste that took me back to Germany, an earthy deepness that paired well with the fava beans. Each bite of this small journey was ethereal.

A few days earlier, at another table, around 10 o’clock in the evening, my brother-in-law, Mark, in town. Mark and Angela and I at Nobie’s. More spring, but, this time, definitely not delicate.

Bold is what this dish was, and, as with the asparagus dish at Tony’s, done well. Orecchiette made by hand, peas, pistachio pesto, lemon curd, and goat cheese. Plus, an optional addition, duck confit. Rich, wholly satisfying, a perfect ensemble. It’s called Orecchiette con Piselli.

You might not be able to find a better plate of pasta.

The pasta did almost melt in my mouth, save for a toothsome bite that gave way to a silky sensation. I’ve written about the pasta at Nobie’s, and have been nothing but impressed with what’s done with flour, eggs, and water (and perhaps olive oil and salt?) in Martin Stayer’s kitchen.

The peas, the lemon curd, the cheese, and the duck, each at peak freshness, seem made for the orecchiette, and if anyone alive pushed this plate away after one bite, I would not want to know them.

Grace Amid Discord and Despair: We Talk Ramey, Cline, ‘Sideways’, Riesling, Zinfandel, Syrah, and More

Fires out west, Twitterreah in D.C., and collapsing infrastructure in Genoa: The woes continue unabated (it’s always been that way, of course), and as summer progresses toward the autumnal equinox, despair and dismay seem the manners of the day. What to do?

Well, once you’ve checked on your friends and acquaintances in wine country, those dealing with the deadly fires, once you’ve donated to relief efforts there, after you’ve made sure your friend in Genoa is OK, after you’ve read the latest piece from Maggie Haberman about the goings-on in the White House (has there ever been a leakier bunch at 1600 Pennsylvania?), it’s time to cook and drink and eat and give thanks for the solace that can be had in those activities.

A few weeks ago, I was at State of Grace in Houston, drinking Rosé and enjoying some oysters. Matt Crawford, the restaurant’s general manager and beverage director, stopped by and poured us a Mezcal, and we talked briefly. Matt’s a great guy, and he just happens to be the subject of my latest Wine Talk. Give it a read, and next time you decide on oysters, pair them with Mezcal.

Drink Mezcal with your oysters. (Brockhaus photo)

Briny heaven (Brockhaus photo)

Continuing with wine, we move to Germany (my favorite wine country), and a great cause. (Drink Riesling every day!) But first, let’s hear from Mark Twain on Deutschland:

My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought to learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in thirty hours, French in thirty days, and German in thirty years. It seems manifest, then, that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired. If it is to remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside among the dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it.
– “That Awful German Language,” Appendix D of A Tramp Abroad

Whenever the literary German dives into a sentence, that is the last you are going to see of him till he emerges on the other side of his Atlantic with his verb in his mouth.
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court

…mastery of the art and spirit of the Germanic language enables a man to travel all day in one sentence without changing cars.
Christian Science

A dream…I was trying to explain to St. Peter, and was doing it in the German tongue, because I didn’t want to be too explicit.
Mark Twain’s Speeches, 1923

The Germans are exceedingly fond of Rhine wines; they are put up in tall, slender bottles, and are considered a pleasant beverage. One tells them from vinegar by the label.
A Tramp Abroad

Twain’s sarcasm and humor set aside, if you read this today (Sunday, the 19th of August, 2018) before 4 o’clock in the afternoon or so, and if you are in Houston, Texas, hightail it to Camerata and drink some fine German wines and contribute to a good cause. (Click here for more details.)

All of this talk about German wines takes me back to a fine summer day a few years ago; my friend Holger and I took a journey that included a stop at Schloss Vollrads. We drank and ate well.

A fine setting for Riesling.

I enjoy a Riesling at Schloss Vollrads.

Drinking Rielsing with Holger on the Rhine near Bingen.

Finally, there’s Zinfandel and Syrah, and Cline and Ramey. Two bottles we opened recently, two vintages that I recommend highly and that will pair with everything from hamburgers to beef stew and grilled ribeye or lamb. David Ramey and Nancy and Fred Cline are the names behind these two bottles, and you’ll want to add both wines to your inventory.

Zinfandel from old vines is in this bottle.

Football (and Food and Wine): You Win Some, You Lose Some

I need not remind anyone that Die Mannschaft made an ignominious exit from the World Cup this year, one that stirred up much debate in Germany and giddy glee in Britain. For the first time since 1938, the team did not make it of the group stage. Löw and company lost to South Korea and Mexico, all the while playing with no heart, and left it to Croatia and France to contest the final, which was a satisfying spectacle all around.

After Germany’s exit, I was supporting Croatia, mainly because I like the way Luka Modrić plays, but the French side was better on the day. With Germany gone, I didn’t entirely lose interest in the tournament, but 2018’s World Cup will not be remembered as one of my favorites … a lot of the play was lackluster, Neymar was (and is) an idiot, and, well, Germany was definitely not Germany. We now wait for 2020 and 2022, and a better Mannschaft.

There’s more to life than Fußball, of course, and good wine and food are two vital components of an existence well lived. Angela and I were in Florida last week, there to visit my parents, who live in Clearwater, and my friend John Ryan, whom I have known since I was a child. We cooked steaks and opened a few bottles, and we made it to some restaurants, dining on fried chicken and shrimp cocktails and collard greens. One evening, Angela and I made the short drive to the Seminole Heights area of Tampa and ate at  The Refinery, where the pakora was overfried but a dish of pappardelle, black eyed peas, sauerkraut, bacon, dill, and crème fraîche was a revelation.

Pappardelle, black eyed peas, and sauerkraut … at The Refinery in Tampa.

The homemade pappardelle was to the tooth, the combination of crème fraîche, dill, and bacon amazingly comforting, and the black eye peas and sauerkraut? I would eat that by the gallons. Some olive oil and salt completed this surprise course. (The chef and owner of The Refinery, Greg Baker, attended high school with my friend Steven Eigenmann, the goalkeeper on my Florida club soccer team, who recommended we try the restaurant. I trusted him in goal, and I trust his palate.)

This Tomato Toast at Theodore Rex will have you smiling.

Back in Houston, Theodore Rex and a Rosé were on my mind. You can read my review of Justin Yu’s restaurant here, including a few words about Tomato Toast, and if you’re looking for a wine to share with good people, I recommend the Endless Crush, from Inman Family Wines.

Here’s a Rosé for you.

Lardo Takes Me to Florence, Manti to Istanbul: That’s a Great Week in Houston Dining

You’re walking around Florence, taking in as much as you can, running your hands across the stones of buildings, wondering about the people who lived and loved and died in them a thousand years before you were born. You imagine all the wild boar roaming in the hills above the city, think about feasts of yore at which cinghiale starred, you wind down a narrow passage near the river and find yourself outside the restaurant with the rabbit dish you love. At your table, you order a quartino of Nebbiolo and accept a small plate of lardo, a gift from the owner. Outside, the sun begins to set. Inside, the evening begins, deliciously.

Lardo. If you’ve never experienced the pleasure that is lardo melting on your tongue, get a table at Houston restaurant Charivari (no, it’s not the only place in the city that serves lardo, but it’s certainly home to some fine examples of it) and ask for it. The chef, Johann Schuster, will be happy to oblige. Here’s a look at a platter of the food that I sampled recently at the midtown establishment — and I find myself wanting more as I write this.

Lardo, two ways, and tongue head cheese.

Read about Schuster’s lardo here, and don’t delay if you want some, because this is not mass-produced salumi. (I write about a great dish at Nancy’s Hustle as well in the piece. The manti served at the new — and popular — restaurant in Houston’s EaDo area, took me back to Istanbul, as the lardo transported me to Florence. Not bad for a week in Texas.)

Finally, I give you sausage, two made with skill by Schuster, which I tasted on the lardo evening. There’s a rich, decadent blood sausage, and a garlic sausage that is as good as any I’ve ever had. You’ll love them.

Blood sausage and a hearty garlic sausage, as served at Charivari

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