Category: Nose-to-tail eating (Page 1 of 2)

Au Passage, For Duck, Tongue, and Some Good Wines

September 10, 2014 / [email protected] / 0 Comments

To begin a meal.

Food memories never fade. Not for me. I can recall almost everything I have eaten, especially since 1994 or so. Seriously. Some plates I remember better than others, and to relive some meals requires a bit of effort, such as the one I had at the house of a friend of a friend. The host was not that good of a cook, and decimated the shrimp. If I want to, I can remember the taste of that poor shrimp. But why would I? I choose to focus on the good.

This was good. One evening in Paris not so long ago I went with a few friends to Au Passage, a small place that I love. It is a simple space, but the food and wines are excellent. We had tongue, we had duck breast, and we drank some great wines. The duck was smoky, and the charred carrots served with it sweet. The tongue, my favorite of the evening: olive oil, some greens, legumes. If I could have anything I wanted for dinner tonight I would choose that tongue.

This speaks to me, with quiet deliciousness.

Duck, done very well.

Au Passage has a great wine list, and we enjoyed it on the that evening. The memories linger.

Vin, a must for every meal.

Talking (Wisconsin) Squirrel and Rabbit

September 2, 2014 / [email protected] / 3 Comments

And these two (or creatures similar to them) ended up in a giant cast-iron skillet in Wisconsin.

On Labor Day I spent some time with my friend Mike Pitzen and his family – Krista and Holt – here in Houston. We smoked some briskets and grilled some corn and a skirt steak I had marinated overnight. I made a Bloody Mary or two and we sat outside by the wood and charcoal and talked about food and cooking and family. I had seen a squirrel in the backyard, and suggested that we could use Holt’s toy bow and arrow to shoot it, after which we could grill it. (Holt is a 7-year-old vegetarian, having decided to pursue that route after viewing Charlotte’s Web.) The precocious young man promptly relieved me of the weapon and took it inside.

My plan, however, had aroused a memory from Mike’s culinary past, of a dish his mother cooked whenever a number of rabbits and squirrel had been shot at their Wisconsin home. Mike would skin and gut them, and his mother would portion the animals and brine them overnight in a solution of buttermilk and salt and pepper. The next day she’d cook them in oil or lard in one of her many cast-iron skillets (many of which Mike has today), adding yellow onion slices and apple pieces near the end of the process. A lid would then be placed on the skillet and the steam and heat would turn the meat and the fruit and vegetables into a savory dinner.

They are cute, and they taste good.

They have been known to attack …

Holt had by then returned to our company, fresh from hiding his bow and arrow, so we finished our cooking recollection and turned to politics. That conversation was much less appetizing, and it nourished us not at all.

On a Labor Day grill in Houston.

Saturday’s Breakfast, and a Great One at That

March 15, 2014 / [email protected] / 2 Comments

A sign for the times. (Photo by James Brock)

A sign for the times. (Photos by James Brock)

One of the pleasures of moving to a new city is that everything is just that, new. That means new people and new restaurants, and I have encountered many of both since I’ve arrived. (It seems that at least five times a day I add another restaurant to the “must-visit” list I maintain in the Notes app on my iPhone, recommendations from nearly everyone I meet.) This past Saturday I met a new friend at a new (for me) restaurant for breakfast, a place he had told me about a few weeks earlier. We were going to Gerardo’s, and I was hungry.

It’s been open since 1977, and is a family affair, father and son, and that shows in the attention paid to the food and the customers. When I arrived at 609 Patton Street, the small space’s tables were almost completely full, couples and families enjoying barbacoa and carnitas. Chris was there when I walked in the door — I was thinking a beer would go well with the food, but while one can buy beer at Gerardo’s to take away, its license does not allow one to drink it on the premises, so I opted for a Topo Chico.

Some of the best Barbacoa – if not the best – in Houston.

Sweetbreads and peppers.

Chorizo with eggs – a great way to start the day.

Jose Luis Lopez and his son Gerardo are the men behind this food, and the elder Mr. Lopez has been in the kitchen processing pounds and pounds of cow heads and pork and other meats for nearly four decades. Gerardo greeted us at the table and asked what we were hungry for; a few minutes later he brought over three or four small containers of hot goodness, including chorizo and eggs, babacoa and fried tripe. And foil-wrapped warm tortillas, of course.

“I remember coming here after school when I was 6 or so and taking a nap right there, behind the counter,” Gerardo told us, pointing to the floor. “I started helping out in the kitchen a few years later, and have been here ever since.”

Chris and I began with the chorizo, and the rest of the meal was a whirlwind of flavors and spices and textures and sighs. The barbacoa, which is famous and loved – rightfully so – was moist and rich and deep in flavor. Mr. Lopez told me that he goes through on average 160 cow heads a week, and the long process of cooking them results in this amazing dish.

They come from Dallas …

and become some great barbacoa.

I love sweetbreads, and the ones at Gerardo’s are good, cut into small pieces and sautéed along with peppers and onions. The carnitas was a highlight, coming in, in my opinion, second only to the barbacoa, and if the carnitas had been my only dish that morning I would have been more than happy.

Family, tradition, attention to product: Gerardo’s has been around since 1977 for these reasons, and I am confident that if I return there 20 years from now a Lopez will be manning the kitchen and I will sit and eat like a king.

Jose Luiz Lopez, the man of the house.

Standing behind his products.

A Fat Bao Evening, or, My Kind of Surf and Turf

December 13, 2013 / [email protected] / 0 Comments

Houston is delighting me. I have met, in my few months here thus far, some great people in the restaurant and food world, and I’ve been led by them into a diverse and exciting universe. The list in my Notes app that contains places I intend to visit is growing by the day – it now contains 67 restaurants and bars – and I look forward to discovering many more great dishes.

Speaking of which, earlier this week I walked through the doors of Fat Bao, a restaurant that more than a few people had told me I must try and which was at the top of my list. It was a cold night, and I was looking forward to the soft shell crab a colleague had raved about. She was right.

You have pork and soft shell crab. You need nothing else. I give you the Pork Katsu Bao, left, and the Crab Daddy Bao.

I waited for a few minutes in line to order my bao, and the staff was courteous and friendly, and efficient. Fat Bao stocks a great selection of beers, including Hitachino Nest, many bottles of which I enjoyed in Hong Kong and Tokyo earlier this year. The menu, written on a blackboard, is a broad one, but I was there for the soft shell crab and the pork, and that is what I chose.

I took a number and a seat, and waited for my food. A few minutes later it arrived. The buns were warm and soft, and the proteins were excellent … and accompanied by crisp cabbage and perfect, slightly spicy, sauces. Freshness, warmth, a little heat. Total satisfaction for 15 minutes.

I will return to Fat Bao, as soon as I reach the end of my list.

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.

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.

The perfect way to arrive in New Orleans

July 17, 2013 / [email protected] / 1 Comment

I drove up from lower Florida yesterday – that state is too long – headed to New Orleans, where I am spending two days on my way to Houston, so I asked my friend John T. Edge where he would eat now if he could have three meals in the Crescent City. Pêche, one of his picks, was my destination last night, so I made sure I drove rapidly enough to make it in time for dinner. It’s on Magazine Street, and as I approached the building I spied a parking spot directly in front of the restaurant’s main entrance. I took it, got out of the car, and marveled at my luck. As I shook off the road two young guys who were smoking on the sidewalk asked me if I was “from around here”. I told them no, that I had just arrived from Florida … they were bartenders, in town for Tales of the Cocktail, a five-day convention/festival. So, not only do I find a parking spot right outside the restaurant, but I arrive in New Orleans on the opening day of an event dedicated to mixology … That is the perfect way to arrive.

I took a seat at the raw bar and scanned the the crowd; the place was packed, loud, the the diners ran the gamut from old to young, hipster to grandparents. John’s recommendation, as I knew it would be, was sublime. I started with a small bowl of smoked tuna dip, which contained a hint of heat – perhaps jalapeño – and was a creamy delight on the Saltines that accompanied it.

The oysters looked good as they were shucked in front of me, so I chose six: Blue Points from Connecticut, Louisiana Area 3, and St. James (Virginia.) Cold, crisp, revivifying. Eating them drove the long drive right out of me.

Blue Points, Louisiana Area 3, a St. James (Virginia)

Blue Points (Connecticut), Louisiana Area 3, and St. James (Virginia)

Next came raw tuna with fennel, tomato water and corn (and a little basil thrown in). Again, amazing, fresh flavors. Tuna was a bit warm for my taste, but that was probably because I took my time with the dip and oysters before I proceeded to that plate.

Tuna, fennel, tomato water and corn

I then took a pause and perused the menu, considering the Louisiana Shrimp Roll before deciding on the Grouper Collars. I am very fond of Hake Cheeks, which I ate often in San Sebastián, so I thought I would give the grouper a try. It was a good choice. Served with tomato and cucumber and parsley, fried to the perfect level of crispiness, full of tender, rich meat.

Grouper collars, pepper jelly, and cucumbers

Bartenders surrounded me, I was finishing a glass of Albariño, and New Orleans was just outside. It was a perfect evening. Donald Link, Stephen Stryjewski, and Ryan Prewitt have a new winner on their hands.

Young palates, full of taste

June 30, 2013 / [email protected] / 2 Comments

When I eat food that I really love I am transported back to happy days of my childhood. Biscuits, good biscuits, take me to Holly Pond, Alabama, and my Aunt Shelby’s table, for she made the best biscuits I have ever tasted. She also introduced me to Golden Eagle table syrup, and taught me how to mix it with the proper amount of butter to create a spread that made her biscuits even better. Fried chicken finds me in Savannah, where my grandmother Ida is cooking, for 15 people, some of the best fowl to be found in the Deep South. Cornish hens belong in my memory to my mother, who is also a fine baker. My passion for food began at an early age, and I thank those three women on a regular basis.

After a hunt in Georgia

Ice fishing in Alaska

I have been spending some time with my sister Julie and her family, and cooking with them. She has two children. Ian is 8 and Anna is 3, and they both love to eat. And, more importantly to me, they are adventurous eaters. Their parents have never told them “You won’t like this” or “That’s too hot for you” or “That doesn’t taste good,” things I’ve too often heard other people tell their children.

A family tours Brooklyn: my parents, James and Sandra, and my sister Julie, her son, Ian, and husband Mark

A family tours Brooklyn: my parents, James and Sandra, and my sister Julie, her son, Ian, and her husband, Mark

Ian tastes his first NYC hotdog

Julie and Mark and Ian, along with my parents, visited me in New York in 2007, when Ian was 2, and I recall a meal at Applewood in Brooklyn, one of my favorite restaurants in that borough. The owners are friends, and we were treated to a round of small plates from the kitchen by Lauren, including some house-made fromage de tête, which Ian loved. My father, who as a child was told too many times “you won’t like that,” left his share of the fromage de tête for Ian.

Fish tacos, a dish for all ages

Ian’s pasta

Ian’s pasta plated, with cheese and basil and tomatoes

Anna with what is left of a plate of tiramisu

I’ve cooked scallops for Ian and Anna, and Mahi-mahi tacos. Ian and I make fresh pasta together – he has developed a great sense of proportion when it comes to flour and water. They both love my spicy shrimp and pasta, and devour the tiramisu I make. I love cooking for them and teaching them about the ingredients and methods.

I trust that when they are adults, on a culinary tour of France (with or without me), they will be sitting at a table in that fine place run by familie Bras and taste something – perhaps a small piece of venison, or a sublime La Croisicaise – that draws their minds and palates back to another table, one in Florida, one around which they gathered with adults who knew that a love of good, honest food was necessary to a life lived well, and that a childhood without taste was a poor one indeed.

Ian and uncle with a Syrah

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)

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.

Category: Nose-to-tail eating (Page 1 of 2)

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