Mise en Place

Page 14 of 28

The Paratha-dilla: I can't get enough of it.

Eat This Today (In Houston): The Paratha-dilla Stuffed With Lamb at Himalaya

December 22, 2017 / / 1 Comment

Yes, there are still plenty of people (unfortunate souls) who have not experienced the (almost aways) excellence that is Himalaya, Kaiser Lashkari’s restaurant that features plastic-covered tables and valiant but often-frustrating service, but some of the best food in the sprawling region that is the Houston metropolitan area. It is, to my palate, the best Indian-(Pakistani) restaurant around, and the righteousness of my opinion was again confirmed about a week ago.

I’ve had most everything on Lashkari’s menu, including the masala fried chicken and the chicken fried steak, both of which are excellent dishes, as well as the saag paneer and any number of varieties of biryani. I’ll continue to order those. But now I’m raving about something I had never had before until a week or so ago, and that is the Paratha-dilla made with lamb. Raves are not sufficient for this. It is, with no exaggeration, one of the best things I’ve eaten in a restaurant this year.

Parathas are unleavened flatbreads indigenous to the Indian subcontinent — from the words “parat” and “atta” … or “layers of cooked dough” in English — and they can be wonderful when made by a skilled person, or leaden and dull when made by sloppy hands. I’ve had many of both types, and the one at Himalaya is decidedly in the former group. Light in texture, yet substantial; flaky as opposed to dense and doughy. In short, comfort food at its best. But at Himalaya, they’ve been combined with the “dilla” of “quesadilla” and transformed into something altogether miraculous.

The Paratha-dilla with lamb, ground and full of spices, and served with onions and masala sauce and tomatoes and cilantro, hits all of the senses with aplomb and confidence. The flaky and moist bread almost melts into the lamb, and a bite including the onions and tomato and cilantro and sour cream? It’s a thing of beauty, in the most sensual sense of the word.

Lashkari loves a good mash-up — he’s got a Smoked Brisket Masala and Shrimp Masala and Grits rotating on his menu now, among other creations — and the Paratha-dilla is one of his best. (And for anyone who doesn’t know, Himalaya is BYOB, so drink well.)

Last Night I Dreamed About Charlie Trotter — Then the Morning Became Odder

December 21, 2017 / / 0 Comments

I have phases during which I vividly recall my dreams, and I’m in one now. I wake up, and the images and action and scenes and dialog seem burned into my synapses. I retell the “stories” to myself and write them down in a notebook, and I also, from time to time, think I figure out why I dreamed what I did. Just as often, I cannot fathom the reason for the dreams, and simply enjoy the mise-en-scène. I am doing that as I write this, and Charlie Trotter is on my mind.

You see, last night I dreamed a Chicago dream, and Charlie Trotter and I hung out and ate and drank together, and we walked up and down sidewalks and streets and ended up at his townhome, late in the evening. We sat in his kitchen — as I imagined it … I never set foot in Trotter’s kitchen, or his home for that matter — and the hours passed and the conversation flowed. We cooked breakfast as the sun rose.

What did we talk about? I can remember France, and a trip down a canal on a barge, a pet Trotter had as a child, his father’s car, and the wallpaper of a hotel room in Paris. Earlier in the dream — it was winter, a Chicago winter — the steam coming from our mouths and nostrils as we stood under a streetlight and talked seemed especially visceral, though I have not the faintest idea why. Also, the condensation on his eyeglasses sticks in my mind.

The overall feeling of the dream is comfort, despite Trotter’s infamous personality. We apparently were friends, as we discussed trips we had been on together, wines we had shared. It was, as opposed to many dreams I have, unencumbered by the slightest sense of anxiety or angst or conflict. It left me feeling warm and part of a network of grace and kindness.

In 2009, I met Charlie Trotter in Abu Dhabi at a dinner he prepared.

Why, or how, did the morning become odder, odder than the dream itself? Because, in what seems a Jungian shadow-happening, the first email message I clicked on this morning while giving a few minutes to the ongoing process of clearing out my inbox included two photos of Charlie Trotter and me, taken in 2009 in Abu Dhabi. I decided to delete emails with the .ae suffix, and the message containing those images — which I had forgotten about — was the first one on the resultant search list. I opened it, unaware of the attached photos, and sat and pondered.

I’m not sure why it happened, and I don’t have a lot of time right now to figure it out. Nor do I know why I dreamed about Trotter and hanging out with him in Chicago. Perhaps reading about the closing of Grace was the impetus? Who knows … Dreams are mysterious, their meanings can be evasive and perplexing. I’ll figure this one out, eventually. Until then, I’ll relish those feelings of grace and warmth, and the sensual experiences of cooking, drinking, and eating with the departed chef.

The Petaluma Gap AVA was born on December 7, 2017. (Courtesy Petaluma Gap Winegrowers Alliance)

Welcome to the World, Petaluma Gap AVA!

December 20, 2017 / / 0 Comments

It happened earlier this month, and in celebration of the event I opened a bottle of Pfendler Chardonnay, an appropriate and worthy choice. I’m talking about the official recognition of the Petaluma Gap American Viticultural Area (AVA), and the people who’ve spearheaded the move deserve a round of applause. (For those of you who don’t know what an AVA is, click here.)

The Petaluma Gap AVA comprises 4,000 acres of vineyards and 200,000 acres of land; 75 percent of those vines produce Pinot Noir, while Syrah and Chardonnay make up most of the remaining plantings (other grape varieties come in at less than 1 percent of the total in the AVA). The area is known for the wind and fog that visit it daily, and generally slower ripening times, which can result in the development of some fine flavors and the preservation of natural acidity, something good for everyone.

Eighty or so winegrowers, along with nine wineries, call the AVA home, and one of them is Pfendler Vineyards, the producer of the bottle I opened to celebrate the AVA’s birth. Kimberly Pfendler, the founder of the winery, sent me some thoughts about the recognition of the area:

I’ve long called the Petaluma Gap the most exciting emerging wine region in California, and the AVA recognition is a big step towards building awareness for our wines. My late-husband Peter Pfendler was one of the original pioneers of the Petaluma Gap, and began planning grapes here as early as 1992 and was the first to plant what is now known as the Gap’s Crown. Unfortunately, our signature fog and wind, which make the Petaluma Gap so interesting, were not a good fit for the Cabernet vines he planted. When I started Pfendler Vineyards 10 years ago I made it our goal to capture the Petaluma Gap’s distinct cool climate in elegant-style Chardonnay and Pinot Noir wines. We farm three estate vineyards on the western slopes of Sonoma Mountain. The combination of sun and fog results in wines with beautiful freshness and layers of nuanced flavors. 

Pfendler Vineyards, the source of some very good Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. (Courtesy Pfendler Vineyards)

Pfendler is right about the flavors and freshness; the celebratory Chardonnay I tasted, the 2015 vintage ($38, 14.3 percent alcohol, 400 cases, Clone 4 and Hyde-Wente) is a fetching golden yellow in hue, and offers a bouquet of bright apple and gentle spice. Peach, lemon, and a slight toasty quality round out the taste. The aforementioned acidity is satisfyingly present, leading to a balanced finish. Drink this with a good cheese, say, a Camembert or an aged Cheddar, or pair with crab cakes, as I did.

Up next, tasting the 2015 Pinot Noir from Pfendler.

Want more wine? Check out these pieces:

The Perfect White Wine For Your Holiday Festivities
A California Cab Made By an Englishman
Peat is Neat
Distinctive Whisky Enters a New Era
A Whisky Legend Visits Houston
A Rare Cask, Indeed
Austin Whisky, Strange Name
A Merlot That Your Snob Friend Will Love
French Couple Make a Sauvignon Blanc in California
A Perfect Afternoon Chardonnay
Terry Theise Talks Riesling
A New Wine Wonderland
Paris Wine Goddess Tells All
Rice Village Wine Bar Has a Cleveland Touch
A Texas White Blend for Your Table
A Pinot Noir Full of Flavor
This Pinot Gris From Oregon Pairs Well With Cheese
Willamette, Dammit!
A Value Rioja
Drink Pink!
Underbelly Veteran Goes for Grenache
A Man of Letters and Wine
Ms. Champagne Wants a Nebuchadnezzar
The Wine Artist Goes for Chardonnay
This American Loves Spain and Its Wines
Houston’s Wine Whisperer Has a Soft Touch
Blackberry Farm’s Somm Pours in Splendor
Mr. Pinot Noir: Donald Patz of Patz & Hall
A Cork Dork Wants to Spend More Time in Tuscany
Sommelier Turned Restaurateur Daringly Goes Greek
Texas Master Sommelier Debunks Wine Geeks
A Bottle From Gigondas Changed This Houston Man’s Life
Oil Man Falls in Love, and the Rest is Good-Taste History
Ryan Cooper of Camerata is a Riesling Man
Mixing It Up With Jeremy Parzen, an Ambassador of Italy
Sommelier at One of Houston’s Top Wine Bars Loves Underdogs

Katherine and her boys

The Ghost of Loss Has Gotten Into Me: Farewell, Katherine Reed

December 17, 2017 / / 12 Comments

“Katherine passed away a few moments ago.”

The message came to me at 8:54 a.m. on Saturday morning. I read it twice, then put down the phone and closed my eyes. I summoned her forth in my mind, an exercise I could carry out with ease; though I have not seen Katherine Reed since 2012, she’s been in my thoughts many times since. Her voice and spirit and smile and passion come to me at unexpected times, when I hear Patsy Cline singing “Crazy,” or as I’m preparing a beef roast for the oven. And if an Adele song enters my ears, that’s it. Katherine is there.

Katherine Reed

You see, Katherine had a beautiful voice, and she loved to cook and eat and entertain. (She also loved to play poker, and I’ll never forget the evening in Dubai during which she vanquished the rest of us at the table. There were four or five players, and one by one she took ownership of our chips. At the end, she and I alone remained, both competitive, both wanting to win. Katherine wanted it more.)

Katherine and her parents, Clive and Jana Reed

Angela and I spent many an evening with Katherine and her husband, Lee McGorie, and their son Ryan at their home in Dubai, and the kitchen was always full of activity. Katherine would never do a meal halfway, and the counters groaned under the weight of spices and jars and bottles. Everywhere were cutting boards full of onions and carrots, pots and pans and baking sheets ready for the oven and stovetop. We ate well in that home.

Lee and I were colleagues at a newspaper in Abu Dhabi, and I liked him immediately. A quiet and kind man, sensitive, caring, a Geordie who loved Katherine with a profound and deep emotion. He and I would sit over beers and discuss football or journalism, or office comings and goings, the usual things friends talk about, but nary a conversation was had that didn’t include mention (at least) of Katherine. Lee admired her, truly admired and loved and desired her, and he lived to make her happy.

Back to the night of the poker game. I think it was the first time I had met Katherine. Seamus (another colleague at the newspaper) and I had driven up from Abu Dhabi that afternoon, at the invitation of Lee. The plan was to have dinner with them at their home and open some wine, enjoy a weekend evening. I recall that Katherine cooked pasta, and there was a salad of some sort. It was delicious food, and I recognized right away that she thoroughly enjoyed hosting people, making people feel at home. It’s an art, and a soulful and graceful thing to do. The knowledge that I’ll never again sit down to a meal made by her hands and heart makes life less bright.

Lee McGorie and Katherine Reed, along with Jana and Clive Reed

On that evening, I was also introduced to Katherine’s love of dogs. They had two at the time, rescue dogs. She volunteered for an animal society, and heaven help the person mistreating an animal around her. Katherine’s heart was big when it came to her loves. She loved her family, was proud of her parents, Clive and Jana, and the day she introduced them to me was a good one. She loved Lee and Ryan with ferocity. I grieve for them.

Katherine fell ill earlier this year, and she left this earth far too early. Goddamn it, she was 38.

When I read Lee’s note yesterday morning, after I got up from the chair in which I was sitting, a few lines of a poem came to mind. I’d heard them on an episode of “On Being,” and their mystical vision has stayed with me since.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you …

I’ve been thinking about Katherine a lot this weekend, and I wish I had reached out to her and Lee more often in the years since I left Dubai. I will make up for that now with Lee and Ryan.

I’ve written the complete poem here, and I dedicate it to all of those in pain, everyone who’s missing Katherine right now. We are less without her.

“Beannacht”
By John O’Donohue
From To Bless The Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.

Katherine and her sister, Amanda Reed-Kelly

If you want great food, go to Himalaya, a gem in Houston.

NPR Shows Some Love to Himalaya, One of Houston’s Culinary Jewels

December 10, 2017 / / 3 Comments

You’ve all read about my visits to Kaiser Lashkari’s little restaurant in a strip mall off of busy Interstate 59; Himalaya is one of my favorite restaurants in Houston, and if I don’t have my fix of saag paneer and masala fried chicken — not to mention chicken hara masala, goat biryani, and chicken fried steak — at least once every three weeks or so, the withdrawal symptoms get bad. The saag paneer is, bar none, the best I’ve had anywhere, including versions served to me in several cities in India and any number cooked by Indian mothers. Himalaya is on The Brockhaus’ Top Restaurants in the World List, and is nearer the top of that roster than it is the bottom. It is the real thing.

National Public Radio has now joined the Himalaya bandwagon, and on Sunday morning aired a visit by Lulu Garcia-Vavarro to the restaurant. If you have not had the pleasure of tasting Kaiser’s food or hearing him hold forth on food and business and life, give the NPR segment a listen by clicking here. Then, take a drive to the Hillcroft area and sit down to some of the best food in Texas. Tell Kaiser I sent you. (And if you don’t know, Himalaya is BYOB, so chill some Riesling and make it a feast.)

E.M. Forster would have a place at my table. (Kurt Hutton/Picture Post/Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

What I’m Drinking (and Reading) Now: The Balvenie Peat Week and DoubleWood 12, Plus Wines For Holiday Parties

December 5, 2017 / / 0 Comments

An ideal way to spend an hour or so on a December evening: Re-reading Howards End, sipping The Balvenie DoubleWood 12, and attempting to quell thoughts about recent news events. Helena Bonham Carter (who is the face and embodiment of Helen Schlegel for me now) and theosophy are certainly more pleasant to contemplate than are Charlie Rose, John Hockenberry, James Levine, Roy Moore, et al, and the tax legislation before the United States Congress, and the beautiful taste of the DoubleWood helps me sublimate the angst I feel about North Korea, Foggy Bottom, the Oval Office, and the sclerotic political response to the deteriorating infrastructure and educational standards in the U.S. Doing away with tax deductions for graduate students, for money they will actually never see, but giving Betsy DeVos special treatment? Heaven help us.

Yes, E.M. Forster’s masterpiece is giving me much solace, as is The Balvenie.

“It will be generally admitted that Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is the most sublime noise that has ever penetrated into the ear of man,” speaks a character in the novel. Is The Balvenie DoubleWood 12 the most sublime spirit that has ever passed my lips? I don’t know that I can state that, though a reliable source has told me that it’s the favorite dram of the inestimable David Stewart, the Malt Master at William Grant & Sons. I’m honored to share his preference.

This man is Scottish, and he loves a good whisky.

Speaking of reliable sources, I had the pleasure of meeting Mitch Bechard, a brand ambassador for Glenfiddich, at a special tasting this past Saturday at Costco, and I have to say that William Grant has good taste when it comes to its personnel. Bechard’s relaxed manner and jocularity, not to mention his knowledge and obvious passion for spirits, meshes well with the personalities that are Jonathan Wingo and David Laird, two ambassadors for The Balvenie (Gleniddich and The Balvenie are owned by William Grant), and the three gentleman are engaging, lively, and thoughtful representatives, and they’re fun to drink with to boot.

Brechard, who lives in North Carolina, opened the following bottles — prices listed were special to the tasting; check your favorite merchant for yours — at the event, and if you want to buy something special for the holidays, go for the Ghosted Reserve. You’ll remember each sip for a long time.

Here’s how William Grant’s team describes what I and the other participants tasted:

Ladyburn Single Malt 42 Year Old – Among Scotch collectors, few Lowland distilleries are held in the same regard as the long shuttered Ladyburn. It was open only between the years of 1966 and 1975, and few bottlings of what was produced there as standalone single malts exist. Tastings notes: very soft with notes of apricots and honey. A spicy and toasty palate – quite mouth-watering. Good length with a grassy and slight almond finish. ($1,400)

Ghosted Reserve 26 Year Old – a blended Scotch from the Ladyburn and Inverleven distilleries. Interleven was “Ghosted” in 1991 and Ladyburn being closed back in 1975. It is truly one of a kind Scotch, limited to bottles on hand, never to be reproduced. Tasting notes: rich and creamy with notes of citrus and almond. ($350)

Girvan Patent Still Single Grain 25 Year Old – the original Girvan Patent Still was built by William Grant’s great-grandson, Charles Gordon, in 1963. After distillation, this whisky was aged for an incredible 25 years. Tasting notes: complex velvety smooth with an incredibly sweet flavour. With time, the flavour evolves into deeper, richer notes including chocolate orange and bake apple pie. ($270)

Glenfiddich Single Malt 21 Year Old – Using casks that once contained our own premium Caribbean rum, this expression spends its final months finishing in these Rum casks selected by our Malt Master. Tasting notes: peppery with a touch of smoke, oak, lime, ginger, and spices. ($130)

The Balvenie Port Wood 21 Year Old – The flagship single malt from The Balvenie’s little group of Port Wood whiskies. This bottle was finished in thirty year old port pipes and is a veritable masterclass in poise and balance. Tasting notes: dried red fruits, floral heather, nuts andd wood spices. ($160)

The Balvenie Single Barrel 25 Year Old – Introduced to The Balvenie single malt Scotch whisky range in 2014. Released in batches, each bottle is one of no more than 300 drawn from a single cask. The casks that Malt Master David Stewart selected for this release are chosen for having the richly spiced, sweetly honeyed character. Tasting notes: great combination of subtle spice and honeyed sweetness. ($400)

Returning to my solace, The Peat Week is another Brockhaus selection from The Balvenie. Back in November, I had lunch with Wingo and Laird, and we sampled the peaty drink from The Balvenie … read about The Peat Week here, and if you like subtle smoke, pick up a bottle for yourself or for the whisky lover on your gift list.

“Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer.” That’s a rather famous sentence of Forster’s, from the novel nearest to my hand now, and when I read it again I thought of the way many of us will connect this month, at parties celebrating birth and renewal and friendship. Do connect. And if you are looking for a white wine for your parties, I’m recommending a great one: the 2016 Cantina Riff Pinot Grigio. It’ll cost you $10 or so, and it’s versatile and delicious. Read about it here, and get your party dress ready.

Want more wine and spirits? Check out these stories:

A California Cab Made By an Englishman
Peat is Neat
Distinctive Whisky Enters a New Era
A Whisky Legend Visits Houston
A Rare Cask, Indeed
Austin Whisky, Strange Name
A Merlot That Your Snob Friend Will Love
French Couple Make a Sauvignon Blanc in California
A Perfect Afternoon Chardonnay
Terry Theise Talks Riesling
A New Wine Wonderland
Paris Wine Goddess Tells All
Rice Village Wine Bar Has a Cleveland Touch
A Texas White Blend for Your Table
A Pinot Noir Full of Flavor
This Pinot Gris From Oregon Pairs Well With Cheese
Willamette, Dammit!
A Value Rioja
Drink Pink!
Underbelly Veteran Goes for Grenache
A Man of Letters and Wine
Ms. Champagne Wants a Nebuchadnezzar
The Wine Artist Goes for Chardonnay
This American Loves Spain and Its Wines
Houston’s Wine Whisperer Has a Soft Touch
Blackberry Farm’s Somm Pours in Splendor
Mr. Pinot Noir: Donald Patz of Patz & Hall
A Cork Dork Wants to Spend More Time in Tuscany
Sommelier Turned Restaurateur Daringly Goes Greek
Texas Master Sommelier Debunks Wine Geeks
A Bottle From Gigondas Changed This Houston Man’s Life
Oil Man Falls in Love, and the Rest is Good-Taste History
Ryan Cooper of Camerata is a Riesling Man
Mixing It Up With Jeremy Parzen, an Ambassador of Italy
Sommelier at One of Houston’s Top Wine Bars Loves Underdogs

Terry Theise: A man of wine.

Wine Talk: Graceful Memories and Inspiration, Born in Bottles

November 11, 2017 / / 0 Comments

One of the things I love about this crazy planet we call home is that our ancestors learned how to cultivate grapes and create wine. For thousands of years, vines growing in some of the most beautiful (and not so beautiful, in some cases) places in the world have mystified, confounded, pleased, nourished, and sustained multitudes of people: farmers, winemakers, drinkers royal and low, and all sorts of others in between have been changed by the grape. Those small orbs are miracles, worshipped by characters hailing from all walks of life.

I’ve been partaking of those miracles for a long time, since I was a high school student in the Rheinland Pfalz, home to, among other things, my favorite grape and wine, Riesling, and my Fußball team, 1. FC Kaiserslautern. I was introduced to both of them at around the same time, and though the team has been going through a period of crisis for too long now, a mere shadow of its Glory Days version, Riesling and her companions shine on.

God’s country, and home to some outstanding Rieslings. (Photo courtesy Germany.travel.com)

When I open a bottle of wine, I almost always think of the individuals who produced what’s in it. My mind wanders to the land on which the vines are growing and I mentally draw a picture of the harvest, imagine the tractors and baskets and weather and calloused hands. Without people, the wine would be nothing. Never forget that.

People. Beginning with the man — hand deformed on a battlefield in Germany — who sold me my first wine book (I recall still how he would hold the ink stamp he used to mark books purchased at his store), to Terry Theise and the woman who poured me a revelatory Crianza in a small tasting room in Rioja, people are the unifying factor in my journey with wine. There was the high school teacher with the cellar in the Pfalz who let me taste with him, and the restaurant owner in Florence who slipped a bottle into my backpack (he was, I guess, paying me back for the kindness I showed his elderly mother during my meal on that evening). Wine has been the common denominator in some of my most satisfying experiences and graceful memories, and I look forward to that continuing. That first book? “The Companion to Wine,” by Frank J. Prial.

Wine Talk, a series I started several years ago, is still going strong, and, similar to the world of wine, it has few limits. In it, I’ve introduced readers to scores of people and vintages, and I’ve made some friends. Their insights and recommendations and passions are laid down for the record, and I’m happy to put some of them (plus a few pieces on bottles I’ve enjoyed) in one place for your approval.

Below you’ll find Chris Nishiwaki, Donald Patz, Gerry Dawes, Vanessa Treviño Boyd, and David Keck, to name but a few. You’ll also, I hope, find the inspiration to go out and buy a few bottles based on what you read. Please create some graceful memories of your own. (And stay tuned for more Wine Talk.)

Wine Talk: From Paris to Houston and many other places, the goodness flows
A Merlot That Your Snob Friend Will Love
French Couple Make a Sauvignon Blanc in California
A Perfect Afternoon Chardonnay
Terry Theise Talks Reisling
A New Wine Wonderland
Paris Wine Goddess Tells All
Rice Village Wine Bar Has a Cleveland Touch
A Texas White Blend for Your Table
A Pinot Noir Full of Flavor
This Pinot Gris From Oregon Pairs Well With Cheese
Willamette, Dammit!
A Value Rioja
Drink Pink!
Underbelly Veteran Goes for Grenache
A Man of Letters and Wine
Ms. Champagne Wants a Nebuchadnezzar
The Wine Artist Goes for Chardonnay
This American Loves Spain and Its Wines
Houston’s Wine Whisperer Has a Soft Touch
Blackberry Farm’s Somm Pours in Splendor
Mr. Pinot Noir: Donald Patz of Patz & Hall
A Cork Dork Wants to Spend More Time in Tuscany
Sommelier Turned Restaurateur Daringly Goes Greek
Texas Master Sommelier Debunks Wine Geeks
A Bottle From Gigondas Changed This Houston Man’s Life
Oil Man Falls in Love, and the Rest is Good-Taste History
Ryan Cooper of Camerata is a Riesling Man
Mixing It Up With Jeremy Parzen, an Ambassador of Italy
Sommelier at One of Houston’s Top Wine Bars Loves Underdogs

Some meat: A ribeye fit for two (or three).

The Fall Season Arrives: Time for The Newness in Everything

October 25, 2017 / / 0 Comments

The light outside changes, becomes softer, less harsh; the temperature falls and the humidity grows friendlier; and spending more time outdoors becomes a pleasant reality. It’s autumn, the best time, in my opinion, to enjoy what’s on offer in the world. The new season brings new art exhibits, theatre performances, fashion, and, thank goodness, wines and food. New dishes, menus, ingredients, and pairings await in restaurants everywhere. It’s a good time to taste.

Want some good tastes? Have you experienced duck heart bolognese? If not, pay a visit to One Fifth/Romance Languages in Houston and embrace the new. It’s rich and hearty and comforting, and my pasta (casarecce) was just as I like it … one small second past al dente. In addition, I offer you a fine ribeye from Del Frisco’s and an impressive foie gras concoction that’s on the menu at Tony’s. You can read more about these three dishes here. Book a table (or sit at the bar), order some wine, relax a little, and live.

Order this as an opener, or at the end of your evening.

If you cook at home — and if you don’t, you’re missing out on a meditative ritual — here’s a great recipe for salmon that’s warming on an autumn evening. It’s easy to make, and it pairs perfectly with that bottle of Lambrusco you’ve been wanting to open. Want more fun? Cook with someone who excites you. It’ll make the food that much more satisfying.

It was a tough summer … hurricanes and earthquakes and fires (I’m working on a piece about the disaster in Napa and Sonoma, so look for it here) affected millions, bringing despair, heartache, and death. Let’s hope that fall brings, along with the new, a touch of solace and rejuvenation. We could all use some of that.

Hamachi and Sorrel

Hamachi and Langoustine, Plus Dierberg and Star Lane: The Brockhaus Cooked at Tony’s

October 3, 2017 / / 2 Comments

The menu had been set for a few weeks, and the wines had arrived, shipped overnight from California. The Brockhaus was cooking at Tony’s.

My mind was, partially, in Berlin and Roanne while planning the dinner’s menu. Berlin because of two meals experienced on consecutive days in 2016 at Restaurant Tim Raue, and Roanne thanks to a documentary about Maison Troisgros and that great family of food. Dishes featuring langoustine and salmon, the former created by Raue, the latter by the famed French family. Austin Waiter, Tony’s chef de cuisine, and I had tweaked the methods and ingredients, and all was a go.

We cured Norwegian sea trout, covered the langoustine in corn starch, prepped the brioche and figs and hamachi. The kitchen at Tony’s was full of activity, as it always is. The pastry station was abuzz, the waiters were polishing cutlery and plates, and deliveries were arriving. Austin was working on the wasabi cream, and I was prepping the langoustine. All was on schedule. It was Monday, the 25th of September.

Hamachi awaits its sorrel

Hamachi awaits its sorrel

Norwegian trout cures

Norwegian trout cures

Twelve guests, nine wines. Kennady Cosby, the bar manager, had created a lavender-based cocktail that would begin the evening at 6:30 in the bar. Russ and Judy would be at the table, as would Jared and Cheryl, all regular Brockhaus patrons. New guests were on the list as well. It would, as always, be an eclectic and vibrant table.

Tony Vallone, the owner of Tony’s, had asked me several times if I wanted to hold a Brockhaus evening at his restaurant, and I finally accepted the generous (and somewhat intimidating) offer. Vallone, who also owns Ciao Bello and Vallone’s, has been the force behind Tony’s for more than 50 years, and he and his wife, Donna, have created something special in Houston. Tony’s is my favorite restaurant in Houston, is among my favorite places in the world, and it was an honor to cook in the kitchen there. A great honor.

The table is set …

The Wine Library at Tony’s (Nick de la Torre)

The venue was the Wine Library, an intimate space lined with walls of great vintages and anchored by a round table with seats for 12. Angela, one of The Brockhaus’ creators, had been relieved of her duties that evening, and would for the first time be a guest at the table.

At 6:30 sharp, I checked on the bar, and a few of our guests were mingling and sipping their cocktails. Angela was hosting, and, prep over, Austin and I finalized the plating. Wines were chilling, and the table was set.

Green tomato soup, Norwegian trout, and dill oil

Green tomato soup, Norwegian trout, and dill oil

Wasabi Langoustine

Wasabi Langoustine

Austin Waiter and James Brock

Austin Waiter and James Brock

A little after 7 p.m. we ushered the group to the Wine Library. Carlos poured the first wine, a Crémant from Alsace, and the meal began. The conversation at the table flowed, along with the wine. Jared, Russ, Judy, and Cheryl spoke of their past Brockhaus experiences, and the first-time guests added their personalities and contributions.

Austin and I greeted the diners, and the courses progressed. Burrata and prosciutto, cold tomato soup and trout, foie in a hole, hamachi and sorrel, pork belly and duck breast with chanterelle and maitake.

I had partnered with Dierberg and Star Lane vineyards — if you are not acquainted with their wines, make it a point to buy a few bottles — and the pairings were inspired.

Around 11 or so, dessert finished, the guests rose to leave, smiling, talking, and hugging. The Brockhaus Cooks at Tony’s was done.

Stay tuned for news about the next event …

‘It’s Really Hard’: The Human Spirit Is a Thing of Confounding Beauty

September 4, 2017 / / 0 Comments

The woman stands on the street in front of her home, in the Braeswood section of  Houston, pieces of her life stacked haphazardly on the lawn, edging out over the curb. Battered sections of walls, mattresses, a cat’s scratching post, bedspreads and pillows and other items I did not immediately recognize. We had just emerged from a home across the way, a house that, though it stood on a piece of land comfortably above street level, had flooded on Sunday during Harvey’s onslaught. Its owners had been forced to retreat to their attic, saw in hand; they were, they told us, planning to cut a hole in the roof and signal for rescue.

“We went to bed the night before thinking we would be OK; we had never flooded here, this house had never flooded” the husband says. “It was around midnight, and the water was flowing in the street, but we were dry, no water in our house. We set the alarm for 4 a.m., just to make sure, and still, OK.” Then, his wife says, 6 a.m arrived; she got out of bed and saw the water flowing across the kitchen floor. “Harvey was waiting us out; he waited everyone out.”

This woman had nearly died during Hurricane Ike. “I was driving and went through some water that was too high; I jumped out of the car and tried to walk, but the current was strong,” she recounts. “The water was up to my waist, and I grabbed a street sign. A man was wading toward me, no shirt, struggling. He reached for me, and we walked together, me first, grabbing onto something, pulling him, then he would do the same.”

We were on the couple’s back patio. The home’s swimming pool was half empty, the water in it turned green with algae. “I could not find any of my shoes,” the woman tells us. “I guess they all floated away. They gave me these,” she says, nodding toward the brown canvas loafers on her feet. “They” are the people whose nearby home she and her husband were taken to in the boat that had ferried them away from their flooded home. “I need to find them and thank them. They fed us.”

Back on the street, the couple’s neighbor surveys the pile, shaking her head. “It’s hard,” she says, lowering her gaze.

The photographs below were taken by my friend Michael Pitzen in the Braeswood neighborhood. House after house ruined, the remnants of life piled high.

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Earlier that day, I had spent several hours working at Reef, a restaurant in Houston. It had been transformed into a staging area for relief efforts, and its owners, Bryan and Jennifer Caswell, had opened it to World Central Kitchen, a charitable organization founded by José Andrés. The large space, currently under renovation, was full of activity; a line of volunteers assembled sandwiches, others unloaded boxes of produce from a truck parked outside. The bar area was overflowing with items destined for the displaced and those who saved them; energy bars were stacked next to bags of avocados, sport drinks shared a table with tortillas.

José Andrés and I at Reef.

I took some packages of beef brisket to the kitchen and put them in a sink to thaw, then carried two large trash bags of lettuce to the dining room. There, three of us assembled salads for 500 people in Beaumont. Every 15 minutes or so, someone would walk in off the street to volunteer. One of the newcomers joined our brigade, and we continued.

The brisket had thawed, so I cut it from the bags and arranged it in four baking pans. An oven had been set up on Reef’s front patio, and I slid the pans into it. The meat, along with the salad, would feed the group in Beaumont.

Walking back into the dining room, I saw Felix Flores on the sandwich line. Flores owns Black Hill Ranch, on which he raises a variety of pigs. The ranch had flooded, and a large number of the animals there had drowned, piglets and sows. Flores and his teen-age son, a day or two after surveying the damage at the ranch, were at Reef to help, father and son spreading mayonnaise on pieces of white bread, stacking slices of meat on top of sandwich after sandwich, each a little offering of hope.

Inside Reef, the work continues.

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