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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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