Sitting at a table on Wednesday evening with four other diners, 1999 Perrier-Jouët and 2006 Nicolas Feuillatte in our glasses. We talked about memorable meals and weekends, the Kentucky Derby, and California wines.
The occasion: A winemaker was in Houston, and I was in the middle of a two-day tasting tour with him, his national sales director, and his wines (Component and State of Mind). The day had been full; joining us at dinner was a couple who had supported his wines from early on. Michael celebrated their patronage with this meal (and this couple shared their 20th wedding anniversary with us) at Tony’s.
Let’s get to the delicate part, and a dish I ordered on that evening, called Spring’s First Harvest. It was white asparagus, fava beans, and baby bibb lettuce, plated in a beautiful manner. I was in Spargelzeit heaven.
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White asparagus and fava beans, on the tasting menu at Tony’s in Houston.
The spear of asparagus — the best part, the tip and a small portion of the stalk — had a lingering crispness, and a taste that took me back to Germany, an earthy deepness that paired well with the fava beans. Each bite of this small journey was ethereal.
A few days earlier, at another table, around 10 o’clock in the evening, my brother-in-law, Mark, in town. Mark and Angela and I at Nobie’s. More spring, but, this time, definitely not delicate.
Bold is what this dish was, and, as with the asparagus dish at Tony’s, done well. Orecchiette made by hand, peas, pistachio pesto, lemon curd, and goat cheese. Plus, an optional addition, duck confit. Rich, wholly satisfying, a perfect ensemble. It’s called Orecchiette con Piselli.
You might not be able to find a better plate of pasta.
The pasta did almost melt in my mouth, save for a toothsome bite that gave way to a silky sensation. I’ve written about the pasta at Nobie’s, and have been nothing but impressed with what’s done with flour, eggs, and water (and perhaps olive oil and salt?) in Martin Stayer’s kitchen.
The peas, the lemon curd, the cheese, and the duck, each at peak freshness, seem made for the orecchiette, and if anyone alive pushed this plate away after one bite, I would not want to know them.
“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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
It’s a cold and wet day in Chicago, and you want a warm brunch that includes a Bloody Mary and lots of flavor. It’s Christmas season, people are smiling and walking arm in arm down the sidewalks and the city is as beautiful as ever.
Little Goat Diner is your choice. The main dining room and the two counters are already crowded, you wait for your booth, and scan the menu.
RIght away, the Reuben jumps out at you. Smoked corned beef, kimchi, sauerkraut, Havarti, special sauce (you’ll think spicy Thousand Island with a richer, deeper, less acidic undertone), all on grilled rye. It’s what you order. Along with the Bloody Mary, of course.
A Bloody Mary with lots of heat.
Bread grilled with an ample amount of butter, neither too crisp nor too soft, is what you notice first, then a bite off this exemplary sandwich makes everyone else (save your charming and beautiful dining companion) in the loud restaurant fade away.
Your charming and beautiful dining companion.
The kimchi hits your palate, then the meat, then the sauerkraut. The sauce mingles with it all, and you don’t mind that your fingers are covered in butter and sauce and specks of everything between those two pieces of perfect Rye and you are glad you’re in Chicago at that moment.
We’re in Chicago for Christmas, and today at lunch came across a perfect little dish. It was at Somerset, an elegant, two-story restaurant that’s part of the Boka Restaurant Group.
The main dining room — Somerset is meant to evoke a country club vibe — is full of brass and leather and tweedy fabric and wood, but it all meshes in the mind in an airy and comfortable manner. One would not expect cigar smoke in this club, but Martinis and deck shoes would fit right in.
Wood, brass, a welcoming air, and food that makes delicious sense.
Service here is casual but professional; the wine list is thoughtful, with glasses and bottles from $11/$40ish. Domaine Olga Raffault is represented, as are Giovanni Rosso and Billecart Salmon. Cocktails and draft beer mean you won’t suffer from thirst.
To the beet tartare. It comes to table in a bowl, and the first element one notices are the dark crackers studded with sunflower seeds and other nuts. Light, crisp, earthy … the perfect scoop for the beets and cheese. Break off a piece of the cracker, and be sure to get a bite containing everything. When it hits your palate, you’ll like the initial citrusy/smoky rush, which mellows into something deeper, richer. The sunflower seeds give texture, and the cheeses jump on your tongue.
Under all the cheese are cumin yogurt, goat gouda, and sunflower seeds, plus smoked beets. If you are in Chicago, get this.
This beet tartare has been added to The Brockhaus 2018 Top 20 Dishes List.
Holiday season’s here, and the Wein is fine. I’ve already offered up a slate of selections for gatherings, parties, and dinners — click here for my selective and approachable holiday lineup — and I’m tasting a lot of wines, some of which will end up as gifts or being paired with holiday meals. I’m sure you’re doing the same.
Wine shops and bars are also busy, and you should stop by your favorite one(s) and peruse the shelves. Then visit one that you never have before. Find something new to your palate, ask the staff what they’re drinking, and stock up.
To get you started, Avondale Food & Wine’s Holiday Wine Market should be on your agenda. It takes place today (December 13), from 6-8 p.m. For $20, you get appetizers and the chance to stroll through a market featuring pop-up shops including Houston Dairymaids and Heights Vinyl. Bonus: purchase a wine from Avondale’s worthy inventory and your $20 is refundable.
Avondale Food & Wine wants to help get you in a festive mood.
Then, when Saturday arrives, make sure you set some time aside to visit 13 Celsius, because their Annual Holiday Wine Sale & Customer Appreciation Event is taking over the space on Caroline beginning at 11 a.m. A multitude of wine sellers (including Monopole Wines, whose team I recently joined — more on that soon) will be on hand with great pours and amazing bargains.
I’ll let the 13 Celsius crew speak for itself:
It’s that time again! Our annual wine sale and customer appreciation event takes place on Saturday, December 15th.
As our little way of saying thank you for 12 wonderful years, we have scoured the market to find the best wines for you and your family to celebrate and share this holiday season. Come say hello and taste through this massive stable of amazing wines. Decide which ones you like and gleefully purchase them at foolishly low prices.
Finish up the last (or at least some!) of your holiday shopping with: Weights + Measures’ fresh-baked bread Houston Dairymaids with more delectable cheeses than ever before
This event is free to attend and no reservations are required!
Here’s what Monopole will have for you at the sale: the 2015 Kerloo Cellars Cabernet Sauvignon (Columbia Valley Washington), the 2014 Y. Rousseau Tannat (Russian River Valley), and the 2015 “La Sorella” Pinot Noir from de Lancellotti Family Vineyards. Come by and say hello, and taste some great wines.
There’s a beauty in coming to this place, a spot that never tires me. Lamb, beef, masala fried chicken (the best fried chicken in Houston), the Parathadilla — my favorite dish in Houston at the moment — and Hunter’s Beef. More. A lot more. You need the Chicken Hara Masala.
Angela and I introduce people to this table, and the conversions are rapid and deeply felt. One of my goals is to make sure that everyone who knows me dines at this restaurant. At least once. And when you do, don’t forget to bring bottles of wine, because this place is BYOB.
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