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Garganelli, leeks, sausage, leeks, mascarpone, and truffles

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

March 16, 2019 / / 0 Comments

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.

Ella Brennan in the kitchen.

Rest in Peace, You Ladies of the Kitchen and Table: Bidding Farewell to Raffetto, Council, Kafka, and Brennan

June 3, 2018 / / 1 Comment

It gives me solace that they each lived a long life, these woman whose cooking and writing and spirit gave happiness and nourishment to so many. Pasta, fried chicken livers, a recipe for shrimp and asparagus with sorrel, and eggs Sardou: these things are evocative entry points to, respectively, Romana Raffetto, Mildred Council, Barbara Kafka, and Ella Brennan, four women whose legacies won’t soon fade. Losing them all within the space of a few weeks is a tough blow, but let’s try to celebrate the exuberance and love of food they displayed.

One of my favorite things to do in New York is to walk the streets of the West Village and make the rounds of my shops, including Murray’s, Faicco’s, and Ottomanelli & Sons. For pasta, when I did not want to make my own, or lacked the time to do so, I would stop at Raffetto’s on West Houston Street, pasta whose quality never disappointed. Romana Raffetto, who passed away on May 25, was behind the counter on most days, talking to customers and extolling the virtues of her family’s products, which evolved over time to include all the shapes and types that are now ubiquitous in even the most pedestrian of grocery stores (think pumpkin ravioli and squid-ink tagliatelle). The store, officially known as M. Raffetto & Bros., opened in 1906, and there’s no telling how many meals have been composed with Raffeto’s pastas and sauces since then. I enjoyed talking with Raffetto, and her pride in the store, and what her family had created, was obvious. (If you want to try a few things intriguingly delicious, order the following from Raffetto’s: pink sauce made with cognac, gorgonzola and walnut jumbo ravioli, and black squid Tagliarini all Chitarra. Those are my favorites.)

Romana Raffeto stands at the counter of her family’s store in 1978. (Photo courtesy Gino Raffeto)

Stores like Raffetto’s are national treasures, and in many cities are extinct, if they ever existed at all. As I write this, the aromas of that wondrous space in the West Village are all around me, and I know what one of my first stops will be the next time I am in New York. In the meantime, mail order will have to suffice.

Here’s a look at the place and the people behind it:

Mama Dip. What can you say about Mama Dip, otherwise known as Mildred Council? What about her Community Dinners? Or the courage and bravery she exhibited in choosing to end her marriage after 29 years, in 1976, having endured emotional and physical abuse? “The biggest turning point in my life was when I left my husband,” she told an interviewer in 1994. A cookbook that has so far sold 250,000 copies (“Mama Dip’s Kitchen”)? Fried chicken livers adored by Craig Claiborne (and thousands of other individuals)? How about the fact that she opened her first restaurant in 1976 and had but $40 to make breakfast, and at the end of that first day went home with $135? Her food was honest and filling and delicious and spoke of the lessons she learned cooking for her poor family, which she began to do at the age of 9, when her mother passed away. She was tall — 6 foot 2 — and she was loving and gracious, and Chapel Hill will never be the same.

“I’m not a chef. And I don’t like people to call me a chef because a chef is more like—I call them the artists,” Council told the Southern Foodways Alliance’s Amy C. Evans in a 2007 interview. “They have so much artist in them, artistic, ever what you call it. Artist, I guess, because they can just make things so pretty, you know. And I try to make things good.” Did she ever.

Mildred Council left countless fans and admirers, who will forever miss her cooking. (Image courtesy Mama Dip’s)

Barbara Kafka’s books sold millions of copies, and her advocacy of using a microwave to prepare food — she even used the appliance to deep-fry, alarming many and disgusting others — earned the disdain of many chefs, but the indefatigable author didn’t let the criticism bother her. She pushed on with her testing and writing and consulting, and in 2007 was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award from the James Beard Foundation.

“I do try to write in English, I don’t write ‘kitchen’ and I don’t write French,” Kafka told an interviewer in 2005. “What’s wrong with saying matchsticks instead of julienne?” Clearly, her straightforward — many would say brash — approach spoke to legions of home cooks, who devoured her writing and learned their skills from her books and articles. She supported Citymeals on Wheels early on, spent thousands of hours testing recipes, and maintained a passion for the transformative power of food and cooking. If you like cookbooks with a definitive voice and point of view, Kafka’s are for you. And you know what? Though I do not use the microwave to deep-fry my chicken livers or cook artichokes, I do start my roast chickens at 500 Fahrenheit.

New Orleans is one of my favorite destinations for food and eating. I can still recall the first time my family visited the city; I could not have been more than 10, but the flavor and sights and smells are still vivid in my senses. Strong black coffee, beignets covered in powdered sugar, shrimp and gumbo and everywhere, it seemed, the sounds of jazz.

Ella Brennan and the Crescent City were made for one another, both colorful and romantic and stubborn. “Hurricane” Ella was definitely a force of nature, and her love of restaurants and the people who made them work is worthy of much admiration. Here is all she said at the podium at the 1993 James Beard Awards (Commander’s Palace picked up the Outstanding Service award that year): “I accept this award for every damn captain and waiter in the country.” Classy lady was she.

If you want to read a lively autobiography, get a copy of “Miss Ella of Commander’s Palace: I Don’t Want a Restaurant Where a Jazz Band Can’t Come Marching Through“. Then set aside a part of your evening and watch “Ella Brennan: Commanding the Table.”

The experience will be all the more pleasurable with Miss Ella’s Old Fashioned in hand, a fine drink with which to toast the memories of these four amazing and strong women.

Miss Ella’s Old Fashioned

Ingredients
2 ounces Bourbon
2-3 dashes Peychaud’s bitters
one half-cube sugar
lemon peel for garnish

Fill a rocks glass with ice and a touch of water. In a second rocks glass, muddle the sugar cube with Peychaud’s bitters , then add Bourbon. Swirl the ice in the first glass to chill it, then discard the ice and water. Pour the drink into the now-chilled glass. Run the lemon peel around the rim of the glass, then toss the peel into to the drink for garnish.

This was awaiting us before the burgers ...

We Drank Canned Wine, Tried Doughnut Sliders, Opened a Chardonnay … and What Fine Pastas

July 29, 2017 / / 0 Comments

You go from table to table, hoping for memorable tastes and flavors, food prepared well, made with thought and care. There’s something edifying about the act of finding it, sharing it with others, appreciating it. You’ve learned to deal with the moments when the taste and flavors do not deliver, when shrimp is overcooked and enchiladas taste like sawdust and not much more, when this food writer or that restaurant reviewer lauds the cuisine of the latest farm-to-table restaurant or poke mecca and you wait a month to try it and find it lackluster at best. Taste is subjective, after all, isn’t it? One man’s bland bowl of borscht is another’s Proustian interlude, no? Those disappointing meals serve to whet your appetite for the next pleasurable repast, as vexing as they might be.

Recently, the good moments have come with satisfying regularity, the pastas done well, the branzino pleasing, the (yes) spicy tofu all that tofu can and should be. You looked on and listened as your friend (and Brockhaus sous chef) Chris savored the rigatoni bianco Bolognese you knew he would love, his sighs audible. Yes, it’s been a good week or two at the table in Houston, days that included a brunch at Tony Mandola’s Gulf Coast Kitchen that featured doughnut sliders that were just what I needed at the time, though I was unaware of the need before I tasted them. (Click here for a look.) The sweet and savory plate is a grand antidote to a night of celebration.

To that Bolognese, which has been my favorite pasta in Houston for a few months now. It’s at Tony’s, and if you have not tried it, you are missing something you shouldn’t.

I have a feeling that Marcella Hazan would have loved this. It’s rigatoni with a Bolognese bianco sauce.

I was hooked the first time I tried this dish; it’s complex, speaks of hours in the pot, the simmering and melding of the meat and vegetables and breaking down of the parts into a whole that transports. Each ingredient retains its place of pride — look at the carrots, their shape exact and right — but the technique that goes into making this course creates a tour de force of rich and subtle flavors, something full of rustic gusto and refined grace. Appreciate the saltiness of the cheese and the acidity of the olive oil. If all goes well, you’ll have this more than once.

Wine was also fine during these days and nights, and we even enjoyed some in cans. An unoaked Chardonnay and a red blend (Zinfandel, Syrah, and Merlot) from Ron Rubin Winery did us good, and we paired a Chardonnay from Mitsuko’s Vineyard with chèvre and bread.  (Ray Isle recently tasted some canned wines as well, and his review of them is a good read.)

If you can find a bottle of this, open it and drink.

During a dinner at the home of Russ and Judy Labrasca, Angela and I were treated to a 1997 Chimney Rock Cabernet Sauvignon, and a ’96 from Saddleback, the latter a lovely bottle, mellowed into a dream, the former drinking well though expressing charms of a more typical manner. Russ and Judy are a couple — Angela met them when she worked in Dallas, and introduced them to me not long after I arrived in Houston — I consider myself honored to know, friends without parallel. We drank those wines with hamburgers and Judy’s customary spread, and it was good.

With friends like these, one needs nothing more.

Houston Restaurant Weeks is upon us, the annual event that has done so much good for so many people in need of a square meal since it was founded, back in 2003. I sampled a few HRW menus this week, and came across another worthy pasta and a branzino of note, both on the menu at Amalfi Ristorante Italiano & Bar. The pasta, a tortelli, is filled with Asiago, potatoes, and pancetta, and served with beef short ribs. Tender, al dente pasta, top-notch cheese and pancetta, and, OK, the short rib is wonderful. The sea bass, my favorite item on Amalfi’s HRW menu, is accompanied by potato gnocchi, roasted artichoke, and a lemon cream sauce. Sea, lemon, olive oil, gnocchi … try these, and donate $7 to the Houston Food Bank in the process.

Let’s see what comes next …

Marcella Hazan has taught me a thing or two about making pasta.

UPDATE: Make Your Own Pasta (Thank You, Lidia and Marcella)

May 26, 2014 / / 0 Comments

(Editor’s note: A few readers have chastised me for neglecting to include a recipe in this post. That oversight has now been rectified. Please let me know how you make pasta, and if you have never made fresh pasta at home, I hope this post inspires you to do so.)

“I still think that one of the pleasantest of all emotions is to know that I, with my brain and my hands, have nourished my beloved few, that I have concocted a stew or a story, a rarity or a plain dish, to sustain them truly against the hunger of the world.”

– M.F.K. Fisher, The Gastronomical Me

It is simple, and the payoff is extremely satisfying.

It is simple, and the payoff is extremely satisfying.

Pasta from a box is fine. I use it, mostly penne and farfalle. But there is nothing better than fresh pasta, and I am always happy when I can show people how easy it is to make their own. I taught my 8-year-old nephew how to make pasta, and I’ve guided Angela through the process – she is now expert at it.

I have a stand mixer and pasta attachments, and love it, but that has not prevented me from making hundreds of batches of linguine and ravioli and other varieties of pasta by hand. And there is a bonus: It is a meditative process. The action of mixing and kneading and rolling and cutting calms one’s mind.

There are plenty of recipes and methods for making pasta. I use two eggs (sometimes three), some olive oil, and, of course, flour and water. Over the years I have discovered my own technique and method. (You will, too.) Here is mine, and I give all thanks to Lidia Bastianich, whose pasta I encountered firsthand at Felidia years ago. I followed her methods and have revised them as time has passed. (Marcella Hazan is another inspiration, for pasta and many other things. Get to know her.)

First, relax. Do not get uptight about the process. It is a simple thing, depending on the shape of pasta you wish to make. Put on some good music, open a bottle of wine. Choose a smooth and large working surface; if you have a work island, use it. (I use a large wooden butcher’s block.) Make sure the surface is clean and dry. Sift two cups all purpose flour onto the surface and form it into a mound. Make an indentation in the middle of the mound. In a small bowl, mix two eggs, 1/4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, and 3 tablespoons of water. (I often add a pinch of salt. You can as well.) Gently pour the liquid mixture into the flour’s crater, and, using a fork, combine the liquid and the solid. Then, with lightly floured hands, mix and knead the dough until it is soft and smooth. (You will get the hang of it after a few attempts. Again, it is not difficult. In all, it should take you about 8 minutes or so to make the dough.) If the dough is too moist, add a little flour. If too dry, add a touch of olive oil. As you make more and more pasta, your hands and eyes will guide you. You will know when it is correct.

Form the dough into a ball and wrap tightly in plastic wrap. If you are going to use it that evening, let it sit at room temperature for 30 minutes before rolling it out. (Wrapped tightly and well, you can freeze the dough; I have frozen it for as long as a month, but I rarely do this.)

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Ian's pasta

He did this: Ian’s pasta.

When you are ready to roll, clean your work surface, get a rolling pin, and divide your ball into three pieces; lightly flour the surface – a dusting – and roll until the dough is as thin as you can make it. (In the photo below is a modified fettuccine, and we should have produced thinner noodles – they always expand in the water. But again, do not fret … on this evening we made basil pesto, and the meal was delicious, thick noodles and all.)

To make this simple ribbon pasta, use a sharp knife and cut the dough in straight lines, lightly arranging the ribbons into three bird’s nest clumps. Bring some salted water to a vigorous boil and, one bird’s nest at a time, cook the noodles until they float to the top of the water. (One important thing: Many home cooks err by not using a sufficient amount of water. Get your largest pot, and do not skimp on the water; the noodles need room in which to move and evenly cook.)

Have a sauté pan ready (with your desired sauce in it: oil and onions, tomatoes, pesto … your imagination is the limit). Lift the pasta from the water and add it to the pan, coating the ribbons thoroughly. (I also like to cook the pasta a bit longer in the pan, a minute or so; it makes everything taste better.)

That’s it. After you do this a few times, you’ll be ready for ravioli and orecchiette.

Flour and eggs and water and oil, plus you.

Flour and eggs and water and oil, plus you.

Plates of the day: A Gem Named Giacomo’s

May 9, 2014 / / 0 Comments

There are a few restaurants in Houston to which I return again and again, because they are serving food that is good, and honest, and selling it at prices that are fair. One is named Giacomo’s, and it is owned by Lynette Hawkins, who has been in the business a long time and knows what she is doing.

I had lunch at Giacomo’s today with a friend who had never been there, and I knew that he would love the Swiss chard ravioli; it is one of my favorite dishes in Houston, and reminds me of the malfatti (also with Swiss chard and ricotta) served at Al Di La. (I ate those malfatti on a weekly basis at that little place in Park Slope, followed by rabbit and polenta.)

Today I ordered something I had never had at Giacomo’s: mozzarella in carrozza. The menu describes them as “little fried mozzarella sandwiches, anchovy caper sauce.” Two small sandwiches come in a bowl, the bread caressed by a delicate and very authentic sauce, a sauce so good that I would surely have no problem drinking a cup of it. The bread is slightly crisp, and though I wish it and the cheese had been a bit warmer, I can’t wait to introduce these things to Angela.

These little things and their anchovy-caper sauce are now at the top of my Houston food list.

These little things and their anchovy-caper sauce are now at the top of my Houston food list.

If you like cheese, anchovies, capers and crisp bread, order this.

If you like cheese, anchovies, capers and crisp bread, order this.

I convinced Jack to try the tortelli di bietola (ravioli stuffed with Swiss chard, ricotta, goat cheese, sage butter sauce). Again, this is one of my favorite dishes in Houston; I have eaten a lot of pasta around the world, and this plate at Giacomo’s stands up to the best of them. Paper-thin ravioli filled with a mixture of cheeses and chard, nestled on a plate in a rich sauce. It is perfection, simplicity at its best. Jack concurred.

My favorite pasta dish in Houston.

My favorite pasta dish in Houston.

While Jack was discovering Hawkins’ ravioli, I began eating my gnocchi. I have had this dish before at Giacomo’s, and this time it seemed especially good, mainly because the mushrooms possessed a pronounced funky, earthy flavor, something missing during a previous visit. The sauce – cream and gorgonzola – is always wonderful, not too thick, not too thin, and the potato gnocchi are obviously made and cooked by someone who understands the process.

Gnocchi di funghi at Giacomo's is rich, decadent and earthy, full of funky cremini mushrooms.

Gnocchi di funghi at Giacomo’s is rich, decadent and earthy, full of funky cremini mushrooms.

Giacomo’s is a gem, really. No pretension, congenial and adept staff, and an owner who knows her stuff. Plus, they sell wine by the quartino and have a good and value-priced list. Haven’t been? Correct that oversight soon.

A little bit of my New York in Hong Kong

February 20, 2013 / / 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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.

A horse tale (and Max produces some fine pasta)

January 25, 2013 / / 1 Comment

I enjoy teaching others to cook, and showing them that learning a few things culinary is well worth the time it takes to do so.

I’ve been cooking a lot in Gudrun’s kitchen this month, and it’s been fun showing Max the ropes, especially making pasta.

Last week we went to the Saturday market and I bought a nice foal steak and some horse sausage, and they became a wonderful ragù. It was cooked low and slow, for seven or eight hours. I started it on Saturday evening, and on Sunday Max and I got together and made pasta. I put him in charge, and he did a fine job … it was his second batch, and I do believe he could produce some good pasta in any kitchen.

We made vanilla panna cotta for dessert, Holger opened a Syrah, and Sunday evening in Kaiserslautern was delicious.

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