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Rosie Cannonball: A Pleasing First Visit to a New Houston Restaurant

I am not one to visit a restaurant before it has had time to iron out the details, before back of the house and front of the house teams have gone through a good number of services.

I made an exception last week in Houston. Rosie Cannonball is the name, and I trust the executive chef there. His name is Felipe Riccio, and his approach to cooking appeals to me. (The other principals at the restaurant — David Keck, Ryan Cooper, June Rodil, and Adam Garcia — also made it easy for me to join the early-days crowd.)

Angela and I arrived for our 9 p.m. reservation, and the next two hours passed in a wonderful and delicious way. We began with burrata and charred tomatoes, which, we eventually decided, was the best dish of the evening. The tomatoes were juicy and rich, the burrata — partly melted, partly solid — was substantial and authentic, and the bread accompanying it was among the best I’ve had in Houston, the crust crisp and charred, the interior moist, hot, and almost chewy.

Charred leeks were next, and though not as satisfying as the first course — my palate was a bit confused by the flavors here, as a lemony/citrus note seemed to battle back and forth with an anchovy/briny undertone, never achieving unity, and the thickest parts of the leeks were a bit too mushy — the crisper and charred portions of the vegetable were memorable. I like the application of flame to vegetables, and this dish is something I want to try one more time.

Charred leeks, salsa verde, toasted bread crumbs, and leek powder, at Rosie Cannonball

Pizza was next; we went for simple cheese pie, because I love the source of the cheeses used here. Lira Rossa is a creamery based in Texas, run by an Italian, and everything I’ve tried from the place has been authentic and good.

As with the burrata, the dough part of this pie was superb, as was the tomato sauce, but … we needed more cheese. Simply put, the amounts of mozzarella, latteria, and caciotta were deficient (in our opinions). We did not mention this to Maggie, the woman who was taking our orders and delivering our food and wine (as I told you, Rosie Cannonball is a new restaurant, and we did not expect perfection), but when the check arrived, we were told the chef had been unhappy with the pie so was not going to charge us.

This is not your everyday mint chocolate chip ice cream, and that’s a good thing. Rosie Cannonball’s version should be on your agenda.

Desserts? We debated this decision for a few minutes, then decided on the Good Thyme Farm Mint Gelato and the Torrijas. Angela has had a long and satisfying relationship with mint chocolate chip ice cream, and she gave this version of the flavor a hearty “yes” … it was creamy and rich and made with care.

My brioche was over the top, in the best way. I have been scaling back my consumption of desserts, but was glad I made an exception here. I was served a brioche that was dense and crisp, roasted in the embers of Rosie Cannonball’s wood-burning oven, accompanied by a fine ice cream swirled with dulce de leche. It was all a success, a dish whose individual components sang together with grace

Seriously decadent: This brioche French toast with dulce de leche and milk ice cream will make you very happy.

I am in the process of dining at my favorite restaurants in Houston, an exercise designed to “bid farewell for now” to some people and places I’ll miss when Angela and I move to Los Angeles (in November), and I have saved an evening for one more visit to Rosie Cannonball. Focaccia di Recco, you will be mine.

Texas Thai: Jungle Curry at Sway in West Lake Hills Is a Dish Deluxe

You might expect bold flavors, but this is something even more profound and satisfying. Texas wagyu brisket, red chili, baby corn, tiny eggplant, stalks of green peppercorn, and coconut cream — it’s called Jungle Curry.

It’s a dish on the menu at Sway, in West Lake Hills, near Austin, Texas. The dining room here is captivating; large communal tables and dark tile, a busy open kitchen, a rooftop bar with views of Austin’s skyline.

And flavors in abundance. Beginning with that beautiful brisket in the Jungle Curry.

Joto Daiginjo’s 72 Clocks sake pairs well here.
Kamille and Angela at Sway

Prosecco a-Go-Go!

Jeremy Parzen brought Flavio Geretto to Houston this week, and the two gentlemen poured some great wines, wines from Villa Sandi. They opened a Pinot Grigio and some Prosecco.

“Soon, Prosecco Rosé will be everywhere,” Parzen says, and I don’t see why it won’t.

Geretto, who’s with Villa Sandi, and Parzen, who works with the concern (social media, web design), were speaking to a small group of people assembled at Vinology, one of Houston’s better wine bars.

“I know a lot about Italian wine,” Parzen said, “but I’m learning things from Flavio every day.” And Geretto knows from his Prosecco. He’s enthusiastic, and the bottles he had with him are worthy of your attention. They are fresh, balanced wines, and I’d be happy pouring any of them to my guests.

Flavio Geretto
Flavio Geretto, of Villa Sandi, takes Prosecco seriously. (Photo by The Brockhaus)

Here’s what we tasted: Il Fresco Prosecco; Valdobbiadene Prosecco Superiore; Rosato Il Fresco (brut); and a Pinot Grigio delle Venezie. (We were also treated to a wine that I cannot discuss, because I don’t want to make anyone envious.)

Here’s Geretto talking about Prosecco.

What do you know about Prosecco? Here’s what Jancis Robinson wrote about it, on her superb site, back in 2017

For years champagne ran the most sophisticated and effective public relations machine in the world of wine. Consumers were convinced that champagne and only champagne was the socially acceptable lubricant for celebrations and smart dinner parties. 

But all that has changed. A vast army of enthusiastic wine buyers regard Prosecco as their drink of choice rather than second best – even though it is made by a much more industrial process than champagne or any of the other wines made sparkling inside individual bottles rather than in big tanks. I have to admit that Prosecco seems to disagree with me. I find too many of them too sweet for my taste, and for reasons I don’t understand, a mouthful or two of Prosecco often seems to precipitate a headache. But it’s obviously not genetic; my daughters adore the stuff. 

Fake news has hardly impinged on the world of wine but I honestly thought it had last January when I read that Prosecco producers were applying for UNESCO world heritage status for their growing area, 35,000 acres (14,154 ha) of vineyards in virtually the whole of north east Italy. It was doubled overnight in 2009 when they cunningly renamed the eponymous grape responsible for their wine Glera and registered Prosecco as a protected geographical indication instead. (It hasn’t stopped the odd Australian using the P word, so popular has the wine style become.)

Yes, UNESCO recently added the Prosecco region to its World Heritage list, and that’s not Fake News. And, you should drink Prosecco … just pay attention to the residual sugar.

Parzen did a great thing for Prosecco by organizing the seminar. (For your reading pleasure, the Wine Talk featuring Parzen.) And if you haven’t already, add Do Bianchi to your reading list.

I’m undertaking a historical and literary study of Prosecco, and you can read my findings on Mise en Place as they are published. Meanwhile, drink well, and with people you love.

Rabbit, Peaches, and Some Great Wines: Theodore Rex is One of Houston’s Best

Theodore Rex has, for the past year or so, been one of my favorite restaurants in Houston, and a recent evening spent there resulted in a firm reinforcement of that opinion. It is, in my estimation, one of the five best restaurants in that city.

I’ve dined at Theodore Rex six or so times, and each evening has been full of myriad flavors and textures that are just right, from a dish of poached peaches coddled in a rich broth with fresh herbs — a savory/slightly sweet beauty of a course — to handmade farfalle in a rich sauce vin jaune with chard and braised rabbit (typing that made me want to have this dish now) or, one of my top dishes of the past several years, beans and rice (but not your average bowl of beans and rice, to be sure).

Beans and rice
Tomatoes and bread extraordinaire

On that recent evening, Angela and I sat at the chef’s counter at Theodore Rex and shared a few dishes (we skipped the beans and rice — “Carolina Gold rice and butterbeans cooked in soft butter with crushed garden leaves,” but will have them on our next visit — ) including the famous tomato toast:

As I wrote about that toast last year … another small and epiphanic item that you will crave often after experiencing its wonder. It combines rye pain de mie, bright green herbs and onions, and some of the most delicately delicious tomatoes you’ve tasted. (Many pounds of the fruit are cooked down into a rich fondant, which is spread on the toast and then topped with cherry tomatoes from Finca Tres Robles.)

The Dutch Crunch Roll
Ham and cream and hot sauce

We had the Dutch Crunch roll, which came with split butter (butter mixed with just enough crème fraîche to split it without completely separating it — Justin Yu, the man behind the restaurant, says, “it has a fun texture and I like the sourness.” I agree) and ham and Mexican oregano and Cherry Bomb pepper sauce. We had those peaches in stock and herbs — the fruit was mighty savory, while still tart — and that ethereal housemade farfalle with rabbit, the vin jaune sauce one of the best I’ve tasted.

Peaches and herbs
Farfalle and rabbit
An Abariño of distinction
From France, with much love.

To end the evening, instead of my usual dessert choice, Yu’s take on the Paris Brest, we went with a moist and rich strawberry cake. I missed the Paris Brest only a little.

A fine cake of strawberries

The great wines? An Albariño to start, followed by a selection from Charles Hours. Yes, Theodore Rex has a wine list I adore.

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.

Advertisement: I’m loving this volume on wine grapes. Get your own by clicking on the image above.

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.

A Poet Takes His Leave: Rest in Peace, W.S. Merwin

“I think there’s a kind of desperate hope built into poetry now that one really wants, hopelessly, to save the world. One is trying to say everything that can be said for the things that one loves while there’s still time. I think that’s a social role, don’t you? … We keep expressing our anger and our love, and we hope, hopelessly perhaps, that it will have some effect. But I certainly have moved beyond the despair, or the searing, dumb vision that I felt after writing The Lice; one can’t live only in despair and anger without eventually destroying the thing one is angry in defense of. The world is still here, and there are aspects of human life that are not purely destructive, and there is a need to pay attention to the things around us while they are still around us. And you know, in a way, if you don’t pay that attention, the anger is just bitterness.”

W.S. Merwin, a poet and translator of the highest order, wrote the words above in response to a question about a poet’s social role, and what sticks with me is the “need to pay attention.” Merwin, who died on Friday, paid searing, probing attention, and readers — and society, if it will listen — are the better for his work.

The poet circa 1972 (Photo by Douglas Kent Hall / ZUMA Press)

Merwin was born in New York City on September 30, 1927, and attended Princeton on a scholarship. He was 16, which is when he began, in a serious manner, his poetic journey. (His time at that university is what, years later, first led me to him, through John Berryman, one of my favorite poets. Berryman was R.P. Blackmur‘s teaching assistant, and Merwin studied under Blackmur.)

When he was 17, he enlisted in the Navy, but realized that he had made a “mistake,” as he told NPR. He registered as a conscientious objector and spent a year in a psychiatric ward in a Boston naval hospital. Merwin returned to Princeton at 18, and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in 1948.

Europe, London, marriages, a home in the Dordogne region, divorces, New York in the late 1960s: Merwin lived and worked and traveled, and by the time he set up residence in New York City he was a poet in earnest.

Hawaii was next, and last, fittingly so, for Merwin. His life there, spent on 19 acres — a pineapple plantation that he replanted — was full of accomplishment, grace, writing, and acclaim. A documentary, To Plant a Tree, is a pleasure to watch. He lived on Maui, in a place called Haiku.

Here’s another piece on Merwin worth viewing.

I hope you read this man’s work. He has much to impart.

I close with this poem, Berryman.

Berryman

I will tell you what he told me
in the years just after the war
as we then called
the second world war

don’t lose your arrogance yet he said
you can do that when you’re older
lose it too soon and you may
merely replace it with vanity

just one time he suggested
changing the usual order
of the same words in a line of verse
why point out a thing twice

he suggested I pray to the Muse
get down on my knees and pray
right there in the corner and he
said he meant it literally

it was in the days before the beard
and the drink but he was deep
in tides of his own through which he sailed
chin sideways and head tilted like a tacking sloop

he was far older than the dates allowed for
much older than I was he was in his thirties
he snapped down his nose with an accent
I think he had affected in England

as for publishing he advised me
to paper my wall with rejection slips
his lips and the bones of his long fingers trembled
with the vehemence of his views about poetry

he said the great presence
that permitted everything and transmuted it
in poetry was passion
passion was genius and he praised movement and invention

I had hardly begun to read
I asked how can you ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all and he said you can’t

you can’t you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don’t write

W.S. Merwin, “Berryman” from Migration. Copyright © 2005 by W.S. Merwin, used by permission of The Wylie Agency LLC.Source: 
Migration: New & Selected Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 2005)

A Pasta Dish Extraordinaire: Garganelli, Sausage, and Leeks, Plus Truffles

Leeks and garganelli, plus sausage and mascarpone. The pasta, a type hailing originally from Romagna, is both hearty and delicate, graceful and sturdy. It’s been rolled by hand.

Rustic is what this dish certainly is; the leek and sausage ragù I would happily eat on its own, or spread on grilled bread. The sausage possesses a richness that, when combined with the leeks, mellows and lingers. The mascarpone is warm and creamy and slightly acidic. And the truffles.

The truffles belong here. Your spirits lift when you lean over this dish and inhale their aroma. The right thing to do: Take your spoon and mix everything, gently. The distinct flavors will meld, the pasta’s tiny ridges will capture the sauce, and your evening will become more than satisfying.

You’ll find the garganelli, and the rest of this creation, at Sorriso, a restaurant that opened early in 2019 in The Woodlands, a planned community north of Houston. The kitchen is run by Enzo Fargione, who made his name in D.C. with Barolo and Elisir. Giorgio Ferrero, the sommelier at Sorriso, will energetically take care of your wine needs, and oversees a diverse and quality list. They’ve gotten off to a promising start.

James Beard Shows Some Deserved Love to Kaiser Lashkari and Tony Vallone

I contain multitudes of identities as a writer and eater, and this piece is written by the private, unaffiliated, subjective one, the man who writes unhindered by any encumbrance, who need not think about an editor (except myself) or anyone’s vanities, insecurities, lack of experience or knowledge, delusions, or frailties.

Two of my favorite restaurants in Houston — Tony’s and Himalaya — were this week nominated for James Beard Awards, and I could not be happier, because I love both places, and adore and respect the men (and women) who run them. The food they oversee is moving, delicious, and it comforts and warms me. I am glad to be their friend.

Kaiser Lashkari, who with his wife, Azra, runs Himalaya, is a semifinalist in the Best Chef Southwest category, and Tony Vallone, whose wife, Donna, is his partner in excellence, and his team are (once again) in the running for the Outstanding Service Award. There is stiff competition in both categories, but making the cut this far is no small feat.

Tony Vallone in his domain.

I’ve spent hour upon hour in both restaurants — last night I dined at Himalaya, and invited a friend who had never eaten there; as with everyone else Angela and I have introduced to Kaiser’s food, he loved it, the Masala fried chicken and the saag paneer, the chicken achaari — and both places are now part of me. Both men — Vallone for more than half a century, Lashkari for 15 years now — have created small universes that exert satisfying pull, on me and many others.

From Italy, with love

Anyone who has occupied a table at Tony’s need not be convinced that the restaurant’s nomination is deserved. Nothing is out of place. Guests are never asked, “Are you still working on that.” The wine is poured properly, the cutlery placed just so. And it all began, and begins, with Vallone’s demanding attention.

Here’s something I wrote about Vallone in a piece on his 50th anniversary of owning the restaurant: He’ll never stop. I have had long conversations about food with many people in various locations around the world, from Paris to New York to Hong Kong, and none of those discussions has been more captivating than the ones I’ve shared with Vallone. We talk of sweetbreads and the importance of proper service etiquette. We speak about Tony May, of San Domenico fame, (whose retirement earlier this year leaves Vallone as one of the culinary world’s few elder statesmen) and Marcella Hazan. Our conversations could go on endlessly, interrupted only by a waiter bringing a ristretto — Vallone’s drink of choice — to the table.

A master at work

Lashkari also runs a tight organization, and has eyes in the back of his head. When I walked into Himalaya last night, I spied him seated at a table, alone, a menu and notes in front of him. Seconds later, he glanced to his left, saw that a table of diners was in need of attention , and silently alerted a waiter. He’s the kind of man whose accolades make no one jealous. If he wins the Beard Award, those who know him will rejoice.

I’ve written many words about Vallone and Lashkari, about their food and approaches and personalities. I’ve praised the rigatoni bianco Bolognese at Tony’s, and the Nebbiolo Braised Oxtail Alla Vaccinara. The chicken fried steak at Himalaya is one of the few I can eat, and Lashkari’s Parathadilla with lamb is something of which I’ll never tire.

Men and food

If you are out and about in Houston of an evening, and find yourself on Richmond Avenue in the Greenway Plaza area, or near Hillcroft and US 59, spend some time with Vallone and Lashkari. I might be there, continuing my journey around their universes. We’ll eat well.

For Your Consideration: Ōra King Salmon Crudo at Tony’s

There is a (fairly) new menu at Tony’s, one of Houston’s restaurant-world mainstays. Crudi, to be exact. On it, you will find octopus, tuna, and Hamachi, paired with avocado or caviar or charred cucumber. And salmon.

Ōra King Salmon is there, too. And it’s what you should try today if you find yourself in Houston. The majestic fish is marinated in blood orange and Thai chili, and crisp farro adds texture. Then the fresh basil hits your palate and the dish is complete, and fresh and bright.

The crudi menu at Tony’s: seafood and citrus and more.

Crudo is Italian for “raw.” Pesce crudo is what you have here, and don’t confuse it with sashimi, as chef Victor LaPlanca told Food Republic. (LaPlanca was executive chef at Isola at the time.)

“Compared to sashimi, which I believe is really about appreciating the purity of masterfully sliced fish, crudo is very ingredient-driven. The oil used can dramatically alter the dish’s flavor profile,” says LaPlanca. “At Isola, we use cold-pressed extra-virgin olive oil from Sicily. Because part of the beauty in crudo is its simplicity in preparation, the quality of the ingredients really matter. In order to understand how the different nuances of the oil affect the fish, try experimenting with various nut or even truffle oils to see how the dish’s flavor profile evolves.”

Austin Waiter, the executive chef at Tony’s, respects pesce, and knows how to combine olive oil and citrus and herbs for maximum effect on his crudi menu. The salmon in this dish is in no way overwhelmed by the accompanying ingredients; in fact, every individual component here shines on its own and plays well with its mates. Pair this with a glass of Malvasia Bianca — specifically, Onward’s Pétillant Naturel from Suisun Valley — and your meal will begin well.

Definitely Much More Than a Canard

When I lived in Paris for the second time, in 2012, I had a small apartment on rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, on the fourth floor of a magnificent building whose main entrance was at the far end of a beautiful courtyard. My windows afforded a view of the Pantheon’s dome, the Seine was a brief stroll away, and fruits, vegetables, seafood, meats, cheese, escargots, oysters, rabbit, fowl and poultry, and so much more, were right outside, waiting for me.

My courtyard in Paris.
My courtyard in Paris.

The courtyard cat greeted me in the morning and at night, and the young woman who lived in one of the ground-floor apartments played her cello often. I’d wave at her as I walked by her windows, strains of Elgar and Bach filling the cobblestoned space. A push of the heavy wooden courtyard door gave me entrée to the narrow sidewalk of rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, and the wonder that is Paris.

I would often shop at the small grocery market on the ground floor of the building next door, for coffee and milk and juice and wine … and confit de canard.

Yes, four duck legs, in a cardboard box, in the grocer’s refrigerated section. Once a week or so, I made duck the main course of a meal, serving them with salad or lentils or pasta. They were not expensive, and my guests loved them.

The kitchen of my apartment was small — two electric burners and a tiny sink, plus a minuscule countertop — but in it I cooked well. I poached chicken and made gnocchi and pasta and soup and bread … and prepared the duck confit I bought in the Monoprix. It was a fine and warm kitchen.

A week or so ago, I came across some duck legs in Houston. They were from Grimaud Farms, and they looked excellent, so I knew what I would do. I would confit them.

It’s not a difficult process, and the results are — as anyone who has ever tasted confit de canard knows — more than delectable. Rich, tender, decadent, comforting, the base for any number of dishes. Give yourself 45 minutes or so to carry out the first step (I let my duck legs “cure” in the refrigerator for two days), and then 3 hours or so for the second part of the confit-ing.

The method I use is based on a recipe in The River Cottage Meat Book, by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall — if you don’t have this magnificent book, buy it today — and involves garlic, salt, shallots, thyme, bay leaves and black pepper … and duck fat.

Duck legs belong here.
The duck legs are ready for the refrigerator.

Gather four large duck legs (I did eight legs on my last outing, so adjusted the amount of ingredients accordingly), 4 tablespoons kosher salt, 2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper, 4 sprigs of fresh thyme, 4 bay leaves (broken), 8 garlic cloves (crushed), 2 shallots (sliced thinly), and 3.5 pounds of duck fat.

Strew 1.5 tablespoons of the salt in the bottom of a deep Dutch oven or casserole, then scatter half of the shallots, garlic, bay leaves, and thyme over the salt. Pat dry the duck legs with a paper towel, then place them, skin-side up, in the casserole. Scatter remaining ingredients on top of the legs, then give them an ample twist of black pepper. Massage the mixture into the legs. Cover and refrigerate for 2 days.

On the second day, we confit. Heat your oven to 225F, and slowly melt the duck fat in a pan. Brush off the duck legs, making sure to remove all of the salt and other ingredients. Arrange the legs snugly in a baking dish — choose one whose sides are high enough to allow ample fat to be poured into it — and pour the melted fat over the whole (make sure that the liquid completely covers the duck). Put in the oven for 2-3 hours, or until the meat is near to falling off of the bone. Remove the dish from the oven and let it cool.

This fat is a treasure.
Duck legs submerged in fat.
The duck is cooked.

Once the legs have cooled, use tongs to remove them from the fat and place them in a large Mason jar (I use the locking type). Pour enough of the fat over them to cover. Seal the jar, and into the refrigerator it goes. You now have legs that will satisfy, and they will keep for months thusly preserved.

To serve, remove a leg (or two) from their container and scrape from them most of the fat. Place the legs skin-side down on a baking sheet and cook at 450F for 5 minutes. Drain off the melted fat, then return the pan to the oven with the legs, skin-side up, for 5 to 10 minutes, until they are hot and crisp. Serve any way you desire … whole legs with potatoes and a salad, legs with lentils, or remove the meat and pair with pasta, olive oil, and cheese. Or, create something that moves you.

And all that fat? Render it, filter it, and store it in your refrigerator in an airtight container. Fry potatoes in it, or use it when you next confit.

Here’s a look at some images in and around that kitchen in Paris:

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