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Tag: sweetbreads

Saturday’s Breakfast, and a Great One at That

March 15, 2014 / / 2 Comments
A sign for the times. (Photo by James Brock)

A sign for the times. (Photos by James Brock)

One of the pleasures of moving to a new city is that everything is just that, new. That means new people and new restaurants, and I have encountered many of both since I’ve arrived. (It seems that at least five times a day I add another restaurant to the “must-visit” list I maintain in the Notes app on my iPhone, recommendations from nearly everyone I meet.) This past Saturday I met a new friend at a new (for me) restaurant for breakfast, a place he had told me about a few weeks earlier. We were going to Gerardo’s, and I was hungry.

It’s been open since 1977, and is a family affair, father and son, and that shows in the attention paid to the food and the customers. When I arrived at 609 Patton Street, the small space’s tables were almost completely full, couples and families enjoying barbacoa and carnitas. Chris was there when I walked in the door — I was thinking a beer would go well with the food, but while one can buy beer at Gerardo’s to take away, its license does not allow one to drink it on the premises, so I opted for a Topo Chico.

Some of the best Barbacoa – if not the best – in Houston.

Some of the best Barbacoa – if not the best – in Houston.

Sweetbreads and peppers.

Sweetbreads and peppers.

Chorizo with eggs – a great way to start the day.

Chorizo with eggs – a great way to start the day.

Jose Luis Lopez and his son Gerardo are the men behind this food, and the elder Mr. Lopez has been in the kitchen processing pounds and pounds of cow heads and pork and other meats for nearly four decades. Gerardo greeted us at the table and asked what we were hungry for; a few minutes later he brought over three or four small containers of hot goodness, including chorizo and eggs, babacoa and fried tripe. And foil-wrapped warm tortillas, of course.

“I remember coming here after school when I was 6 or so and taking a nap right there, behind the counter,” Gerardo told us, pointing to the floor. “I started helping out in the kitchen a few years later, and have been here ever since.”

Chris and I began with the chorizo, and the rest of the meal was a whirlwind of flavors and spices and textures and sighs. The barbacoa, which is famous and loved – rightfully so – was moist and rich and deep in flavor. Mr. Lopez told me that he goes through on average 160 cow heads a week, and the long process of cooking them results in this amazing dish.

They come from Dallas ...

They come from Dallas …

and become some great barbacoa.

and become some great barbacoa.

I love sweetbreads, and the ones at Gerardo’s are good, cut into small pieces and sautéed along with peppers and onions. The carnitas was a highlight, coming in, in my opinion, second only to the barbacoa, and if the carnitas had been my only dish that morning I would have been more than happy.

Family, tradition, attention to product: Gerardo’s has been around since 1977 for these reasons, and I am confident that if I return there 20 years from now a Lopez will be manning the kitchen and I will sit and eat like a king.

Jose Luiz Lopez, the man of the house.

Jose Luiz Lopez, the man of the house.

Standing behind his products.

Standing behind his products.

Provisions, I Hardly Knew Ye

March 1, 2014 / / 2 Comments
A fine pizza, from December 2013, when Provisions was my favorite restaurant in Houston. (Photo by James Brock)

A fine pizza, from December 2013, when Provisions was my favorite restaurant in Houston. (Photo by James Brock)

I am sad today. You see, I once had a favorite restaurant in Houston, the restaurant to which I returned many times, so often that Angela refused, at some point, to ever go with me again. I, however, loved it. I have dined there perhaps 10 or 12 times, alone and with others. I have introduced a number of people to the place and its food. I have spent an evening at its “sister” restaurant, The Pass. Indeed, I have spent more time at Provisions than at any other restaurant in Houston. And all was good, at least for a few months.

Something has happened to Provisions, my go-to restaurant. I first noticed things were amiss about two months ago, when I ordered a pizza (Mushroom-Truffle Pizza/Black Trumpet Mushrooms, $18), which at the time was my favorite pizza in Houston. This pie, however, was soggy. I picked up the first slice and it was limp. It drooped down toward my plate, and when I bit into it the usually crisp crust was wet and sticky in my mouth. I asked a cook about it, and he told me they were having problems with the oven that night, something about maintaining proper temperature. Okay, I said, good to know, because I love that pizza.

The next week I was back, at the bar at the rear of the restaurant, a great little perch that seats two guests and affords a view of the kitchen and the dining room. I ordered the duck confit pizza. And again, limp crust, from the first piece. What was going on, I thought. The oven, which is very near my seat, looks impressive, and I know it can make great pies. But two in a row?

Until this past Thursday night, I had not been back to Provisions since the second poor pizza. I will estimate that a month or so had elapsed. I made plans to have dinner with a friend, and he recommended Provisions, then our party of two grew into a group of four, all good eaters whose palates I trust. Three of us arrived at about the same time, and while we awaited the fourth we shared a bottle of a very good South African red (AA Badenhorst, “Secateurs,” Coastal Region, 2010), a shiraz. And a good value at $36.

Roasted Shishito Peppers, most of which remained uneaten. (Photo by James Brock)

Roasted Shishito Peppers, most of which remained uneaten. (Photo by James Brock)

And here is where the sadness began to set in. We also shared some roasted shishito peppers. They are described thusly on the menu: Roasted Shishito Peppers/Cotija/Cilantro/Corn/Yuzukoshu. They cost $14. I love shishito peppers, had some really good ones at Caracol recently. But the peppers that night were barely roasted, and entirely devoid of salt, which we all agreed was needed. In fact, the best component of the dish was the onions. Where was the acid? Where was the delicious char?

Our fourth, Ms. S., arrived, and we ordered. I chose the sweetbreads (Crispy Veal Sweetbreads/Pickled Root Vegetables $18), because I eat sweetbreads as often as I find them. The other dishes? Lamb Merguez Pate en Croute/Yogurt/Cashew/Citrus $16; Broccoli Strozzapreti/Fennel Sausage/Tomato/Parmesan $13/22; and Uni Fettucini/Guanciale. All, in my opinion, mediocre at best. Seriously. Let me explain.

As I wrote, I love sweetbreads. But this dish, with one medium-sized sweetbread on it, was not good at all. The main problem: The sweetbread was overcooked. In fact, the exterior “crisp” of the breading obliterated any taste of the delicate organ. What I put in my mouth tasted as if it could have come from the fry basket at a fast-food joint. (The pickled vegetables were fine, and I enjoyed them. But the star of the plate was a waste of a sweetbread.)

It was a sin, to waste such a beautiful organ.

It was a sin, to waste such a beautiful organ. (Photo by James Brock)

As I was making the first cut into the sweetbread, across the table one of my dining companions, Ms. B., was putting the first bite of the uni pasta into her mouth. Then this came out of her mouth: “Where is the uni?” There was absolutely no taste of the uni in the dish. All one detected, and it was not a bad taste at all, was the guanciale. She asked the waiter about the dish, and was told that the uni was used to prepare the pasta. She later said, forlornly, “I tried to pay attention to the taste of the noodles themselves, and did not get any earthy, uni ‘funk'”. We left it at that. I did not have the heart to tell her about the uni pasta I had earlier in Dallas this year at Spoon Bar & Kitchen, but here are a few photos of it. It was a very good bowl, and John Tesar has a great thing going there. I am already planning a return visit.

image 2

Spoon Bar & Kitchen's uni with trofie (Photo by Surya Bhattacharya)

Spoon Bar & Kitchen’s uni with trofie (Photos by Surya Bhattacharya)

And the Broccoli Strozzapreti? It came to the table lukewarm at best, to begin. Ms. S. told the waiter that it was not warm enough, so he took it back. Meanwhile, Mr. R. was tucking into his Merguez en Croute, and he said he liked it, adding that perhaps it was a bit too salty. I tried a bite, and concurred. I also thought that it was a bit too dry.

At about that time we ordered another bottle of the Shiraz, and when the waiter brought it to the table he opened it and proceeded to pour from the bottle into my glass, which still contained an ample amount of wine from the previous bottle. We did not bother telling him that it might have been more proper for him to have brought a clean glass to the table so that we could taste the new bottle before he poured from it. Neither did we remind him that it would have been best to serve the women first.

We did not order dessert. The uni was not finished; the strozzapreti languished in the bowl.  Ms. S.’s comment? Bland and overcooked pasta. My sweetbread was gone, as Mr. R. had taken a bite of it, agreeing with my assessment.

So, what is going on at Provisions? I don’t really have an answer. I am well aware that things can from time to time become chaotic. Even the best restaurant can, on occasion, send out a dish that is not as it should be. But two limp pizzas – after five or six perfect ones – and then a table full of mediocrity a month later? I am at a loss. And I write this as someone who has extolled the virtues of the food at Provisions, someone who has dined at The Pass and found it quite good. I am sad about the goings-on (at least as far as my past several experiences are concerned) at the restaurant that once was my favorite in Houston. And I so want to be happy again.

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.

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