Category Archives: de cibo

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

James Beard Meat Loaf

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Following my post on the The Reification and Hierarchization of Wine (which included a note on my mom’s James Beard meat loaf recipe), a lot of friends and readers wrote me saying they hoped that mom would indeed make a meat loaf while I was out in California for the holiday.

Luckily, mom was reading and planned the meat loaf for Sunday night (I am flying back to New York, tomorrow, Monday).

We paired with a 2002 Chambolle-Musigny Mommesin, earthy, tannic, and with nice fruit to go with the rich, irresistible meat loaf — a standby, comfort-food dish that brings back good memories of childhood while rewarding even the most discriminating palate.

Above: Ecce panis caris! James Beard meat loaf with roast potato and carrot, homemade coleslaw, and secret chili sauce.

Today’s secret ingredient? “I didn’t have any bread crumbs so I used matzoh brie,” my mom said.

As per James Beard’s recommendation, the cold meat loaf makes for great sandwiches the next day (see below).



My mom also made a great baby arugula, shaved Parmigiano Reggiano, and pine nut salad.

Beard, James, James Beard Cookbook, New York, Marlowe, 2002 [1970], p. 220.

Thanksgiving 07 (Palm Springs, CA)

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My niece and nephew Amalia and Abner.

“Don’t carve the turduckenTM without me!!!!” (nephew Eli, bro Tad, and mom Judy)

It was the first time we’d all spent Thanksgiving together in many years. Brothers Micah and Tad made toasts about how lucky we all are to have never known truly hard times in our lives. We all remembered how our “poppa,” our grandfather (our mom’s dad), grew up poor and made it his life goal that his children and grandchildren would never face the troubles he did. He made it…

It all helps to put this year’s trial and tribulations into perspective.

In my toast, I told everyone how happy I was for the support and love they’ve given me over the last four — very (emotionally) tough — months. It taught me, I told everyone, that it doesn’t matter how good or bad the wines you drink and the foods that you eat (even though I make a living writing about that stuff)… all that matters — I know now — is the people with whom you break bread and the folks who share your cup of wine… “Family,” said Micah, “that’s the most important thing…” Thanks to Micah for hooking up our Palm Springs family Thanksgiving. I even got a tan!

Nephew Cole is a rockin’ guitar player (and I mean that… we made a recording of us playing some blues).

Nephew Eli and his dad (my bro) Tad. Eli told me that he is a “fiscal conservative.” He’ll be able to vote next year… amazing…



Tad and my sister-in-law Diane.



The 97 Leroy Bourgogne Blanc was corked (damnit!) but the 99 Quintarelli Valpolicella was a treat, the 04 Roty Gevrey-Chambertin perfect with the meal, and the 03 Barbaresco by Produttori del Barbaresco (opened 3 hours before we drank it at the end) was heavenly.

Mom Judy and sister-in-law Marguerite (she’s expecting… Marguerite, that is…).

Bro Micah wrastles the turduckenTM.

Out in the Dessert

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Yesterday, my mom and I stopped for lunch in Temecula on our way out to Palm Springs. I had a classic ranchero burrito (also called a “wet” burrito or burrito ahogado, a “drowned burrito”). I’m not sure but I believe that the burrito and the ranchero burrito are Californian inventions since I’ve never seen burritos served in Mexico (where smaller-sized tortillas are always served warm alongside grilled and roast meats and fish).* It wasn’t bad, actually.

Click here for my post on the burrito’s origins.

Old Town Temecula is a touristy shopping district.

The main street is lined with tchotchke stores and speakers that play country music. There was a wine store but it was closed.

Made it out to Palm Springs. The house where Micah (my brother) and Marguerite vacation has a salt-water pool. It’s really nice.

Micah’s grilling up some sausage and my other brother Tad cracked a beer open.

Sweet potato, bourbon, and spicy Italian sausages from Siesel’s Old Fashioned Meat and Deli in San Diego (where Micah and Marguerite also got the turduckenTM that we’ll be eating tonight for Thanksgiving).

El Pescador (back in California for the Holiday)

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El Pescador on Pearl Blvd. is the classic La Jolla (CA) fish monger. They have a grill behind the counter and there are few seats in the front of the store where you eat facing the display cases filled with fresh fish. Everything about this place — from the freckled-faced, sun-bleached kids that work behind the counter and grill to the laid-back sleepy-beach-town vibe — says Southern California. I had a grilled California yellow tail sandwich with avocado. It was awesome… Tom Wolfe didn’t know what he was missing.



I don’t know why but I love looking at raw seafood displays. I just find the patterns hypnotizing.



Note how the California “spiny” lobsters don’t have the big claws like the east coast kind.



They also have New Zealand salmon (left) and Idaho trout (center) but the yellow tail is always local. Those tuna steaks looked pretty good, too.

Later today I’ll be leaving for Palm Springs where I’m spending the holiday with my whole family…

In other news…

I really like what Eric Asimov said in this interview: “in my blog I’ve tried to take a stand against the tyranny of tasting notes that has overtaken the wine-drinking world. I don’t write about wines that I’ve tasted and spat, I write about wines that I’ve drunk, most often in the context of a meal. So I feel that I’m giving a more complete picture of the pleasures of wine drinking than you get reading the usual litany of wines and scores…”

“You’ll have to have them all pulled out…

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…after the Savoy Truffle.”

Above: this 26-ounce truffle fetched a whopping $208,000.

George Harrison’s song “Savoy Truffle” has nothing to do with Piedmont truffles. In fact, it was inspired by a box of chocolates:

“Savoy Truffle is a funny one written whilst hanging out with Eric Clapton in the sixties,” wrote Harrison. “At that time he had a lot of cavities in his teeth and needed dental work. He always had a toothache but he ate a lot of chocolates—he couldn’t resist them and once he saw a box he had to eat them all.”

“He was over at my house and I had a box of ‘Good News’ chocolates on the table and wrote the song from the names inside the lid…” (Harrison, George, I, Me, Mine, San Francisco, Chronicle, 2002 [1980], p. 128)

The “Savoy” in the Good News chocolates box probably referred to the famous Savoy Hotel and Restaurant in London, where celebrity chef Auguste Escoffier began cooking in the late nineteenth century. The hotel and restaurant get their name from the Savoy theater, which in turn took its name from the nearby Palace of Savoy, built by Peter Earl of Savoy in the thirteenth century. Since the middle ages, the House of Savoy has been closely linked to Piedmont (where white truffles are hunted) and in the early eighteenth century, nearly all of the region came under control of the House of Savoy. In 1861, Victor Emmanuel II of Savoy became Italy’s first king.

Though George calls the song — based on an affectionate anecdote — “a funny one,” the colorful chocolate-inspired lyrics of “Savoy Truffle” also address the issues of excess and over-indulgence in modern-day society. After all, the singer reminds us, “You’ll have to have them all pulled out after the Savoy Truffle.”

This year’s truffle season in Piedmont hasn’t been great and I’ve heard that many NYC restaurateurs have had to discard their truffles after the tubers arrived in bad shape. I had some white truffles at a Piedmont-themed dinner where I spoke at the end of October. They were pretty good but not phenomenal. Frankly, white truffles never seem to taste the same outside of Piedmont. I wonder how the lucky owners of the above truffle — a group of Hong Kong businessmen — will serve it.

When my friend Steve sent me the link to the story above about the 26-ounce truffle, I thought to myself, “does anyone really need a truffle that big?”

Me? I’d rather keep my teeth.

Above: an early draft of George Harrison’s lyrics for “Savoy Truffle.”

Creme tangerine and Montélimar
A ginger sling with a pineapple heart
A coffee dessert–yes you know it’s good news
But you’ll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle.

Cool cherry cream, nice apple tart
I feel your taste all the time we’re apart
Coconut fudge–really blows down those blues
But you’ll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle.

You might not feel it now
But when the pain cuts through
You’re gonna know and how
The sweat is going to fill your head
When it becomes too much
You’ll shout aloud.

But you’ll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle.

You know that what you eat you are,
But what is sweet now, turns so sour–
We all know Obla-Di-Bla-Da
But can you show me, where you are?

Creme tangerine and Montélimar
A ginger sling with a pineapple heart
A coffee dessert–yes you know its good news
But you’ll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle.
Yes, you’ll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle.

— “Savoy Truffle,” George Harrison

The Reification and Hierarchization of Wine

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With his customary stinging wit, Franco Ziliani — the top Italian wine blogger in my book — posted this insightful and hilarious post on The Wine Spectator “Top 100 Wine Countdown” in which he aptly compared the marketing ploy to a striptease.

I greatly appreciated the analogy because it captures the absurdity inherent in the hyper-commercialization of wine in our country. After all, at the end of the day (literally), wine is something that we put into our bodies. Beyond its inebriating effects (which many of us enjoy), it is a source of nourishment that complements the food we eat (at least for those of us who drink food-friendly wines, i.e., wines with reasonable alcohol content and healthy levels of acidity that stimulate our digestion).

Just as the striptease represents a reification (read dehumanization) of the female body, so The Wine Spectator “top 100” list and “countdown to the wine of the year” represent a hierarchization of wine. This hierocracy reifies wine by telling us that there is one wine superior to all others and by implying that the so-called superior wine is the one that all other wines should aspire to. Such static quantification opposes the very nature of wine: the quality of wine lies in the foods with which we pair it, the ways in which and places where we consume it, and — most importantly — the people who make it and the people with whom we share it. Wine is a dynamic “living” substance. It evolves with time (and changes radically from the very moment a cork is pulled and the liquid begins to oxygenate). The intrinsic value of wine exists not in an abstract hierarchy but rather in the moment that we drink it — whether an under-$15 bottle of young Chinon or a 1990 Bruno Giacosa Red Label Barolo.

Time for me to stop pontificating? Yes and thanks for reading.

In other news, I gave a talk on Italian Renaissance cuisine Monday night at a Beard Foundation event.

Above: a scene from the Beard House. I will always think fondly of James Beard. I never met the man but my mother (an excellent cook) loved his cookbooks and crafted many of her best dishes from his recipes. Her “James Beard” meatloaf is always great. We won’t be eating meatloaf at Thanksgiving this year — my first time back for the holiday in more than six years! But maybe I can talk her into making it on another night while I’m in Southern California next week.

*****

“Will you take me as I am?”

Sitting in a park in Paris, France
Reading the news and it sure looks bad
They won’t give peace a chance
That was just a dream some of us had
Still a lot of lands to see
But I wouldn’t want to stay here
It’s too old and cold and settled in its ways here
Oh, but California
California I’m coming home
I’m going to see the folks I dig
I’ll even kiss a Sunset pig
California I’m coming home

I met a redneck on a Grecian isle
Who did the goat dance very well
He gave me back my smile
But he kept my camera to sell
Oh the rogue, the red red rogue
He cooked good omelettes and stews
And I might have stayed on with him there
But my heart cried out for you, California
Oh California I’m coming home
Oh make me feel good rock’n roll band
I’m your biggest fan
California, I’m coming home

CHORUS:

Oh it gets so lonely
When you’re walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
Just gives you the blues
Just gives you the blues

So I bought me a ticket
I caught a plane to Spain
Went to a party down a red dirt road
There were lots of pretty people there
Reading Rolling Stone, reading Vogue
They said, “How long can you hang around?”
I said “a week, maybe two,
Just until my skin turns brown
Then I’m going home to California”
California I’m coming home
Oh will you take me as I am
Strung out on another man
California I’m coming home

CHORUS:

Oh it gets so lonely
When you’re walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
More about the war
And the bloody changes
Oh will you take me as l am?
Will you take me as l am?
Will you?

— “California,” Joni Mitchell