From Brooklyn (above), to Austin, to La Jolla, Tracie P and I wish you a happy and healthy new year!
Let’s hope it’s a good one, without any fear…
I’ll see you in a few days…
Category Archives: de rebus familiaribus
My gig at the World Trade Center, remembering September 11
Looking back on September 11, 2001, I know I am not the first to think of it as a catastrophic tragedy comparable to the Sack of Rome in the 16th century. But, today, as I reminisce about the gigs I played at The Greatest Bar on Earth — 1 World Trade Center, NY NY 10048, on the top floor of the north tower — I realize that, like the Sack of Rome, the tragedy of 9/11 marks a cultural watershed: it’s as if our frenetic quest to document our lives through digital images and information began after September 2001 (in the same way that art historians and literary scholars point to the Sack of Rome as a cultural turning point, when there was an overarching shift in our self-awareness).
And so I dug up some old photos and fliers from my pre-9/11 world when my band (above) was still called Les Sans Culottes (today Nous Non Plus).
Back then, we played at The Greatest Bar on Earth nearly once a month.
Remember the World Famous Pontani Sisters? We did a lot of shows there together, with the Pontanis on stage with us. “Wear go-go boots and a miniskirt and get in free!” That pretty much sums up the spirit of those days in New York. We played some wild shows back then.
Those were wild, fun years in my life, when I was still in my early thirties and had moved to NYC just a few years previously. Back then, my day gig was writing about wine for La Cucina Italiana. The band played roughly 50 gigs a year in NYC, where we had a great following. It was a super fun time (look at the other bands that were playing the Bowery Ballroom, above, where we often were the headliners). Seems like a lifetime ago now. It was…
On my September 11, I awoke in Brooklyn and learned that something had happened — although I didn’t know yet what — when I called a colleague in TriBeCa to confirm a 9 a.m. morning meeting. I didn’t have a TV back then. And so I tuned in NPR on WNYC on my Mac over the internet. As soon as what was happening sunk in, I picked up the phone and called my mother who was still sleeping in California, three hours behind NYC time.
“Mom, sorry to wake you.”
“That’s okay, honey.”
“Something’s happened in New York. Something bad. I’m not going to be able to call you later. But I’m calling to let you know that I’m okay.”
“Okay, honey. Thanks for calling.”
She hung up and fell back asleep. The whole world had changed.
By the end of the day, singed shards of paper, business documents, rained gently down on my neighborhood in Park Slope, fluttering as they fell back to earth. I’ll never forget that image.
I was very lucky that I didn’t head into the city that day. I would have been on the 2 or 3 train, passing under the WTC.
G-d bless all the people who suffered and lost and gave their lives that day.
Boudreaux’s Butt Paste and Boudain Shopping in Port Arthur, Texas
Here in Texas, everyone says that Boudreaux’s Butt Paste is the best. We’re only 6 months pregnant but we’ll be stocking up on butt paste pretty soon.
Crawfish boudain: if that ain’t country, I’ll kiss your ass.
Pork boudain. We also got some smoked boudain and some green onion pork sausage.
Folks around here are serious about their seasonings.
Impulse buy at checkout.
Nick’s Grocery: HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.
I fall in love again every time…
…I point my camera at her.
…even when it’s over sausage and sauer kraut kolaches at Hruška’s on Texas Hwy. 71.
Mamma and Baby P are healthy and happy and pregnancy cravings have evolved into “snack attacks” (as they are called in Parzen parlance) and Tracie P is more beautiful than ever.
I just keep falling in love over and over again…
Soave and summer farro salad make a bleak world seem brighter
Tracie P really outdid herself yesterday night for our dinner, making a gorgeous summer farro salad with fresh and lightly blanched vegetables and fruits and hard-boiled egg. It’s a good thing she did because by the time dinner rolled around at our house, I was depressed.
After reading the dismal news about Italy, the economy, the fall of Western Civilization, and the riots and looting in London (one of my favorite cities on earth), I couldn’t help but think about the last market crash in 2008 and the days that followed the tragedy of the Twin Towers in 2001. Those were tough times for the wine (and restaurant) industry and I hope they are not returning in the wake of the current crisis.
But as Tracie P reminded me, no matter what happens, we’ll have each other and we’ll have Baby P when she arrives later this year. And for the first time in my life, as bleak as the world seems right now, my anxiety about the future is assuaged by Tracie P’s wonderful smile and her warm embrace — and a little girl growing inside her.
And as bad as things may look, we all found joy and solace in some of the simplest pleasure in life: a bright summer dish and a bright, fresh bottling of Garganega by Suavia.
We were also joined last night by Alfonso, who was in Austin on business. And it was great to be together, just the three four of us…
After dinner, we settled into the living room and watched Pasolini’s Decameron on Netflix streaming. And I think all of us thanked our lucky stars for the small pleasures that life delivers…
Here’s one of the most beautiful sequences from the film… Buona visione…
BBQ Capital of Texas THE WORLD: Lockhart
To call Lockhart, Texas the bbq capital of the world is simply insufficient in describing its role in the gastronomic state of world bbq affairs.
Lockhart is a true Mecca — by antonomasia — the ultimate and supreme destination for bbq, where the German-Texan tradition of dry rub smoked meats has not only been institutionalized but has become a true religion.
And Kreuz Market is the bbq religion’s pontiff and its most pure expression: no forks, no napkins… just butcher paper, paper towels on the tables, and plastic knives to cut through the tender bounty and plastic spoons for the sides. And most importantly: no sauce… Housemade hot sauce (in the style of Tabasco, to give you the idea) is sufficient to add the desired kick to this perfectly seasoned meat.
That’s cousin Ben in the photo above. He, cousin Marc, Marc’s children cousins Jessica and Jacob, Cousin Marty and I headed down to Lockhart early yesterday morning for a ‘cue crawl.
We did also make it to Black’s, where cousin Jessica took this excellent photo of the signature beef rib using my camera.
There are three destinations for bbq in Lockhart — Black’s, Kreuz, and Smitty’s. They are highly competitive, steeped in familial rivalry and intrigue, and each with its own particular and peculiar nuances and idiosyncratic signatures.
One man’s poison is another man’s meat. However much the families of Lockhart feud and vie with one another to claim the title of best in a village of champions, our family was surrounded by other happy families who come together everyday united by a common cause — great food…
Buona domenica, yall!
A first-kiss wine…
From the department of “somehow, some way, I just keep on getting to drink funky-assed wines like every single day”…
The incipit of last night’s flight — the overture, the prologue — was a deceivingly humble bottle of 1997 Bourgogne blanc by Leroy. Friend and collector Michael Byington (environmental consultant by day) was in Austin on business and we met up at the happy hour at Trio (half-priced by the glass, appetizer menu, and free valet parking!). While I had brought a bottle to share as well, ubi major, minor cessat: his flight was so impressive that I tucked mine in my wine bag and just stuck around and enjoyed the incredible ride.
Not only did the Leroy reward us with nuanced dried fruit and chalky minerality, vibrant acidity and a slight unctuous mouthefeel that made it pair brilliantly with the steak tartare (ingeniously served with kren by chef Todd Duplechan)…
It also brought to mind a special moment in my love affair with Tracie P: nearly three years ago, when we were still in a long-distance romance, I brought a bottle of 1997 Leroy in my checked baggage to Austin. Then, the glow of our new love was wrapped around us tightly (and still is as Tracie P carries la piccola Parzen, as at least one friend on the Facebook called her), and every wine we tasted together was a new adventure. The 97 Leroy was perhaps the first “intellectual” bottle we shared and an unforgettable moment when our palates came together like lovers floating in a painting by Chagall. As soon as the wine touched my lips, I was transported to that moment and could see Tracie P before me, her blue eyes twinkling, her golden hair shining, and her lips inviting me to taste… Aroma and flavor have such remarkably potent mnemonic power… And this wine was a window onto one of the happiest and most thrilling moments of my life.
Michael had generously reached deep into his cellar before traveling down to Austin… Next, we opened a bottle of 1998 La Bernardine by Chapoutier. Crunchy red earth, chewy flavors of game and underbrush, ripe red fruit…
The 1990 Château Pavie was in fantastic shape… I couldn’t help but think of what Houston wine writer Dale Robertson had said to me the night before: to drink a wine too old can be a felony, but to drink too young is only a misdemeanor.
Bright, red and berry fruit, ethereal sand and pebbles, a powerful lightness and delicate muscularity. (Does anyone recognize the Petrarchan themes in this post?)
We made it an early night because I wanted to get home to Tracie P. Michael insisted that I take the last glass of the Leroy home. We tasted it together once I arrived… and we floated like lovers in a painting by Chagall…
26th St. Del Mar I am here
One of my favorite beaches in San Diego. Family-friendly and not so crowded even at the peak of summer.
Mellow waves near shore to wade in but good body surf a little farther out.
There’s a relatively clean bathroom at the 25th St. lifeguard station. Perfect for pregnant couples like us!
Risotto alla Parmigiana my recipe and other news
I just couldn’t resist jotting down this recipe, one of my favorites and one of the simplest things in the world to make. All it takes is the right ingredients and patience. The reward is one of the most delicious expressions of Italy you’ll ever taste. The photo appeared today in my Houston Press post on the Aligoté by Michel Lafarge. Buon appetito!
Risotto alla Parmigiana
Serves 4
Ingredients:
3 tbsp. unsalted butter
2 tbsp. finely chopped white onion
1 cup Carnaroli
½ cup white wine
chicken stock, as needed (2½-3 cups)
kosher salt
Parmigiano Reggiano, freshly grated
Melt the butter over medium-low heat in a wide sauté pan. Add the onion and gently cook until translucent, making sure all the while not to brown the onion (add a dash of water or white wine if needed). When the onion has become translucent, add the rice and toast over medium-low heat for 2-3 minutes, stirring occasionally (this step is fundamental and ensures that the individual grains don’t stick together or become lumpy). Deglaze with the white wine and when the wine has evaporated, begin adding the stock one ladleful at a time, stirring gently all the while (constant stirring is the secret to evenly cooked risotto). Season with salt to taste (not necessary if the stock is properly seasoned). As the stock is absorbed by the rice, continue adding more liquid as needed until the rice has cooked through (or to desired firmness), about 20-25 minutes. Remove from heat and gently fold in a generous amount of Parmigiano Reggiano. Sprinkle lightly with minced flat-leaf parsley and top with freshly cracked pepper. (For traditional Risotto alla Parmigiano, omit the flat-leaf parsley and pepper.)
Serve as a first course with extra Parmigiano Reggiano on the side and pair with Lambrusco di Sorbara.
In other news… Happy birthdays…
Today is Alfonso’s birthday. Anyone who’s been following along here at the blog knows the important role he’s played in our lives over the last years. He introduced me to Tracie P, was the best man at our wedding, and he’s our comrade in all things vinous and blogilicious. He has one of those great palates that you can only train and develop over years — decades — of tasting all kinds of wines, from every category. I admire him for how he lives his life, for his career, for his intellectual pursuits, for his natural gift in writing and the amazing stories he tells us about his life in Italy wine, and for the generous friendship that he’s shared with us. We talk almost every single day about everything under the sun and there are days when we seem to communicate telepathically through our blogs and social media (he and I are leading a panel on wine blogging at this year’s Texas Sommelier Conference in a few weeks, btw). And I probably don’t know anyone who can make laugh as hard as Alfonso can. We love him a lot and are thinking of him today on this special day.
Tomorrow is Cousin Marty’s birthday. Does anyone remember the scene in Mel Brooks’s The Producers when Gene Wilder gives the speech at the end in the courtroom before the judge? “This man… this man… this is a wonderful man.” That’s how I feel about Marty. He’s the Bialystock to my Bloom. I never knew Marty growing up: he’s my father Zane’s first cousin and because the families were estranged, I didn’t have much or any contact with him and his children. But when he found out that I moved to Texas to be with Tracie P, he reached out to us and made us part of his family’s life. And guess what? It turns out that I’m not the only fresser in the family! Like us, Marty loves food and wine (“I never met a Rhône I didn’t like,” goes one my favorite aphorisms of his) and he loves the theatrical experience of restaurant going. We’ve become so close over the last few years and the amount of fun we have together is criminal, really. There outta to be a law against it! Marty had a health scare this year and even in its darkest moments, I was blown away by the joy and hope and love and generosity of spirit that he mustered — not just for his own sake but for ours as well. Thank G-d that he’s fine. I just can’t imagine a world without him and Tracie P and I are sending lots of love and happy birthday wishes for his special day tomorrow.
In other other news…
Tomorrow I’m heading home to California where I’ll be pouring wine on the floor Wednesday and Thursday nights at Sotto in Los Angeles. If you’re in town, please come down and taste with me. We’re going to be debuting a new Gragnano (my favorite) and Randall Grahm’s excellent Syrah by the glass. Hope to see you!
Amy’s Ice Creams Sunday (best ice cream in Texas)
One of the coolest things about living in Austin, Texas is that there is still an abundance of locally owned and managed food stores. That number is sadly and rapidly dwindling across Texas and the U.S. but Austin is one of those hold-out cities where folks take the local battle cry — keep Austin weird — to heart.
And one of the coolest things about being pregnant is that most weekends will find us at the best ice cream parlor in Texas: Amy’s Ice Creams, where the creamery takes local pride in on-site churning and idiosyncratic combinations, like the Vulcan Mind Melt above.
For those who grew up in the Baskin-Robbins era, the limited number of ice cream flavors might come as a surprise. But the servers are ingenious at creating the flavor you desire by combining the ice creams with the myriad toppings they have at their disposal. In fact, the “crush’ns” outnumber the ice cream flavors. (This weekend Tracie P had Belgian Chocolate and crumbled Heath Bars.)
There are even ice creams that have alcohol in them — stout beer and vodka the last time I checked — although the alcoholic content is negligible.
We’ve been having a lot of fun with food cravings (thanks again, Noah, for the awesome pickle shipment from Zabar’s!) and who doesn’t love ice cream on a lazy summer Sunday in Austin, Texas? I know I do. :)
Happy Sunday, yall… Buona domenica…
