Category Archives: de cibo

Puro and Unfiltered at Jean-Georges

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Jean-Georges, the best deal in town? You betcha… $28 lunch menu includes appetizer, entrée, chocolates, nougat, and petits fours. And get this: no jacket required, although I was wearing one, of course (the day I was there, a large group of tourists was seated wearing a mishmash of windbreakers, sweaters, and sweatshirts).

Above: river trout sashimi with sea trout roe, and dill and lemon purée, paired with Movia’s Puro Rosato 1999, at Jean-Georges, NYC.

A business lunch meeting took me the other day to one of New York City’s top dining destinations, Jean-Georges, the Michelin-starred and storied restaurant in the Trump Tower on Central Park West.

Above: bay scallops with roast cauliflower and caper-raisin emulsion.

I must confess I was surprised: who knew that lunch at Jean-Georges cost only $28? A great deal. But an even better surprise was a bottle of Movia’s Puro Rosato 1999 at a reasonable price.

Radically natural in style and in conception, his wines are not for everyone and his Puro is no exception (it’s a classic-method Pinot Noir vinified as a white and rosé, as in this case). Movia doesn’t disgorge the wine before release because he believes — rightly — that leaving the sediment (the yeast left over after the second fermentation) enhances its flavor. When a bottle is opened, it has be disgorged on the spot (see video below) and thus retains a lot of the flavor that would otherwise be lost if the bottle were disgorged at the winery.

Above: the sommelier didn’t know how to disgorge the wine and so I asked her to decant it. I love the color of this wine and it was great with the sediment at the bottom of the decanter.

I’ve tasted the white Puro and liked it as well, but the rosé is simply fantastic. When you taste a natural wine like that and experience its natural fruit flavors (in this case, a beautiful note of grapefruit), you just can’t put it down. Frankly, I liked the mouthfeel that the sediment gave the wine and its acidity was a perfect match for the tartness of the lemon and dill purées accompanying the sea trout and the intense flavors of the caper-raisin emulsion drizzled over the scallops. I could drink this wine every day.

Above: the sweat breads were skewered with licorice sticks and served with grilled pear (I paired with a glass of 2001 Vosne-Romanée by Mommessin).

Too bad that all of life’s surprises can’t be as good as $28 for a three-Michelin-star lunch.

Do try this at home… I found the video below demonstrating how to open and disgorge a bottle of Movia’s Puro. Keep in mind that you have to store the bottle upside-down so that the sediment settles into the neck of the bottle.

One more from the road: posoles…

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I promise this is the last installment of my Mexican culinary adventures.

Above: a bowl of posoles, a traditional Mexican soup, made with pork and hominy, topped with shredded lettuce, sliced radish, and a small dollop of homemade salsa, and garnished with a crispy tortilla.

Monday evening was family dinner at Micah and Marguerite’s (my brother and sister-in-law’s place) where we enjoyed a piping-hot bowl of posoles prepared by their friend Lucia. I was stuffed after the first serving but couldn’t resist a second helping. From the Nahuatl pozolli meaning “stew” or maize-based drink, the term posole dates back to eighteenth-century Mexico.

In other news…

I’ve been following this interesting thread at Vinography.com on vigilantism in the e-commerce world of retail wine sales in the U.S. It seems that a certain online retailer has been reporting other smaller retailers for shipping wine over state lines. The minutiae might bore you but the original post provides background on the anachronistic legislation governing interstate wine commerce in the U.S.

I don’t know how long this link will be available (before you have to pay for it) but someone just forwarded me this article on interstate wine sales in The Los Angeles Times. I guess it had to come to a head sooner or later… The sad part is the consumer is the loser here…

In other other news…

I was pleased to find this reference to my blog on Veronelli.com (in Italian). Here’s the original post.

Southwestern Mexican Culinary Adventures

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Indulge me with my indulgences: a photo reportage of my trip out west and what I ate…

Grilled yellow peppers at Mexicali Taco in El Centro, California (no link, sorry; see location info below).

Tacos al carbon are wrapped in butcher paper at Mexicali. The slow-roasted pork was tangy and delicate. So good…

The fresh salsa bar at Mexicali. When I stopped there at lunch, they were replenishing the condiments and the grilled peppers were still warm.

Mexicali Taco catapulted itself to the top of my “best Mexican restaurants ever” list. Definitely worth a trip to El Centro. Mexicali Tacos, 2003 S 4th St, El Centro, CA 92243, (760) 353-4505.

A hot dog “estilo sonoro” (Sonoran style) at El Güero Canelo, Tucson, AZ (“The Blond Redhead,” not to be confused with one of my favorite bands, Blonde Redhead). The Sonoran-style hot dog (perrito caliente) is wrapped in bacon, cooked on a griddle, and then topped with pinto beans, finely diced tomatoes, yellow mustard, relish, and mayonnaise.

The griddle for El Güero Canelo’s awesome Sonoran dogs.

The garnish at El Güero Canelo includes grilled spring onions, sliced cucumber, sliced radish, pickled onions, and roast peppers.

El Güero Canelo now has a second location in North Tucson but I went to the original in South Tucson, near the airport, where his old taco stand is still used to make the Sonoran dogs (above).

A visit to a bar — somewhere in the Sonoran desert — was rewarded with a “Michelada,” made with Clamato, Corona, Worchestershire Sauce, and lime juice. I am not a fan of Corona, which tastes more like water than beer to me, but it was great in the Michelada. Tasty and refreshing…

Saguaro cactus (Carnegiea gigantea) in the Ironwood Forest National Monument.

I had a late-night snack of homemade menudo (tripe and hominy soup, topped with freshly dished onion and chopped cilantro, not to be confused with my not-so-favorite band). It was leftover from a New Year’s day celebration (Mexican families traditionally eat menudo for breakfast on New Year’s day).

A bowl of homemade posoles, a traditional Mexican soup, made with pork and hominy, topped with shredded lettuce, sliced radish, and a small dollop of homemade salsa, and garnished with a crispy tortilla.

Traditional pan dulce (literally “sweet bread”) which I didn’t get to taste but I photographed nonetheless (it’s usually served for breakfast with coffee).

Back in La Jolla, I had a classic “wet” carne asada burrito at Alfonso’s, one of the old-school Mexican restaurants (probably inspired by El Cholo in Los Angeles, founded 1923) where the comfort food will cure even the most dogged hangover and the margaritas are always great. Alfonso’s, 1251, Prospect St, La Jolla, CA 92037, (858) 454-2232.

They don’t kid around at La Valencia where the huevos rancheros truly “drown” in ranchero sauce. La Valencia is a 1920s, silent-movie era luxury hotel. I wouldn’t exactly call the cuisine “cutting-edge” but it’s always dependable and the views and décor are fantastic. When in town, I can often be found at the hotel’s Whaling Bar at the end of the night.

Sunset in La Jolla. Thanks for indulging me by reading this post (if you’ve made it this far!).

Chablis by the Sea

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Above: a classic Southern California Caesar salad, tossed tableside on a guéridon by Meliton Lescana at The Marine Room in La Jolla, CA – a relic of Cold-War-era “continental” dining (click image for animation).

A trip home for New Year’s conjured up nostalgia of growing up in a sleepy seaside community where the waves are big and the beach is your backyard. Besides an excellent dinner at my mom’s (braised brisket, roast potatoes, and wilted spinach with a López de Heredia Viña Tondoñia 1999 that I found on sale at the local BevMo), great sushi (So. Cal. has some of the best in my book), and a bevy of burritos, tacos, tostadas, and flautas (look for a post next week on Mexican culinary adventures), we made a trip down to The Marine Room in the La Jolla Shores, a blue-blazer, khaki-pants-and-docksiders restaurant that sits right on the beach with floor-to-ceiling waterfront windows.

Above: 2002 Montmain (Premier Cru) by La Chablisienne. Sommelier Jeff Hoover surprised and impressed me with a list that offered some options to those of us who cannot drink barriqued Chardonnay. The shrimp cocktail is no longer on the menu but they made it for me anyway.

The once strictly “continental” menu has undergone some changes since I was a kid and although the surf and turf still makes an appearance (at $70+), most of the classics have been replaced by things like the “Mulberry Kalbi Glazed Organic Pompano,” which I ordered.

The pleasant surprise was the wine list. I wasn’t expecting to find a lot of things that I could drink and indeed the list was comprised mostly of heavily oaked Chardonnay, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon (for the most part, Marine Room diners get what they deserve: at the table behind ours, I heard a gentlewoman pontificate about wine, extolling the virtues of Merlot, which, she informed her companions, “is a blend”). But after leafing through the heavy-handed California chapters of the list, I was relieved to find one of my all-time favorite Chablis producers, La Chablisienne.

Chablisienne makes traditional-style wines that show the characteristic minerality of distinctive Chablis. The wines are very reasonably priced: the premier crus generally retail for less than $30 and the Petit Chablis and Chablis AOCs can come in under $16. I had never tried the Montmain Premier Cru and it went great with a jumbo shrimp cocktail (the latter doesn’t appear on the menu anymore but can still be ordered). I just love these wines…

We also drank a 375 ml of Guigal’s 2003 Condrieu, a 100% Viognier that definitely sees some time in barrique (about a third of the wine was vinified and aged in new wood according his website). It was unctuous and rich, perfect for the Pompano and the fruity flavors of its sauce.

The Marine Room isn’t cheap, the food is somewhat affected and slightly tired, but the views and the Cold-War-era feel are worth every penny (that you don’t put in your loafers).

Above: an image of the Marine Room, battered by the surf in 1949. The Marine Room sits right on the beach and has been closed numerous times over the years because of weather damage. It’s not cheap but the views are worth it. The night I was there, sandpipers scurried and danced across La Jolla Shores beach like ballerinas.

New Year’s Eve: Taittinger alla puttanesca

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Above: brother Tad poses with a magnum of Taittinger La Française and his puttanesca sauce.

The Parzen family brought in the New Year at Tad and Diane’s (my brother and sister-in-law’s) house, where we opened a magnum of Taittinger N[on V[intage] La Française.

Many people drink and think of Champagne solely as a stand-alone, special-occasion wine but it’s one of my favorite “food” wines: when it’s well made, it has good acidity, fruit, and body, and it’s arguably the most versatile wine in terms of its pairing possibilities. We drank the wine throughout our meal and it went great with Tad’s pear wedges (topped with “Maytag” blue and wrapped in prosciutto and arugula), an artichoke and cheese dip (brought by one of the guests), and even Tad’s spicy puttanesca sauce.*

Wine in large format (in this case a magnum or 1.5-liter bottle) is always fun to pour at parties and Champagne in particular shows better when aged in large format (experts haven’t really been able to pinpoint the reason for this but it likely has something to do with the fact that wine generally ages better in large quantities, probably because the oxygen-to-liquid ratio is reduced). The wine was drinking beautifully and paired wonderfully with everything — from the antipasti to ice cream cake and cookies.

My nephew Cole and I had spent the afternoon writing and recording a song using GarageBand. He was impressed by the size of the bottle and so I gave him some pointers on opening Champagne (his father noted it’s a skill that proves useful later in lafe):

– always have a serviette or clean dish towel handy (to wipe down the bottle and in case of spills)
– after you’ve removed the capsule by pulling the ribbon counter-clockwise, always keep your thumb over the cork as you twist the wire (in case it pops; the wire twists away from you and it always takes six turns to remove it)
– make sure the bottle isn’t pointing at anyone (in case it pops)
– tilt the bottle at a 45° angle, hold the cork firmly, place your thumb over the cork, and then slowly twist the bottle from the bottom as you gently apply pressure to pull out the cork

Above: December’s Children at Beaumont’s in Bird Rock (La Jolla) — Justin Richert, Danny Baker (left), John Yelenosky (center), Andrew Harvey, and Irwin (right).

The strike of midnight found me at a local bar, Beaumont’s, where I sat in with December’s Children.

I’ve known and played music with these dudes since I was a teenager. Each of them is a excellent musician in his own right. Danny Baker has got a great voice and his Les Paul Gold Top sounds great (I believe it’s a 57 reissue). My doppelganger Jeremy Farson, an accomplished painter, also sat in (if you click the link, scroll down the page to read about Jeremy).

I rocked out on Voodoo Child and Come On (Let the Good Times Roll) — a great way to ring in 2008 (which has got to be better than 2007!).

* Contrary to popular belief, pasta alla puttanesca is not so-named because it was or is the preferred victual of prostitutes (a common but erroneous folkloric etymology, owed to the fact that puttana means “prostitute” in contemporary Italian). The noun puttana and the adjective puttanesco are derived from the Italian putto (Latin, putus), “boy.” By the sixteenth-century (long before tomatoes and dried pasta were popular in Italian cuisine), the term puttanesco was already used in Italian to denote something belonging to a “lesser station in life,” so to speak, “boyish” or “girlish” or even “whoreish,” if you like. Pasta alla puttanesca is a pasta tossed in a tomato-sauce that has been flavored typically with cured anchovies, olives, capers, and chili flakes: the qualifier alla puttanesca refers to the fact that it is not a rich dish. In other words, it’s not a meat sauce or a sauce flavored with stock. It’s a dressing for pasta made savory by combining “humble” ingredients (another related word, puttanata means “rubbish” or “crap” in Italian, as in the expression, non dire puttanate, “don’t talk crap,” and has nothing to do with prostitutes). A meretrix may enjoy eating pasta alla puttanesca, but the dish wasn’t named after her.

Check out the follow-up post I did on Sugo alla puttanesca.

Although she makes a brief reference to it in her entry “Pasta Sauces,” Gillian Riley, author of the recently published Oxford Companion to Italian Food (October, 2007), does not offer an entry for pasta alla puttanesca. I’ve been leafing through the book during my trip out west…

Neil Young in Washington Hts. and German Beer Downtown

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Wednesday night, my old friend and once partner in musical crime, Foosh, brought me along as his guest to Neil Young in concert at the ol’ United Palace Theatre in Washington Hts. in the upper extremities of Manhattan.



Above: the United Palace Theatre is an old gem and they don’t mind when patrons rock out.

Definitely one of the top-five concert experiences in my life, the show consisted of an intimate acoustic set where he played a bunch of his old guitars and a mind-blowing, rocked-out electric set including a fantastic twenty-minute guitar solo. The guitar tones were truly amazing, like the notes of an old Nebbiolo, earthy and rich but fresh and surprising — with live acidity and fruit — at the same time.

It was great to see a legendary performer like Neil Young play a small venue like that, with easy-going security, cheap beer, and a raucous crowd of got-my-drink-on fans. It reminded me of when I went to concerts as a kid in the late seventies and early eighties, when rock n’ roll shows were just that: rock n’ roll. Dancing in the aisle by stoned-out-of-their-minds people was allowed.

Above: I enjoyed a Jever at Loreley before Foosh and I headed up to Washington Hts. to see Neil Young in concert.

Some years ago now, Foosh opened the now classic Lower East Side haunt Loreley, a German beer garden and restaurant inspired by his hometown of Cologne, Germany. The all-German beer selection there is great, the bartenders really know how to draft beer properly (with a proper head, see above), and the spaetzle and schnitzel are awesome. The place is always jam-packed on Friday and Saturday nights but you can sometimes find a place to sit on weeknights — if you’re lucky. The first time my band played our now show-stopping version of “99 Luftballons,” it was for the opening of Loreley way back in 2003.

Above: a video of Nous Non Plus playing “99 Luftballons” at the great Lower East Side rock club Sin-é before it was closed to make way for gentrification (read the stockbrokerization) of lower Manhattan.

NYC’s best-kept secret? Le bar at Le Bernardin

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On Saturday night, I found myself famished with a wine biz colleague in the heart of holiday-crush Midtown. Where to eat? Where to find a table among the throngs of shoppers? It just so happens I was with the one person I know who has enough chutzpah to suggest we descend upon the bar at Le Bernardin — despite the fact that we were both underdressed, both in jeans, no ties, me in a casual tweed jacket. I had never been, and, lo, and behold, we arrived to find two empty seats at the bar. Who would have thunk it? They do indeed serve dinner at the bar. It must be NYC’s best kept secret. If you ever find yourself suffering from a spur-of-the-moment yen to eat at Le Bernadin…

Le bar at Le Bernardin. The Armagnac collection is impressive.

Raw tuna served over a thin, long crostino topped with just a thin layer of foie gras. Decadent…

Peruvian-style marinated conch topped with dried corn.



Chef Eric Ripert is not afraid to have a little fun with his dishes, like the “Surf and Turf,” white tuna and kobe beef, the former pan-seared, the latter seared Korean barbecue style with fresh kimchi.



Le Bernardin’s sommelier Aldo Sohm was named the “Best Sommelier in America” by the American Association of Sommeliers (and that’s just one of the “bests” he’s won during his international career… check out this profile in The Washington Post). He’s one of the nicest and funniest persons I’ve met in the business and he’s not afraid to take risks with his pairings. With the dessert amuse-bouche (an eggshell filled with chocolate custard), he paired Trappiste (Belgian) beer “to bring out the flavors of the chocolate.” It was also a great palate cleanser. Earlier in the evening, Aldo tasted me blind on a wine I perceived correctly to be Tocai Friulano. But not from Friuli: it was from Channing Daughters (Long Island). A surprise indeed. Maybe they can make good wine out there after all (in all fairness, my friend Jay, who lives part of the year on the Island, had mentioned that the Channing Tocai wasn’t half bad. While it didn’t blow me away, it had the wonderful grassy notes characteristic of the variety).



No, those are not goat eyeballs. The plums were accompanied by a gelatin made of black sesame. I’m not a dessert guy but I couldn’t resist the texture.

Se hace la boca agua a la Boqueria

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Above: couldn’t resist the Viña Bosconia 1999 by López de Heredia at Boqueria.

Monday evening found me with my long-time friend Bret Scott at Boqueria, a great and wine and tapas bar on 19th st. named after the Mercado de la Boqueria in Barcelona (don’t forget to aspirate that “c” in Barcelona!).

Bret owns and runs an entertainment agency specialized in spoken word and dance, Global Talent Associates, and he used to book my band back in the day.

Bret’s traveled more extensively in Spain than I have and we both agreed that Boqueria gets it right. I had some tostadas topped with tuna and Bret had a slice of tortilla española (also called a tortilla de patatas), a traditional Spanish potato omelet.

The Viña Bosconia 1999 by López de Heredia was great although a little meatier than the house’s typical light style. I guess its ripeness was due to its youth and possibly the vintage. We both enjoyed it thoroughly (it was reasonably priced) and will definitely return to boqueria.

Above: Jamón Serrano hangs in the shop window at Boqueria.

Rich Man, Poor Man

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Above: hot dogs from Katz Delicatessen and Barbaresco.

I’m a man of means by no means.
— Roger Miller

This summer’s mid-life crisis has rolled over into fall: it’s snowing in New York, I’m broke, soon-to-be unemployed, living out of a suitcase, sleeping on a futon on my buddy’s living room floor, and I’ve got a lot of good wine that needs to be drunk because I have nowhere to store it (since I became homeless back in August).

Money’s tight and so Friday night I picked up hot dogs from Katz Delicatessen on the Lower East Side and met up with a few wine buddies to open some bottles.

A 1999 Rabajà by Produttori del Barbaresco was “cooked” or maderized (a term derived from the Portuguese island Madeira where they make a fortified wine). When I pulled the cork, I could feel that it was brittle and dried out. This can often mean that some oxygen seeped it into the bottle and caused the wine to age rapidly. While it was drinkable, it was indeed oxidized, had a syrupy texture and brownish color (reminiscent of a fortified wine, hence the term, maderized). Good (unoaked) Nebbiolo should always be clear in color. Opacity and color are always the first indication of a wine’s quality (N.B.: color and opacity vary depending grape variety and winemaking style).

A Produttori 1996 Pajé was fantastic and drank beautifully. The last glass had tartrates in it (see above): tartrates — sometimes called “wine diamonds” — are tasteless, odorless tartaric crystals that can form on the inside of traditional old oak barrels. Many mistake them for sediment. They impart no flavor to the wine and are actually a good sign (in my book): when you see tartrates, you are likely drinking a wine that was made in traditional, large oak casks.

Barbaresco and hot dogs? Rich man, poor man — depending on how you look at it.

Utterly California

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John Yelenosky — a good friend from my La Jolla High School days — and I had dinner last Tuesday at what is clearly one of San Diego’s finest restaurants, Market in Del Mar (about 20 minutes north of La Jolla). His father owned a wine store when we were coming up together and today John is the European Wine Specialist for the San Diego offices of Southern Wine and Spirits, one of the preeminent distributors of European wines in North America.

The concept behind Market is what some in the business call “market fare,” i.e., heirloom produce sourced from artisanal growers. The restaurant is located not far from the legendary Chino Farms,* a once humble roadside produce stand in Rancho Santa Fe that became a flash point in the heirloom vegetable revolution (thanks, in part, to a hearty endorsement from Alice Waters). Nearly all of the fruits and vegetables used in the kitchen, explained our waiter, are sourced daily from Chino Farms.

Executive chef and owner Carl Shroeder (La Jolla High, class of 87, same year as my brother Micah) shows a deft hand in the kitchen — especially with the entrées — and his food was excellent if not entirely original. The wine service by Brian Donegan was impeccable but our waiter was a little overly enthusiastic and too precious for my taste.

The dish that impressed me the most was the “Market salad,” which strangely does not appear on the menu.

The salad consists of fresh and lightly steamed heirloom fruits and vegetables (note the light green, pine-cone shaped broccolo romanesco florets above), dressed in olive oil and cask-aged vinegar, served over different types of heirloom lettuce. The pasta-bowl serving dish was warmed before assembly and the heat gently wilted the lettuce leaves and delicately accentuated the flavors of the dressing. We matched with a 2005 Vin de Savoie Apremont by Pierre Boniface, made from Jacquere grapes — an unusual and commendable wine-by-the-glass. This utterly Californian dish needed the bright fruit and acidity of the Vin de Savoie and the pairing of the seemingly just-picked vegetables and this fresh wine was great.

Above: the “Hot and Sour and Wonton” soup that the chef sent over didn’t exactly overwhelm me but was tasty.

Above: wine director Brian Donegan really knows his stuff and his wine service was top-knotch. I liked the 2004 Spätburgunder by Julius Wasen und Söhne that he poured for us by the glass. I was nonplussed, however, to see only a few tables ordering by the bottle on this busy evening (after all, this decidedly upscale restaurant is located in one of San Diego’s most ritzy neighborhoods, Del Mar/Rancho Santa Fe. Do Californians not drink wine at dinner? This one does!).

Back in the day, John and I used to play in a band together, ditched fourth-period art class together, and generally had a good time growing up in a sleepy beach town where nearly everyone surfed and/or played guitar (I only did the latter). Neither of us would have imagined in 1985 (when we graduated from high school) that — at age 40 — we’d both be working in the world of wine.

Above: John Yelenosky circa 1985.



Above: despite my doofus looks (and all the trouble I got into), I did well in high school.

* Chino Farms
6123 Calzada del Bosque
San Diego, CA 92067
858-756-3184
Hours: Tue-Sat 10 am-3:30 pm, Sun 10 am-1 pm