Tag: pork (Page 2 of 2)

Dining on rabbit and lamb with Chris Stanton

August 23, 2013 / [email protected] / 3 Comments

I’m in Houston, and I’m eating a lot, immersing myself into this sprawling city’s culinary offerings. Angela and I have dined at several places recently, and I have been solo at some others. With one exception – Triniti – the food has been good, some of it very good, including an excellent snapper at Reef and some wonderful Thai (including a soft shell crab) in the waterside town of Seabrook, south of Houston toward Galveston. Angela especially loved her scallop and shrimp curry there, and the evening ended up at the bar with two of the town’s finest, one of who gave us his recommendations, which included a sushi place in Houston.

Yesterday for lunch I had tacos at Tacos A Go-Go … pork and chicken guisado (stewed). Perfect bites, long, slow cooking, corn tortillas. All for $4.00. Last night Chris Stanton, a friend and former colleague of mine from the Abu Dhabi and Dubai days, and I shared a table at Provisions, and the meal began with Bone Marrow Brioche/Tomato Jam/sheep’s cheese, followed by Ham O’ Day (a prosciutto from America’s Midwest).

Provisions’ Ham ‘O Day

I would have liked more marrow and marrow taste in the bread pairing, an opinion that Chris shared, and the tomato jam was a tad too sweet, but the cheese was excellent – a bit crumbly, soft mouth feel, slightly creamy yet pungent. The ham, which came atop a light mustard sauce, imparted a salty taste at the back of the palate, which at first Chris and I did not like. But then a funkiness set in, and that made us hunger for more. We agreed that the curing was carried out well, and we were happy.

We were drinking a 2008 Bodegas Aster Crianza, and the ham’s funkiness enhanced its taste. At $32 a bottle it is one of the least expensive wines on Provisions’ list, and is a good value.

Sweet (overly sweet) lamb ribs at Provision

To the lamb. And to Korea, because that’s the first thing my brain thought of when I put one of the ribs in my mouth. They were crisp on the outside, and fairly tender meat was underneath. Unfortunately they were overly sweet. We tasted plum and brown sugar, and I would swear that some molasses was in the mix. We wanted less sugar, richer meat. But that did not stop us from finishing the dish. (We turned our attention to the paté before we finished the ribs, and when we returned to them they had cooled off, which enhanced their taste. They were better close to cold.)

Rabbit paté en croute, fit for a fine Spring

A first bite of the rabbit paté told us that, while excellent, it should never be ordered with the lamb ribs. Pea tendrils graced the top of the rabbit, and a bite of that dish, followed by a taste of the ribs, took us from the freshness of spring to a brisk and smoky autumn evening. Too jarring, too discordant. Both great plates, but if they eloped their romance would never last.

How many people does it take to make pasta?

Chris prepares pasta, in the Dubai kitchen that Angela and I shared.

Chris and I shared an apartment in Abu Dhabi in 2008, and when I first met him I considered myself very fortunate, because he loves food, and he loves to cook. And he is a good cook, intuitive. We teamed up well in our kitchen, and produced some great plates together, including a salmon tartare cone (thank you, Thomas Keller) and, with the help of his parents, a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner for 14.

During our dinner at Provisions Chris asked me as we were eating the ham how much I knew about curing meat, and told me that a visit to the Staten Island home of a friend of his father’s marked the beginning of his passion for food. Chris was 8, and they made fresh pasta and sliced some homemade prosciutto and drank some wine made by a grandfather from Italy. Chris showed me a photo of the salumeria in that Staten Island home, and I share it with you. (Please notice the crucifix at the upper left of this photo. It is indeed blessed meat.)

Meat cures on Staten Island. (Photo courtesy of Chris Stanton)

I replied that I knew a lot about the process of aging and curing, but other than dry-aging a steak I have never had the opportunity nor time to do it. That is going to change, however, and Chris and I are making plans to create a salumeria of our own, so stay tuned.

Triniti fails, on two counts

August 12, 2013 / [email protected] / 0 Comments

I’ve been, for the past few weeks, throwing myself into Houston, into restaurants and museums and food markets, looking for the good stuff, the places to which I’ll return for the things I need for sustenance and inspiration, my fixes.

Last night, after a screening of Blue Jasmine (my Woody fix), Angela and I drove to Triniti, about which I had read a few good things, for a food fix. The restaurant looks perfect, all light wood and subdued illumination in the right places. A low exposed-concrete wall separates the open kitchen from the main dining area – a design element I found particularly satisfying.

But the food. Disappointing. Except for Angela’s pea soup, served wonderfully chilled, the rest of the plates were lacking in taste and technique. For $31, I expect beans properly cooked, faro that is not dry, and pork that is seasoned. (My dish on the menu: pork chop – parsnip puree, collection of summer beans, heart, faro, plum sauce.) A cook must show confidence in his use of salt. Whoever put his (or her) mind and hand to my pork seems to have none. The beans in the bean and faro mixture were hard, and if anyone in that gorgeous kitchen tasted those beans and still allowed them to enter the dining room on a plate, he or she should be assigned a bean-cooking class, for at least a week.

To Angela’s plate of snapper (on the menu as “Snapper – artichoke, olive, tomato fondue, white bean puree, fried oyster). It was, in her words, a poorly deconstructed version of the description, with each of the ingredients in a clump on the plate. The tomato fondue was overly tart and bitter, and the sole olive on the plate small and lonely and dry. It was as if the cook cared more about the “art” of the plate than she did about the taste of the ingredients. The fish was moist, but it lacked the bite of freshness, and the $29 plate was disappointing overall, especially coming after the excellent soup. The fried oyster was crisp, the interior bland, as if all the salt and ocean had been drained from the bivalve.

Art over taste. Plate design over cooking technique. I have been noticing this more and more, artfully designed plates that ultimately disappoint when one disturbs the masterpiece by eating it. Joyce had to master the language by writing Dubliners before he could move on to Ulysses and Finnegans Wake. I appreciate beautiful plates, food artfully arranged with passion and playfulness, but if the food art disappoints on the palate, the art is a contrivance, worth nothing.

It was a Sunday evening, so perhaps that had something to do with the food, and the service. Yes, in addition to the lacking food, the service was a bit slipshod. When my pork dish was delivered I had to wait five minutes for a knife and fork. When our dessert was placed on the table, the waiter overlooked the fact that we had no cutlery. Minor issues, yes, but restaurants of this caliber, or restaurants that aspire to be in this caliber and charge $48 for a lamb dish, must also aspire to perfect service, service that is so amazing as to be invisible. Nothing should disturb the guest’s relationship with the food. This service did.

I am going to visit Triniti again, on a Wednesday or Friday. I am certain it does better than it did on this evening of our first visit.

A Corkycue weekend in Texas Hill Country

August 5, 2013 / [email protected] / 1 Comment

Texas Hill Country. Beef and pork, brisket and ribs. Undulating landscape, green and brown, and blue skies full of cotton-white clouds. A van full of people hailing mostly from Texas, with some Canadians, a Colombian, and me thrown in. Political leanings vary, though Democrats (Liberals) outnumber those of less lofty persuasion, and when the conversation turns to the Trayvon Martin/Zimmerman trial and women’s reproductive rights the van suddenly becomes a rolling (and roiling) marketplace of ideas.

But we are here for barbecue, not debate. (Unless it’s debate about the meat.) Texas barbecue. It’s Colby’s birthday weekend, and a dozen or so of his friends have gathered in Austin for a Man Up Barbecue tour, which will also take in a few wineries.

A room fit for barbecue aficionados. ( (Photo courtesy of Hotel San Jose)

A room fit for barbecue aficionados. (Photo courtesy of Hotel San José)

Muted colors and tranquil paths welcome guests to the hotel. (Photo courtesy of Hotel San Jose)

Muted colors and tranquil paths welcome guests to the hotel. (Photo courtesy of Hotel San José)

A walkway at Hotel San Jose is bathed in sunlight. (Photo courtesy of Hotel San Jose)

A walkway at Hotel San José is bathed in sunlight. (Photo courtesy of Hotel San José)

We gather on Friday afternoon at the Hotel San José, a great little place to stay on Congress Avenue, complete with a small concrete swimming pool, excellent music (Gram Parsons, Buck Owens, Emmylou Harris, Jimi Hendrix) and comfortable rooms. Some might find it a bit pretentious, and the average guest does try diligently to exhibit the proper sense of cool, but the beer and cocktail list is more than ample and the customer service friendly and professional.

Colby had arranged a dinner that evening at Parkside Restaurant, so we get two cabs to take us to the location, a few miles away. Sweetbreads, heirloom tomato salad with compressed watermelon, seared sea scallops, great cocktails. I differed with the sweetbreads: They were too chewy, and I will venture to say that the cook had not prepared too many sweetbreads before he plated mine, but it was not a wasted evening, because the rest of the food, including oysters, was more than passable.

All was well on this first night of the weekend Birthday Bash, but that was soon to change. We left the restaurant and hailed cabs, and as I slid into the back seat I heard a yell and turned to see Angela fall with a thud: She had stepped off of the curb and had not counted on a gutter with a long and steep downward grade. Sprained ankle was the diagnosis. We sped back to the hotel and bandaged and iced her ankle, which was swelling rapidly. (Thanks to the ministrations of Dr. Catalina Sanchez Hanson, Angela was well on the way to recovery later that evening.)

Angela sits at the tasting bar after an unfortunate fall in Austin.

The next morning we assembled outside the hotel, coffee (and in some cases, beer) in hand, ready for the van and the ride to barbecue. I carried Angela piggyback-style down the stairs of the hotel and we were on our way. (That was the first stage of Angela’s assisted tour … a few of us took turns conveying her to and from the venues, which included a fairgrounds, where we wagered on some horses, and where one of us turned a $15 bet into $198, a peach store run by a family of farmers, and a general store/liquor emporium where we sampled some tequila, wine and beer.)

A few hours at the races: Cal’s lucky ticket. (Photo courtesy of Cal Lacasse)

A historic spot, full of beer, wine and tequila and bourbon. (Photo courtesy of Colby Walton)

To the barbecue, the main reason for the weekend. For lunch we stopped at Cranky Frank’s, which is in Fredericksburg. It serves up brisket and ribs and chicken in a small restaurant with eight tables in the dining room and a long picnic table outside. The pit is in an adjacent building, and the smoke that greeted us as we exited the van was a great introduction to the day’s dining. Drew Thornley, one of the men behind Man Up Barbecue, arranged our orders, so all we had to do was wait patiently outside at the table for our meat. (Some of us had already procured beer from Cranky’s, so the wait was more than satisfying.) The brisket here was the highlight, at least to my taste, but a few of my fellow travelers loved the sausage. Sunny day, a crowd gathered around a picnic table, and smoky meat … nothing else is necessary.

Colby brings the brisket.

Our meat awaits, and it was good.

Slicing the brisket at Cranky Frank’s: Great things come to those who wait.

The birthday boy shows his appreciation of Cranky Frank's ribs. (Photo courtesy of Ronnie Packard)

The birthday boy shows the rest of us how to eat ribs at Cranky Frank’s. (Photo courtesy of Ronnie Packard)

We loaded ourselves back into the van and headed for our next stop, the Stone House Vineyard. It was the second winery, and the best one … mainly because we had a rather unfortunate and rude encounter with the owner of the first winery we visited. Seems that she expected those of our party who were responsibly imbibing beer to see the invisible sign stating that beer was not permitted on the premises. Instead of politely asking her guests (and prospective customers) to finish our beer in the van, she demonstrated considerable ire, in the process transforming our visit to her establishment into something odious and uncomfortable. Needles to say, I purchased none of her wines.

Back at Stone House Vineyard, we gathered at a long table in the elegant yet rustic tasting room and sampled five or six bottles of wines made in South Africa. All decent, all certainly drinkable, if unremarkable. Stone House does does produce one wine made from Norton grapes grown on its property, and it was certainly worth the taste.

Bottles, friends, sunny afternoon, all at the Stone House Winery. (Photo courtesy Colby Walton)

Bottles, friends, sunny afternoon, all at the Stone House tasting room. (Photo courtesy Colby Walton)

We had before us the highlight of the day, though those of us who had never darkened the doors of Opie’s Barbecue were blissfully ignorant of what lay ahead. As dinner time approached we rolled into the parking lot of Opie’s, having been told what was expected of us, which was to walk through the doors and immediately turn our attentions to the giant black metal container into which meats of all sorts were being loaded, including sausages containing cheese and jalapeño peppers, beef ribs (both spare and short), chicken, and brisket. Oh, that brisket … Kristin and Todd Ashmore have their hands on one talented pit master.

Drew had arranged Opie’s feast, and all we had to do was tell the meat attendant what we wanted and watch him arrange our selections in a tray. That, and graciously accept the cans of Fireman’s #4 and Tecate that were offered. Angela and I chose a little of everything except the chicken, and our barbecue then disappeared into the kitchen, where it was trimmed and wrapped in butcher paper. We walked over to the long counter and waited for our dinner, all the while admiring the desserts – banana pudding, carrot cake, peach cobbler – and taking in the crowd. The place is huge, and it was full of hungry people.

Look at that char: Brisket at Opie’s.

Food with a built-in handle: Ribs at Opie’s.

We again found ourselves at a long table, and set to unwrapping our bounty. The brisket was my first choice, and it was nearly perfect: beautiful char, a slight spicy undertone, wonderful bouquet – think espresso and very faint vinegar. My only criticism was that it was a bit too moist, the tendrils of the meat approached something I could term “soft,” as opposed to tender. Minor quibble, however. This brisket was beautiful, and as I chewed I looked around the table at my happy companions and we silently agreed that all was well. Drew was high on the sweet-and-spicy baby back ribs, which were quite good, and I was enjoying the tater tot casserole and spicy creamed corn. We ate well, had some leftovers, which I wrapped anew and the next morning gave to the room attendant at the hotel, who said he had not been to Opie’s recently and would look forward to a great lunch. The carrot cake and banana pudding ended the meal, and we paraded out to the van, ready for the ride back to Austin and the comfort of the San José.

Colby is lucky to have such good friends, and his friends are fortunate that Colby likes to eat good food and is an enthusiastic party planner. As for me, I am planning to take another Man Up Barbecue tour, and If you like good food and good people, you could do much worse than doing the same.

My kind of third party.

Perfect pig, perfect weekend

May 29, 2013 / [email protected] / 1 Comment

A brining pig

What do you cook at a lake in North Carolina on a summer day in May during a reunion with friends from high school, one of whom you haven’t seen in 13 years? A weekend during which Angela will meet some of your closest friends, people with whom you went to high school in Germany?

My first thought was a suckling pig, a pig that I hoped could be sourced from a North Carolina farmer. Beth, our hostess for the weekend, got to work and contacted Joseph Cataldo, a restaurateur in Salisbury, who found us the perfect pig. (He also loaned me a pan big enough to brine in.) Beth and her husband, Glenn, and their four children live in Salisbury, and they made us feel at home as well.

Glenn and Beth, consummate and caring hosts

Glenn and Beth, consummate hosts

Brined and rinsed

A friendship more than 30 years in the making: Mark, Tina, Beth and James

Tina and Angela conspire

Respect your product

We had some fine food during that weekend, including a Low Country Boil on Friday made by Beth and Glenn and a great dinner out on Saturday cooked by a Brazilian chef.

Low Country Love

We saved the suckling pig for Sunday, our final day at the lake.

A fine pig

Skin-deep goodness

Prepping the skin

Mark and I rub

What’s inside: garlic, fennel, basil leaves, orange zest

Adding some salt

Ingredients from the inside out

We brined the pig on Saturday night, with lots of elephant garlic and some bay leaves and black peppercorns. On Sunday we transported the pig to the lake house and prepped. Angela took care of the garlic and the rub: orange zest, fennel fronds, salt, pepper and olive oil. I scored the pig’s skin, and Mark and I stuffed it with lots of garlic and the rub, plus some fresh basil leaves, and then massaged the skin with the remaining rub. A little more salt and pepper all over the skin, and the pig was ready for the oven.

I cooked it at 250 Fahrenheit for about 3.5 hours, and then for the last 30 minutes raised the temperature to 475 Fahrenheit, which gave us a perfect skin, crunchy and crisp; it melted in the mouth. We tented the pig with foil and let it rest for 15 minutes, and then began carving. The meat, dark and white, was moist, and the fennel and orange mingled in every tendril.

Out of the oven

Perfect skin, perfect meat

Mark gets some skin

Crisp and hot

Glenn takes the knife

Glenn carves

Manual labor

Carving and talking

The skin is key

Glenn carved, with expertise and aplomb, using his fingers like an extra knife, and we feasted, down to the tongue and ears. We ended the day on the dock, watching the sun set over the water. Perfect weekend, perfect pig.

On the lake, after the feast

(Angela Shah photography)

Sai Kung: A seafood-lover’s paradise

February 28, 2013 / [email protected] / 3 Comments

Dean and I took a trip, seafood on our minds. We left Kowloon on a train, then transferred to a little bus, which took us up and down some hills and around some bends before reaching our destination: Sai Kung, a small city/large town on the sea less than an hour from central Hong Kong on the other side of a peak.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the boardwalk was crowded with families and couples, many of them with dogs in tow … dogs on leads and dogs in arms and dogs in baby strollers. It’s been a long time since I have seen so many dogs in one place.

Out for a stroll

Dogs have a good life in Sai Kung. (Photo by Dean Cox)

We walked along the boardwalk, and soon came to the first seafood palace. One side of the restaurant was nothing but tanks of seawater, alive with crustaceans and fish and bivalves and almost anything one could desire when it comes to seafood. I mean anything and everything. There were razor clams and mantis shrimp and horseshoe crab and three or four types of eel and whelks and clams and mussels and scallops and on and on. The water was pristine, the fishmongers were respectful of their wares.

Hungry for eel? Get to Sai Kung.

Clean tanks, housing anything a seafood lover desires.

Fresh, alive, swimming or just hanging around.

Razor clams from Chinese waters.

Scallop with roe, ready for your tongue.

Dean and I walked from restaurant to restaurant along the promenade, returning to the first one, Tung Kee, because the woman who spoke with us about the seafood on offer there was friendly and helpful and obviously loved her job. We chose a table at the front of the outdoor dining area, which afforded us a perfect view of the passersby.

A waterfront menu.

The menu was exhaustive, and in addition to the seafood there were dumplings and rice and pork and duck and vegetables. We decided on Tasting Menu 2, for two people, and ordered some Erdinger Dunkel. What followed was – and I say this with no exaggeration – the third best seafood meal I have ever experienced (the first two being at Le Bernardin).

We started with some very good fried squid; crispy, with a nice ratio of tentacles to body. Next came mantis prawn with amazing seared garlic and peppers. Dean loved the garlic mixture, and it was perfect with the prawns, which were fried with their shells on, so we had scissors with which to cut away the shells so that we could get to the white, tender meat. A sauce of ginger and soy turned the meat a wonderful golden color, and I could have easily eaten five more of those aggressive and mighty shellfish.

Squid, fried as I like it.

Mantis prawn, shell on, scissors at the ready.

Lobster enters table right. Lobster with onions and a “cheese sauce”. When I saw it on the menu I thought “Cheese and lobster … not so sure.” But the sauce grew on me, even though it was not appealing to the eye. The plate was full of wheat noodles, and the lobster, pieces separated but still in its cracked shell, was everything lobster should be: tasting of a clean sea, firm meat, not chewy. The sauce reminded me of a thin roux … there seemed to be cornstarch in it, and I must say that while I prefer my lobster poached in butter, or simply steamed, the flavor of this dish seemed appropriate for the locale. Dean and I extracted every piece of meat from the shell, and another lobster was not out of the question. It was that good.

Lobster and “cheese sauce” surprises.

There were still two plates to come on the menu: vegetables and fried rice. I wish they had come before or with the lobster, but each was in its own right satisfying. Stir-fried bok choy was our vegetable, and though it was overcooked – I like mine with a bit of crispness intact – it offered a good taste component to close the meal. As for the fried rice, I concentrated on the baby shrimp and pieces of pork that were cooked in it. In fact, I liked them so much that I was tempted to order a bowl of them, pork and shrimp for the ride back to Kowloon.

The promenade was beginning to grow quieter, lunch hours over. We paid our bill and started walking along the water, eyeing a dock jutting out perhaps 300 feet over the water. We then noticed people lined up at the railing along the edge of the promenade, looking down toward the water. When we managed to get a view we saw a dozen or so small boats – skiffs really – full of seafood for sale. Much like the restaurants, each boat was equipped with an aeration system that kept the crustaceans and fish and razor clams alive in clean water, until a customer gave the order and either a fish was stunned with a blow to the head and then gutted or a bunch of clams were put into a bag. A net on a long pole was raised to the waiting customer above, into which he deposited his payment. The fisherman then delivered the goods and turned his attention to the next client.

Shucking the wares.

His own floating seafood store.

Watching the ships come in.

Crab for sale.

I’ve been to a lot of fish markets, and I’ve lived in Savannah, and I’ve spent time in the north of Spain, and I’ve fished in Florida and Alaska, but nowhere have I seen so much seafood in such beautiful condition, in such diversity. Swimming one minute, then on your plate not long afterward. That’s the way to eat it.

A little bit of my New York in Hong Kong

February 20, 2013 / [email protected] / 0 Comments

I’ve been away from New York for a while, and I miss it, a lot, but our planet is a big one, and there’s a lot to see out here, and I’ve been lucky enough to see a lot of it lately. Still, every time I return to the city for a visit one of the places I always make sure to get to is Babbo, that magical restaurant on Waverly Place that has never failed to make me happy, never.

Whether I dine at a table upstairs – the quieter room – or downstairs, which is louder and busier, or at the bar, my favorite place at Babbo, from the moment I enter the former coach house’s door I become part of what I consider one of the best restaurants in New York, if not the world. (I’ve eaten in a lot of great dining rooms in many parts of the world, and my experiences at Babbo have always been right up at the top of the list.)

But this is not about Babbo, not really. And it’s not about New York. (On the other hand, it’s about both of those places, in a roundabout way.) It’s about Hong Kong, and Lupa, another restaurant created by the Bastianich and Batali empire. (There is, of course, a New York Lupa, another fine place to eat owned by Bastianich and Batali, which gives its name to the Hong Kong outpost.)

But it’s mainly about getting my Babbo fix. (And this is for another time, but I could also use some time at Casa Mono and Otto and, to a lesser degree, Esca and Del Posto. I shall return.)

Lupa opened in Hong Kong last year, and I was hoping that the kinks had been ironed out of service and the kitchen, because I know how difficult it is to take a concept and style and duplicate it in a country that shares nothing in common with the original location’s environment, and by environment I mean ingredients, customs, diner expectations and other, often ineffable, things.

I called for a table at the last minute, and had no trouble getting one. I was dining alone, something I love to do. (I can better take in a place that way; I don’t have to engage in conversation, and I don’t have to worry about my dining companion(s) liking – or not liking – the food.) Keep in mind that I was not under the illusion that Lupa Hong Kong would be an exact replica of the Lupa in Manhattan, or that the vibe and feel of Babbo would have been magically transported thousands of miles from Waverly Place to the Central neighborhood of Hong Kong. I was there for the food, food that I hoped would, for a few hours, allow me to taste Babbo again.

Judging by the food, I was not disappointed. In fact, I was very pleased, with the entire evening. The service was excellent, if a little too punctual. (It always annoys me when staff in a restaurant want to rush away one’s plate or bowl the second it seems to be almost empty; I like to have time to sop up the remaining sauce, or merely savor the dish fully. Swooping down on a table and whisking away the porcelain disrupts, to my mind, what should be a calming and rejuvenating experience for all of the senses.) The waiters seemed to know the wine list, though they acted a bit confused when I ordered a Negroni instead of immediately placing my food order.

A menu that takes me back to Babbo

As I sipped my apéritif, I looked at the menu, and my eye went immediately to the Pasta Tasting Menu, because I reckoned that would be a good representation of the kitchen’s work. I have enjoyed Babbo’s pasta tasting menu on many occasions, so that’s what I ordered.

A treat from the chef came first, two orecchietta filled with marrow. They were an excellent start to the meal: warm, perfectly al dente, and filled with rich, smooth marrow.

Marvelous marrow

Next came a cold pasta, Tonarelli Freddi. A small piece of sea urchin graced the top of a mound of square spaghetti, loosely mixed into which was an abundant amount of tender – read “not overcooked” – crabmeat. Bringing all of the ingredients together was a jalapeño pesto, and its effect in the cold dish was stupendous – it was a bit spicy, a bit hot on the front of the tongue, but then heat evolved into warmth and deepness. Splendid. It made the crab better than it should have been.

Urchin, black spaghetti, and jalapeño pesto: what more could one desire?

I had ordered a quartino of one of Bastianich’s whites with the early part of the menu, and it was a good one: dry, but lively.

Postage stamps that one wants to lick over and over again

Next came Francobolli, or, as described on the menu, Caciocavallo-filled “Postage Stamps” with White Asparagus and Fava Beans. First, I love fresh favas, everything about them. I love preparing them, shelling them, removing the thin membrane … everything. Their bright green color (if they are blanched properly) are a treat for the eye, and their taste … their taste is often ethereal, a rich accompaniment to meats and pastas and nearly everything. The asparagus was crisp, the pasta was thin and allowed the sheep’s cheese to creep out in my mouth, and the sauce, which seemed to be butter and olive oil and cheese, added the right amount of richness to a successful dish. Mint supplied another flavor component, a proper one.

We were moving on from the seafood-pasta portion now, so I ordered a quartino of red, a nice and unassuming Montepulciano d’Abruzzo. And then came my favorite dish of the evening. It included pork sausage. And fennel pollen. And broccoli rabe. And it was excellent. House-made little ears, as the menu described it (and I hope all of the pastas at Lupa Hong Kong are made in the house). Mild sausage, sprinked with fennel pollen, in a dish studded with crisp rabe. I’d have it again, any time.

Ears that talk to my mouth

Now, unfortunately, came my least favorite plate of the night. And it’s a shame, because pigeon is one of my favorite things to eat. At Spring and Amador, two places I spent some time at last year, pigeon is done well, very well. As it should be. The pigeon I had at Lupa was, as I described to myself upon chewing the first piece, mealy. And I am hoping it was an anomaly, because I will try it again at Lupa in Hong Kong, because, as I said, I love pigeon. The plate was basically pappardelle, wide ribbon pasta, “in salmi,” and the sauce and the pasta were very good. But that pigeon.

Pappardelle and pigeon, which I am thinking will be better next time I try it

I was then presented with a soft, runny, brie-like cheese, accompanied with truffled honey and thin brioche wafers, and the dessert wine I ordered, a Moscato d’Asti (Bricco Quaglia” La Spinetta 2011), made the plate sing. Rich cheese, rich honey, and truffles. Nothing better. Almost nothing better.

Dessert was rhubarb panna cotta, about which I had no qualms. I recall that it had a bit too much citrus taste for my palate, but I am not big on citrus desserts, and I bet that 99 out of 100 diners would find it wonderful.

The kitchen is run by Zach Allen, who has a long history with Batali and Bastianich, and Jeff Newman, the latter of whom I had a wide-ranging conversation with during dinner. We discussed Cantonese eating habits, culinary school, New York and the rigors of sourcing ingredients, among other topics. They seem to have the kitchen in tip-top shape, and in my opinion have done an excellent job in a fairly short period of time. Juan Gimenez, Lupa’s manager, has assembled perfect order in the dining room, and has put together a great service.

If you are in Hong Kong, go to Lupa. I am going again soon. And if you are in New York, keep my place at Babbo’s bar warm. I will be back there soon, ready for some Mint Love Letters, a sweetbread or two, and that sublime goose liver ravioli.

Light in August

August 7, 2012 / [email protected] / 0 Comments

The light. There’s something about the light in Paris that always gets to me, makes my eyes feel good. When I lived here in 2005 I loved the summer evenings, sitting outside with a carafe of wine under a slowly darkening sky. It seemed that it would never grow completely dark, and as my companions and I drank and ate and planned our next meal I silently gave thanks for the city’s geographical location and for the way the sun worshipped the streets and buildings and people.

That very same light makes, to my eye, the food and produce for sale in markets look better, brighter, tastier. The tomatoes are shiny and firm, and don’t look waxy. The flesh of a duck looks as it should, not violently compressed under a layer of cellophane. Radishes, berries, green beans, lettuces … they all benefit from the light in August.

And I benefit, because that light makes me want to cook and eat and wander the streets of this beautiful place. And that’s what I’m doing now.

Home from buying groceries, and headed to the kitchen

In the bags above there are two pork chops, some lettuce, radishes, cheeses, wine, beer, Nutella, butter, shallots, eggs and a few other foodstuffs. Angela and I made a simple salad, but a salad whose lettuce had a crisp bite and actual flavor, so unlike most of the lettuces I was forced to eat while living in the desert. The radishes were also crisp, and had a heat that was pleasant and invigorating. I cooked the chops simply, in butter, and made a sauce from the shallots, garlic and some Crémant de Bourgogne “Egrade” brut.

We’ll always have Paris.

Tag: pork (Page 2 of 2)

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Dining on rabbit and lamb with Chris Stanton

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Triniti fails, on two counts

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A Corkycue weekend in Texas Hill Country

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Perfect pig, perfect weekend

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Sai Kung: A seafood-lover’s paradise

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A little bit of my New York in Hong Kong

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Light in August

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The Brockhaus on Instagram

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