Mauro, Cheese and Wine

Prosecco Valley and the Osteria Senza Oste (Osteria without hostess)

2010-04-23T08:10:00.000-07:00

It was January. The trees looked like cinematic references to a Tim Burton film but Alice in Wonderland was not yet in theaters -- definitely not in Prosecco Valley that is. But as you walked around, gazing across landscapes of vineyards, not surprising in Italy, you were invited into a world, possibly similar to that of Alice's re-occurring dream.

Rabbit, perhaps to be seen more frequently on the menu than in the hills (sorry vegetarians), could definitely be found as well in Prosecco. But Alice in Wonderland actually never crossed my mind -- it was the Prosecco that tempted me -- the rolling hills, the white roads stark against the vivid green grape vines. Nico and Elodie, our hosts for the weekend, took us on quite a tour of their neighborhood.

Elodie and Nico.
We started with a nice bottle of Prosecco, in a champegnoise method, while sitting in the living room by a fire and then continued on a master tour drinking all different styles of Prosecco and Franciacorta all day long.

Standing is the husband/owner of the restaurant/resort and sitting, one of the chef's who work with Nico, and a friend of ours as well, nick named: "K."

One big difference between Prosecco and Franciacorta is that Prosecco is actually made from a grape called Prosecco -- and Prosecco is the name of the town, in the Veneto region, where it's grown as well, -- confusing? Franciacorta is from the region of Lombardia and is the name of the town, but the grapes are different: chardonnay, pinot nero (pinot noir), and pinot bianco (pinot blanc). The other big difference is that Franciacorta is a DOCG which regulates that all Franciacorta must be made in the Champegnoise method -- which is simply that the second fermentation must be in the bottle vs. the charmat method where the second fermentation happens in the large vat. Franciacorta also requires a minimum aging of 18 months.
Prosecco di Conegliano and Prosecco di Valdobiaddene which are basically just different valleys in the town of Prosecco just recently received DOCG status this month -- but does not have to be in the Champegnoise method like Franciacorta. We were in Prosecco di Valdobbiadene.

A trip through Prosecco and the opportunity to try its many different styles, like champegnoise method vs. charmat and its many different producers whose taste can be drier, to fruit forward, to aromatic, to an even delicious banana taste that I loved -- will definitely change your impression about Prosecco.

In America we do not have access to the many different Proseccos that are produced in Italy. There are not really any wine bars that have four or five or six different bottles of sparkling wine open to drink by the glass -- and wow how much better my life would be if these places existed!!

In the heart of Prosecco di Valdobbiadene is one of the most charming places I've ever been -- Osteria Senza Oste. A small little place with food and wine and coffee and prosecco, and hanging salami and fresh cheese without anyone working there!! It's all left to the honor system, with a locked box to stick your Euros inside, and little price tags attached to anything you can eat or drink. The utensils and decorations are not for sale!

Like the hat on Mauro's head was not for sale, but definitely for use to enjoy while drinking some local red wine and eating local cheese. There was a fireplace with softly burning embers that we sparked up to a flame while we all peeked around the small charming room, reading the guestbook, ripping open pieces of bread, cheese, salame, while pouring red wine.

It could have possibly been one of the most enjoyable moments of my life. It was the surprise element of never having been somewhere so simple and yet invigorating and fresh. And yes, we will definitely return!

Fresh boiled eggs! We didn't eat any though.

Beautiful Elodie reaching for her wine as I take a million photos and Mauro and Nico acted like children taking apart everything!

The wonderful thing about this Osteria is that the inside is almost just as beautfiul as the outside!

To finish the day of perfection with something just as perfect was a task I thought to be impossible -- but I was beyond delighted to be proven wrong. A simple apertivio -- probably the most exciting times of my life -- spent with good friends drinking from the lovely option of five to six different sparkling wines.

Mauro and K after the first glass of Prosecco, which was ridiculously delicious and by far superior to any Prosecco I've had in the states. Elodie, who works here, introduced me to about five new sparkling wines that I'm in love with but do not have any of the names of -- because I just didn't take pictures of it, or write it down like I usually do -- that's how much fun I was having and how good the wine was.

Perhaps a better shot of Mauro and K, although I love the previous one. In the middle of Padova, far but not too far away from the Alice and Wonderland of Prosecco, we finished our amazing day popping bottles and bottles of sparkling wine that changed my perspective of Italian Prosecco and Franciacorta and now truly feel that Champagne (from Champagne, France) is not always better. This Italian sparkling wine blew my mind!

I was laying in the bed last night thinking about the wine that I would be drinking for my next dinner occasion and I realized -- that I plan out the wines I will drink in the same manner I plan for the outfit I will be wearing. They are not so different. I like to dress appropriately for the weather, for the celebration, for my environment, and I like to drink the same way!

Lunch with La Famiglia: Valpolicella di Negrar

2010-04-22T09:09:00.000-07:00

Daniela, Daniela, and Mirko, going for a walk after lunch in a local trattoria.

We were window shopping, and enjoying the brisk, crisp air, smug in a small village surrounded by some of Italy's most renowned vineyards inside Valpolicella did Negrar.

One aspect about Italy that is so fascinating to me -- almost everywhere I go, every little village I visit, has a reputation for it's vineyards that precedes.

I love this picture of Mauro and his brother Mirko. It truly reveals their highly mischievous personality.

Graziano, pensive as we sit for lunch and enjoy a few bottles of Valpolicella.

Oh Verona

2010-04-15T07:22:00.000-07:00

Aside from the fact that Verona was quite cold during Mauro and my recent trip in January, and that there was not a day or a night when I wasn't wearing two pair of pants before going outside, there was something so pristinely enticing about the cityscape during its winter nights.

Perhaps because it was lonely, yet warm. Have you ever been to Venice during the summer and tried to take a picture like I did without having one single tourist or human figure in obstruction? Verona is not quite as touristic as Venice, but even here during the summer nights the streets are a hustle and bustle. . . parking near impossible (even in the winter).

What is always so shocking to me when Mauro and I "go home" to visit his family in Soave, located within the Veneto region, is that towns still have castles impressing the landscape. I'm always in awe. Staring. Wondering. Writing stories in my head about juicy dramas that enveloped the past. The Soave Castle is quite a vision.

I love to take photos of Mauro's grandmother. She is always at her doorstep whenever we pass by, and always has such a great sense of humor and strength.

Parsimon fruit from her recent harvest

Sunrise from Mauro's parents' window in Soave.

Give Me Some Cheese!

2010-03-27T08:49:00.000-07:00

Verona, Italy. . . January 2010. . .
La Casara, a cheese factory, somewhere in the valleys of Soave. I am unfamiliar with the drive. It is beautiful. It is still cold outside.
Perhaps there is vapor when I speak.
It is early morning. Early for a morning after a night at a degustation of Amarone (serata degli Amaroni!), the top twenty producers, and I had to swallow. That equals to about a bottle of Amarone to the dome, Mauro and I. We were passed. Over-passed? Dispatched? Happy. I must say. Only in Italy have I had such an experience of wine tastings followed by cheese tastings, zig-zagging through fields and valleys its actual production emerges from. Much different from zig-zagging the industrial streets of Manhattan. But, shame on me. They should not be compared.
9 a.m. yet who really knew the time. My eyes were still heavy. Our new camera still uncomfortable in my grasp. who wakes up in the morning to spend three hours in a cheese factory?

We were given blue plastic to cover our shoes. I got lost in photo. I forgot Amarone. Who was she anyway, so wicked and selfish, yet generous and fat? We were in love if only for a night. Now morning had come and we could let go, we had to let go. . . there is always a new horizon to consider. . . cheese. Godly creatures? Man-made creatures? One in the same? All I knew was that I was gonna get my hands on some. Give me some cheese!

We talked, we walked, we watched, we witnessed. But all I wanted was some cheese. Give me some cheese. Give it to me creamy or hard, stinky or mild, old or young. Just give me some cheese. But I knew I wouldn't have to beg. I mean that's what we were there for -- Just for cheese -- how beautiful -- to do something purely in the name, in the quest for cheese.

From the lens of the camera I dreamed. I wanted to stick my arms inside that vat of fresh milk too. Infact, I coud have bathed in that pool and I would have enjoyed that pleasure of feeling the milk get thicker and thicker molding around my body. It wasn't too hot, infact I like warm baths, and Amarone, she was full-bodied like that milk fresh from the cow's tit.

10a.m. We were still waiting for the cheese. Were we waiting. I had no clue. I wasn't even trying to listen to the Italian that I could barely understand, especially after that bitch Amarone destroyed me last night. I was conquered. Immersed in the movement of milk, hands, minimal machine contact. Waiting for my cheese.

Finally things started to change. . . and then we started to walk upstairs, downstairs, to storage rooms, dark rooms, wax painting rooms, to cheese and more cheese, around every corner.
Monte Veronese, a local cheese from Verona. A perfect cheese for the Bardolino we would soon be drinking in the cheese room. I could feel the excitement coming, and boy was it coming.

Give me some cheese. Some pasty, shady, funky, powerful cheese.

This is what my pantry should look like. My children could grow up playing hide and seek amongst the labrynth of cheese wheels.

Each piece was gorgeous, handcrafted, and so patient. "Jordana," they whispered to me, "We could be friends, good friends." I was very excited to make such an acquaintance. They were really stoic and regal, dignified and formidable. "Yes," I replied. "We could be great friends without doubt, without question, my friend."

"Yes you. Over there. What's your name? Gialloblu? Wow, what a pretty name. What? You have saffron in your blood, I mean milk? And you come from the line of the blues? . . . Of course I know your family. . .Oh, Mauro will be so happy to meet you!"
We soon returned to watch the cheese makers, who had worked with the company for twenty to thirty years, some incredible duration like that, finish the final touches to the milk that I would have liked to bathe in.

Cheese like clay. I should start my own cheese factory making sculptures out of cheese and displaying them at parties like ice-sculptures.

11 a.m. My partners in crime, discussing our plans to meet Gialloblu, Monte Veronese, Ubriaco, Caciotta, Taleggio, Stracchino, Sopressa di Brenton, and Bardolino in the tasting room in a half an hour. They didn't want me to hear their plans, but the camera reveals everything.
They thought I could be blinded by the flashy bling bling of cheese-making, as if I was so lustful. Mauro knows my weaknesses. But I could smell trouble.
They tried in vain, one more distraction with the woman who paints cheese. I could paint the cheese too. But I was not going to fall into their trap. I was ready for the next step. The tasting room. Give me some cheese. I haven't forgotten about the cheese.
11:30 a.m. We met a woman who said she had heard of Gialloblu and wanted to know if we could give her some. I told her that I had never heard of this man she called Gialloblu and that no, I could not help her.
And seeing that I could be trusted, after proving myself with my the secrecy of Gialloblu, I was finally invited into the tasting room, where my friends awaited me and rejoiced when they saw me enter.
I said hello to each and everyone of my friends, kisses for each and for all. I neglected none. And we gossiped, and scorned the woman who was trying to find out secrets about Gialloblu.
And then I asked them. The whole room became quiet. What was such a secret? Why was everyone trying to protect Gialloblu?

Because he is so delicious, everyone sneered at me like I was a traitor. A spy perhaps. A fake. Full of deceit. "Don't look at me like that," I yelled at them. "Not everyone understands secrets, especially when they are so secretive. I can keep your secret! Just as long as you let me try your secret! Give me some cheese now!" I couldn't take it anymore. After that tramp Amarone -- I coudn't take it anymore.
I needed a refresh. A new start. They suggested Sopressa. I was burning inside. why were they trying to destroy me? What wrong had I done. They started singing folk songs. They knew I didn't understand their tradition. "Give me some cheese!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
And they suggested prosciutto. Was I going crazy? They said this was some of the best provisions in the valley.
"Give me some cheese!" I pounded my fists on the wooden table. The cheese shook in fear. But they just laughed. They just laughed.

This is Beauty

2010-02-16T09:38:00.000-08:00

The Dolomites

This picture Mauro took the first morning. Probably one of our favorites.

While waiting outside alone, while Mauro was in the pool, I walked around for about an hour waiting for the sun to rise.

I felt like every second the light was different and equally as brilliant as the last. From dawn to dusk, the colors of these mountains, the depth and light surrounding them, are indescribable.

If you can imagine, these pictures are only a few out of hundreds. It was extremely difficult to choose between them.

The restaurant, 1500, located on the second floor of Virgilius, was breathtaking in the morning. Not only was the view and the reflection of the light dispersing through the room spectacular, but the quality of the buffet spread that awaited you at 8am was almost irreplicable.
The natural warmth the sun emitted throughout the light flashes in the room also created this wave of energy that was absolutely surreal. Eating breakfast in that room is something that we will never ever forget.
The buffet consisted of sliced meats, such as prosciutto and speck, a variety of local cheeses, our favorite was the fresh ricotta, fresh fruit -- but no joke fruit -- cereal, fresh goat and cow milk, fresh yogurt, and a whole section of bread and brioche. One must take into consideration that this is Italy though, the yogurt you get is not even comparable to that in the U.S.

The second morning I realized that I could also order eggs and bacon -- my god -- were they unbelievable. Not only did I eat those eggs, but I still ate the same plate of buffet that I had the morning before -- ricotta cheese, bread, prosciutto, cucumber, about five glasses of blood orange juice, a bowl of fruit, and a few other cheeses whose name I don't remember. Plus at least two or three cups of coffee.

Please! This food was no joking matter. We must have spent at least two hours eating, drinking coffee and taking pictures.

The perfect combination a la Mauro, was the ricotta cheese, a slice of cucumber, over a dark fennel bread, with a mustard fig jam.

This photo was extremely hard to capture. Mauro and I were sitting inside the stube, having an Irish coffee at sunset, which became an extremely pleasant routine during the two nights we stayed at Virgilious Mountain Resort, and through the window of the all wood trattoria, you could see the pink reflections of the setting sun cast upon the tips of these powerfully chiseled mountains. No matter how many turns we took, each of us going outside one at a time, in the deep cold of high altitude, we could not do justice to the beauty of sunset on the Dolomites.

These are some day-time shots we took upon arrival at the resort.

Our last hour at the resort was spent sitting on the deck outside, with perfect temperature, crisp mountain air, drinking a beer as new guests started to arrive.

And even though there was so much snow, we did not see one snowflake falling from the sky.

Vigilius Mountain Resort, Bolzano, Italy

2010-02-14T10:25:00.000-08:00

www.vigilius.it

When I was a little girl I loved to swim. I was always in the water and never understood how my parents didn't want to always be in it as well. Then as I got older, the pool, even the ocean, did not entice me with the same urgency as it did in the past. However, on Mauro and my recent trip to the Italian Alps, the Dolomites, to an eco-resort/spa called Vigilius, we did nothing but wake up, go to breakfast, and then go to the pool, to the hot-tub, to the Turkish bath, to the sauna, and back to the pool, to the hot-tub over and over again and I never grew tired of feeling that water, so precious, so healing, touching my skin.

Of course there were elements about this Vigilius Mountain resort that set it apart from other maritime experiences I've had. Firstly we were within the wine region of Trentino Alto Adige surrounded by some of my favorite producers like Terlano, Kofererhof, Elena Walsch, Foradori, Manicor, and so many more producing fantastic wines, typically of a single indigenous varietal such as Teroldego, Schiava, Muller Thurgau, Sylvaner, Traminer, Kerner, Moscato Giallo, Pinot Nero, and Lagrein. Secondly, aside from knowing that while immersed in the divine water seemed fit for the gods, I would shortly be drinking grape water brilliantly transformed into a potion fit for any god, and quite often offered to many gods.

I must admit that I am a coward when it comes to being in the cold. I am not the first one diving in the pool, I'm not typically excited when Mauro suggests that we go to a thermal spa in dead winter -- I would prefer to go in dead summer -- but this hot-tub, set at exactly the perfect temperature and surrounded by pine trees, Dolomites, and pure serenity, was the best I've ever experienced in my life.

We only spent two nights at the spa, and two days swimming in the pool and the hot-tub, but we went to Bolzano provincia, about a two hour drive from Verona, almost immediately upon arriving in Italy from NYC. From the day we arrived to the day we left, I feel like I shed many layers of unwantedness within my "mind, body, and soul."

I've only had a real anxiety attack once in my life, at the age of 21, when I went on a trip alone to the Caribbean and a tumultuous transition in my life, and I found myself on the sand, grabbing it, crying, so scared that I didn't know who I was, or how to find an inch of happiness within in myself -- good times -- I was so pissed that I was on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world where people typically were the happiest ever in their lives and there I was hyperventilating and completely lost and defeated.
I walked away from an old self in that moment, grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye, telling her that "please, everything is okay. We are cool. We are good together. We can enjoy this beach alone," and from that moment on I was a new person.
I have to say though that on this trip, going from the constant noise, friction, fast tempo, and excitement of Manhattan, to its complete antithesis of peace and calm in a matter of less than a hundred hours, I felt my heart start beating and rushing blood. As I sat quiet in the sauna with the temperature rising, and sweat bursting from my pours, I started leaving my head and going deeper into myself. This time I wasn't scared to go there. . . but I realized how difficult it is while living in a city to find the peace and space to enter into yourself deeper.
Then after going from the sauna, to standing outside in the cold, surrounded by snow, surrounded by mountains, after taking a cold shower, and then jumping into the Turkish bath, misted with eucalyptus essence, I made a decision that I would try out some of the spas in Manhattan. I would try a Turkish bath, because hot-damn, they are friggin' awesome, and why don't I do that more often for myself? Why does it always have to be vacation when we treat ourselves to relaxation or heightened pleasure?
I want more joy in my life, and even though I find it already quite pleasurable, there is always room to invite more.

Welcome Home Mauro

2010-02-09T10:15:00.000-08:00

Arriving in the morning to Venice airport is always the best. Mirko, Mauro's brother picked us up, only an hour drive from Soave, and after a non-stop eight hour flight, we all had cappuccini and brioche, enjoying a delicious breakfast, yes, even in the airport.
Mauro and I always stay at his mother and father's house, sleeping in the room with twin beds, that he and Mirko grew up in. We push the two beds together and stare at the old pictures on the wall. We don't unpack, but instead go into the kitchen to see what his mother Daniela is making for lunch, and then step outside to say hello to the rest of his family. On the second floor of his two-family home lives his aunt, uncle, and cousin, and directly next door his grandmother.

Lunch is made everyday, and my god do I miss them. Some of my favorite dishes were the tagliolini in brodo, polenta and gorgonzola, grilled eggplant and mushrooms, radicchio salad, fresh formaggi and salame/sopressa on the table, and a local wine always available like Soave, Valpolicella or Bardolino. Mauro's family and cozy home is always what makes our trips to Italy so amazing and unforgettable.

Darkissimo

2010-02-04T11:12:00.000-08:00

Upon arriving in Soave, Italy, there was a deep fog that smoked the land -- Mauro said this was La nebbia and typical for this time of year. Though the landscape was barren and minimalistic compared to the "Ode to Joy" broadcasted by nature during the spring and summer months, beauty of a darker temper beckoned me to witness her. Mauro called this "darkissimo."
We woke up around five a.m. on the first morning of our arrival and set off through the town of Soave, almost swimming amongst the fog, trying to capture a different life, peeking through clouds, than the one we know more often in NYC. We of course needed to stop for a breakfast cappuccino and brioche.

The Soave Castle

"Why should anyone expect me, today, to hold the same opinions I had six weeks ago? If I did, my opinions would be tyrannical." (Stendhal, The Red and The Black, p.247)

"Exposing yourself to danger lifts the soul, preserves it from the boredom. . . " (Stendhal, The Red and The Black, p.296)

"Man-made love is of course subtler than true love, but it's moments of enthusiasm are limited: it understands itself too well; it's always evaluating, passing judgement." (Stendhal, The Red and The Black, p.341)

"Sacrificing yourself to your passions, fine. But to nonexistent passions? O sad nineteenth century!" (Girodet quote found in Stendhal, The Red and The Black, p. 399)

Dinner in the Hamptons this Past Summer

2009-11-30T17:14:00.001-08:00

Last summer Mauro and I were invited to one of the most touching home-cooked dinners we have ever had the pleasure to enjoy. Not only was the meal absolutely delicious, and the company superb, but their home in the Hamptons was beyond perfect. Below is an email from our host Marty describing our menu -- there is even the recipe to the potato gratin he made -- which was the best I've ever EVER had. It was screamably FANTASTIC!! Thank you so much Marty and Karen for organizing such a lovely dinner that Mauro and I will never forget . . .and thank you so much Helga and Richard for inviting us along as your guests for the weekend. Mauro and I were practically in tears after a weekend away from NYC with you!!

We had a great time with You and Mauro that wonderful summer evening. The dinner started with passed hor d'oeuvres including a chilled tomato bisque, shrimp on daikon, parmesan crisps. . .

First course: striped bass ceviche with avocado
main dish: BBQ boneless and marinated leg of lamb in natural jus, potato gratin, grilled summer squash with fresh mint
dessert: Strawberries Three Ways: Strawberry milk shake using homemade strawberry ice cream and sorbet; strawberry and lemon curd tart a la Karen; fresh strawberries with strawberry sauce

Helga brought that rare cheese Caciocavallo
All the courses were accompanied with
appropriate wines which I can't recall . . .including a late harvest riesling for the cheese

I hope this gives you a flavor for the dinner.
As for the gratin, the key ingredient is caramelized onions which are layered ontop of a fresh row of thinly sliced potatoes using a mandolin. I added chopped capers (or can use fresh rosemary instead) to the onion and some balsamic to enhance the onions' caramelization. The dish has about 1/2 cup of cream as well. So to assemble. . . a layer of potatoes into a buttered gratin dish. . . sprinkle with salt. . top with onions then another full layer or 2 of potatoes to the top of the pan. . . use fresh parmesan between layers. . .add liquid and parmesan on top. Cover with foil.
Cook in preheated to 375 degrees for 45 minutes. . . Remove foil and cook another 15-20 minutes until brown on top.
Enjoy
Looking forward to seeing You and Mauro soon again
Marty

For the wines that we drank that night, I can remember the whites we started with, a Vouvray that Richard brought that I loved, it was bright with heavy undertones of fruit without being too fruity like some Vouvrays can express. Personally, I'm still dreaming of it and would love to know the name if Richard remembers it. Then Marty opened a Chardonnay from NorCal which was not heavily oaked but still big with a beautiful lightness about it. They were very different wines, but both very good. At dinner we enjoyed some French reds, but I can't remember even the region, I think I had too many glasses of the white by the time we were on the lamb.
I must say that even though the above dinner does not sound like many courses, to be honest, we all had two portions of each course. Yes, two full martini glasses of ceviche, two plates of lamb, roasted vegetables and two helpings of potato gratin, after passed hor d'oevres. We were stuffed. I ate more that night than I did at Thanksgiving.
Marty. . Karen. . Helga. . Richard. . we are ready for round two!!!!!
Thanks again for such a beautiful evening.

Pumpkins, Champagne, La Tur, and Beethoven

2009-10-16T09:37:00.000-07:00

(Please play the above Beethoven while reading this post)

When he walks inside the room I'll be sitting in bed writing. He will hear Beethoven coming from the bathroom, battling the noise of the garbage trucks outside. . .but he will know something is different. He will smell recently burned surphur, an odor that has become almost a sentiment in that the feeling of nostalgia it gives us is so strong. But it won't only be the burning of a match that is no longer lit that he will smell. It will also be the flickering fumes of a candle puckering inside the freshly cut and carved pumpkins I made for him, just like I did last year. A new tradition, to celebrate the changing of seasons. . .to celebrate how much I love him. . .to share our passion for classical music, for cheese and wine. . . and for traditions.
I chose the bathroom because when do we ever take the time to take a bubble bath? How many things are lost in childhood? How many joys we experienced in the little things when we were young. . .because those were all that mattered. Why did we let them slip away? Every once in awhile I try to take the time to enjoy not only what I've grown to love with age, like a good Champagne and a great piece of cheese, but also the innocent bliss of my childhood. I used to spend hours crushing rocks and discovering the different colors and consistencies of those stones. I used to sit on my stairs with a sprig of grapes and eat one by one, taking the time to dissect each piece, first peeling off the skin, judging the taste of its flesh unaltered by tannin. I used to look deep into it, much deeper than I ever find the time to go now in my thirties. Sometimes I must take back my time, get off the computer, stop playing with the Iphone, and take a trip to the past. . . retrograde like the planet mercury. . . and see what joys I've left behind.
The one thing that really stood out to me about the whole pumpkin tradition is that it is really something that can be done any day, everyday. How easy it is to find the little things we love, apply symbolism to them, and elevate and celebrate them with greater emphasis and excitement. I really felt like we went on a vacation together without even leaving the apartment -- and how beautiful it was to go somewhere magical within the schisms of our daily routine. Mauro called me just last night, one day after his pumpkin surprise and laughed on the phone while saying, "Prepare the pumpkin one more time."

Durello vs. Champagne

2009-09-11T08:58:00.000-07:00

Tasting Notes:
Durello sparkling
Sparkling not too full
Flavorful
Not too persistent
"Bring two glasses of Champagne!" Mauro says

These are my notes as Mauro, his family and I sit outside of Villa de Winkels on one of the most beautiful nights, surrounded by stars, perfect Italian architecture, flowers, and how can I explain. . . the feeling of dining there on that special special night? I should be able to share it, but it's not that easy. I'm captured by the moment, wrapped in a blanket from the Italian breeze that lightly stroked our skin while the sun crept away slowly, trying to escape without being noticed; but I noticed you. . . and the moon as you took sun's place; you were so kind, so gentleman, so handsome that night. I must say that every time I've been to Villa de Winkels it's as if I've left a magical place that one might only find in a child's fairy tale, but these tales are not for children. They are for people who love wine with a passion. Who will scream out for wine, yell and rage for cheese. . . for those who will stuff and indulge themselves beyond absurdity for the sake of this important culture!! And that is what happened, a good ole' debate -- between father and son. I was so proud to watch: Durello vs. Champagne. It seems as if it shouldn't even be a contest, but it was, and that's what is so remarkable! I wrote about it in my journal while still in Verona. . .
We started off with a spumante that caught my attention. I knew it wasn't Prosecco, intuitively and by just knowing Prosecco, the second to Champagne in NYC because it's so widely sold on wine lists there -- but this spumante was drier and crisp, with provincial fruit notes lingering on the palate without being juicy like some tendencies of Prosecco. Yet it didn't have that seductive quality of Franciacorta or Champagne that grabbed you by the throat and told you that you wanted more while turning you on by its confidence, power, and assertiveness, even aggressive effervescence.
Just as I was asking Mauro what grape we were drinking, "Durello," he said before I could speak. "Really?" I was excited. I hadn't ever heard of Durello and I loved to find undiscovered provincial Italian grapes that I didn't know and that were good; and just as I was beginning to delve deeper into this soft-spoken, semi-exciting new spumante, Graziano, Mauro's father, began saying how Durello was his favorite sparkling and how it was much better than Champagne.

That's it. I turned away. To each his own -- but Mauro started getting pissed. "Pa, how could you say that this is better than Champagne? It doesn't even compare! It's not better!" (Mauro of course was speaking in Italian)

Graziano tried to start explaining how Champagne wasn't as long lasting. . . Mauro wasn't even listening. He called over the waiter and asked him to bring us two glasses of Champagne for everyone to share.
My excitement for Durello was over. It was wimpy, fruity, too easy -- you could dominate it, take it, swallow it, wash your hands with it, like our friend Massi would say;) -- it just didn't demad your respect. The color was even almost colorless, assuming the color of whatever dominant hue flanked its side, like the golden Champagne to its right, a Van Gogh landscape in comparison, powerful with energy, shining and demanding attention, beautiful with every angle -- this shit smelling, yeast exuding, multi-layered, multi-leveled fierce Champagne; not even a Bollinger, or a Larmandier-Bernier, or a Ruinart, just a Champagne by the glass.
No, Graziano didn't like it. Mauro was still debating him about how Champagne was superior and his father was wrong. so typical of Mauro. He got annoyed the other night when I told him that the Soave we were drinking smelled like ketchup and marijuana.
"Mauro," I said, "If he likes it better then it's better for him. Leave him to his own opinion!"
Mauro gave me that fierce look, just like a strong Champagne himself. "Listen, he has an opinion, and I have an opinion. If there were never two sides then there wouldn't be a conversation."
I loved the way he thought -- arguing not to just to be an asshole, but to philosophize and debate, knowing that that's healthy for a strong life. I shut up, satisfied with my environment. Here I was with almost a new life compared to the one of my youth, with a new family who debated about Durello and Champagne at the dinner table and even ordered extra glasses to do a tasting.
We were happy, in good health, with beautiful blue skies, outside a small Italian locale with an Enoteca and a garden and a small house with window shutters antiquated and adorable. Mauro's mother Daniela looked around, "Che bella Jordana," she said in that voice she always used with me. Then she tells me how the barrels that are now filled with flowers used to be used for wine back in the day, even to collect the grapes.That night we also drank:

Lis Neris Sauvignon 2007
Nettles/ortica, melons, wet hay
flat, green

Coffele Nuj (75% Merlot, 25% Cabernet Sauvignon and Cabernet Franc)
butter, delicate vanilla, shit -- good shit
Mauro and I love the Nuj!

Unforgettable Formia!

2009-08-03T08:52:00.000-07:00

When I think about my trip to Formia, a city on the Mediterranean coast of Lazio (halfway between Rome and Naples), I think about heirloom tomatoes, but they don’t have to be heirloom in Italy to have that rich deep flavor and texture that undoes when you bite. I think of mozzarella cheese and its creamy juiciness, its soft texture and pronounced mild flavor that just makes me feel normal. I don’t know why it does that, but it does. And then I think about the combination of the two, your “caprese”, and its dipping sauce. Imagine Italian crisp, soft, yeasty, bread pressed into a cocktail of “real” olive oil, never cut with canola, tomato juice so delicate and alive with delicious little seeds that feel like tadpoles in your mouth (I’ve never eaten tadpoles by the way), creamy liquid that looks like coconut water from the mozzarella, and basil. . .basta! But then again, it didn’t really matter what you ate while you sat for breakfast, lunch or dinner at Matteo’s house. . . with the view he has? And his breathtaking lawn that I wanted to do numerous joys on – acrobatics, yoga, massage, naps, sunbathing, painting, ceramic sculptures, did I miss something? I wanted to do pretty much any hobby that wouldn’t destroy a perfect lawn – especially eating and drinking: Mauro and I enjoyed coffee with toast and homemade sour cherry jam for breakfast; caprese for lunch, as I already mentioned, and a dinner that I will never forget. Matteo’s father prepared quite a presentation that night, starting off around 8pm with a platter of fried anchovies sliced right down the middle and flattened like a pancake. There must have been at least fifty of them, alongside a pie of polipo (octopus), olives and tomatoes, and another type of pie full of spiced greens, the ones that we don’t even have in the States. Matteo’s father, let’s call him Signore, served that wonderful awesome spread with Bellavista Franciacorta cuvee brut, umm, umm. (80% Chardonnay, 20% Pinot Nero/Pinot Bianco) I stared at the bottle he had opened for the eight of us. But a dark cloud began to lurk above. . . It seemed that night that Mauro, Matteo and I would be the only “serious” drinkers, such a difficult position to be in – as a first time guest. And yet how could you possibly not drink white wine, sparkling or still, with fried anchovies, while standing on the lawn in a gorgeous house overlooking Formia, Napoli and Gaeta? I mean, an unheard of circumstance. I knew I wasn’t, am not, an alcoholic – but in that moment I also recognized that my passion for wine had definitely hit the walls of hobby and I was becoming professional. In the wine world I think we can all agree that word professional translates to “obsessed.” Those little fried delicacies started even whispering to me, “I’m so easy to eat, just pick me up with your fingers like a caper berry. You can eat me in one bite and then wash me down and accentuate my flavors, capture the Mediterranean I grew up in with the crisp effervescence of a powerful Franciacorta that won’t make you feel lonely wishing for Champagne instead. Do it all now! And eat constantly and keep drinking with every bite!” I managed to get about two glasses of Bellavista because Signore paid special attention to Mauro and I, being that we were his guests. The bottle was done, poof, my two glasses, like two sips of Gatorade, went down in a few respirations. I tried not to look athletic. Momentarily we wrapped up the antipasti on the porch and continued elsewhere for dinner. We walked down the stairs to their dining room table under the pergola of those beautiful lilac colored bell flowers called Wisteria. I heard Signore ask Matteo to grab two bottles of Pinot as I listened attentively to what wine circumstance would await us – two bottles for eight people – my future was dismal . Immediately I knew I had to calm down. It had already been a week and a half in Italy and I hadn’t had “my night of drinking wine,” and tonight again, would not be that night. Thank god I was sitting across from Matteo, the only other one drinking, and one of the few who had “pouring wine power.” Signore opened a bottle of Colli Orientali del Friuli Pinot Grigio whose producer name I forget, but whose flavor I actually really enjoyed. I don’t drink Pinot Grigio often, just because it has become such a commercialized nightmare in the states, but a good Pinot Grigio will always make me smile. I sipped slowly with fear that my last slurp would leave me dry for too long. I stared around the table, Mauro sitting to my left also felt the pain, Signore and Signora in front of me were barely drinking from their glasses, Matteo directly across performed at a steady rate, the other guests did not seem to care for wine either, and Giada to my right drank slowly as well, but smiled from ear to ear every time I looked at her. She was so sweet – but no one had the eyes of deprivation that I must have had. What a predicament, surrounded by an Italian language I couldn’t fully comprehend yet, and all I could think about was my empty glass and how good that Pinot Grigio was at the back of my throat, how delicious it tasted with that wonderful fusilli, or spiral pasta, with a few light vegetables, and vongole (clams) whose flavor would be unmatchable in the states. How superb it would have been to sit there with a large full glass of perfect temperature delicious Pinot Grigio and compare the effects of drinking while eating: wine, clam sauce, wine, clam sauce – what a combination. I dreamt about just picking up the bottle myself, holding it in my arms, or perhaps sneaking away to the other side of the lawn to sit alone and look at the stars and the fantastic view. There was no wind that night, a few mosquitoes, and I was tired from all the traveling; I could have just taken my shoes off, laid back in any of those chairs and drank the rest of the bottle to my head, not even eating another bite. But I wasn’t crazy. I accepted my position and looked at Matteo, his hands, wondering when he would pour more wine just even for himself. I sat and wondered, why was it socially acceptable for me to eat like a pig but not drink like a pig? I had already eaten two helpings of pasta, just like Mauro and a few others at the table, then after we ate from a huge platter of scampi and polipo, and then eggplant parmesan and roasted vegetables, and to continue we all had a large hunk of mozzarella after which I surmised to be the dessert course. . . Yet, then they also offered gelato. . .how could I say no? To finish the night’s rendez-vous we all reconvened upstairs on the lawn where we started and had an espresso, perhaps they even poured grappa, I don’t remember; I comatosed on Mauro’s shoulder until we went to bed shortly after.

I must state for the record that in no way, shape, or form, do my feelings about the wine deprivation during that dinner translate my feelings about the family that hosted us in Formia. I had decided on my trip to Italy to start exploring my feelings about wine and wine writing, so I was much more in tune with my new “wine veins”. Matteo and his family were beyond hospitable, generous, lovely, interesting, fun, and I cannot express how much Mauro and I appreciated the two nights we spent with them. I almost felt like crying when we left! But we will see them again. . Mauro says once every year! So I look forward to 2010, when we will return again to Formia!

Ponza. . . No words to describe

2009-08-02T08:42:00.000-07:00

"Ponza is the largest in the Pontine islands, which are remains of extinct volcanoes." Located in the Tyrrhenian Sea in the Lazio region (same region as Rome) of Italy, Mauro and I spent but two nights and one full day swimming in more beautiful than the Caribbean waters, and more intense coastline than the town of Mendocino in Northern California! It was a retreat that took an unexpected five and a half hour boat ride on rough waters with everyone, it seemed, but Mauro and I getting sea-sickness. The trip typically takes three hours on that same boat, departing from Formia, a coastal town one hour south of Rome and one hour north of Napoli, however, if the waters are smooth you can an express boat, like we did on the return trip that lasts for only one hour and a half. We were not so lucky -- yet, all malaise disappeared as we landed onto this beautiful island where an x-brooklyn born cabbie named Joe drove us up high elevations, driving on narrow bends and cliffs the way NYC taxi drivers manuever through Manhattan traffic. He told us about his grape vines, the wine he made, the land he owned, the few small businesses he has, and although his Italian was nearperfect, you could still hear his brooklyn accent when he spoke. It was a refreshing welcome to such a mysterious little but powerful island. We didn't do much there, but the little we did filled us with such satisfaction difficult to replicate here in Manhattan. We rented a scooter, buzzed through the hills up, down, and around, like honey bees looking for flowers and swam through waters of irresistable color. The weather was perfect, and at 5pm, our internal clock led us to the local bar; we were ready for aperitivo -- something we never miss while traveling in Italy. The following day we took a boat tour and spent about six hours cruising around the shores of Ponza, admiring the architecture of the Romans, their acqueducts, and their Roman baths carved into the rock so they could enjoy the sea without darkening their skin like the mere peasants!

Lago di Garda a.k.a Lake Garda

2009-08-01T11:04:00.000-07:00

Croatia

2009-05-27T18:59:00.000-07:00

Croatia was a delightful addition to our Italy vacation when Mauro and I traveled through October 2008. Initially I was a little saddened to leave land that provided me with the buffalo mozzarella that I ate for breakfast, the pastas that I had for lunch, and the phenomenal Italian wine that we drank at dinner, while staying with Mauro's family in Verona, but it did not take long for Croatia to make its mark. Being that the weather was too cold to run around half naked, Mauro and I found ourselves heading more in the direction of strictly eating and drinking;
something we found to the contrary of challenging. Below I will list some of our favorite

restaurants and wine bars.

On our drive from Porec, where we stayed in a large hotel that reminded me of the Shining with Jack Nicholson, to Rovinj, you will often see pigs roasting on the side of the road -- large pigs, twirling on a spic with fat juices melting off their bodies in goodness. I must say, I am not the biggest meat eater, but that was some damn good pig -- add that sweet fresh beer that Croatia is so blessed with, and you've got a lunch that will send you home blissfully overdosed. Thank god Mauro was driving, I must have fallen asleep after that meal. If you find yourself in the neighborhood of Rovinj or Porec, it is well worth the ride to try this grill hotspot -- even the fish looked godly -- as I soon discovered that Croatia has some of the best seafood I've ever had!

The restaurant's name is TUGURIO -- http://www.tugurio.hr/

On our first trip to Rovinj we actually drove by the above Tugurio and made a note to come back -- thank god, because the below gem of a restaurant must be for sure Mauro and my favorite thus far in Croatia. Firstly, destination restaurants with such a beautiful view that actually have great food are our favorites. Blu restaurant as it is so justly named, is located about 5 minutes driving from the town of Rovinj, right on the water where after or before lunch/dinner you can

take a beautiful walk through the paths that hug that crystal shoreline. If only it had been warm, Mauro and I would have stayed all day, first having lunch, wine, a swim, and then returned later for dinner. We shared three courses, a bottle of wine, and were not ready to leave.

BLUE -- Val de Lesso 9, Rovinj

http://www.blu.hr/

Unfortunately I didn't grab a card from this little beer joint where Mauro and I stopped twice to sit down outside and enjoy a crisp, perky, and just phenomenal simple draft beer. I don't know much about beer, but Croatia's got it going on. Totally different from the Belgium flavor that is one of my favorites, but if you just was to catch a fresh, Croatia has great beer. I want one right now!
Maybe it's also nice to drink beer outside in a clean city as well, vs. (I'm sorry) dirty NYC. Show me one cobblestone street in NYC that is anywhere near to being as clean as that Croatian stone -- so clean that I'd probably eat ice cream from if it accidentally dropped from my cone. I don't like to waste ice cream! Um, gelato -- good in Croatia, but still doesn't compete with Italy's gelato.

Ok, our favorite wine bar was thank god located in the town we were actually staying in, Porec, Vinoteque EPVLON, and it was on this trip that I started to want to drink Merlot again. I must admit that finding wine in Croatia that can compete with Italy's selection is difficult, but Croatia
still has some delicious juice, and Mauro and I never gave up, searching

and trying new grapes that we had
never heard of, and that I do not remember. But the man in the back of the picture will for sure take good care of you. They offer almost every wine on their list by the glass as well, which seems crazy, but exciting just the same. The most unusual aspect about this wine bar however, was not the charming fact that you were practically drinking wine inside of a cave, but that there was indeed black mold infesting all the corners of the wine bar, and no one seemed to notice. I must say it added an eerie charm to the place. Unfortunately the best wine Mauro and I drank in Croatia, unbeknownst to me until now, is actually from Slovenia -- the above Simcic, cabernet sauvignon -- not cheap, I think around fifty or sixty euro. However, Slovenia does border both the northwest Collio region of Italy and Croatia, as well as Austria and Hungary -- so you know the terroir definitely has the potential to give birth to some great vino -- and this was solid vino rosso; just the type that makes you sit back, smile at each other, twirl you glass in an effort to catch each nuance of smell, and decide -- yes, let's order that prosciutto and cheese plate even though we just came from dinner! Some wines have major power and endorphins that can just transform you -- and actually, this is how I judge a good wine. I go beyond trying to place the flavor, the tannin, the acidity, the balance -- if a wine is really good, it makes me smile -- as simple as that -- just like a friend; good friends make you smile, okay friends are okay, and bad friends just suck!

VINOTEQUE EPULON: Eufrazijeva 31, 52440 Porec

tel: +385/(0)52/431011

The best seafood I've ever eaten was in Porec at a restaurant called MORE. This is where Mauro and I gorged ourselves.
We would start off with bacala,

perfectly creamy, salty, texture to do back flips over -- never knew you loved bacala so much till you had this one -- then we would share either risotto or white truffle tagliolini with scampi, large enough to have been our dinner alone, and then we'd move on to the fish plate for two, which let me say was the size for four. Not even in Italy did I expand as rapidly as I did within a week in Croatia. The seafood platter was beyond expectations -- doused with large quantities of calamari, scampi, branzino, mussels, and more! And if you watch the below video you will witness the first time Mauro asked me to marry him!

MORE restaurant: A. Gasparini 3, Funtana

Tel: 385.52.445.103

We Drink Wine!

2009-04-08T18:26:00.000-07:00

I must say that I never thought I would "get into" wine. When I was a little girl and I would go into a wine shop, or see a wine list, I pondered about how difficult it all seemed to learn. Then I started drinking wine. . . .let's say at the ripe age of 17. I didn't like it at first. I preferred vodka shots, jello shots, long island iced tea, ooooh and white russians which made me gain about ten pounds when I was only fifteen years old. Those were good, like chocolate milk with a kick. I didn't understand a thing about what I put into my body. I just ate, drank, and couldn't wait to finish highschool to leave home and go to college. It was at the University of Colorado at Boulder where my life took many twists and turns, and where I started to fall in love with wine. I pretty much stopped drinking all alcohol, had an occasional beer. . . and started to discover the world of vino!Like many females, perhaps, I began drinking white zinfandel, something that I wouldn't really consider drinking now -- what Massimiliano (above left with Mauro) might describe as "only good to wash my hands with!" But Massimiliano is from Tuscany, Italy, land of the mighty Brunello, and he even thinks that. . . well, I don't even want to repeat what horrible mean things he says about wine sometimes. Although it is hilarious.

So I started with white zinfandel and indian food! Obsessed! Then I moved onto Merlot, California Merlot to clarify. It would take me about 8 years of wine drinking to start to love Old World wines. Merlot stuck with me for pretty much three years of college. I'm sorry to say that on any given night during the week I could easily drink a bottle to my head while cooking dinner for friends and even playing a little hacky-sack in the living room. Merlot was a perfect beginner's wine. It was medium plus body, not overly expressive of fruit, not too terroir driven, with mild tannin, and very supple. Umm, umm.
Then I got tired of Merlot and thought is was for losers, for years and years to come. I then moved out to Northern California and fell in love, yes, in love with Pinot Noir. I thought is was the hottest shit around. I lived in the Russian River Valley and I would go knocking on doors of Vineyards like Roederer and order cases to take home. I must say I also loved the organic wines that I could buy at Whole foods like Lolonis Cabernet, or even Bonterra makes some good organic juice too. I was in love, obsessed until the movie Sideways came out. At first I thought, yes! He loves Pinot Noir too and hates Merlot! I'm smart. . . but then something changed . . . .I moved back home to NYC started working again in the restaurant business and I actually started learning about the wines I was drinking.

(Allene, Valerie and Peter at Mauro and my wine dinner) Not only was I learning about what makes champagne different from Prosecco, but I was tasting so many different international wines and my palate started to seek out new characteristics that I never knew could be so good. I started learning that tempranillo was the predominant grape in rioja, sangiovese the predominant varietal in Chianti, that Champagne could only come from Champagne, France and the second fermentation had to be in the bottle. Holy shit, I was starting to understand a language that I never dreamed to be able to decipher.

I was hooked and there was no turning back. How many wines there were to explore, from every country in the world! Boy did I have a lot of drinking to do! It was so overwhelming.

And then I met Mauro. I remember the first time we went into Otto together and I looked at the wine list. I mean, you might as well have handed me over a menu written in Chinese. I was so impressed with how Mauro looked through it with such clear understanding. I wanted to be able to read that list as well.

Over the last two and a half years together Mauro and I have gone to many different wine bars all over the world. In NYC though, I have to say that Otto, Inoteca, the new Inoteca, Babbo, and Aroma, are our preferred wine bars to go and buy a nice bottle of wine -- otherwise we will usually buy it at Astor wines and stay at home -- we do love to cook!

One of our most recent gatherings has been a wine dinner that I have been wanting to organize for the last six months or so and finally did it. Mauro and I invited about ten people over to the apartment and everyone had to bring a nice bottle of wine. I also coordinated with everyone to ensure that there would be not be a superfluous regional overlap or varietal replica. We started with Champagne, cava from Spain, a sparkling malbec, then moved on to riesling, sylvaner from Italy, PF from Spain (which sorry Peter I do not remember what wine this was, but it was good! Mauro and I created many different antipasti dishes to pair with the wines, so I was constantly getting up and clearing/serving plates), A'Scippata which is a blend of Piedirosso and tintore from the Amalfi Coast in Italy, a tannat ripasso from Uruguay, a malbec from Argentina, and for dessert wines we did ice wine, German I think, a semi-sweet riesling, and one of my favorite dessert sparkling wines from Villa Rinaldi called creme demi-sec -- Italian.

(Massimiliano and Zoe, a night out at the new Inoteca on 24th st. and 3rd Ave)
Mauro and I spent about a week coordinating what foods would be good with different wines and then cross-checked to make sure that we could used the products we bought in more than one of the dishes so that it would not be too expensive. We had a cheese plate of course! Prosciutto di San Daniele with fresh grated horse-radish (something I first had in Cavour in Italy), fresh buffalo mozzarella, grilled eggplant with egg salad (Mauro's mother's recipe), three different bruscette: stracchino and arugual; tomatoes, olives, capers, and anchovies; and salmon ceviche; We then had a hanger steak salad with arugula and bomb-ass parmesan cheese shavings bought from DiPalo's in Little Italy; and afterwards we had polenta and chicken liver. For dessert Mauro and I took it easy and bought a fruit cake from Caffe Falai.

(Falai and Wd50 behind the scenes. Gabriel from Falai telling Mauro and I how much he LOVES the Damijan kaplja from Friuli -- slovenian oak -- tocai, chardonnay, malvasia istriana. . .so good. . .good price. . Inoteca. . L.E.S)

Mauro and I have made many great friends in the "wine world" in NYC and have great fun going out to share something that is not only super fantastically delicious, but there is a history to be

learned as well. . . .a history, a business, a culture, a cuisine, a lifestyle, a dream! Wine has a story that ages longer that any human man. There are secrets that live within each sip, within each taste -- and every second is different from the next. It is ever evolving, ever changing -- alive in our hands, passing through our bodies.

It doesn't get freaky on you like a bottle of whisky can and eight friends passing it around -- usually I notice a heightened sense of passion, sometimes humility. . . wine can do that to you!

(Mauro and Oriol Castro at Inoteca L.E.S)

Absolutely Divine

2009-02-27T11:14:00.001-08:00

Almost every month. . .or so. . . when Red and I are not traveling, we organize our Absolutely Divine dinners at Le Cirque. What are Absolutely Divine dinners?

Aside from the obvious, they are fabulous dinners that bring together women (yes only women, Mauro is not invited) of all ages and cultures. Red and I started organizing intimate dinners of such a design for many reasons, and the number one being that they just inspire us in ways that can only happen when a group of beautiful and powerful women from all walks of life come together to celebrate the very essence of ourselves. What a tantalizing thing to rejoice!

As for choosing Le Cirque as our homebase, we can think of no other restaurant after receiving such warm welcomes, excellent service, carefully chosen tasting menus, and delicious wines to pair. . . Let me also add that there are few places in the city where you can walk in dressed in whatever style, whatever outfit, whatever exquisite design you felt like wearing that night without feeling out of place -- so long as you are not in jeans and flip-flops! Red and I have recently celebrated our year anniversary of Absolutely Divine dinners and look forward to expanding them even internationally in the future!

(My mother and I at Le Cirque)

Turks and Caicos, where Mauro and I got ENGAGED!

2009-02-18T18:21:00.000-08:00

"Psst! Psst!" Mauro hissed at me from the bathroom like he was an islander and I was a sexy mama walking by. "Ciao ciao," he said when I saw his small head peeking through the window! This was my favorite moment in Turks and Caicos.

My second favorite moment was looking at the delicious Jamaican Appleton Rum and Coke that was staring at me on the table after Mauro demanded my attention. "Yes, they didn't forget the lime!"

Such simple thoughts in the Caribbean. Wake up, put on the bathing suit, boil the water for coffee, read or write while Mauro gets up an hour later to decide whether we are going for a walk on the beach first or if there's enough wind for Mauro to kiteboard -- and in which direction the wind is blowing. Midday the only thing to worry about is where to have lunch and if we are going to drink Corona or Rum and Coke. Then back to the beach, grocery store after, cook dinner and go to sleep. So simple, so perfect.

Except when the end of the vacation starts to creep close, then the evil thoughts start to emerge. The NYC cursing begins to rise, the frustration of always being busy -- the wishing, the yearning, the wanting that life could always be about which beach to kiteboard on, which fish to eat for lunch -- and then the reality that we could never live like that forever and ever; we've already been poisoned by the forbidden apple. We know what's on the other side of simplicity and how seductive a challenging life can be -- and how rewarding it is to set a goal and accomplish it. Perhaps even create a new path for evolution. . . The Caribbean gets you thinking and sometimes crying, which we were inside, the day we had to return back to the city!

The following is an excerpt from my journal one of the first days of our trip:

February 4, 2009

A rooster just crowed once. Bugaloo and Master Shamp (a.k.a Brighty, Keino, and Michael Jackson) just exited their apartments.
Potcakes are barking wildly across the yard.
The smell of schwag weed confuses my nose, and the breeze here in Provo is the coldest I've ever felt. I'm wearing a sweater and a camouflage skirt.

I'm chilly, but refuse to be cold! I'm getting older and yet that doesn't make me love coffee first thing in the morning any less. My neck is tight when I lean over to write in this book. I can feel the strain pressure directly through my spine -- aah! A crack!
Life in Provo never changes too much; but it's still not the same land as my youth, when I first came in 1994.

Mauro's still sleeping in bed, after having gone to the bathroom four times in the middle of the night.

My coffee gets cold too quickly because of the chill! Shit it's cold this morning. My hair gets really curly here
which is how I like it if it's going to be this shit-ass short. I got the worst hair cut almost six months ago -- yet I needed a change -- and with that haircut I traveled first to Provo last August, then started to sell wine part time, then I went to China and a day after to Italy and Croatia. I finished my book again for the hundredth time; then starting working part time as well as a manager of Aroma Kitchen Wine bar. I've had my 30th birthday with this new haircut, got in back in touch with good friends I haven't seen in years and started an oil painting that I have not finished, but I've definitely made the best of it and have smiled all along the way!

(Mauro loved to take pictures of the tuble weed on the beach. It reminds me of Georgia O'Keefe Caribbean style)

February 6, 2009

I woke up at 7:45 a.m., a little later than the previous days. The colder weather is not an environment I rush to occasion, especially when sleeping in Kerry and Debby's king size bed -- how nice it was for them to let Mauro and I stay in their guest house across the street from Grace Bay beach.
(Kerry, left, Debby, right, celebrating Kerry's bday)
I have a sore throat from forcing myself to stay undressed yesterday in a bikini while trying to enjoy whatever warm sun there was -- or maybe it's from drinking evaporated milk out of a can that has been open too long in the fridge. Who knows. After I drank it in my coffee, my brother told me that he argues with his girlfriend because she doesn't want to throw anything out and that she puts open cans of evaporated milk in the fridge for months. I cringed after he told me that. Maybe that's why I have a sore throat. But then again, it has been the coldest it's ever been on Provo.
I just want to get a freaking tan and lay down on hot sand while Mauro kiteboards -- but it's

been difficult to do that with this weather. However; at least I can hear a bird sing.

No matter how hard the first few days of not-hot-weather were for Mauro and I in Provo, the sun continued to shine through the tempest of wind and cloud that had previously sheltered it and eventually Mauro and I got what we asked for. Warm sand, good wind, fresh fish, and wonderful days of the beach and the easylife. One of the highlights of the trip was my brother's new nursery right behind his blue apartments. It was a rare treat to come to Provo and be able to pick fresh tomatoes, herbs, and lettuce for dinner!

Barack Obama

2008-11-05T06:47:00.000-08:00

I know my blog is not such a political blog. . . but I felt like the events of last night were too hard to ignore. I will not get sappy like I did to my nephew trying to feel the excitment of being older and understanding how HUGE and important this victory was for the world. But I would like to share my support for the changes that will inevitably conspire. . . it was a long time coming! And I would like to say thanks to all the people since America's creation who have fought for our freedom -- this day could never have happened without our past struggles and victories. Last night, like many other Americans, my mother and I had a small election party. We had cheese, wine, vegetable dips, shrimp cocktail, and apple cobbler (our all-American snacks). . .and sat in front of the big-screen t.v. watching CNN and all the news channels waiting for Obama to win Ohio and then Pennsylvania. . .and the United States Presidency! By 11pm on the streets of Manhattan it sounded like the yankess had won the world series. Mauro was walking home from work (the L.E.S. to the village). He said a young man came up to him and screamed: "OBAMA!!!" Mauro who likes to play with people said, "Who?"
The man looked at him with disgust and replied, "You F&%KING tourist!" Mauro laughed and continued walking.
He said he then saw a black homeless person screaming, "Now I'm going to have a free house and free food!" . . . and free this and free that. . . and what is true and what I do believe we will see change, is our attitudes towards the world. Obama is a hopeful man who knows that he can acheive the impossible. He just proved that. That hope, living as proof in the most important role model for our nation, will change the course of so much to come. Barack Obama has put power in the hands of the people, and he says, it was us who put him there. Last night we witnessed our Democracy and the responsibility that we as individuals have living in this shared nation. It was a night to remember and I hope we all walk forward calling upon our power to create a better world. It starts with one. We witnessed how that multiplied last night.

Ca'Daffan

2008-10-30T19:39:00.001-07:00

Ca'Daffan, a one Michelin star restaurant. Mauro and I were trying to stay away from the stars on this Italy trip and spend more time in the trattorias -- but how tempting they are, those Michelin stars.

I wish I had known earlier that day that this beautiful intimate restaurant boasted one of the best, if not THE, Champagne lists in Veneto. I would have suggested that we went wine tasting at two different vineyards another day. I could barely drink another glass of wine by the time we arrived to Ca'Daffan. I didn't even look at the list! Now I'm full of regrets. "Mauro, maybe we shouldn't have gone to Villa Rinaldi at 10AM to start drinking one of my favorite Italian sparkling wines by 11AM. We tasted about eight different glasses in a two hour period, ending even with Grappa all before 1PM. After Villa Rinaldi we met Chiara Coffele (who will be featured in a future post because we had just way too much fun with her) and walked through Coffele vineyards and again tasted more amazing wines from Veneto. Coffele produces one of the best, if not THE, Soave and Recioto di Soave. We also tried their Chardonnay, and Merlot which were all fantastic. By 5PM Mauro and I were still tasting wines. I could barely drink the one glass I ordered at Ca'Daffan. I am so disappointed! I don't even remember what it was. What a loser! Almost like going to El Bulli and not eating!

I won't comment so much on the food at Ca'Daffan because we weren't extremely impressed. Some dishes were solid, some not so interesting. But I must say that it seems to be loved because we were

highly recommended to dine there by more than one person. I am in the restaurant business so I know, you can't always formulate you ultimate opinion from one visit.It was a tuesday night I believe and Mauro and I were the only people in the dining room, which made it extra romantic and I must say that the service was superb!!! The sommelier was perhaps the best I've ever met, even though I didn't ask him anything, but Mauro did. . . and he was bursting at the seems with contained passion, knowledge, and wisdom, and he was nicely young and not stuck up at all. Our server as well was very gracious and knowledgeable. We were even offered different olive oils to choose from. . . and I'll never forget those olive oils!

Dessert was pleasant. Mauro managed to even drink a dessert wine which he loved, and we both had an espresso to finish. Well, I had a macchiato. I like my espresso cut. **Please note though, in Italy, when you ask for a macchiato, you have to let your server know if you want it served with hot or cold milk. Too many times I've forgotten and received it cold, and I just had to send it back. I like my macchiato hot!
Overall we had a wonderful night. It would have been better if we could have drank two bottles of Champagne, but we didn't and I'll never forgive myself:)

Ca'Daffan is located in Arzignano which is about a 20 minute drive from Soave. I don't know how Mauro found it. It's nestled in the hills and does have extremely beautiful views; however, that night the curtains were closed.

Ca'Daffan

Via Fratta Alta, 15

Arzignano

http://www.cadaffan.it/

+39 0444 671479

Sometimes to be who you want to be you have to let go of who you Are

2008-10-28T08:40:00.000-07:00

"Nestled between the sheer cliffs of the Italian Dolomite Alps. The valley floor as it rises ever higher toward the limestone mountain peeks is covered with grape vineyards."

Twas here where I could forget who I was. . . such a feeling. . . to let go. And is it so important? Who I am? It must all be a serious game of pretend. . .

But my dreams keep me balanced and my desires keep me focused. Cuz' sometimes when the wind it blows. . . I look around and I just don't know.

La Rupe di Beseno : cucina tipica trentina

2008-10-28T07:46:00.000-07:00

September 21, Sunday, 10:30 pm,

Graziano, Mauro's father woke us up at 11am -- which we were late and had to run out of the house. We were going to lunch in Trento at the base of the castle there, about an hour drive through rocky cliffs, vineyards, and an amazing dark color jade river. We had a fantastic lunch of affettati and formaggi, mozzarella di bufala with grilled veggies; then pappardelle al cinghiale (wild boar) again, a nocciole (hazlenut) pasta -- and last course Mauro and I split the agnello (lamb) which had an unmatcheable flavor.

We ordered a bottle of the Merlot Antica Vigna -- Grigoletti, for about 25 euro -- one of the most expensive on the list -- because upon arriving to Italy I told Mauro that I haven't drank Merlot in years. Seriosly. . . . but it was perfect.

Graziano ordered the vanilla semi-freddo and Mauro and I put the whipped cream in our cappuccino. Daniela, Mauro's mother scolded Mauro for having a cappuccino dopo pranza (after lunch), instead of an espresso. . . .

Antica Ostaria de Barco

2008-10-27T10:28:00.000-07:00

This is one of the first restaurants Mauro and I visited in Italy. Located pretty much right in the middle of Soave and the city of Verona, this gorgeous picturesque restaurant also has solid, delicious Italian food.

We had such a nice time there, that Mauro, sitting next to me while writing this blog, has pulled out his map of Italy and has starting singing Italian music. He always gets this ridiculous smile on his face when he thinks about home. And now I too get an incredibile smile on my face when I think that Italy could be my future home:)

Mauro looked out of the windows which revealed the vast territory of wine country he navigated througout his youth and longed for a past that could only be re-lived through memory. I watched him from the table, hoping that the wine and food would soon come, because everything about Da Barco invites you to relax and enjoy.

One thing that Mauro and I found we had to be really careful of during our travels through Italy and Croatia, was making sure that the wine we ordered was not too young. Sometimes the wine lists didn't always write the vintage and as overly exicted to eat and drink and we typically were, we often found ourselves drinking a 2007 wine that was just way too young and still effervescent. We drank it none-the-less, but still felt badly that a percentage of our possible alcohol intake was wasted with the unworthy. Too bad one of our first bottles of wine in Italy: Zuc Di Volpe Ribolla Gialla 2007, was exactly that -- acidic, almost bubbly, extremely citrus, and just not old enough yet. However, any malaise was immediately reconciled with the quality of the food. Le Lumache, also known as Escargot, or snails; Mauro and I both agree that

these were the freshest and most delicious snails we had ever eaten. Quite large in size, earthy and clean in taste, six snails of this quality could reappear in your dreams forever. Especially after a first course of polenta and soppressa, which was also the best I had ever had.

And to solve any bad feelings about not wanting to waste my alcohol space on the Ribolla Gialla, Mauro called his brother Mirko who was riding his bike through the hills to come and join us and finish the wine and eat soppressa and polenta (he wouldn't eat the snails!)

Antica Ostaria De Barco does not have a website, but their telephone number is +39 045 8980420

How Do You Know When You Have Arrived In Italy?

2008-10-27T09:21:00.000-07:00

Aahhh! Verona, Italy. I knew I had finally arrived when I saw neon grape vines lit up through the town of Soave. We New Yorkers do not celebrate agriculture or harvest time. Even when I lived in the hills of wine country in Mendocino County, California, I never saw something like this. Italy is a special place. There is a profound simplicity that takes over your world when you are there and you find yourself smiling at something you would not even have the time to consider in Manhattan. But what an unfair comparison. Italy to Manhattan. And how many times I find myself comparing. . . .or arguing with Mauro. We are both conflicted. There is so much to offer in both their opposites.

Italy has managed to become a yearly trip for Mauro and I. And this year we prepared ourselves for what was to come by dieting at least a month in advance. This year I successfully gained at least 8 pounds and found it difficult to tie my shoes when needing to sit down and bend over. *Note: always bring expandable jeans when traveling to Italy.

This pice of information is just to give you the reader a fair understanding of what Mauro and my trips are like when we travel to Europe, namely Italy. Every waking moment is spent searching for the best wine and best food and if we happen to come across some amazing artwork along the way, because Italy is known for that as well, then by all means. . .let's stop and take a look. . . .as long as we are not going to miss lunch or dinner.

A Tribute to the "Not Late" but Great Christian Bazant, and the man Max Rumpler Who He Should Never See Him Without!

2008-07-13T16:04:00.001-07:00

(Photo of Max Rumpler taken by Christian Bazant)
www.christian-bazant.com
It's taken me some time to write about my experiences with Christian Bazant. I only recently discovered that I was distantly related to him -- and I have further discovered that he is an amazing artist! Not only is he one of my personal favorite photographers, but he is a touching painter, and a breathtaking pianist. I have actually downloaded his music onto my ipod. If I was as computer saavy as Christian was, I'd even find a way to link his music on this page. . . but not yet Chris. Next time we see each other again it will have to involve a little less drinking and eating and more time teaching me modern technology! But honestly, I don't think that's going to happen. Christian and I are the same age, 29 as of now 2008 and we have managed to spend many nights within the last nine months that we have known each other talking about art, philosophy, family histories, fears, values, dreams, love, and all the good stuff in life that troubles any decent human soul. Through Christian I have met his good friend and amazing guitar play Max Rumpler. . . and through me they have met the beyond talented Chef Mauro Buffo. The four of us together anywhere in the world is a combination made for happiness:)
(Photo of Max Rumpler playing the guitar by Christian Bazant)

The Revolution Party at G2 every Wednesday

2008-07-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

(Christian Bazant and Max Rumpler in the above photo by Marcia Canedo) And then you have Lucky Mauro!!!!! And I think the only time you'll ever find Christian and Max without a camera in their hand is either a)when they're drinking and drunk enough to start dancing (b) when Christian is painting (c) when Max is playing the guitar or (d) when Marcia, sister of my good friend Gabriela (see the two hot sisters above) is out with you and has brought her camera! Marcia is responsible for taking probably the only pictures of us when were drinking and not just eating and walking the streets.

If you've never seen Austrians dance to hip hop, Christian and Max in the above picture are a great demonstration! The Revolution Party happens every Wednesday, and every Wednesday that Mauro and I find ourselves there, we leave part of ourselves there as well, still dancing and completely hung over the next morning. We've seen belly dancers to Austrian dancers and have always been entertained! Well, we've actually seen live female belly dancers there with candles burning on top of her head. Quite impressive! But Mauro still looks good!

"Hard Working Woman Who Cares About Our Pleasure Regarding Food!" Christian screamed as he took my picture.

2008-07-13T15:11:00.000-07:00

(photo by Christian Bazant)

Christian Bazant and Max Rumpler are great fun to cook for, especially when they are jumping around the room with flashing lights and chanting at me like a director to "grate the cheese!" Yes, I made dinner for the four of us and they all danced around me and Mauro while Mauro sat back and relaxed on his day off, but still making sure that everything was salted and seasoned to perfection.

Vienna, the land of the "Mighty Tiny!"

2008-07-13T13:19:00.000-07:00

(Photo taken by Max Rumpler)
First I must start with the story of the "Mighty Tiny!" Such a ridiculous and incredulous story I must add. Christian and Max recently came to visit me here in NYC where they stayed with Mauro and I their first week in our sublease in Ft Greene, Brooklyn, and the last week at my mom's apartment in the village, while she was abroad, where we have a door man.
After a few days of going back and forth from the apartment to the streets of Manhattan, my Columbian doorman who is very talkative to say the least, says to Christian, "Hey, where are you from?"
Christian stops to chatter because he's such a personable and friendly guy, not knowing what he was in store for. "We are from Austria," Christian so innocently said, not knowing that there was a secret legend about the Austrians circulating around South America that he had never heard before (I don't know where the legend actually circulates, if at all).
"Oh, Austria," my Columbian doorman said in exuberation, "The land of the Mighty!"
Christian stared at the Latin man with confusion. "The land of the Mighty?" he asked.
"Yes, the land of the Mighty. . . Tiny," he said with a smile while he was trying to figure out what followed the Mighty.
At this point Mauro and I had returned and beckoned Christian away from our doorman. Christian was very confused about this legend, and he and Max started speaking German together as if they were trying to solve some sort of riddle. But we still haven't solved it. So if anyone out there has ever heard of this legend, please share and leave a comment below.

Back to Austria:
aaaahhhhh Vienna! Finally I had made it to the land of my beautiful Austrian grandmother (not the "Mighty Tiny," which I had never heard of before). She emigrated to America with my Russian grandfather during WWII and ended up in Pelham, NY with a lovely house on Highbrook Ave., and two born-American children. My father and his sister spoke German, but I never learned a single word of it. Austria seemed so distant to me, even though I am merely second generation American. How fast our heritage gets lost amongst the modern. However, the one thing that always made its way into our hearts and mouths that was Austrian, and had the power to hold great imminence and authority in my grandmother's household and in her grandchildren's eyes, was the chocolate. Good ole' Austrian yummy delicious unforgettable chocolate. That is one tradition that will not be washed out with time. Every Christmas my grandmother would bring

a December calendar filled with a piece of chocolate in every day counting down for Xmas. I tell you, that was almost better than the xmas presents!

Then as I got older and started realizing that I didn't want to just be American -- and that I wanted some of the culture from my ancestors, I started to seek out my past -- their lives, their travels, and their offspring. That is how I met Christian Bazant, somewhat of a distant cousin and now family by choice. His grandfather Alexander Rutsch is my aunt's husband (my uncle).

Alexander Rutsch was one of the most amazing artists I've ever met in person, and just the most dynamic, creative, loving, and interesting man you could possibly imagine. Every week when I would go to my grandmother's house for Sunday dinners and dream about the creamy chocolate I would eat after some homemade Weinerschnitzel, I would be lured by my uncle to pose for him while he drew my portrait. He was my favorite artist and he inspired everyone who was blessed to meet him. He was a major artistic influence in both Christian Bazant and my life. Hence, when we finally met each other for the first time last November 2007 -- we had a lot to talk about. (Please check out http://www.alexanderrutsch.com/)

(For more photos by Christian Bazant during his trip to NY and his grandfather Alex's house, check out his blog http://chrisb78.blogspot.com/2008_04_01_archive.html. I had never met Christian before I traveled to Vienna. Mauro and I were going on our first trip to Italy together to meet his family, and we managed to fit in a short weekend trip by train over to Austria. I was extremely excited. When Mauro and I arrived at the trainstation in Vienna I said to him, "Mauro, it's kind of weird looking for someone that you've never met before. I wonder if I will recognize him." I will never forget coming down the escalator and seeing a man standing alone who not only looked similar to my uncle Alex, but whose soft and creative energy radiated distances from his composure. There was no doubt in my mind that that was Christian, and a huge smile came across my face. Family is nice to have -- blood family, distant family, or even just a family of friends.

Below are two of my favorite pictures Christian and Max took of Mauro and I while we were in Vienna. Believe me, there were thousands. (Photo taken by Christian Bazant)

Mauro Buffo, the great chef and sexy Italian man:)

And, the market in Vienna. Very beautiful and very fun. I had never had hot wine before, which was one of Mauro's favorites. In America you are not allowed to drink on the streets. How lame! (Photo taken by Max Rumpler)

Providenciales, Turks and Caicos Islands

2008-03-14T20:34:00.000-07:00

When I think about the Caribbean I think of coconuts, palm trees, gentle breezes against a naked skin that is so used to wearing too much clothes. I think of Caribbean colors, bright fabrics, tanned skin tones, voices with rhythm, people dancing in the streets, singing under the moonlight. I think of pineapple juice, fleshy mangoes that are as difficult to hold as a live fish in your hand. I think of daquiris, coladas, bananas, papayas. When I think of the Caribbean, my imagination stays close, stays simple, stays rooted to the earth and so different than so many other things that I think of. When I think of the Caribbean I get excited -- it is a place I go to be with nature, to live closely with a species I am rarely privileged to encounter in the city. I feel different. I eat different. I drink different. I experience a side of myself that I cannot find anywhere else. . . and I am always happy to see her again.
NYC is a world full of pasta, cheese, bread and wine for Mauro and I; but in the Caribbean we ate fish, conch, fruit, eggs, and drank beer and rum. It was quite a change and I must admit, quite invigorating. It is a good feeling to change your lifestyle and see your past with a whole new perspective, "for the [previous] preoccupations of the mind are no longer present" (365 Tao).
Mauro and I laid on the beach, woke up for the sunrise, followed birds hunting for fish, took pictures of washed up boats on the beach, drank beer, ate when we felt hungry not when we had to, and went to sleep around 9pm -- and it was one of the best vacations of our lives. How amazing it feels to not have to think or to even understand but instead just be.

Conch Salad

2008-03-14T20:11:00.000-07:00

Everyday after I woke up to paint and write, and after Mauro and I spent at least five hours on the beach while he kiteboarded, Mauro and I drove to Blue Hills, one of my favorite parts of the island, to eat conch salad and drink rum and coke. Conch salad is very similar to a cevice. It is sliced raw conch, fresh from the ocean, tossed with diced green pepper, onion and tomato, with a splash of lime, salt and pepper, and diced hot pepper as well on the side. It is one of my favorite salads because it is so fresh and has such a beautiful balance between the sweetness of the conch and the acid of the fresh lime with the excitement of hot pepper -- and typically when you eat conch salad that means that there are palm trees somewhere close by, hopefully some reggae music blasting and the Caribbean ocean snoring like an old man-- and if you are in the mood to drink, it goes perfect, and I mean perfect with a cold beer or rum cocktail. I think one of my best qualities is that I have very simple pleasures. Yes, I am happy with myself when I think about conch salad and the Caribbean.

The Turks and Caicos Islands, My home away from home

2008-03-14T19:41:00.000-07:00

The first time I've ever seen my brother cry was on the last day of our first trip to Turks and Caicos. I've never seen my brother cry again. We were still in highschool when my mother first took us to Club Med Turquoise around 1994 before the island had hummers and SUVs; before many of the locals even had running water. It was a glorious time for a tourist to visit the Turks and Caicos Islands. Our dollar was still strong, and the islanders were still unused to seeing white men and women swimming on their beaches and buying their land, which back then was worth nickels and dimes compared to the gold mine a beach front property is worth now. The one thing my brother will probably never forgive my mother for doing is not buying a piece when he begged her to at the age of seventeen -- he told her, "mom, you could have secured our lives forever!" I was only fourteen, and neither my brother nor I knew what hit us after those seven days of pure fantasy land; island life was a hard addiction to shake off once you returned to a place as grey in comparison as NY.

Now my brother lives in Turks and Caicos; sometimes even in the Dominican Republic and I know will never leave the island life again -- that was his dream -- and thanks to him and his struggle to make his way in a world so different from the one we were raised in -- I have a home away from home in the Turks and Caicos Islands, and now so does Mauro.

Villa de Winckels: the most romantic wine bar ever!

2008-02-05T19:06:00.000-08:00

After driving through the hills of Italy, surrounded by castles and mountains, arriving deep in the woods at what seemed to be nestled amongst the hillside, Villa de Winckels reminds me of why Mauro and I started this blog in the first place. To know that there is a wine bar so romantic and peacful and divine-like, makes the constant search for places like this worthwhile. When you "hit a home-run," you never forget it. Villa de Winckels is unlike any other establishment I've ever been to -- and although many of my Italy entries may sound quite similar -- it's just that I've never been to one country where I am repeatedly amazed at the wonders I find. In this small remote wine bar Mauro and I drank Amarone for 6 Euro a glass, whereas in the U.S. the bottle goes for over a $100/bottle. But it's not the spectacular and affordable wine list that made this wine bar so special -- it was just everything about it; it's location, it's barn-like quality with extremely high ceilings and light peeking through as if God was warming the room with his presence; and the people that worked there were so friendly and inviting. Yes Mauro and I ordered the cheese plate, which was beyond fresh and amazing, but right after the chef came over and started talking to Mauro about prosciutto and soon enough, the chef brought out a plate of prosciutto that was finer than any piece of meat I've ever tasted; and after proscuitto, he even sent a plate of dolci. I won't overdescribe this wine bar because the photos speak for themselves. This was one of my best nights in Italy. (http://www.villadewinckels.it/)

Marchesi Ristorante: A Piece of Art

2008-02-05T17:50:00.000-08:00

From the moment Mauro and I drove into the driveway of Marchesi Ristorante, I knew we were entering a different scale of restaurants. Marchesi is a work of art; everything about this unique creative "living restaurant" separated Marchesi's style from the average Italian restaurant which had "great food," but a somewhat "unexciting" and "not-so-modern" environment. I say "living," because you couldn't help but feel that the restaurnat itself was alive and breathing, not just a myriad of ornaments to enhance the cuisine. You could almost hear the tale of Marchesi and his legacy told through the branches of the trees as you walked through what seemed to be a forest encircling this Raleigh Chateau Hotel/Restaurant. Marchesi brought dining to a new level, and to be honest, outside of my experience at Le Calandre, which Mauro and I cannot show pictures of on the web (it was the best experience of my life), I had never been to a restaurant as prestigious, professional, impressionable, and as beautiful as Marchesi. This was all my impression before we sat down at the restaurant and were joined by Marchesi himself, for a good part of our visit. The dining room is surrounded by sculptures and draped with long curtains, while the sun-bright yellow walls scream at you to admire the sparkling clean kitchen, which in NYC, one usually found hidden.
Marchesi serves very classic cuisine, which Mauro could tell you
much more about considering that he worked there years ago, but this new dish called Jackson Pollack, on the right, did not seem so classic to me. On a black plate was an artistic rendition of Jackson Pollack's style of painting made with different sauces such as black squid ink, and a mayonnaise based sauce that actually tasted quite delicate and refreshing (I'm not a big mayonnaise fan). Swimming with the colors on the plate were really fresh small pieces of baby squid. It was quite a presentation, brought out by Marchesi himself -- he is really proud of this one. Everything at Marchesi was done with pride and it was something very exciting to witness. The servers, captain, sommelier, chefs, runners -- everyone on the floor worked together in such a manner that made you recognize and remember that you indeed were somewhere extraordinary and special.

Cavour: a most impressive trattoria

2008-02-05T16:27:00.000-08:00

Mauro had been telling me about Cavour ever since I met him -- it's actually one of the restaurants that he talked about as much as El Bulli, Le Calandre, Marchesi, Villa Sagramoso, and now Ca'Busatti and Locanda Marinelli. But each of these restaurants is unique in its own, and that's why going out to dinner or lunch almost everyday in Italy was beyond dreams -- and Cavour was beyond expectations. I'm not as much of a "meat eater" as Mauro is, but even I was more than ready to go back to Cavour, for our second time, to eat another plate of bollito misto, a typical Italian plate of boiled meats. But, it is so much better than it sounds. To accompany the boiled meats, is Mauro's favorite: peara -- which is like a bread porridge which I can't believe I've never had in the U.S. before -- it's phenomenal. Some other remarkable dishes at Cavour was the gnocchi, actually the best I've ever had; served with smoked gouda and black truffles; and my second favorite to the gnocchi was the prosciutto with grated fresh horseradish -- to die for and so simple. My god. I don't understand how Italy can have some of the most unbelievable restaurants in the most obscure locations, and here I am in NYC struggling with Mauro to try and find a restaurant with food we actually crave to eat a second time. It's sad, but then again there are a lot of sad things happening to America right now. I am happy to say though, that I am very proud of the restaurant Mauro and I work in , Falai, and that our food is memorable.
On another note, I must not fail to mention how many amazing bottles of wine we drank during those two separate nights at Cavour. First, we always started out with one of my favorite sparkling wines: Villa Rinaldi, Gran Cuvee Bianca Brut, then we moved onto to Dal Forno Romano, Valpolicella Superiore, and then we had Roccolo Grassi 2003 Recioto della Valpolicella; and then Mauro and Alberto, our server/co-owner who always drank with us had Muller Thurgau Grappa. The second night we started with a magnum of the Villa Renaldi, then a bottle of Le Due Terre 2004 Sacrisassi Rosso, then a magnum of Roccolo Grassi 2004 Valpolicella, then a magnum of one of my now favorite dessert wines: Villa Rinaldi, Dolce di Creme. Needless to say I had a little bit of a hangover the next day.

Locanda Marinelli and Chef Luigi Granzotto

2008-02-05T15:30:00.000-08:00

Far left, chef Luigi Granzotto, once worked at Le Calandre with Mauro. Now you can find him in a beautiful country style restaurant called Locanda Marinelli that I must admit, I could not remember for the life of me, how to get there. The drive was windy, through local steep roads cutting through wine vineyards, and when you finally reached the top, where the restaurant was located, you could see the whole city practically as if you were in a royal palace and below you was your kingdom. Italy is full of romantic surprises, and the cuisine of Locanda Marinelli was yet another addition to the marvels and joys of my trip. Due to the enormous amount of food Mauro and I ate while in Italy, I will keep it brief -- otherwise I don't think I'll ever be able to bring this trip to a close. I must say though, that this day was one of the most enjoyable lunches I've ever had in my life -- from the food, to the service, to the atmosphere, environment, and company, I will never forget my days traveling through Zero Branco with Nico and Elodie, and dining at Locanda Marinelli's. (www.locandamarinelli.it)

Ca'Busatti, Zero Branco, Italy. You may have never heard of the restaurant or the town, but I will never forget either!

2007-12-18T13:53:00.000-08:00

It would be impossible for me to explain how much going to Ca'Busatti meant to Mauro and I -- and especially to Mauro. We all keep close watch on our lives, judging the distances we travel, our achievements or our downfalls, and even our romances, often by gaging ourselves against the lives of others, even movie characters, in order to measure the capacity of our own. As unhealthy as that could be if you did not keep perspective on your own goals and on your own uniqueness of individual --I think it's pretty normal -- and I haven't gotten too upset at Mauro for always talking about this Nico character who worked at El Bulli with him, and who Mauro then came to NY with, and who was working at Klee Brasserie when I first met Mauro there, and who then left Mauro alone (with me) in NYC while he returned to Italy, to Zero Branco, to be the executive chef of the most beautiful gem restaurant I've ever seen, with his gorgeous, loving, smart, creative, fun and supporting girlfriend Elodie (who is also in the restauarant business -- Nico and Elodie met working at Le Gavroche in England). I understand why Mauro always talks about Nico and how he has his own restaurant, and Elodie is working in the front of the house; I understand. . . and it's so amazing to have two fantastic friends who are doing it, they did it, they are evolving "it" -- and I can't wait to go back next year to see how it's progressed even more.
However, I can't tell you how many of us have missed Nico and Elodie -- and how many of us, while living our lives here in NYC have wondered, what have they been doing over there in Zero Branco? When in NYC, you could always find Nico and Elodie at places like Sway on sundays, or Nu Blu after service. . . when I thought to ponder about the drastic shift in their lifestyle from the "big city life," to the committed restaurant life in a small town in Italy. . . .I always felt, "wow, how admirable to make such a drastic change and go after your dreams."
Nicola Dinato and Elodie Debouisson have both put in the work, put in the struggle, and have amazed both Mauro and I. I must admit, I was expecting something nice, but I didn't realize how chic and unique their restaurant truly was.
God, I can taste everything now, even the temperature of the air affected by the stone floors, the full but spacious dining room, mixed with the warmth of the kitchen and Elodie's smile. Everything unfolded before me in a lapse of time that seemed inconsequential. . . and now I miss it more than ever. I wish I could have taken something more than just my memory with me. . something more tangible to appease my yearning to be able to have their restaurant as Mauro and my regular spot -- and boy would it be!
Have I ever mentioned how much I love tasting menus? I'm obsessed with going to a restaurant where the "chef" is always in house and has a tasting menu. It's so much more than going out to dinner; it's like you are going to an art show, but you sit down with a bottle of wine at your own personal table and get to judge and admire and critique every piece in a very personal way. You get to taste someone else's expression, experience their past, their goals, their passions. . . You may think I'm being over-romantic -- but if you know something about food, you can understand so much about a chef just by his tasting menu.
It's a committment to an uncontrollable experience; you don't know what's going to happen. . . you relinquish your control to the chef . . . you are there until the end. . . and Nico almost killed us with food. Mauro told me that Nico would do that, even six months before we even entered Ca'Busatti, but I couldn't have imagined the amount of food that Nico was really going to send us. I must say, his was the first tasting menu where we've had to tell the chef we just could not eat anymore.
I think one of the most amazing qualities about Nico's cuisine is that he is different. While in Italy, I noticed that most of the restaurants we went to were fairly all within a similar range of style -- Nico, is not afraid to stand alone and do something unexpected. I think every dish varied in presentation, in its style, and in its taste -- and it was so inspiring to see such a young and ingenuitive chef who has worked all over the world, back in Italy at a restaurant whose 100% Italian genes would have never revealed the diverse experience of the chef in the kitchen until you tried his food. Mauro and I say bravo. Complimenti to the entire staff of Ca'Busatti, bravo Nicola and brava Elodie.

Villa Sagramoso

2007-12-07T15:33:00.000-08:00

Eating in Italy will change your

life, if you are someone who has any passion for food. I'm now back in NYC after travelling through the North of Italy with Mauro, eating and eating, drinking good wine after good wine, and I must say, I'm not the same person I was before I left. It's not that I've been through some enormous transformation -- I can't even say that Italy has changed my life -- but I can say that I have an altered perspective. I can't even try to explain everything that's passed through me these last three weeks in one blog entry, for I've barely absorbed it all myself, but I will try to share through my pictures and the variety of different places that Mauro and I dined, the difference between life and value from Italy to the U.S. I'm not saying that one is better than the other -- because to each his own -- or more honestly because I believe a blend of the two countries would be my ideal environment, I'm just trying to show the little things that make an impact on your experience when it comes to dining in a restaurant; from the atmosphere, to the service, to the quality of produce, to the passion of the chef, to the fact that most of the restaurant owners are almost always at their restaurant, either on the floor or in the kitchen themselves -- it's kind of like a mother trying to raise a family when she is never home -- yes, she can hire a babysitter, a cleaning lady/man, someone to make sure that her children are safe -- but no one could ever take her place. I often look at a restaurant like a child, and when the parents are around, it makes a difference. I think this was one of the biggest differences between Italy and the States: the parents are around, and they have a lot of love, passion, and dedication.

Villa Sagramoso is located in Verona, Italy about a ten minute drive from Mauro's family's house through windy streets, wine vineyards, and hills amongst hills of amazing landscape where castles declare propriety of a land that has seen many moons and many transformations. I was transposed into another world, where life transpired so differently from my NYC streets. I was smitten. It was so weird and different to experience eating inside this villa almost more often than Mauro and I went to our local Otto wine bar in NYC. How can something so majectic and grand be something that is so casually a part of my life. I wanted to sit out in the courtyard in the middle of the night surrounded by a fountain and Italy nature goddesses to thank god for creating such a wondrous land, but instead Mauro and I regularly visited this amazing restaurant to have dinner with his family, and returned again and again to just drink a bottle of wine and eat some affettati and formaggi??? It was just so surreal to me. Villa Sagramoso also produces its own olive oil and wine, yup, and they make it look so simple.

Welcome to Italy! Mauro has finally come home, and he has taken me with him!

2007-11-23T08:37:00.000-08:00

Almost every morning here in Italy we have a cappuccino and brioche, whether it's at home, or at a pastry shop. Mirko, Mauro's brother (left) is enjoying an almond brioche and Mauro a cannoli with pastry cream, a brioche with jam, and a chocolate beignet with caramel powder. I must say, even though I hate to sound so pro-Italy, because I do love my America, the food here is just so much better. The pastry shops are far more remarkable, the pastries just perfect in taste and texture, and the cappuccini are almost incomparable. Note: more than one cappuccino is really cappuccini. I notice how in NY when Mauro orders a cappuccino for us he says, "Can I have two cappuccinos?" But in Italy he asks for three cappuccini, because now Mirko is usually with us for breakfast. Not only are the cappuccino so delicious and creamy, but they are served in famous Italian China made by Richard Ginori -- and we didn't go anywhere fancy; this is one of Mauro and Mirko's local pastry shop. Let's compare America -- what are our local pastry\coffee shops like? Can we still find a cappucino that costs uner $2 and served in China, that tastes amazing? What about pastries that are fresh and delicious? The Euro may be much higher right now, but there are still somethings that are cheaper here in Italy, and anyways, you get much higher quality for your money.

The unbelievably breathtaking vineyards of Soave

2007-11-23T08:19:00.000-08:00

The weather is not the best here in Italy during November, but Italy is still a sight for sore eyes. I've lived in Northern California, driven through vineyards like Bonterra, Robert Mondavi, Roederer, but it's just not as impressive as going for a drive through the Valpolicella valley where Amarone comes from, the Valdobbiadene valley where Prosecco is made, or driving through the vineyards of Dal Forno, or Bellavista in the hills of Franciacorta -- it's just not the same. . . In my most humble opinion, Italian wine is just more superior to California wine -- and the landscape, almost comparable except that Italy has castles and villas from thousands of years ago still standing strong, whose walls have heard stories far more interesting than anything I could ever dream of writing or sharing.

Have you ever seen a fruit pie so beautiful?

2007-11-23T07:52:00.000-08:00

I think nouvelle cuisine, modern art, technology: all the evolution that is transforming our earth (in America specifically) is leaving something very valuable behind. Look at how beautiful these pies are! Yes there is something inspiring about minimalism as well, but sometimes you just have to show off! In Italy, I have been smitten by the combination of the ancient past and the present. You are surrounded by ancient castles, vineyards, villas, and towns, and yet within these towns you find Gucci, Armani, Cesare Pacciotti, Swarovski, Burberry -- the most up to date products. Inside the villas and castles you find restaurants whose cuisine and dishes blow away any Italian food you find in NYC. It's unbelievably remarkable, and it takes awhile to understand what is going on. . .The quality of product, of customer service, of lifestyle is incomparable to that in NYC. When you walk into a store people say hello to you; they actually know about the products they are selling -- they are actually happy to help you find what you are looking for -- this took me some time to get used to. I don't have enough time to go into detail about the difference in culture right now because I am here in Verona, Italy, in a thirty plus year old house that is cleaner than any new apartment I've seen in NYC; yet on a computer whose internet connection is almost as bad as my Italian. I must say though, this is one of the most amazing trips of my life.

Bring Art into Your Life

2007-11-04T09:40:00.000-08:00

I went through a period, I think after I came back from San Francisco, where I was disappointed with my lifestyle in NY. I've been working a lot at the restaurant. I've had very little time to do the creative work that I love to do -- so I became a little negative. . . I must admit. Yet, in that darkness I discovered something thrilling; I can have art and beauty in my life no matter what the circumstance, but it's up to me to create it.

Mauro and I haven't been going out to restaurants like we have in the past because we have been saving for a long trip to Italy -- so my routine changed as well. We were staying home more, drinking less, and waking up earlier. In the beginning it was a little shocking, but then I started to find myself excited with the little rich moments I could experience in a single day. So I invite everyone to stop for a moment and think about the little things they do to try and bring more art and beauty into their lives. Art is so inspiring; design can be mesmerizing -- think about it and start inviting it and creating it. That's why I love it when Mauro cooks. He doesn't just make something that tastes good, he creates masterpieces and he's fun to watch while he cooks too. The other night at my mother's apartment we invited Judith Regan, Nina and Kathy Rutsch (my cousin and aunt) over for dinner because they hadn't tried Mauro's food yet, and if I have learned anything from watching Mauro cook, the most prominent quality would be his use of art and design. Mauro knows how to make anything taste good -- amazing -- the next challenging part for him is the combination of not only flavors, but of color, texture, structure, and design -- it's really like watching an artist. He has changed my whole concept of food and my appreciation of food. For dinner we went ahead and bought heirlooms tomatoes from whole foods, even though it's so expensive and Mauro made an heirloom tomato salad with guacamole and fresh basil from our still-living and flourishing basil plant. Next course was a gorgeous artichoke risotto with fried artichokes hearts and drizzled with mint puree (beyond!), and then filet mignon wrapped in bacon with spinach; for dessert he even made home-made tiramisu which was inexplicable -- the best I've ever had -- it's not one of those extremely rich and creamy tiramisus; no, it was light and delicate and you could taste every single ingredient.

Now, let me just say, one thing I've also learned from him is that you do not have to be as good as Mauro to start cooking more and be more creative. Intention alone goes very far. Try adding more beauty to your life and you will see the effect -- even just in how you feel trying to do something in the name of art and not in the name of money or guaranteed return. Mystery is very seductive.

San Francisco, or New York City -- Which Coast is Better?

2007-11-04T08:49:00.000-08:00

If one were to compare San Francsico and NYC just by the beauty of nature alone, NYC could not even be a contender. Mauro and I recently took our first legitimitate vacation together outside of NYC to my old blocks of S.F., Oakland/Berkeley, and wine country (yes I used to live in NorCal for about five years!). I must say, it had been a long time since Mauro and I experienced such silence in our lives. NYC is a land of constant friction, noise, and movement -- and yet, there is something so persuasive about all of that action. Before we left for our vacation, I was telling Mauro minute after minute how amazing the restaurants were in San Francisco, but to be honest, I returned home to NYC with a profound new respect and admiration for not only how many "tasty" restaurants we have overloaded on these gray east coast blocks, but especially gracious for the richness of design that greatly affects the ambiance of any establishment. It has been only three years since I've lived in NorCal, yet I have forgotten, or have not really realized how much more "grandeur" New York City restaurants emanate in their atmosphere alone.

As I stop to ponder the differences between my two favorite cities in America I ask myself, "what do i do while I'm in NYC?" Answer: "Write on my computer, organize dinner events, go shopping, drink good wine, cook at home, go to yoga classes or go jogging, and meet interesting people;" Question: "What do I do while I'm in Northern California?" Answer: "Wake up and go for a walk on the beach with my friend's dogs, go hiking in the woods, go to music festivals and camping, go to wine country, paint outside surrounded by the golden parched California hills, do gardening and grow vegetables, play tennisand golf, go to yoga, go jogging on the beach, go on small road trips, go out to restaurants once in awhile and cook at home all the time, and meet interesting people."

It was strange to me while I was in San Francsico to realize that I have a "restaurant-life" in NYC -- I wake up, do my creative work/exercise, and then I either go to work in a restaurant, or I go out to eat in a restaurant. . . . which is the cause of why I haven't written so much in this blog lately. . . there's not much new with restaurant life right now.. . . . However, Mauro and I must mention that we went to the best restaurant that we've ever eaten in America called Manresa, located in Los Gatos. Mauro actually used to work with the Executive Chef James Syhabout at El Bulli a few years ago. So we drove an hour south of S.F. to visit him, not knowing what to expect. It was an amazing experience for me because the style incorporated so many techniques and images Mauro's discussed with me about El Bulli, but it was combined with an inspiration from the California region that was very refreshing, like "Amberjack, sashimi style, caviar and citrus; Tomatoes, purslane with smoked roe, roast tuna jus; or In the vegetable garden . . .;" Not only was the food divine, but the presentation and the plateware were pure art.

In conclusion. . in case you were wondering. . .California is the next stop on our radar. . we hope to move out there sometime in our future. As for right now, in a few weeks we are off to Italy. . Another reason why I haven't written too much -- I'm waiting . . . .

Pasta Pomodoro: You must know the basics!

2007-09-09T20:13:00.000-07:00

“The infinite is Brahman. From it, from this Self, space came to be, from space the wind, from wind fire, from fire water, from water earth, from earth the plants, from plants food, and from food the body of man. This body of man composed of the essence of food is the physical sheath of the Self” Taittiriya Upanishad, II. 1 (Yoga and Psychotherapy, The Evolution of Consciousness; by Swami Rama, Rudolf Ballentine, M.D., and Swami Ajaya, Ph.D.).

As much as this blog marks my journey of self-evolvement, I try (at times arduously) to not let this forum be my journal and to not just indulge in writing about myself – but I cannot escape it completely because this blog is about me, and Mauro, and how “cheese and wine” (as an archetype) has affected our lives. I like to envision my life’s movement forward as waves of concentric circles that keep oscillating from one extreme to the other, hitting the walls of my principles and boundaries until I return again to my center ready to expand with the knowledge I had gained from the previous journey of that circular movement. . And the process continues: “Balance, as defined by Tao, is not stasis but a dynamic process of many overlapping alternations; even if some phases seem wildly excessive, they are balanced by others. . . As events turn, balance is to know what is here, what is coming, and how to be in perfect harmony with it. Then one attains a state of sublimity that cannot be challenged” (356 Tao, by Deng Ming-Dao).
Now I can hear you asking, “What does this have to do with pasta? With food? With Mauro? Even wine?” Well, I’m going to try and connect these inner-divisions of myself that I’ve been entangled with recently and explain how I have been feeling a little too far away from my center from eating so much cheese – so much food, and drinking (for me) too much wine. Yet, I hate to put two such wonderful relics of the world in such an un-splendid corner of dissatisfaction; but being that that’s where I found myself, face to face with a piece of cheese that just did not tantalize me like the La Tur of my youth (six months ago), or like my first piece of Caschel blue cheese from Ireland that Mauro and I had on the cheese plate at Wallsé (almost 8 months ago), I’ve decided that I need to go back to the basics. I’ve become, Mauro and I have become, a little too decadent. NO! Yes, I’m sorry! I’ve been reading a lot lately and it’s clearly written that this is the direction we have been headed in . . . . See: “How do you know when your life verges on decadence? . . . When procedure becomes more important than creativity. . . When the act of eating becomes more important than the considerations of nutrition. . When one’s own comfort becomes more important than the suffering of loved ones. . .When expediency becomes more important than the elderly” (365 Tao, by Deng Ming-Dao).
I knew it though. I knew we couldn’t go on like that forever . . . cheese and wine is way too limited of a destiny for the likes of Mauro and I. . So we’ve gotten a little more down and dirty – going back to the streets, to the roots of our creation, and canceled that reservation at Degustation to save some money, to not over-indulge because we went to dinner at Babbo the week before. I try very hard in my life to “keep it real” (Note to reader: I am definitely more decadent than Mauro; even though he is the chef, I’m the gourmand).
It was raining out too, we’d have to walk the grocery store, carry the grocery bags – and I’d have to cook. Shit! Mauro always cooks, everyday, 12 hours a day. So it was gonna be basic: wine, pasta, and garlic bread (a good Mediterranean diet). Can I even do that right? Yes of course I could make it so it tasted good, but did I know why I did the things I did? No, absolutely not. I had taught myself how to make tomato sauce – it took me years. I even got some of my ingredients from the movie Good Fellas (Mauro, I don’t think I’ve told you about that yet).
I try to keep quiet when Mauro teaches me about food. He knows so much about cooking, that he often gets offended and disappointed in me if I can’t tell that the meat in the curry stew for family meal at Falai is rabbit and not chicken. But I wasn’t raised on rabbit, and I don’t even eat that much meat. It’s funny, but in a way pressuring, because you don’t want to even know how Mauro feels about American cuisine and restaurants, which then lingers into American culture and American people. Sometimes I find myself in a weird position wanting to defend my country, because it’s my country and he’s attacking it, but then I do hear what he is saying and everything he is saying has validity. One of the more profound statements that Mauro made to me was after I asked him how El Bulli, the famous restaurant in Spain, made any money when they only charge around 150 euro for a thirty to forty course tasting menu and only did about fifty covers. He looked at me with scorn, not towards me but just built up from living in America, and said, “See, this is the problem with America, everything is done for money. In Europe or in Spain, as long as you have enough money to run your restaurant and do the creative things you want to do then you are happy. Ferran Adria (the owner of El Bulli) can shut down for six months and do all the experimenting he wants, what more does he need? It’s in America that if you don’t make tons of money then you are not happy. There are no restaurants here that exist for creativity, they are all for money.”
I told you I was the decadent one. I’ve been afraid to cook for Mauro because I can’t magically do something fantastic and mind blowing like everything that his hands touch. Mauro is a composer of epic food; and I have become his silent student, absorbing bits and pieces, trying to get beyond the basics which are so far away from him . . . but on this rainy day, I succeed. I propose a cooking class for the blog – how to make a basic pomodoro sauce, so here it is:

1st: Open a bottle of wine (not to use in the sauce, but to enjoy while you cook) or put the water boiling; or have someone open the wine while you put the water to boil. I don’t know which one takes precedent. If you must do it all by yourself, open the wine first.

2nd: Open the tomato can (don’t kid yourself and try to use fresh tomatoes from the grocery store – we’re not in Cali, and we’re definitely not in Italy. . and Whole Foods will cost you about $15 for good tomatoes worth using and no one should ever have to spend that on pasta pomodoro!

Mauro then proceeds to tell me to peel the onion and that’s when I realized that I have to cook more and put a stop to how bad and pathetic of a cook he must really think I am – to have to tell me to peel an onion. I was wondering if he was talking about some special way to peel it, but no! He really meant, “just take off the dry outer skin.” It was a sad verbal exchange, this first cooking lesson between student and teacher.
Mauro then started telling me that I chopped onions like his mother (Sorry Daniela, but he is your son!). “They are for flavor,” he says, “not for onion soup!” Man, me and this Mauro, trained at “Marchesi” and “Le Calandre” and “El Bulli,” have a heady start. But I am loving it, and I am loving my NY bred arrogance and confidence because it’s the only thing right now not making me feel small – well that and aside from the fact that I’m a beautiful woman and Mauro can never be that, so ultimately I have something extraordinary to be proud of!
My mother is sitting in the background reading horary charts for Mauro and I, and even her friends that call on the phone. We are all enjoying ourselves, and I am finding balance, happy that we are struggling in the kitchen together with family, with fresh food made by our own hands – something that has become so distant in this NYC culture.

3rd: Mauro leaves his garlic whole in the pasta, not to be eaten. He says “burnt garlic is heavy for the pancino.” He just leaves the skin on and presses it with his hand on the cutting board to release the juices and tosses it into the sauce.

4th: We have a beautiful basil plant that we bought from the farmer’s market the last time we cooked, I mean Mauro cooked. I cut the plant with a scissors (only because a fresh cut is healthier for the plant) and then the leaves can be broken with your hands and placed in the pot.

5th: So, after the onions are chopped (very fine), you place them in hot oil and mix with a spatula from the center to the edge, from the edge to the center – add the garlic (don’t burn it), and then the basil. Turn the heat on hi and add the tomatoes (we did chop some unspectacular tomatoes because my mom had some in the house and we didn’t want them to go to waste) and the canned tomatoes.

6th: Add a pinch of sugar (Mauro has big hands), and double salt. “Every time in your hand first,” my teacher teaches me.

I can admit that I can be neurotic sometimes and as a cook I’ve never really been able to just let the meat or fish cook in one spot without constantly moving it or flipping it; so I found it hard when Mauro saw me constantly stirring the tomato sauce and told me not to do that. “Why?” I asked frustrated. “Because if you mix every time, you give time to chill down and boil instead of roast. It’s better for tomato sauce to cook everything faster because you are going to lose flavor, color, protein and nutrition. You can cook your tomato sauce for five hours and after that you can open your window and throw it out.”
When I first met Mauro I told him how I made a good tomato sauce but it took me about five hours to make. . . I had no idea I was losing everything vital about that tomato sauce. . . I’m learning so much. . .Of course I had to argue with him even about the “right way to mix the sauce in the pot.” “Why does it matter?” I asked. “Mixing is inside to outside, and then clean the edges of the bowl. There’s a way to peel an apple. First respect for the apple. There’s a right way to do everything,” Mauro got philosophical on me. “A right way or a better way?” I challenged him. “The better one, which for me is right!” Never thought learning how to make a basic pomodoro sauce could get so deep!
I then asked him why he didn’t use wine in his tomato sauce; but I didn’t tell him that I used wine because I saw them use it in Good Fellas! “Tomato sauce is already acidic, you don’t need red wine that is acid.”

7th: Just let the sauce sit for about twenty minutes, until it thickens – really simple, really basic, but still, now I understand why I do what I do to my tomato sauce, and I now I feel like I could invite Mauro to an even better one next time with some added ingredients of my own and get all creative on him – like adding mushrooms or something wild!

8th: As for the garlic bread, Mauro has also revolutionized my technique here as well. I used to chop the garlic really fine and base the bread with butter and oil and then rubbed on the garlic pieces that always fell off and ended up having to add garlic powder – but not anymore! Mauro just sliced the bread, toasted it, and then added “good” olive oil, and instead of chopping the garlic, took a whole peeled piece and rubbed it on the hot bread. The garlic almost evaporated and all the juices absorbed into the bread in the strongest way, it’s amazing!

Thanks Mauro! I love you!

Azul: I should have written about it before I went to the Caribbean

2007-08-09T12:48:00.001-07:00

I like the Lower East Side, I do. There are plenty of unexpected surprises, little gem restaurants (like Azul, located on the corner of Stanton and Suffolk), and upcoming artists that circulate and dominate this “fresh minded” neighborhood which could either make you feel completely at home, or totally uncomfortable – depending on who you are and how much you avoid the dark side in your life.
I like the dark side, but I also like it to co-exist with my light side, so I’m pretty relaxed when I walk around Clinton St (I work at Falai restaurant on 68 Clinton St. between Rivington and Stanton – a hop, skip, and a jump away from Azul) and head west through the crowded streets that borough places like La Caverna, the Stanton Social, the Rivington Hotel, Pianos, or the only place Mauro, Aki and I actually go to after work, Inoteca (Aki, Mauro, and I finally all work together).
But I should have written about this cute Argentinean steak house before I went to visit my brother in Turks and Caicos, where he lives – where I used to live, and where the turquoise water shines brighter than any real gem I’ve ever seen. . . where the wind slaps you in the face and asks you “what are you doing in NYC surrounded by grey buildings; surrounded by people who are so “instant satisfaction oriented” that they yell and whine when they don’t get exactly what they want when they want it; surrounded by a constant fowl of fumes and noise that irritate your peace of mind and need for the breath of nature? What the @%!* are you doing in NYC?” . . .Turks and Caicos, where with every footstep you can see inches of uninhabited space – a place to even go lie down in the sand underneath the flapping of palms, echoing with the hunting of birds, enchanted by the humming of the tides. . . .Who cares about wine and cheese?
And so I have failed to write; I have failed to even care, about any soft creamy texture that tastes even better with a sip from the well of god’s most angelic creation –vino. I have been thrust into a dungeon of disinterest for the satisfying archetypes of my past. After my recent reunion with the sand that used to pass through my toes almost four years ago with every rise of the sun’s morning rays, and again midday after hours with nothing to say . . . . Just painting on my deck with my cat in my lap, the ocean chanting by my side, and my big bad ass dog scratching his hide, I returned to NYC numbed by the spirit of my past, reminded of a lifestyle that I used to have. I am not a NYC woman; I am not a Lower East Side hipster; part of me would even like to say I am not an American woman, but I’m not a Caribbean woman, and I am not a wine and cheese addict either . . . I am none of the above . . . and yet isn’t that negation just the same as being everything?
So I’ll stop here and return to the beginning of this case (I am not prepared to play this game of philosophical chase); Azul – how I should have written about your delicious mashed potatoes, and tender filet mignon before I stepped foot onto a land that has no national cheese or wine, but instead beaches and time to blow your mind. . . I can’t get away from it. . . Azul, the color blue, open glass doors with tables on the sidewalk; white table cloth, palm trees (barely flapping with NYC’s lame artificial wind created by the passing of taxi cabs speeding down residential neighborhoods), Latin music dancing through the speakers, pleasant design, good service, good food – just don’t go if you don’t like meat.
Mauro and I went to Azul with his friends who were visiting from Verona, Italy (Mauro’s hometown). Everything went perfect. We had a reservation and did not have to wait for our table. The service was efficient and timely. The wine was not great but at least it was cheap, and the appetizers were very tasty, even though Mauro said the empanadas were definitely frozen and not homemade – it actually didn’t really even matter, they were good; and Mauro’s sweet breads, he said, were great! Mauro’s friends ordered the filet mignon with either mashed potatoes or French fries, and Mauro and I shared the skirt steak for two which was spiced and marinated without fault. Everyone was more than content with their choice . . . and I was exhilarated when after our entrees, Mauro’s friend Mirco started dipping the left over baguette into his glass of wine like how an American might imagine a hard-working NYC police man dipping his doughnut into his Dunkin-Doughnuts coffee (the spectacle of it was really that stereotypical). I was sad to admit that I had never seen anyone do that before, not even Mauro. Of course I had to try it. . . .
In total, there was nothing wrong with Azul; I have been there about seven times, and will continue to be a return customer. . . Even though I hope to move out of NYC soon. . . .I will visit when I come back.

Current News

2007-08-09T12:48:00.000-07:00

Mauro and I have been working hard at Falai restaurant in the Lower East Side. Fortunately I have been able to share our experience working together with some of you -- and some of you have been able to share my joy of tasting some of Mauro's food. My favorite so far is definitely his red beet risotto -- unbelievable. He also makes this smoked pasta with buffalo mozzarella, bonito broth jelly and caviar -- so good. We have started writing a list and making a book of all his recipes. Mauro is not only amazing with savory foods, but he is just as good with dessert. I love his intermezzo: either chamomile granite infused with kaffir lime, with a pine nut crumble -- and so much more, with fresh herbs and flowers; or even his watermelon and tomato water granite with so much more and olive oil, salt, and black or pink pepper. But what has topped it all for me in the dessert category was something Mauro said is an Italian classic: Pane e Cioccolato, sliced baguette toasted with chocolate ice cream, whose taste is as indescribeable as all the little ingredients Mauro puts into it.
Yes, Mauro has been busy, and I have had the pleasure of being the one to try all his dishes. It's been fun, and some of you have actually come to Falai and tried some of the above plates. Here are two links of two different writers who came together to Falai to enjoy the tasting menu there which included a mixture of Mauro's plates and dishes from the Falai menu (which is amazing as well): one is in Japanese and the other in English, but they both show some pictures of the plates, please have a look; http://www.kitamaruyuji.com/shiboukan/; and http://web.mac.com/mjnardone/iWeb/2007/Falai.html

On another side note and fun web stuff, a film student from Canada named Sorin emailed us and asked us if we would link his two short films about wine on our blog. Have a look:
http://www.metacafe.com/watch/732526/remove_wine_stains_with_milk_or_white_wine/
http://www.metacafe.com/watch/724199/open_a_bottle_of_wine_without_corkscrew/

Cooking at Home with Chef Mauro Buffo: Not your ordinary “home-cooking,” more like a five-course meal with wine pairing!

2007-07-01T09:50:00.000-07:00

When Mauro and I decide to have dinner at home on our day off, it’s not the easiest production, yet it is always an unbelievably delicious one. I am very grateful when he cooks for me, for my family and friends, because Mauro works more than anyone I know: 72+ hours per week, preparing food, cooking food – so on his only day off, it’s quite intense for him to cook yet again for another five or six hours. Then there’s also the factor that he doesn’t have the time in one day or the equipment in my apartment to prepare a menu of his standards – but what I love about him so much is that he can brush that aside and still cook, and above all, we still have such a nice time together.
Yes, Mauro does most of the cooking – just as I am rushing to try and learn Italian, I am also rushing to try and learn to cook in a manner that Mauro might actually be impressed by my skills – but I do help him in some aspects of the preparation. There are a lot of components that go into a good home-cooked meal. Here’s my list. (1) Lots of love and patience; (2) Good produce and high-grade products; (3) Proper utensils and space; (4) Preparation and planning, (5) Good ambiance; (6) Good wine to match well with your meal; (7) Good company; (8) And while you are cooking, try not to do too many other things – stay focused and attentive to your dish.

Mauro Buffo’s Menu:

First Course: Fried Soft Shell Crab

Second Course: Saffron Risotto with Gold Leaf (Marchesi style)

Third Course: Lobster Tail, Scallop, Shiitake Mushroom, Bok Choy, with Rhubarb sauce and Mushroom Reduction Sauce

Fourth Course: Cheese Plate

Dessert: Chocolate Ganache Cake, Cherry in a Sambuca-gelatin cube, Watermelon with Mint

Where We Shopped:

1) Caffé Falai, 265 Lafayette St. between Prince and Spring. Mauro and I buy our bread at Falai, it’s amazing, amazing, amazing. I love the whole wheat raisin with rosemary, and the fennel bread, but they also have focaccia and baguette as well. We also bought a Chocolate cake that seemed similar to a chocolate ganache cake, but I’m not sure what it was exactly, except phenomenal – dream!

2) China Town. Mauro and I have recently started to shop more in China Town than wholly at Whole Foods Market which can be so expensive. China Town actually has some amazingly fresh produce and fish for really, really cheap. What I would have spent $50 on produce – I spent $10 in China Town. All the greens that we purchased were really fresh and they do have some interesting options. It’s been awhile since I’ve actually used coins in my pocket to purchase food from a market. Chinatown also has great dried exotic mushrooms – probably the best price in NYC. There are many places to choose from, just explore and use your discretion. The scallops we bought were great, but the lobster tails which were frozen were not as fresh as they would have been at Whole Foods; but the live soft shell crabs were very tasty. Here is a link that lists some places to shop in China Town: http://www.explorechinatown.com/PDF/ShopperParadise.pdf

3) Di Paolo, 200 Grand St. between Mott and Mulberry. While you’re in China Town, stop by Little Italy’s favorite Italian shop where you can buy pastas, raviolis, risotto rice, bread, sauces, salumi, meats, cheese, oil – all Italian, and all amazing!

4) Murray’s Cheese, 254 Bleecker St. between 6th and 7th Ave, or 43rd St. and Lexington. However, we went to Murray’s Cheese to buy our cheese. We were looking for the Cashel Blue which is not so easy to find. Murray’s has an amazing selection of high quality cheese. www.murrayscheese.com/

5) Astor Wines and Spirits, 339 Lafayette at E.4th St. We didn’t go crazy with the wine and champagne because, honestly, we just can’t afford what we would love to have paired dinner with, so we made it simple and stuck with some of the mid-ranged white Italian wines, such as the Gini, Soave Classico 2006 (we now know that we prefer the Inama Du Lot, Soave Classico 2003); Kratos, Fiano, Maffini 2005 from Compania, Italy; Cantina Terlano, Sauvignon Blanc, Winkl from Alto Adige, Italy. http://www.astorwines.com/

6) Union Square Market, Union Square Park, 14th and Broadway, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, from 8am to 6pm. Mauro and I bought a few small herb plants to keep growing at the apartment and to use as an adding touch to the dishes: baby lemon-thyme, and baby purple basil. The market has a wide variety of flowers, to meats/fish, to fruits and vegetables – organic and traditional – even some homemade pies and breads.

** One nice thing about having guests over for dinner is that they usually bring some nice wine as well. Tony, an intuitive counselor ( www.tonyleroy.com/ ) brought an amazing white Bordeaux that I will search the city for: Chateau Talbot, Caillou Blanc 1998. Chateau Talbot is “one of the oldest dry white wines in the Medoc. It is made with 80% Sauvignon and 20% Semillon. It’s very subtle bouquet offers aromas of peaches and white blossom.” Check out the site: http://www.chateau-talbot.com/. This Bordeaux was amazing with the risotto. Tony also brought a bottle of Perrier Jouet Champagne that we ate with the first course of fried soft shell crab. I love Perrier Jouet. Here’s a great site that lists all the greatest champagnes and links to their official sites: http://www.maisons-champagne.com/traduction/english/limach_gb.htm

Mauro’s Recipes:

( I have to make a note that some things are just too difficult to note with Mauro’s cooking techniques – it would just be too exhausting. If you have any specific questions feel free to email Mauro at lovewineandcheese@gmail.com – maybe you want to know how to make your risotto better? I think Mauro could very possibly make one of the best risottos in the world. Mauro’s suggestion for pasta and risotto dishes were tweeked by Ferran Adrià and listed in the El Bulli book 2004 and 2005 – http://www.elbulli.com/libros_continuar.php?lang=en )

Fried Soft Shell Crab:

Mix 4 eggs with 200g of white flour and a half bottle of beer – whisk together and leave in the refrigerator for a half an hour.
Dip the live whole crab in the mixture and gently shake off the excess. Then dip the crab in semolina flour.
Meanwhile heat the oil to 180C (hot/not smoking). When ready put the soft shell crab in oil – deep fry until a golden color about three or four minutes.
The sauce that Mauro served on the side is made of coca cola, ginger juice, chopped chives, chopped shallots, mirin, soy sauce, sugar, and rice vinegar – just mix together
Additional on the plate was a yogurt sauce: yogurt mixed with a touch of olive oil
The crab was served on top of a bed of greens

Saffron Risotto with Gold Leaf – Marchesi Style:

This is a classic Marchesi risotto from Gualtiero Marchesi’s restaurant in Italy, a former three-star Michelin (Mauro worked with him for a few years). According to Mauro, in the 1980s Marchesi wanted to give more attention to his saffron risotto by adding gold leaf (saffron is one of the most expensive spices in the world). People, at that time in Italy never used gold leaf in the kitchen, only in pastry, so Marchesi adorned the dish with gold leaf giving more nobility to saffron. You can actually click onto this site and go to cuisine and see practically the identical dish with the recipe as well: http://www.marchesi.it/

First prepare the chicken stock (home-made chicken stock makes a huge difference). Roast chicken bones in a pan until golden. Add carrots, onions, and celery – about one inch pieces. Also add garlic, rosemary, white wine, and Madeira. Let the alcohol reduce and then add water – about three inches. Lightly boil/simmer for an hour and a half.
When ready, drain everything and keep the stock simmering on the stove (all the ingredients must be hot when mixing with the risotto).
For the rice – chop onions really, really thin. Heat a skillet very hot/not smoking and add olive oil and the onions. Cook on high temperature briefly and then turn down the flame cooking the onions slowly for a few minutes. Add the whole saffron – a few pinches (it’s easy to put too much). Then add the rice and toast for awhile until the rice is hot.
Add a half glass of white wine, let the alcohol evaporate for a minute. Now the rice starts sticking together. Pour in the hot chicken broth, about three-fourths of a gallon – add this in three pours – not all at once – constantly stirring. You should have a soupy consistency. Mix everything and add salt.
Meanwhile grate the parmesan. When the risotto is almost cooked – should still have a small piece of white inside (you want it al dente) – after almost ten minutes of stirring, take it off from the stove and add a few tablespoons of butter and double the amount of parmesan cheese.
Then add a few drops of white vinegar – if you don’t use acid butter.
If necessary add more chicken stock. The risotto has to be creamy – and if there is not enough saffron you can still add some now.
Plate the saffron and with great care add the gold leaf – it is very delicate and any wind or movement will break it apart – as seen in our picture.

Lobster Tail, Scallop, Shiitake Mushroom, Bok Choy, with Rhubarb sauce and Mushroom Reduction Sauce:

Peel one stem of rhubarb and slice really thin. Add one teaspoon of sugar and salt and set aside for ten minutes.
Meanwhile soak the dry mushrooms in water; you need one mushroom per person for the plate and another mushroom per person for the sauce. Let them sit for about twenty minutes.
Peel the lobster tail, one per person. Slice onion and roast the lobster shell and the onions together in olive oil. Put the lobster meat aside in the refrigerator.
Strain the mushroom and keep the water – add this to the lobster shells and onions. Then chop the mushrooms for the sauce, keeping in mind you need one whole mushroom per person for the plate. Add cilantro and let everything simmer together.
Put the remaining mushrooms soaking in water and light soy sauce.
Boil salted water in a pot (Mauro uses a lot of salt, like a huge whole handful) and blanche the bok choy – no more than ten seconds. Before blanching make sure you have salted ice water ready to put the blanched bok choy in immediately after.
While the bok choy is chilling and the lobster/mushroom sauce is simmering, cook the rhubarb for two minutes in a little bit of olive oil – until soft. Then put it in a blender, add about two teaspoons of ginger juice and mix together until a smooth pureed texture.
When the lobster sauce is reduced, about twenty five minutes, check for salt – add if needed. Mash everything together in a strainer, preserving just the thickened reduction sauce. You s should have about a cup and a half to two cups of sauce (if the sauce is not thick enough but the flavor is strong, add cornstarch, tapioca, or kuzu).
Now that you have both sauces prepared and the bok choy and mushrooms ready, heat a sauté pan; when hot add olive oil and sauté the scallop on one side (Mauro prefers cooking it on one side without flipping), and the lobster tail (keep in mind that the lobster tail, ours was small, cooks faster. Meanwhile, heat the bok choy and mushroom in the soy sauce liquid (do not cook). When the lobster and scallops are cooked to temperature take off the stove and add salt.
Warm the lobster sauce – the rhubarb sauce is fine room temperature – then plate everything in whatever design you find pleasing – in Mauro’s plate he had one piece of mushroom, bok choy, lobster tail, and scallop per person.
To finish Mauro added a piece of the fresh flowering lemon-thyme and baby purple basil.

Cheese Plate:

One slice each of Cashel Blue, “a sumptuous, mellow, creamy cow’s milk blue from Ireland” (we discovered this delicious blue from the cheese plate at Wallsé); La Tur, “a blend of cow, goat, and sheep’s milk – a specialty from the Alta Lange region of Italy” (one of our absolute favorites); and Formaggio Di Fossa, “a raw Italian Pecorino that’s been buried in the ground for three months.”
We served the cheese naked on a plate (without any accruements) and with sliced bread from Caffe Falai on the side.

Chocolate Ganache Cake, Cherry in a Sambuca-gelatin cube, Watermelon with Mint:

I’m not sure if the cake we bought from Caffe Falai was a Chocolate Ganache or what, but it was creamy and absolutely perfect. The dessert was served on a plate similar to the arrangement of the cheese. One slice of the cake which was the main dessert, and then Mauro made a few creative compositions to lively up the last and final course.
To make the cherry in a sambuca-gelatin cube (which was a favorite of all), mix 200g of water with 100g of sambuca, the juice from a half of a lemon, and one teaspoon of sugar. Take out one-third of this liquid and warm it up. While warming the mixture, put three sheets of gelatin in cold water for ten minutes. After these two steps, place the gelatin in the warm sambuca mixture and whisk together.
De-pit the cherries (there’s a nifty utensil for this), and in an empty ice-cube tray place one cherry in each compartment and fill with the gelatin mixture. Leave everything in the refrigerator until a jello-like consistency.
The Watermelon with mint was made to be eaten as the last bite of the whole entire dinner. Mauro cubed pieces of watermelon, one per person, and placed a strip of the Listerine mint breath freshener strips on one side of the watermelon. This definitely gives you a kick, but you know you are done after you eat it.

Dinner was amazing; I was completely full afterwards; everyone left with huge smiles on their face – and it didn’t make a huge dent in the wallet. All together dinner lasted around three and a half to four hours – which I love – I hate it when you cook all day and serve everything together in one course and then you are done in about twenty-minutes. On this night, the cooking preparation was just about equal to the time we took to enjoy.
Thanks Mauro:)

Pudding Stones: What is a pudding stone?

2007-06-17T16:00:00.000-07:00

I must admit, I am a little embarrassed. I called the co-owner (he’s my friend) of this beautiful enchanting wine bar on the upper east side the other day to ask him what a pudding stone was – I knew it was one of those stones that were really smooth and so pleasurable to rub your fingers all over, but I didn’t know the “absolute” meaning of a pudding stone (Bobby Khorami and Peter Rabasco are the owners of newly opened Pudding Stones Wine Bar and Restaurant on 3rd Ave between 82nd and 83rd St.). Being “unconscious” as I still find myself in little pocket moments of my life, I wasn’t proactive and sought instead the easy way out – ‘let me just call him and have him tell me what it means,’ I thought to myself. Well, I was delighted, and yet felt a little stupid when I went onto his website, www.puddingstoneswinebar.com/, and found that this question: “What is a pudding stone?” was immediately addressed. Here is what was written: “Wine is called "Pudding Stone" because of the large stones covering the floor of the vineyard which consists of large smooth pebbles that are either Lydian, Quartz or Pudding Stone called Grave de Palassou. This outstanding terroir is ideal for making great wine. The stones retain heat and warm the fruit and soils allowing the grapes to achieve maximum ripeness.”
Okay, now I feel better. I don’t like really liking something and not knowing anything about it; for example the 2002 Petite Sirah we ordered by the bottle, by Barra of Mendocino. I love wines from Mendocino, not only because I know that the region produces some great wines, but because I used to live in Mendocino county, and anything grew amazingly there – it was my first real garden – full of heirloom tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, cherry tomatoes, watermelon, cantaloupe – and it was one of the best experiences of my life. I lived in the middle of wine country and as the seasons passed by I could witness the thick warped and gnarled stalks of old wine stems transform into beautiful little trees with perfect green leaves and awe-inspiring grapes that delicately hung from the life-force of that immobile “creature.” Not only did I know something intimate about Mendocino, I knew as well that Petite Sirah was not Syrah, like most would automatically associate, and I had been wanting to try a non-italian wine with Mauro for awhile. My wine taste buds grew up on California wine, so I still harbor some Cali-pride, even if I am being blown away with Mauro’s Italian picks.
What is Petite Sirah if it’s not syrah? Once again, I had to look to the internet for an answer: “Although the nomenclature is similar and Petite Sirah is a true offspring of Syrah, the vines and grapes of parent and child are quite different and distinct from one another and these varieties should never be used synonymously. In April, 2002, the TTB announced they will forthwith consider Petite Sirah and Durif synonymous for use on wine labels.” (For more info on Petite Sirah, I got the above description from: http://www.winepros.org/wine101/grape_profiles/petite.htm).
I don’t know about you, but I love to try new things. Yes, Mauro and I have our favorite spots and favorite everythings, but how did they become our best? At one point we had to do something different and take a chance, try something new, and this night Mauro and I did something completely out of the range from our regular downtown Manhattan routine and I had one of the best nights I’ve had in awhile. Not only did we go all the way uptown to Spanish Harlem to have Mexican food with my good friend Marcus Burrowes, but after dinner we decided to stay on the upper east side and spend some time in a new neighborhood. I called some friends to meet us there, and Mauro and I were delightfully joined in waves of different groups, one coming as the other was leaving. Not that I wouldn’t have rather had them all together at once, but it was nice to see New Yorkers leave their neighborhood and “trek” uptown to be with friends and drink wine and eat cheese.
That’s what I love about wine bars, how we come together and share history swirling in our hands and then indulged into our bodies. It’s a wonderful feeling, it’s a warm feeling, and it’s nice to find a clean and beautiful place like Pudding Stones where the atmosphere is conducive to conversation and the service is very good. The manager Mike, took amazing care of us – like I said. Everyone was coming in groups, and it was a Monday night around midnight, when some friends/cooks from Le Cirque who I had worked with finally made it uptown – Mike told us, in no way making us feel uncomfortable, that we were welcome to stay a little while longer and that he would let us know when last call was. This doesn’t sound like it should be a notable quality – but believe you me, I think the worst part about service in NYC is that most servers are so spoiled and lazy that when that clock gets near to ticking towards them saying goodnight, this nasty, horrific attitude comes out of them as if they were Jekyll and Hyde. I know you all know what I’m talking about if you have ever been to a restaurant near closing time. So Mike, I thank you, you made us all feel so welcome. Customer service is getting worse and worse in America and I think it’s a huge reflection on society – so please take a moment to consider how we all have helped to create and attitude of disinterest and un-caring to our fellow neighbors and how very often, just getting a job done and making money has become more important than finding a job that you would like to do with passion. Personally, I’m tired of spending my money somewhere and getting an attitude as well as dissatisfactory product.
But Pudding Stones didn’t make me feel that way. The ambiance is very relaxed, and the music is great. If anyone ever underestimates the impact of music in an establishment, think again. Music is like the backbone of your whole environment, and Erin, my very beautiful and amazingly magnetic fellow-Aquarian girlfriend could not help but be “totally ecstatic” about the play list that night. As I came to find out, Erin loves Jill Scott. So, to wrap up this report, Pudding Stones had everything I believe a wine bar needs: nice ambiance, good music, solid wine menu (they had a nice selection of Old and New World wines), a nice cheese plate and other food options, and perfect service (not over-the-top and never rude or dismissive). I hate going to a wine bar wanting to try something new and you get that feeling that no one is really there to help you – at Pudding Stones you will get love and attention – and my god do I need that in my life!

Spanish Harlem: a piece of the "outside world" America!

2007-06-17T15:38:00.000-07:00

Why would Mauro and I go to a Mexican restaurant in Spanish Harlem? There are plenty of good, fun, and exciting Mexican restaurants in “white” Manhattan, like the new La Esquina, the long-time over-priced American favorites like Dos Caminos and Rosa Americano, or even the more “authentic” Mexican restaurant on the upper west side called Frida, where the mole is fantastic, the guacamole perfect, and where drinking Mexican hot chocolate on a winter afternoon surrounded by “real” and attractive Latin-American people truly draw you into another environment other than NYC. I must admit, Frida’s interior design brings me back to sitting in a tequileria in Playa Del Carmen (one hour south of Cancun in Mexico), getting drunk off the best margaritas in the world while listening to Mariachi bands pass me by every ten minutes (Mama Mexico is also a great Mexican restaurant where a live Mariachi band plays throughout the restaurant all night. My favorite song to ask for? Besame, besame mucho, como si fuera esta noche la ultima vez, the most romantic classic ever!). So with all of these wonderful Mexican beaux restaurants why would Mauro and I go all the way to Spanish Harlem?
One might think: “because it’s cheaper!” But not a valid point. There are plenty of good, cheap Mexican joints in “white” Manhattan as well, that are much easier to get to and potentially less dangerous; for example, my all time favorite is a small burrito spot across the street from Nice Matin on the east side of Amsterdam between 79th and 80th street. I have been going there for over ten years now! They have amazing frijoles, tortilla soup, tamales, burritos, tacos, and chicken tostadas, to name a few. I must be honest that I’m not a big fan of the quesadillas. They also have the best green chile salsa that I have ever had in my life (ask for the medium spicy salsa). Another small Mexican joint which is not small in popularity, flavor, and debatably on price is Mexicana Mama on Hudson street. The food was very interesting, very good, and the design very Mexican, but there were only white girls working there when I went – strange – but don’t worry, I guarantee there were Mexicans working in the kitchen. I mean really, what kitchen in Manhattan doesn’t have a Mexican working there? (Like my father would say, “that is merely an observation, not a judgement)
Okay, I’ll stop the suspense. The reason Mauro and I went all the way up to Spanish Harlem is not only because my long-time friend Marcus Burrowes invited us to try it with him and had said that it was his favorite Mexican spot in NYC (which is good enough reason to go), but because. . . (and I’m sure Mauro feels the same). . .I miss Mexico. I miss Mexico, and I miss Belize (Belize is adjacent to Mexico’s southern border and is also west of Guatemala). Even though the Mexican restaurants previously mentioned all recreate flavors and designs of Mexico’s history and culture, they don’t have the same local vibe. They have more of the vibe you would experience in the tourist areas of the country, like Playa Del Carmen.
What is the “local vibe?” It’s most likely not something most Manhattaners are looking for when they go out to dinner, but then again I don’t associate myself or Mauro, or Marcus with “most Manhattaners.” Let me try and explain – Mauro, Marcus, and I walked down 116th St. between 2nd and 3rd avenue to where, Marcus would have to find by its large neon lights: La Hacienda. It was then that I really first noticed that both Mauro and Marcus were wearing tight white, thin legged jeans. They both have great style (Marcus is actually a designer and owns his own clothing company with his cousin Sean Reveron called RockersNYC (check out their official website at http://www.rockersnyc.com/ and an interview with them at http://www.hypebeast.com/2006/09/rockers-nyc-interview-by-paul-mittleman/ ), but I was also ecstatic when I saw the outside of La Hacienda, glowing in the dark night of the city. The restaurant was really big for a small Mexican joint. It was built of red-clay looking stones which was really fantastic. Then upon entering there was this one huge wooden table set next to an open wooden-paneled window with a beautiful dyed-blond haired Mexican woman eating alone with two huge plates of food in front of her.
“This is perfect!” I thought as old-school ranchera music blasted through the speakers. Not only was the environment very “natural” for NYC, but there were also vines and plants weaving their way throughout the whole restaurant it seemed. I even began wondering, ‘maybe there were live chickens in the back, Mauro would be so excited – maybe if I walked through the kitchen door I could enter what I called “Latin American treasure land,” like how the little girl and boy from the movie Narnia, entered another world by walking through the closet. The music, the Mexican people who had not yet been Americanized and still had the culture of their country alive in their daily lives made me remember the “outside world.”
The outside world – NYC was filled with people from this territory, and how quickly assimilation occurred – and confusion – conflicting realities – NYC was a vacuum – easy to get sucked into and hard to get out of. If only I could walk to Mexico from NYC like my friends from San Diego could do. If I could leave NYC and experience another “real world” every so often, I would love NYC more, I promise. I think that is why I love restaurants, and why I love NYC restaurants: you can find a piece of the whole entire world in NYC.
Okay, for the food – it was good, but nothing to go crazy over. The guacamole was solid (we had two orders for the table), the negro modelo was cold and absolutely perfect, and the entrees. . . . they were a bit more difficult. Marcus ordered a special plate of jalapenos, onions, and vinegar (note to reader, don’t ever order anything special if you cannot speak the same language as anyone in the restaurant! A big no,no). It took Mauro and I and even Marcus about five minutes to try and explain, even to the owner, what Marcus had gotten the last time he went to La Hacienda, and yes, wanted again (note to restaurant owners, don’t make people special orders and then don’t remember them – or just don’t make special orders in general – it will make everyone’s life easier!) So, about five minutes later, the waitress returned with a pleasant smile on her and a huge, huge bowl of jalapeños and onions – exactly what Marcus had wanted, but just a little bigger than he had expected (yet they didn’t even charge us for it).
Both Marcus and I ordered the fried fish which came with the same jalapenos and onions on top, and Mauro ordered chicken enchiladas with mole sauce (Mauro and I were sharing). The fish could have been good if it hadn’t been completely over-fried. I was so excited to see Mauro’s face when he told me “I’ll fillet the fish.” ‘That’s going to be quite a challenge I thought to myself and just stared at Mauro while he began what he hoped would have been an easy swipe of his knife down the spine of the fish – that didn’t happen though. I really liked the chicken enchiladas – but Mauro wasn’t a huge fan – I don’t think he’s a huge fan of mole sauce in general. Every dish came with rice and beans. I then turned my exciting attention from Mauro trying to fillet the fish to Marcus who was diving into his refried beans. I turned to him and stared and said, “Um, I don’t know if I want to tell you this, but you know refried beans are made with lard right?”
Marcus looked at me with an innocent glare, “yeah,” he said, “but I asked them last time I was here and they said they didn’t make them with lard.”
“Oh,” I smiled, this night was just too entertaining, “you asked them in English right?” I looked at Marcus and continued, “the same English you used to ask them for your jalapenos right?”
He looked at me blankly, unsure of what to believe anymore – but we double checked for him in Spanish and come to find out they actually make their refried beans with oil instead of lard.
But to me it all didn’t matter that much. I wasn’t going there specifically for the food but for the experience (Just to note, Marcus said that the last time he was there the fish was perfect, and I absolutely believe him). All of us left full, except Mauro, and the total cost of our bill with tip was $30/person, which included five negro modelos.
In conclusion, I had the best Mexican night experience since my visits to Belize and Mexico and if you have that adventurer side to you, I would recommend taking the trip and experiencing a different part of NYC culture that has not been designated to please an American public: and if you do order the fish, just let them know that you don’t want the fish too-fried. Here’s the gringo way to say that in Spanish (Marcus, quick, grab your pen/pencil) – no quiero el pescado bien frito (I don’t want the fist too-fried).
Note: I take no responsibility for anyone who is not street smart and acts stupid in Spanish Harlem. Just to let it be known, any place that has the label “Harlem” involved has a reputation of being potentially dangerous. Go at your own risk.

(I just wanted to let you know of one other restaurant that I absolutely love where I also feel like I have walked into the “outside world,” and is not located in any place with the word harlem attached – it’s actually located in Chelsea, our very gay friendly neighborhood. This restaurant, however, is a Venezuelan restaurant, not Mexican. It’s called Cocotera, and is located on 18th St. between 7th and 8th Ave. It is one of my favorite lunch spots. On Thursdays they specially prepare Mandocas which are a classic Venezuelan street food made from boiled plantains which are then made into a dough, shaped similar to a pretzel, and then fried and served with a dipping mild cream and a grated mild white cheese. They’re amazing. Cocotera also has awesome arepas – even arepas with shark meat. All in all it’s great food, great atmosphere, and the Venezuelan owners and workers are so nice and friendly.)

Bar Veloce, sticky like honey with parmesan cheese sprinkled on top!

2007-05-27T21:16:00.000-07:00

To be honest I’ve never had much passion for this bar, and yet I find myself returning. I first went to the bar veloce in the east village (175 2nd Ave.) almost three years ago with my girlfriend Maggie. We wanted to meet for a glass of wine, and back then wine bars were not as popular as they are now, so our choices were limited. But Bar Veloce always stuck in my head – and I have returned, maybe even close to ten times.
Forcing myself to consider what it is that sticks about this small Italian wine bar with two locations in Manhattan, the east village and the other in Chelsea (176 7th Ave), I’ve come to a quick conclusion: it’s the design and the attire of the employees – not the wine list, or service. However, this sticking thing does not mean that it’s a 100% good sticking. I was presented with this choice of good sticking and bad sticking on my last day of work at Le Cirque (Yes, I left Le Cirque). So my co-employees were discussing what they should do to me before I left – one of the more lovely choices was to go upstairs to the dessert kitchen and get smothered with hot chocolate (now that doesn’t sound so bad!) – but the other more popular vote was to take honey and smear it on me and then throw parmesan cheese on top, there was also talk about bread and wine and photos, but at that point I walked away not wanting to be involved in anything sticky. I told them I would indeed press charges if the latter occurred.
Unfortunately, if I had to assign one of the above processes of sticking to Bar Veloce, it wouldn’t be the chocolate effect. There is some honey at Bar Veloce, but then again, there’s parmesan cheese mixed in – and not the kind that melts either (Mauro hates that kind of parmesan). I do like Bar Veloce, and yet I would never just go to Bar Veloce if I wanted a wine bar, now that I know Otto exists – see when I used to go, I think Otto had just opened and I didn’t know about that jewel that sparkled only a few blocks away from my apartment.
Okay, let’s quickly get down to the semantics. The wine list is small and there is nothing that spectacular. They have wines that are enjoyable to drink, but Mauro nor I have ever gotten excited over anything that we’ve tried. The cheapest wines by the bottle are $32 and you know that you’re not going to really enjoy those, so we’ve tried the $40 bottles, but still, they were not that much better. What makes the choice for wine even more difficult is that it is an Italian wine bar specializing in Italian wines that are pretty much unheard of, and the wine bartender (what’s the proper name for those people? I don’t think they’re sommeliers??) is not enthusiastic about letting you try the wines to see which one you like, or doesn’t even pretend to be interested in making any suggestions about the wine. It’s kind of an oxymoron, no, actually it kind of sucks!
To highlight, and yet to not go off about this “issue” of non-interest, is my question of why would we want to return to a place where we ordered a lot off the menu, stayed for almost four hours plus, tried to ask questions about the menu, but never got much of any interest, or even ‘a complimentary glass of wine” (Mauro’s concern: In Italy, when you stayed at a wine bar for hours and spent money they always gave you at least a glass of wine.).
So we ordered the “kratos_ luigi maffini ’05 (campania)” for $52/bottle. According to the menu it’s “fiano_full, warm, smooth with a resplendent finish, remarkable minerality, a sensational representation of this varietal”. It was okay, but didn’t compare to white wines for that price at Otto (sorry, I’m obsessed!). But we did find a wine by the glass that we really enjoyed. Our friend Kamil, who I used to work with when I was serving at Klee Brasserie joined us late, around midnight, and we all had a glass of the “sangue blu_torre quarto ’04 (puglia)” for $10/glass. It’s “negroamaro_full-bodied, dark, juicy, black cherries, dried plums, chocolate.” We were all very happy with that choice, and even to how we came to choose it by default.
By the time Kamil joined Mauro and I, we were just finishing our bottle of Kratos, and had already been to the Isole e Olena wine tasting at Otto’s. Needless to say, we were a little more tipsy than most our Monday excursions. Even though the bartender was despondent about suggesting some of the wines they served by the glass, I wanted to try a few before I committed to my last glass for the night (the sangue blu), and to my most fantastic expectations I looked at him, thinking I was going to ask for a taste of the falanghina white they had on the glass list and ended up asking instead: “Can I try the farfallina?”
“The what?” He asked; thank god he wasn’t Italian.
“The farfallina,” I still had not realized that I had mistaken the falanghina for farfallina, a new word I had learned in Italian (Farfallina is a cutesy way to say a woman’s private parts.)
“I’m sorry but we don’t have anything called farfallina.” At that point I realized what I had said and started laughing hysterically and looked at Mauro who just kept quiet, unsure at first whether or not the bartender understood what I was asking for.
“No, I meant the falanghina. . . Sorry,” I said while still dying of laughter.
But the falanghina wasn’t that good, and uncomfortable to ask for a taste of something else we just went with our luck and chose right with the sangue blu.
To note some of the food, which I will do as quickly as the food came and went into our mouths (portions small and not generous), we tried the “piatto veloce_an assortment of meats and cheese for two,” the panini, and the tramezzini. The cheese and meat plate for two would not even suffice for me alone (eaten so fast that we didn’t even get a picture!); however the quality of the food was good and fresh – like I said, a mixture of honey drizzled with parmesan cheese! They served caciotta, parmesan, and buffalo mozzarella. Caciotta cheese is “considered to be one of the traditional farmhouse cheeses that are rural and artisian in nature. Produced from a blend of ewe and cow’s milk – semi-soft texture with a creamy firm consistency.” The parmesan and mozzarella should need no explanation. They were all thinly sliced which I don’t think is the best for a cheese plate, but, but, but, they were all fresh and tasty. . . The meats were sopressata, ham, and salame – all of which I could and have bought from whole foods. I could have eaten two plates, at least, to my head and still have had room for the panini and tramezzini that followed.
The “panini_hot pressed sandwiches” are probably the best to eat if your hungry and don’t want to spend too much money. You get four half pieces of panini (white sandwich bread) and they are unarguably tasty. However, when I asked Mauro what he thought about the “tramezzini_three layered finger sandwiches,” which he has told me in the past are some his favorite types of sandwiches, he said, “the worst I’ve ever had. One slice of prosciutto!” It was lame. We ordered the “prosciutto di san daniele_mozzarella, tomato, basil pesto,” and first the tomatoes weren’t really good and definitely too thick compared to the ratio of prosciutto – one thin, thin slice pasted ontop of the basil pesto. You couldn’t even taste the prosciutto (nothing compared to the sandwiches at Caffe Falai. . .ummmm!).
Hence, to wrap up this not so exciting but sticky affair with Bar Veloce, we asked Kamil some of his impressions. “Did you like the décor? Were there any specific styles or details that your loved or disliked?”
“The bathroom was spacious and inviting. I could see adjacent windows/ (a terrace?) out the back window – that was kind of cool.” Kamil always notices the nuances that I would have otherwise overlooked. For me, I do like the décor at the Bar Veloce in Chelsea and I think that other than it being a few blocks away from Klee Brasserie where Mauro works, it’s the reason I have returned more than just a few times – because really I don’t like the wine list that much. The Bar Veloce in Chelsea is very spacious indeed and has nice high wooden tables to sit at as well as a long wooden bar. The wine bottles lined up in a horizontal manner with their bases exposed creating a mesmerizing pattern is nice to look at while drinking wine and talking. I’m not too hot about the bartender outfits which at time have created that “stuffy sommelier” look that makes me just assume they are uptight assholes, for which at times they have proven to be such – but the bartender at Chelsea wasn’t as stuffy as the one that served me in the East Village. Mauro loves the outfits of the Mexican guys who make the panini and slice the meat and cheese. He really gets excited over the hat, the grey jacket and tie – it really is a nice effect. Oh, and of course what Mauro loves is that there’s usually a Vespa outside the bar. What sticks for me is the décor and the design. . . Just a note, the Bar Veloce in the East Village is very bright and if I remember correctly, white walls, where as the one in Chelsea is much more demure and dark.
Overall I would never suggest that you go out of your way to try Bar Veloce, but actually in the neighborhoods they dwell, they are one of the nicer places to go to. I asked Kamil if he would return to Bar Veloce and he said, “I’d go back, but we got 15,000 restaurants to go to, no?"

Otto and the wine tasting of Paolo De Marchi, Isole E Olena

2007-05-13T21:05:00.000-07:00

Tucked away on the corner of 8th St and Fifth avenue, one block north of beautiful Washington Sq. Park, now bursting with the bloom of cherry blossoms and magnolias, yet far enough away from the hustle and bustle of NYU is Otto, Mauro and my favorite wine bar.
I can’t even explain how this bar hits our satisfaction levels on every note, it would be exhausting to try and gage. The wine list, for a start, is unbeatable and forever evolving; the antipasti and pizza/pasta menu is perfectly focused and simple with fresh high quality product; and neither the wines nor the food compete to draw attention away from the other: they are both solid.
On top of that dignified possession of a remarkable food and wine list emanates the atmosphere of a prestigious Italian enoteca, which I love. These spectacular wine bottles that someone has drank in the past, lurk in all the nooks and crannies of the restaurant (and yet are not dusty), spying on you as if they are the spiritual ancestors who have built Otto’s foundation and integrity (that acclaim should most likely be given to Mario Batali who also owns Lupa, Del Posto, Casa Mono, Bar Jamon, Esca, and Babbo – to just name the ones in NYC – which are very well-known).
Yet somehow this Italian enoteca does not lose its “essence” in its attempt “to be” an Italian wine bar. Maybe it’s due to the acceptance and embracing of the fact that it’s not in Italy. There is this amazing culmination of some of the greatest products of Italy, but they are presented with the perfect amount of reality: Otto is still smack dab in the middle of Greenwich Village – far away from Mauro, my love’s homeland. Mauro and I go there every Friday night, and yes, we are excited each time to try a new bottle of Italian wine and eat great Italian antipasti and cheese that makes Mauro say, “Babe, this reminds me of sitting with my friends in a bar in Italy!” But Otto also plays amazing music that brings together the diversity of cultures one finds in a place unlike anywhere else in the world, the village of Manhattan. Some nights at Otto the set list will be Bob Marley, Israel Vibrations, or a reggae dub vibration mix; and another night they’re blasting Kazabian, or Block Party, some of Mauro’s favorite bands – but whatever it is, there always seems to be an element of surprise when you go to Otto – and it’s not about which famous movie star or person you might see there that night.
What’s even greater about Otto is that we’ve even made friends there. It’s the perfect environment for someone like me who doesn’t go to a bar to get drunk, or to a club to do drugs, but who constantly likes to experience new wines, foods and cultures. I love to learn, eat, and enjoy. Otto attracts this great “foodie, winey,” creative individualistic, intelligent crowd of people, from young college rockers to retired professionals, which I think is wonderful. It’s not that everybody talks to everybody, but the workers at Otto are very warm and very welcoming, everyone saying hi to you every time you come, so you feel like you have something in common with all the other people there – you are their guest.
Now, I was going to just write about Bar Veloce, which Mauro and I had been to a few times before, but I had to write about Otto because the sommelier, Peter Jamros, invited us last minute to a wine tasting event with Paolo De Marchi for his production of Isole E Olena. Mauro and I could not say no, even though we had planned to go to Bar Veloce that same night to do our next write up about them.
Mauro, of course, had heard of Isole E Olena before. “I’ve tried the syrah when I was working in Le Calandre, so I knew it was very good. I was really excited to meet this guy. First because the name of the wine is different, it’s not Tenuta or Podere which means something like ‘the fields where I grow my wine.’ It’s called Isole E Olena, completely different.” I, of course, had no idea what we were going to, or who or what Isole E Olena was – but I was pleasantly surprised. After being warmly greeted by Peter who seemed to speak with just as warm body language (arms open and flailing as if he was Italian – he’s from Boston) as his words, “Great! I’m so glad you could make it. Come over here, let me introduce you to everyone, and oh, let me get you some Prosecco. Everyone, this is Mauro and Jordana,” and he even went on to tell everyone who we had never met before how wonderful our blog was. “Peter makes everyone feel at home,” Mauro turned to me and said.
Then there was Paolo De Marchi, whose gentle, proud, confident and yet humble character even further warmed the room. This wine tasting got better and better by the minute. When Mauro and I finally left we felt like we had really gone somewhere and experienced something important and effective. Paolo De Marchi was one of those noble and charming gentlemen that you just wanted to invite into your home and sit down with a bottle of wine to share stories and discuss important news. There he was, coming all the way from Italy, standing next to us in Otto flanked by bottles amongst bottles of his own wonderful wines and he wasn’t even trying to have the spotlight. He, himself, was enjoying the tasting and getting to know everyone who had joined the group that evening from about seven to ten pm. He even invited Mauro and me to visit him when we go to Italy this fall!
I couldn’t help but think all night, ‘it just doesn’t get better than this!” And of course it did, how could it not with all the wine and the food. . . .the most perfect degustation. We started with a Chardonnay 2005 and I must say that right from the start I noticed that the wines of Paolo De Marchi were very unique and memorable. I’m the type of wine drinker that when I order a Chardonnay, or Chianti, I don’t want the stereotypical taste of that wine; I want something different. I want something to catch my attention and carry me away from the expected characteristics of the grape . . . . something that sends me searching – ‘ooh, a touch of vanilla; oh, perfect acidity; ah, nice bite; um, green apple; yeah, some mineral; yes, great body!’ – and yet somehow when I’m done I’ve come right back to the root of the grape and think – ‘wow this is an amazing Chardonnay!’
All of Paolo De Marchi’s wines had this crazy balance of intensity and concentration, which is something I noted Peter and Paolo talking about. There was so much character almost bursting at the seams within his wines and yet it was all perfectly contained and not overwhelming to your senses. After taking a sip of the Chianti Classico 2004, which brought me right back to sitting in Italy with my mom drinking bottles of red Italian wine during lunch because it was so good, I looked up at Paolo De Marchi who seemed so saturated with knowledge and wisdom, and very balanced himself and thought, ‘this man is in this wine!’ He has a secret; you could see it in his eyes and in his character and concentration. He was a happy man.
I once heard someone say, ‘you can tell how sexy a woman was not by the way she dressed and how she showed her body, but by how happy her partner was walking down the street with her.’ A woman did not have to flaunt herself; her sexiness was her secret. Well, Paolo De Marchi has a secret, and I don’t know what it is, but his wines are sexy and original and I would only dream of going to visit him and see his vineyards or tenuta in Italy.
To further mention some of his wine, we tasted a Cepparello 2003, which neither Mauro nor I had ever heard of before, but for which Mauro said was one of his favorites of the night. We also had a Syrah 2003, which was the most amazing syrah I’d ever tried. I’m not big on syrah because, well, they were usually too ‘big’ and fruit forward for me, but again to mention this balance of concentration that I feel was at least characteristic in this particular batch of wines we tried from Isole E Olena; the syrah had everything a syrah should have had and yet there was enough room in your mouth and taste buds to dance and play more, with maybe even some food, which let me not fail to mention was superb. Have you ever tried Otto’s sliced meats? Prosciutto, pancetta, coppa, salame, testa!
“Testa, wow!” Mauro shook his hand with approval. “Testa is a head, all of the head and you take out the bones and roll it up!”
“Roll up what?” I asked Mauro; it sounded gross.
“The head without the bones,” Mauro looked at me like I was stupid. But I was just messing with him. I had tried the testa and it was really good. Then Peter brought out a selection of antipasti – asparagus and pecorino, cauliflower ‘alla siciliana’, eggplant caponatina, lentils ‘toscana’, roasted beets and saba, house cured olives, funghi misti – and something to die for which I have sadly realized they only serve on Mondays – bruschetta with eggplant, mint and red pepper (it sounds simple but I tried to make it at home and it’s not; and it’s so good it’s worth going there on a Monday just to try). That’s what I absolutely love about Otto; the notion that you take a sip of the wine and think, ‘wow, this is just beautiful!’ then you take a bite of food and think, ‘shit, this is fantastic too!’ You don’t really know which one to spend more time with that you just get lost within the confusion of being stimulated on all different levels and instead sink into the enjoyment of satisfaction. I mean, what’s better than being comatosed by good food, good wine, good music, and good company?
And it wasn’t even over yet. Peter then poured another wine, the Costa Delle Seisa 2004 which is not of Isole E Olena, but Sperino (I’m sorry, but I was lost at this point and cannot explain why the last wine was not Isole E Olena, but I assume it was still made by Paolo De Marchi). Whatever it was, it was phenomenal – nebbiolo – and went perfect with the “off the hook” cheese plate: a little ricotta, taleggio, pecorino, gorgonzola, and parmigiano reggiano . . . and of course the trademark accouterments that Mauro and I ate every Friday night with our weekly cheese plate – fresh bread, sweet cherries, spiced sweet apricots, and truffle honey.
Let me just say that Mauro and I were practically crying having to leave in order to still have room in our stomachs and integrity in our taste buds to go to Bar Veloce in Chelsea (which will have to wait to be written up because it just couldn’t beat Otto). We really didn’t want to leave, there was more food and wine left over, and we had even made friends, this great couple, Amanda and Mike, who have been going to Otto every Sunday since it’s opened. The sommelier from Babbo, Colum Sheehan, also showed up in the middle of the event and we all had so much to talk about . . . a shared passion . . . and we felt like we belonged . . . people who loved what we loved, and we had to leave! Mauro said, “I was actually a little drunk, remember? I loved the atmosphere. The wine seller of Paolo De Marchi, I don’t think he understood everything I was saying, it was difficult to talk in English after five or six glasses of wine!” And Mauro and I are definitely not alone. After the wine tasting, still dreaming of such a spectacular event, I emailed Amanda and Mike and asked them for some reflections about their feelings on Otto; I thought I should end this appraise with what they had to say: “When Otto first opened we lived around the corner. We would wade through feet of snow just to get there in the early days. The consistent quality of the food was a real draw, but the honest lure was the sense of innovation that accompanied each dish. As the years have gone by, many of those innovations became menu staples. And yet Otto keeps on dreaming and finding new and fresh ways to optimize the season's bounty in excellent fare. The environment is warm and welcoming, all of the staff have an infectious passion for the wine and the food and the value it should hold in one's life. It quicklybecame home.

Falai: our Monday morning cappuccino and pastry/sandwich/pasta spot

2007-04-29T21:03:00.000-07:00

(I wanted to let Mauro talk more about this restaurant because he is the one who introduced it to me and it is very Italian and serves Italian dishes that I can barely pronounce. After being with Mauro for some time now, I’ve humbly come to recognize that most of the “Italian dishes” that I know how to cook are dishes he’s never even heard about it Italy, like shrimp scampi or chicken parmigiano, and that they aren’t really even Italian, but probably just American. That’s why I love Falai, it’s really Italian, the only hint of American influence is the alternative to popular music being played, the eclectic mix of servers, cooks, baristas, and customers, and the fact that it’s located in Soho, Manhattan NY; other than that I feel like I am somewhere way cooler than what most of our American establishments have evolved into – something easily reproduced and even boring – sorry America, but I’m one of your disappointed offspring! Below I have recorded some questions that I, Jordana asked Mauro about Caffe Falai.)

J: Mauro, what do you like about Falai?

M: He’s Italian, first.

J: Why do you like it that he’s Italian? I didn’t mean Iacopo Falai anyway, I meant the restaurant.

M: Okay, for me I was thinking about Iacopo. Iacopo is like the black rooster of Italian chefs in NY – because – the black rooster is the symbol of Chianti and he came from Florence, Tuscany, and for me . . . even . . . black rooster means something different. He’s not like everybody. What do you say here? In Italy we say ‘black sheep,’ but I just changed it to the symbol of Chianti.

J: What makes him different?

M: Because he’s still a kind of underground, Iacopo. He knows that to make business in NY you have to be on the show but at the same time he still wants to stay underground. He still wakes up at five a.m. to make the bread. If the bread needs to be made, he’ll do it. He doesn’t have someone else to just do everything for him.

J: He’s a hard worker.

M: Yes, absolutely.

J: What do you like about his food?

M: He’s a pastry chef but still he knows the taste of food. He knows how to cook, or at least he knows what is right and what is wrong in the kitchen and he tries to . . . I don’t know how to translate. .

J: Why do you go there every Monday?

M: Because I like Iacopo, first. I love the bread he has; it’s really good, really good. It’s not warm. Bread doesn’t have to be warm.

J: What’s wrong with bread being warm?

M: First it makes you feel already full, warm bread. Second, you can’t taste the real flavor with warm bread. Third because even a three days old warm bread is good because it’s soft.

J: Why did you start going to Falai?

M: Because Nico told me that Falai was one of the best Italian restaurants in NY (Nicola is one of Mauro’s best friends who he met working in El Bulli, Spain and who recently left NY to go back to Italy to start his own restaurant; Nicola also worked at Klee Brasserie with Mauro and was the one who told Mauro to come over to NYC from Europe.).

J: Why did you start going to Falai on Lafayette?

M: I went to the Panetteria (also owned by Iacopo Falai), the pastry shop in front of the Falai restaurant on Clinton St, and for me it was one of the best cappuccinos I ever tried in NY and the croissant/brioche, it was really good for me. Panetteria is kind of a colder atmosphere. Then Iacopo opened Caffe Falai on Lafayette and it was much more happy, no? I don’t know if Panetteria was cold because of the people working there, but Lafayette is fun.

J: What do you like the most about Lafayette?

M: Not the service for sure. . . A lot of things. I like the name Lafayette. Don’t write that. Iacopo was really excited about Lafayette and the food is good, good price. It’s a nice space, a lot of people coming and going, two great tables in front of the window and you can watch people on the streets. It’s a familiar place; you can even grab your own bread. Plus it’s nice.

J: Do you think you go there every Monday because you sleep over my house on Sundays and it’s close?

M: I think it’s late, let’s go to sleep! Do you think that’s a clever question? Because I don’t go to a place I don’t like, cuz whenever you have slept over my house on Sunday we still go to Falai!

J: Oh, that’s true. So what’s you’re favorite dish you’ve had there?

M: Like pastry or food?

J: Both

M: The black olive papparadelle special with cherry tomatoes, broccoli rabe, sliced pecorino, and baby caper berries, not the huge ones.

J: What type of sauce?

M: What do you mean? This was the sauce!

J: Was there butter in the sauce?

M: I don’t know, it could have been olive oil. When you sauté the pasta you put broth.

J: What kind of broth?

M: Don’t write down this shit it doesn’t make sense.

J: Okay, what pastries do you like?

M: I like the chocolate croissant and the Krapfen with jam inside.

J: What’s Krapfen, the one that looks like a doughnut?

M: If you put a hole in the middle of it yes. First came the Krapfen, then came the doughnut! I also like the lemon sfogliatelle (pastry with sweet lemon cream inside), and for sure the apple-cinnamon pastry (similar to an apple streudel), oh and I really liked the Italian brioche that was served warm with tapenade and mozzarella (Mauro whistled).

J: What’s your favorite sandwich because I think that’s what we order almost every time?

M: The speck, radicchio and Fontina, and then the salami and taleggio.

J: What’s so good about the sandwich?

M: The bread first. Second because it’s different from a NY sandwich because NY likes to put too much shit inside. At Falai there are three ingredients, no more.

J: It’s more “gourmet?”
M: No, they’re more Italian. It reminds me of Italy.

J: Okay, what do you think about the design of Falai?

M: The design – minimalist. Well, it was designed by his wife and similar to all the other Falai. It’s urban, all white tile.

J: What effect do all the mirrors hanging on the wall have on the ambiance of the restaurant?

M: I like the mirrors. I like the one that you took a picture of me in.

J: I think the mirrors make the restaurant look bigger – it gives it more dimension. What type of people go to Falai?

M: Everybody goes there: young, working, individualistic people with a nice character. It’s not underground, but not really too much on the show to make me feel bad or annoying. It’s still in a good level. It’s Falai but still quiet. You have to go there because you know it’s good, not because NYC knows, like ‘let’s go to Nobu’ – no. That’s why I like it.

(Mauro and I go to Caffe Falai on Lafayette every Monday without fail. The food is fresh, the prices are great, and you can always try something different – plus we never tire of their cappuccinos, even iced-cappuccinos now that the summer is coming, and how can eating amazing chocolate croissants where the chocolate is warm and almost runny in the middle ever get old? There always seems to be something that I haven’t tried, and I’m never disappointed, even if the dish like the seared tuna with radicchio and sliced onions didn’t go perfect with cumin because we had just eaten a pasta that also had a cumin flavor – the food has always been fresh, and like Mauro said, the bread is to die for. It’s really, really good. Unfortunately Caffe Falai does not have its liquor license yet and the wine bottles dancing on the wall waiting to be opened are just a glimpse of what could be, yet is not. Mauro and I decided one morning that we would go in there for breakfast (our breakfast starts around noon or later) and just stay at Falai for about five hours slowly eating dish after dish while drinking a few bottles of wine and then we would just go home and watch movies. We got so excited over the idea while drinking our cappuccino that we actually asked the waiter for the wine list. That’s when we found out that they didn’t have their liquor license yet. We were so ready to just cancel all our dinner plans for the night. That’s what I love about falai; there is something about the all white atmosphere with the light prancing about the room reflecting off the crystal chandeliers and the mirrors all over the walls that you just feel like you could stay there forever. Plus the waiters don’t bug you or ever make you feel like you are inconveniencing them by sitting for hours – they’ll never drop a check without you asking for it (my experience, but we also do know the owner, so I’m not quite sure how that has affected our service and treatment there). Like Mauro said, Lafayette is fun, and the food is great. I can’t wait until we can start drinking some Italian wine there, and then I’ll beg Iacopo to put a cheese plate option on his menu. Please go and try it on an afternoon that you are not rushed and have the time to enjoy something different. Start off with a coffee and a pastry or two, and then move onto a pasta or a meat or a soup or a salad. Oh, you can also buy cakes to go. Mauro ordered some beautiful cakes for my birthday party in February and everybody absolutely loved them, they were amazing! Everything is really good, I swear. I can’t wait to go there tomorrow morning. As you can see, I am very excited about Falai!

Craft and the overall problem with restaurants in NYC -- nowadays

2007-04-15T13:55:00.000-07:00

“Craft invites diners to take a trip.” (New York Times Review) Where are we going, how much will it cost, and will it be fun? I always loved an adventure, so I was really excited to go to Craft – not that I ever got any type of formal invitation to go there, but the type of reputation it does have makes you feel a bit left out if you haven’t tried the restaurant. I made our reservation for almost three weeks in advance, a double date with Red, Mark, Mauro and I,very exciting. I was ecstatic. The menu was good, the wine menu great, and the reputation of Craft was phenomenal (the owner Tom Colicchio is the same chef of Gramercy Tavern), plus I was prepared for it to be expensive, so how could anything go wrong. I honestly 100% thought there was no way I was going to be disappointed.
But Craft let me down, and yet it wasn’t bad, however it definitely wasn’t as good as everyone said it was, but then again, neither was Gramercy Tavern. It makes me question. . . . who are the people writing these reviews and rating these restaurants? The most impressive part about Craft was the wine list, but that was even disappointing because there was no sommelier on the floor and the waitress pretended like she knew something about the wine but instead what she really knew about was the difference between twenty and thirty dollars more in her pocket. It was almost embarrassing.
I really thought Craft was going to be amazing, and I was prepared to order the best things on the menu to help it blow me away. I asked the waitress for all her favorites and guess what she thought the best was – yes, you guessed right – the most expensive items on the menu. We took some of her suggestions, like ordering the wild sturgeon wrapped in speck, which Red actually returned, and I wish I had as well, because the flavors were actually almost inedible. It’s not that the fish wasn’t fresh; it’s just that the combination of the braised cabbage that tasted like vinegar with the oily, fatty tasting sturgeon and speck was, I hate to say it, disgusting together.
It was also disappointing because I couldn’t believe that our server thought this was the best fish choice of the menu. The bass that Red chose to replace the sturgeon was much better. We ordered the sweetbreads, oysters, beets, and seared foie gras for our first course; I think in most restaurants appetizers actually tend to be better than the main course. For second course, other than the $32 wild sturgeon that sucked, Mark ordered the $46 guinea hen which was good, but $46? C’mon, it wasn’t that good, and neither was the ambiance (At Le Cirque you can get a $50 guinea hen for two people stuffed with foie gras butter and served with morel mushrooms – and the dish is presented and carved right next to your table). Mauro and I shared the $26 quail which was nothing to complain or to brag about, it was simply roasted with herbs, salt and pepper – easily done at home.
Okay, I told you about the second course, but I haven’t mentioned yet that they came a la carte – yes, without any accompaniment; you know the mushrooms, starches, or greens that usually complemented an entrée, especially one priced over twenty dollars. So we ordered gnocchi, two different plates of mushrooms, and polenta. Fine, but then the server, thinking about the green pounding against her leg in her pants pocket as she walked home that night said to us in a pushy manner, “You didn’t order any vegetables, I just wanted to point that out to you.”
I stopped drinking my amazing wine and first looked at Mauro, “What? Did she just say we didn’t order any vegetables?” The waitress had been talking to Mark.
“Yes,” Mauro replied looking at me with the same look of craziness.
“But Mauro, we ordered mushrooms, those are vegetables right?” I was not going to allow myself to be bothered that night!
“Last time I checked, yes, baby.” Mauro smiled while laughing as well.
I turned to the waitress because I am very controlling sometimes and didn’t want Mark to order any greens just out of principle, “No, we don’t need anymore vegetables thank you, we already have two orders of mushrooms, gnocchi, polenta, and we had appetizers, and we are going to have cheese afterwards.” I really couldn’t believe how much she was trying to up sell us – to the extent of trying to manipulate us. I was really fucking pissed, especially after the wine incident which I haven’t mentioned yet and don’t think I will.
I’ve been trying to tell myself that every once in awhile bad experiences with servers happen and that it shouldn’t always represent the quality of the restaurant, but then again I think I would be lying to myself. I’m in the restaurant business, as well as Mauro, and we know what goes on. There is a predominant paradigm that exists with American cuisine and dining that is really driving both Mauro and I crazy – and I believe it stems from the overall business plan and design of how the restaurant will work in general.
There is very little respect left for the “dining experience” in America, and usually if there is one, it’s generic – it’s there because they know it should be there, not because there’s a love or passion for it. You can tell almost immediately when you walk into a restaurant whether they have respect for “the dining experience,” or if they just want money, and to have you in and out. At Craft it was generic – the place was designed to create the ultimate “dining experience,” but unfortunately the attitude of the employees was the opposite – quite unfortunate – I hate spending money at a place where there is no value for my money.
What am I talking about? I’ve mentioned this before when I wrote about Mauro and my experience at Wallsé. Mauro and I feel like NY restaurants are losing their integrity and we are trying to investigate why this is happening. Mauro notices that chefs always lie to the customers. He came straight to NYC from El Bulli restaurant in Spain where everything had to be perfect and if you said you were using a 100yr old balsamic vinegar, you really were (however, who's ever seen a hundred year old balsamic vinegar, so advisable to not say that you are using it). Sometimes when we go out to eat, like at Craft, we feel that the menu is designed to impress – kobe beef, 100yr old vinegar, black truffles, organic produce, day boat fish – but how much of this is true? How many times have you thought you were eating Kobe beef and it wasn’t? Maybe you were eating day boat fish, but how long was it sitting in the freezer at the restaurant? Would you know if your chicken wasn’t organic? That’s the problem, how would you know? Well, I’ll tell you the first place to look – the employees. The integrity of the restaurant screams through the motivation of your servers and complete staff.
Something was off at Craft. First of all the waitress was trying to up sell everything. Secondly, she had no sincerity in her passion for the food. Thirdly, her top recommendations were not good. Fourthly, she really did not care if we enjoyed our experience (she took the cheese menu away from me without asking while I was in the middle of taking a picture of it) – to me, that raises the suspicion that someone else at the top not only cared that little about her, but in turn cared that little about us.
I understand a bit of embellishment with the menu, but at some point people know when they are being lied to, and they really don’t appreciate it, and they won’t come back to your restaurant. This discussion is about integrity and recognition that we are the creators of this world. What are we creating? The restaurant scene in NY right now seems to be led by a group of restaurateurs that actually have the money to pay the excruciatingly expensive leases, and the connections to get the liquor licenses, deals with distributors etc. at affordable prices, and in some ways that has left us with these mass produced restaurants designed to be authentic – but how can you be authentic without the love and passion that comes from sincere creativity. When you try to replicate or just reproduce that, you lose the “essence” and are left with something as meaningful as a blank book with a nice cover. What am I getting at? Where am I trying to go? I want to get to the root.
Why do we go out to a restaurant? There are too many answers to that question. For me, I wanna feel the love that screams to me from a bottle of wine paired nicely with beautiful foods and good company. I want to go into a different atmosphere that I do not have the time to recreate in my home. I want to step outside of the “grind” of my work to feel pampered once a week. I don’t want to go into an expensive restaurant and not have the people working there understand the value of my dollar. I don’t want to be manipulated into a few extra side dishes, but I would like to be informed about what the restaurant has to offer – there is a difference. I want to go somewhere the servers and bartenders understand the food and if they suggest I try something, it’s because they know how good it is, or how well something will pair together, not because they want more money out of me – that really fucking pisses me off.
Let me wrap Craft up in a nut shell, because there really wasn’t more to offer than what was on the surface. The décor was okay. “Leather-lined walls,” big deal, boring artwork, hanging old-school light bulbs, and finally extra-large tables,with a two-story glass wine room that was interesting but looked like jail cells. It was definitely clean and spacious, but there was something cold and uninspiring about the atmosphere.
The food was too expensive for what it was, plain and simple – which the food was; and for which it then further annoyed me that the entrees were so expensive and just a la carte. You had to order your own side dish which could have been fun if the food was amazing. But no! Definitely not, however there were still some very good dishes. I was glad to find out that Mauro and I were not the only ones disappointed as well (sometimes I feel like maybe I am being too critical), check out Fork and Bottle's review at www.forkandbottle.com/restaurants/newyork/craft.htm.
The Cheese plate was good – for just the cheese – nice thick slices, a good enough selection, but none of them kept me wanting more, or wanting to do any research about them. We declined on choosing the La Tur which is one of our current favorites so we could try some other cheeses that we had not heard about, but now I wish I would have just ordered the La Tur. Oh, and for the sides, blanched almonds? I think nuts pair nicely with cheese, but not blanched nuts, which was even more boring with pear slices. However, they did have an amazing honey that was still on the honey comb.
The one thing that was amazing at Craft was the wine list, and the one reason why Mauro and I didn’t talk so much, and why I wasn’t so bothered that the food wasn’t as good as I expected was because everything we drank that night was perfect. I’m not going to even talk about how badly our server handled the wine service and the ordering process, and let’s not forget that there wasn’t even a sommelier to talk to; so I’ll just mention the wine. We bought a Mersault, 1er cru Les Genvrières, Domaine Latour-Giraud, 2003, Côte De Beaune which was dream – “gorgeous,” as Mauro would say. After living in California for about five years, I had gotten tired of drinking California Chardonnays, and almost didn’t like them anymore, but then I got into European wines and realized that their production of the same Chardonnay grape was much different and much better (my opinion).
Then for the red, which we opened the same time as the white to let it breathe, was the Amarone Della Valpolicella, Nicolis, 2001, from Veneto (Mauro’s region). Mauro loves Amarone, and I almost love it because he loves it so much. The Amarone was perfect as well – balanced, great tannins, full bodied, and very plum flavored which of course disappeared a bit as soon as we started eating our second course. Both the red and white wines we chose were rich in flavor, but so were most of the dishes at Craft, so it was okay.
All in all, Craft was a good restaurant, I don’t want to give the impression that it was horrible because in no way was it that. Mauro and I just would like more out of the restaurants in NYC. So far, Le Bernadin is the only one that thoroughly has blown us away on all levels, and of course Otto for its wine-list and antipasti menu. The general consensus at our table between Red, Mark, Mauro and I was that we would never “take a trip” to come back, but would definitely come back if we lived in the neighborhood. Some of the food was very good; Mark said the gnocchi was the best he’s ever had; Red’s beet appetizer was perfect, my oysters were delicious; and Mauro’s sweetbreads were quite enjoyable. But we hated the Wild Sturgeon, and Mauro absolutely did not like the Chocolate egg cream they sent after dinner in a shot glass.
Oh, but the sauterne from the dessert wine by the glass that we drank while eating the cheese was delicious (Chateau Lafaurie Peyraguey, 2002). Overall, we had a wonderful night with some disappointments, but then again, la vida es asi.

Inoteca -- It was too much fun!

2007-04-01T15:09:00.000-07:00

Even if you don’t like cheese, or if you just want something different than a selection of stinky, mild, or herb flavored milky goodness, Inoteca is still a wonderful place to go and meet friends, or to share a more romantic rendezvous with a loved one. However, if you don’t do wine, then I suggest you go somewhere else, the Lower East Side is full of variety and entertainment. What is an Inoteca anyway? Enoteca, typically spelled with an –e in Italian, designates a place that serves a substantial selection of wine and an assortment of small snacks (of course Italian), and Inoteca is exactly that.
Mauro and I just had too much fun this past Monday when we linked up with some friends on the corner of Rivington and Ludlow (Inoteca) around 9p.m. to eat some cheese and drink some wine. I had spread the word almost a week in advance that Inoteca would be the coming Monday cheese and wine locus, and I was so happy when everything actually worked out; we were a party of six, the place was packed, and we still magically got the best table in the house (it was a huge wooden table in the middle of the room that I think twelve to fifteen people could have squeezed into). We had made no reservation, and waited only about fifteen minutes at the bar, just enough time for Mauro to look at the wine list and actually make a decision.
Actually, we had such an outstanding night, Mauro and I, that Tuesday was absolutely unbearable. I found myself lying curled up in a ball on my bed practically crying from shock and separation anxiety. Mondays are a different world. It is the only day I get to see the sun rise and the sun set with Mauro continuously by my side. It is such a sharp contrast with the rest of our week, working long hours only seeing each other a few times during the twilight until we have to wake up and go to work again. But I know my life is not all about sitting at Inoteca, drinking bottles of wine and eating plates of cheese with my friends and laughing with/at Mauro. Relativity – I always try to keep my life in perspective. Inoteca was perfect, but hard work and struggle would be splendid too if I only had to do it once a week.
I had been to Inoteca a few times before this last Monday, but never with so many people. My amazingly creative and best friend Jane (we’ve known each other since high school at Columbia Prep and have gone on more trips to the Caribbean together than anyone else in my life other than my brother Mike) joined Mauro and I from the get go at Inoteca. Our original wine and cheese partner in crime Aki (chef from Falai restaurant on Clinton St. in L.E.S.) was only a half an hour late yet right on schedule for the de-corking of the first bottle of Soave Classico; and just in time for the christening of the second bottle of the same white wine was my other really fabulous girlfriend Maggie, who arrived with her husband Mark after they had attended some comedy show right around the corner from Inoteca (I was one of her bride’s maids in their beautiful wedding in Georgia, where Maggie is from – and now I think she has one of the most spectacular names in the world: Magdalena De La Vega – there should be horns accompanying that title). However, Maggie and Mark did not drink any of our wine, nor did they eat any of our cheese. They got a quartino of red instead, and some of the other small snacks that Inoteca served, like a selection of pesto bruschetta.
The one thing that I love about Inoteca, though I don’t think it’s greatest wine bar in NYC (the service could be nicer, the cheese plate a bit more spectacular, and a more accessible and passionate sommelier on the floor would definitely make it better), is that every time I have gone there I have left with a remarkable flavor in my mouth, either thinking about a cheese I had eaten, or thinking about one of their quartinos or bottles of wine that was just so tasty. It’s not that the cheese plate wasn’t good enough, au contraire, it’s some of the best cheese I’ve eaten in a restaurant; but just like Artisanal, they simply sliced the cheese and placed it on a lonely plate with some bread on the side. They do have an option for almonds, honey, and some type of pruned grape that you have to pay extra for, but in my ideal world, there would even be something grander that could accompany the cheese.
What are some of the qualities that Mauro and I are looking for in a restaurant? Here are some of my thoughts. I like it when a restaurant has a coherent theme, which Inoteca definitely had. The design was minimal with all rustic wood tables, wood floors, big windows that allowed you to see outside onto the busy streets of the Lower East Side, and of course what would be most expected in an Enoteca – a large display of Italian wines. However, I don’t remember too many details of the restaurant’s interior because I was too caught up with the wonderful flavors of my cheese, and the Inama Soave Classico, Vigneto du Lot, 2003 (100% garganega grapes) that we were drinking. It was $37 and chosen by Mauro. He could convince me that any wine was good or bad by the amount of conviction he had when presenting his opinion.
I was surprised when I took my first sip and it wasn’t dry like most the whites that Mauro picked out. It sort of shocked me; and yet I loved a wine with a nice clean and crisp fruit and floral touch to it – and this white had deep hints of honey and apricot. I began to tell Mauro, “This wine is much more flavorful that I had expected. . . “
“Don’t even try to complain baby, this wine is good!” Mauro was really excited, and from that moment on, I knew our night would be very entertaining.
Inoteca was perfect for our energy that night. It was one of those nights when I think everyone’s stress level from the previous week was exceptionally high and we needed a moment together to just let it all fall to the wine. We never talked about anything of substance, until late-late night at Landmarc; instead, everything we said to each other was of more provocation than conversation.
“Mauro, what are you and Aki talking about? You keep on speaking in Italian and then looking at me and laughing. Tell me!”
Mauro stopped giggling and sharpened his eyes on me, “No baby.” He was short, concise, and matter of fact.
I waited a few seconds and stared back into his eyes, trying to call his bluff, but he wouldn’t even stir. He won. “Baby please!” I whined and even moved my body with gesture to emphasize my frustration. “What are you two talking about that you keep looking at me and laughing. Aki! What were you two saying?”
“No,” Aki shook his head, begging me not to get him involved; he loved to play innocent. “Ask your Mauro,” Aki tried to deflect any responsibility as if he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“But Mauro won’t tell me!” I screamed at them both.
“Oh baby, stop crying please,” Mauro exclaimed, trying to change the subject.
Mauro was so hyper that Monday that I don’t think anything he said that night was logical – but then again, neither was anything I said either; and when that jubilant mood took over, I loved to be in a place where I could get lost in abstract intricacies.
Detail, I think it has almost become a lost art here in America. I want to find an apocalyptic cheese plate, or one that just really blows my mind. The cheese at Inoteca was great for sure, but it would have been out of this world if they just served it with some beautiful fruit marmalade, some honey, nuts, figs, or even delicate fruits . . . something . . . . to complement the character of the cheese and stimulate your visual taste buds as well. Is that wrong to ask for?
Inoteca was impressive though regardless if it didn’t come with the sides that I would have drooled over. We ordered a seven cheese plate, which I was very excited about; however, I am starting to realize that you can get lost with too many cheeses on your plate. I mean it’s awesome, but if you really want to think about the cheese, become the cheese and understand its flavors, having more than five cheeses can be overwhelming. I only really remember the taste of one cheese, which of course was my favorite one: La Tur. Fuck it was good! La Tur is a blend of sheep’s, cow’s, and goat’s milk. The texture is soft and creamy and the taste distinct and balanced without losing its complexity of flavors.
My second favorite on the platter was the Brunet, which is a raw goat’s milk cheese from Piedmont. Jane doesn’t like goat cheese for some reason, which was so perfectly fine with me (I love good goat cheese); I didn’t even ask her twice why not. She stuck with the other five cheeses, which of course I stuck with as well too; and let’s not forget Aki and Mauro. There was still a great selection of cow and sheep’s milk cheeses such as Bra Duro Vecchio, a cow’s milk with a hard crust, solid texture and these cute little holes, not like the big gaps that characterize Swiss cheese. Bra Duro is a pretty cheese, more yellow in color than the goat’s I fantasize about, and it definitely would have looked beautiful next to something pink and fruity or jammy.
Vacche Rosse was also on the platter, which during the time of its consumption I had no idea that Vacche Rosse meant red cow or that it was actually a “special” kind of Parmigiano Reggiano. Reggiano is a breed of cow with a red coat raised in the province of Reggio Emilia. Before WWII the Vacche Rosse was the predominant cow used to make Parmigiano cheese; I don’t know why, but after the war the black and white cow replaced the red one for mass production. Now, however; like with almost everything that has become a lost art, there has been a revivification of the Vacche Rosse. To be honest, I don’t remember any outstanding difference between the Vacche Rosse and other parmesans I have eaten (I also wasn’t paying any attention to noticing though), but I do know that the Vacche Rosse has “a higher butterfat content and more proteins,” and that must be important for something.
What else? We had Taleggio of course (someone always picked Taleggio). We had Toma Piemontese, a semi-hard cow’s milk from Piedmont – don’t remember a thing about it; Tuada, a pecorino (sheep’s milk) with an “exceptionally sweet green bean and mushroom flavor” – don’t remember that one either – and that just about did it. It was too hard to pay attention to all the cheeses when the wine was so good and the company so exciting. I mean Mauro can be as entertaining as watching a comedy movie and as wonderful as a romance movie as well.
In the middle of all the action I noticed that I didn’t hear Mauro talking (red alert). I didn’t even feel any rapid frequency coming from his usual dramatics next to me. So I turned around to find out what in god’s name he was doing. There he was sitting with legs open, shoulders hunched back in his chair, elbow perched on the ledge of the wooden table, arm dangling down towards the floor, mouth gaping open in disgust, and eyes like the devil, beaming at the people next to us.
“Mauro, what is wrong with you?” I was so enthralled with his expression.
“Look!” Mauro said. “They’re drinking Gravner, Ribolla Gialla.” (Gravner is one of Mauro’s favorite white wines. He thinks the only thing wrong with the wine list at Otto is that they do not sell this full-bodied white wine that he fell in love with).
“Well,” I said to him, shocked that he was so angry someone else was enjoying something he was so passionate about, “you shouldn’t be annoyed that someone else can afford to drink Gravner and we can’t right now. You should be happy that at least someone has the pleasure.”
“I just don’t think they know what they’re drinking.” Mauro was not in any state of mind to hear anything I was saying.
“Babe, go ask them if they know.” I was getting excited over how inflamed Mauro was because these people were drinking Gravner.
“No.” Mauro said still pissed off.
“What’s bothering you about that Mauro?” Even though I was ridiculously amused, I just didn’t understand why all of a sudden he was beyond himself upset at these people.
“I can’t understand what their problem is. The waitress poured the wine and he took a sip and said nothing.” Mauro was heated; “She asked him how the wine was and he said ‘uh, ok,’ and then he passed it to the girl to try and he asked her ‘what do you think?’ She made the made the same remark. I mean it’s unbelievable. I really don’t think they know what they’re drinking. No. Absolutely not. I mean either you’re stupid or you don’t know.”
“Okay, but why does that bother you so much?” I was still laughing to myself, and he was basically still talking to himself as well. Mauro was so cute sometimes.
“I think it’s because they have a lot of money. Yes. They don’t even know how good that wine is.” Believe me, Mauro kept going on for at least twenty minutes, staring at these people who were drinking one his favorite bottles of white wine and not giving it the respect he felt it deserved – priceless.
Around eleven or twelve o’clock, Mauro and I started to get our Landmarc itch. We loved to go there late at night and drink a bottle of wine in one of their booths while the fire place or the huge grill in the brick wall warmed the room with an organic sensation of heat. We wrapped up the check at Inoteca, and headed over to Tribeca with Aki, who never minded being a “third wheel” with Mauro and me.
We first ordered a bottle of Chassagne Montrachet, Clos du Chateau de la Maltroye, 2003, a red burgundy ($58), and then drunk me didn’t want to leave yet and rationalized ordering another bottle of wine that was only like $25, the Pescal Jolivet Sancerre, 2005, which would have been practically the same price as one of their half bottles.
Mauro, Aki and I always had good conversations together. Aki’s energy just got me going and out of nowhere these prophetic tendencies to lecture about philosophy just started kicking in whenever he was around. This time I began talking about women’s lib., equal rights, and that people in America were no longer fighting for their “freedom” with the same intensity of the past. Slavery was over, women have been “liberated,” etc; therefore society has had much more energy and interest in focusing on food and details such as organics, eating vegan, and all the other diets and whatnots that are out there that I am clueless about. People didn’t have time to worry about this stuff in the past because they were on “survival mode” and who really gave a fuck whether they were eating organics when their most basic primitive needs were not being fulfilled? It was a passionate moment for me. I don’t even know if Aki understood all of my English or not, but he had this way about him that just always seemed like he was so interested – and Mauro, somehow he just remained quiet for more than ten minutes – I don’t know if he was even listening.
We had a beautiful time together. We ate ice cream cones and wished we weren’t worried about being impolite so we could just ask for some free bread and butter. If only Mauro and I could afford the eating lifestyle we wanted. I would have to go to the gym every single day of my life though, and I just don’t have the time for that.
Our Monday at Inoteca and Landmarc was the best one yet. They are two places in the city that I will return to often, and that will stay within my psyche as restaurants I really enjoy and hold in high esteem. Maybe it’s just for my own personal reasons or wonderful experiences, but that’s my life anyway – important to me – but perhaps to none (excluding Mauro, he better care!).

Wallsé

2007-03-17T20:50:00.000-07:00

I’ve had extreme reluctance writing about this restaurant. Maybe because I was really looking forward to going out alone with Mauro to a nice restaurant and it wasn’t anything like I had expected it to be – that could always make something seem worse than it was. I had been to Wallsé (344 W. 11th St. and Washington) once years ago and had remembered it as a beautiful parlor of elegance; but I only had a drink at the bar and for years I have always wanted to come back and sit for dinner. Then one of my friends, who shall remain nameless, told me that they had a cheese cart. Need I mention how much I love the cheese cart? If Mauro and I ever do live together I dream about having our very own, full of international cheeses (smuggled unpasteurized ones preferably), right next to our wine collection (which we do not currently have) and Riedel glasses. But Wallsé was not as I remembered it to be, and they definitely did not have a cheese cart.
The design was a combination of expensive and cheap looking furniture – not excluding the choice of flowers. In the window they displayed regal stoic cherry blossom branches ready to burst into bloom, while lazily arrayed on the bar were the most budget lame daisies that had been dyed hot pink (you know, the ones you can get in blue, purple, orange, green. . . any color practically. . .really cheap). I was confused. Mauro and I couldn’t stop whispering to each other about all the little intricacies that just did not match or make sense.
I’m weary to comment because I know that Wallsé has gotten very good reviews, but the problem I found didn’t lie within the original intention of the restaurant, or its prices, or its design, but with its consistency and maintenance. Why should people come back to Wallsé after years if ownership or management doesn’t care as much as they used to? Maybe if you lived in the neighborhood and you didn’t want to travel too far to try something new (which there are plenty of restaurants sprouting up everywhere). Wallsé opened its doors in July 2000 – seven years later and I think the dining room needs something fresh; the menu to be revived maybe – I don’t know, just something.
But Mauro and I came specifically to try the cheese plate and the wine, and of course to be in a nice environment, so let me try and stay focused. Mauro and I didn’t even get any bread when we sat down; the sommelier never came over to discuss the wine menu while we were extensively looking at the list (he was too busy talking with the cute bartender), and not even the waitress could suggest us a wine by the bottle other than the cheapest Zwiegelt on the menu. The weird part was that she kept on trying to sell the cheapest Zweigelt while Mauro was repeatedly saying to her and to me “Let’s try the J. Heinrich 2004” ($58 on their wine list in the restaurant and $55 on their wine list on line. They also mislabeled the J.Heinrich online as the G. Heinrich of which both are indeed two different producers.). I didn’t think that it was the waitress’s fault that she hadn’t been taught anything about the different regions of Austria, the different varietals of Austrian wine that the restaurant primarily served, or that she basically didn’t know anything about any of the wines that they had on the list; but she should have been savvy enough to get the sommelier, especially when I asked her, “can you tell us the difference between a Zweigelt, Blaufrankisch, and St. Laurent?” I really wanted to know. I love wine.
“Umm. . . yes. . .” She was a nice girl, with pretty orange hair, a light flurry of freckles on her face. She tried to answer, stuttered a lot, and in the end offered no resolution; but she was courteous, cordial, and smiled. I had wanted to try a different varietal other than zweigelt, but it all became too messy between her uncertainty and Mauro just wanting to get the experience over with and just choosing a middle priced zweigelt to stay safe: J. Heinrich Zweigelt, Siglos 2004, medium body, not complex, really easy (too easy), no tannins, and some acidity with a nice fresh berry flavor. We were happy with it.
So, a little history from the Wikipedia that we could not get at Wallsé – Blaufrankish: a grape variety that is “used to produce dry, red wines typically low in tannin . . . may exhibit a pronounced spicy character. . . Grown in Austria and Germany.” St. Laurent: a “highly aromatic dark wine grape of the same family as Pinot Noir. . . It produces a medium body wine with aromas of forest berries and black cherries.” And finally, Zweigelt: “a red wine grape variety developed in 1922 by Fritz Zweigelt. It was a crossing of Blaufrankisch and St. Laurent. . . It combines the bite and fruity character of Blaufrankisch and body of St. Laurent. . . It is now the most widely grown red grape in Austria.”
Let’s move on. The cheese plate, four cheeses for $20, fine; Mauro and I ordered that for our main course after sharing the Spätzle with braised rabbit, brussel sprouts, corn and mushroom ($16) and the foie gras terrine with caramelized apples ($20). Our appetizers were good, nothing more, nothing less. The wine was going down smooth and the glasses were much better than Landmarc’s thick burgundy looking wine glasses that gave you no space for swirl-action. Wallsé on the other hand had that new Riedel wine glass that looked like a water glass and had great opportunity for whirlpool-like swirling. Mauro and I were content. We had the perfect seat, our favorite kind of banquet with a caddy-corner, so we could sit side by side yet still facing.
So, the waitress placed the cheese plate on the table and looked at us. I was waiting, was she going to tell us what the cheeses were. I had to ask, “Can you tell us which ones are which please?” (I promise when I tell you I tried my hardest to phrase than in a way that wouldn’t make me sound like a bitch. I really think I succeeded.) “Of course,” she said as if she was more informed about our cheese selection than she was with the wine list, but we basically got the same answer. She had to come back twice to tell us what our cheeses were, telling us the wrong names the first time, and not even really that sure the second time. Again, was there anyone in the restaurant who knew what was being served?
Overall the cheese plate sucked – however – there was this one piece of cheese that was extraordinary and I’m grateful to have gone to Wallsé just to have tried it and to have learned its name, the Caschel blue from Ireland (“developed in 1984. . . a unique product made by a single family on a single farm in Tipperary, Ireland. It’s a semi-soft blue cow’s milk cheese.”) – the best blue cheese I have ever tried in my life and Mauro was just as pleased. I still think about it at least two to three times a week. Mauro and I were actually shocked and were really looking forward to the other cheeses, but they just did not compare. On the plate there was Nisa, a sheep’s milk from Portugal; Cabra al vino (Drunken Goat), a Spanish goat cheese “made by submerging the cheese in a bath of mourvedre grapes for seventy-two hours, giving the rind a vivid purple hue.” And Romao Queso al Romero, “aged sheep’s mild cheese from La Mancha, Spain. Same family as Manchego. Hand rubbed with oil and rosemary.”
And there you have it, one amazing, beautiful Irish blue cheese, and three goat cheeses, two from Spain and one from Portugal – seemed like quite a lame combination of cheeses that just didn’t complement each other.
There was something not right about the other cheeses as well; Mauro even said, “It seems like they microwaved them.”
“No, they wouldn’t do that,” I replied defensively.
“Okay,” Mauro said, “Maybe they just left them out at room temperature.” I couldn’t tell if he knew something I didn’t know.
“I hope so. . . . God, these are just so not good. It’s ridiculous. And you know what really bugs me Mauro, to top off how lame this cheese plate is?”
“What?” Mauro asked, curious by my arrogant New Yorker tone.
“That the chef, or whoever put this cheese plate together actually put a few slices of apples on it. I mean, what the fuck are sliced apples going to do for us with this cheese? It just seems so thoughtless.”
“I was thinking the exact same thing babe.” Mauro smiled at me as if he was proud of my opinion. Of course we ate the apples, but c’mon, what? Were we supposed to eat the apple with the cheese? It almost seemed rude.
I didn’t even think about it until now, but Mauro and I actually headed over to Danube (Southeast corner of Duane and Hudson St in Tribeca), another one of the few Austrian restaurants in NYC, for drinks after we left Wallsé,. Mauro knew a few people at Danube because he used to be a chef at Bouley (both Danube and Bouley are owned by David Bouley), and wanting to extend our Monday night as long as possible we decided to stay out a little longer than just dinner, like usual.
We walked in the freezing cold about fifteen minutes, howling like the wind, and sad that our one day together was coming to an end. Mauro and I sank into the soft couches of the dining bar at Danube and got lost with champagne and about three courses of desserts, compliments of his friend who was the pastry chef. We sat alone, as the restaurant was slowly closing, and took silly pictures of each other and the beautiful designs that flourished throughout the restaurant.
I guess I didn’t want to write about Wallsé because there was nothing they offered that I was really passionate about, and me without passion is like the Caribbean without the ocean – just wrong! So forgive me if this entry was lame, or for being too critical if there are some of you who do like Wallsé – but as they say, “to each his own;” and I like mine, and Mauro’s too.

Sacri Sassi

2007-03-11T12:56:00.000-07:00

In every person’s life there comes a time of uncertainty and change. For me and for Mauro that time is now. We are both at a turning point in our career; we want more and are steadily trying to take the right steps to achieve our goals. Days will find us immersed in frustrated contemplation over our future and other nights childlike with forgetful innocence. This be our life, and the littlest of happy joys can make us ecstatic and can turn our world around even if just for a fleeting moment or a week. That is why Otto, to us, is like an ephemeral field trip to heaven.
“Sacri Sassi. Sacri Sassi;” Mauro chanted its name ever since he has discovered its existence on Otto’s wine list. I didn’t always pay attention to everything that came out of Mauro’s mouth, especially when it sounded close to some Italian dialect. “Sacri Sassi,” he yelped every time we went as if he had turrets syndrome. “That’s nice Mauro,” I said assuming that he was talking about some ridiculously expensive wine that we would probably never be able to afford. “Baby, next time we come we are going to get the Sacri Sassi, it’s only fifty dollars!” Mauro leaned over to me and then kissed me. He was so pleased.
And I couldn’t get what he said out of my head for a whole week. Times have been a little tough lately and my little happy joys are the treasures that carried me through the week with excitement. I manipulated myself by sugar coating my disillusion with my career and in living somewhere I knew was not 100% for me. That’s how I made it through the more difficult times in my life; I improvised and fantasized. I looked forward to that moment when Mauro met me outside of work, walking through the door of Klee Brasserie dressed in his black wool Ben Sherman jacket that always seemed to have the collar raised in a non-obnoxious sexy way. I told him this morning that when I looked at him I saw cobblestone boulevards glimmering from the reflection of street lamps in the night, laden with the drizzle of English weather, and sound-tracked by Mozart, raindrops, and horse hooves promenading from ballroom to ballroom. Mauro gazed at me with incomprehension, “what does that mean?” “It means that I think you are beautiful.”
Maybe I’ve been placing too much importance on drinking new wines and eating new cheeses; I’ve been thinking about this all week. It was only months ago, before winter began that going to the gym and eating healthy was far more important to me than wine or cheese; but things have changed drastically in my life over the winter. I’ve finished writing my book; I’ve started a new job; and I’ve met Mauro. My pillar points of activity have been completely rearranged in almost every aspect of my “outer world” and instead of finding myself alone in bed, reading tarot cards while listening to reggae music, I found myself learning about food ingredients, cooking techniques I’ve never heard of, wine I’ve never tasted, and all the different regions the food and wine come from. Mauro and my brain have been churning constantly about the restaurant business . . . and just as frequent were the glasses of the wine and cheese plate that accompanied those discussions.
“Mauro, we’re going to get the Sacri Sassi. You don’t need to look at the wine list. Let’s get it now! I can’t wait.” We were sitting at Otto’s wine bar on 8th St. between University and 5th Ave.
“Today?” Mauro said shocked with surprise. “But we can get a cheaper wine for $38.”
“Mauro, you said the next time we came to Otto we were going to get the Sacri Sassi.” I was trying to sound declarative and not whiny.
“Babe,” Mauro looked me in the eyes with a serious stare; “look at my shoes!” He raised his dirty white Stan Smith adidas on the chair and lifted the front toe part of both his feet like the lips of a puppet.
“Okay, yes,” I wasn’t going to pay attention to his sneakers, “but the Sacri Sassi is only $50. That’s $6 more each than the other bottle you suggested, and we’ve been waiting for months to get the Sacri Sassi.”
“But look. . .” Mauro said while pointing to the menu, “we can get. . .”
“Do you know what you’d like to order?” By the graces of God Mauro was interrupted by our regular bartender. He too knew that Mauro could take forever with the wine list.
“Sacri Sassi,” Mauro said and pushed the menu away from him. I squeezed Mauro’s leg with excitement.
“Yes, Sacri Sassi,” I repeated, “and the five cheese plate, the same as theirs.” I pointed to the people eating next to us.
“We have a few cheese specials tonight that I recommend.”
“Yes, that’s perfect. Definitely take away the Taleggio.”
“Oh, you don’t like Taleggio? Because one of our specials is similar. . . .”
“No,” I said fast. I didn’t want him to think even if just for a second that I didn’t like Taleggio. “I love Taleggio. I just ate too much of it last week; but please put the specials on the plate.”
“Okay, well I suggest that you replace the Fontina as well,” the bartender said.
“Yes,” Mauro agreed. “No Fontina, it’s boring.”
The bartender left and returned with our bottle. “The Sacri Sassi. This is a great wine, from the east hills of Friuli.” I saw Mauro was getting nervous as the taste was being poured. I watched him swirl his glass, and take the nose. I could feel his anticipation and was jealous that he was drinking the first sip without me. “Umhm;” Mauro murmured as if a small little animal. I knew he loved it when his response was quick. When the wine was just good he had a longer more drawn out response like, “yes, this is okay,” or maybe even eye contact with the server, “yes, thank you,” and he might have even shook his head in agreeance. This time he didn’t look at anyone but inside of himself maybe even watching the wine decompose in his body.
“Enjoy guys,” the bartender did not linger, giving Mauro his moment.
Le Due Terre “Sacri Sassi,” Friuli 2001, a blend of tocai friulano and ribolla gialla (I did some research and they sell this bottle at Vento, 675 Hudson St, in the meatpacking district, for $82! Otts’s, $50!), different than any white wine I’ve ever tasted. “Mauro, it seems like it should almost be a dessert wine but it’s dry, there’s no residual sugar.”
“It tastes like picolit baby, dried picolit.”
“what’s picolit?”
“It’s a grape, actually used to make sweet wine, in this case actually used to make dry wine.”
“Umm, it’s good. It also has this citrus taste, like lemon.”
“More than lemon, it’s bergamot.”
“What the fuck is bergamot?”
Mauro sucked his teeth and made a kissing sound. I’ve noticed that this is the Italian rendition of the Caribbean expression for “sheiiiiiiit!” In the Caribbean they sucked air through their teeth from the side of their mouths, sometimes even for five seconds or so, whereas Mauro’s and the other non-American Italians’ expression lasted much less, no more than a second.
“Bergamot is a kind of citrus that you can find in the south of Italy; it’s in between a lemon, orange, and a grapefruit. It's really fucking bitter. Actually the wine tastes more like the leaves than the fruit; tastes kind of similar to lemon leaves. Have you seen a lemon tree before?” I loved the way Mauro talked, trying to find the English words to translate his Italian thoughts and sentences.
“Are you kidding me? Of course I’ve seen a lemon tree.”
“I don’t know. I’ve met people who haven’t even seen a chicken live.”
“Okay, you’re right, in NY there really aren’t any chickens running around, but you know I lived in Belize and in the Caribbean and you know I used to grow fruits and vegetables.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
“I forgive you,” I looked at him and smiled. “Umm,” I took another sip of the wine. “It is so good Mauro. I can’t explain it; it’s just so unusual. I always just thought white wines were all light to medium bodied, except for maybe a really rich full bodied chardonnay because I could literally feel the viscosity or like a thick film in my mouth and I guess I associated that quality with a really oaky flavor. But I think I’ve learned something today from drinking this wine. I can feel that it is full bodied but it still has a crisp lightness to it – like the hot rays of the Caribbean sun distracted by a constant delicate wind. You know what I mean beautiful? You don’t feel the sun as hot or as strong as it really was because the wind always cooled you down.” I was so delighted with my discovery and metaphor.
Mauro looked at me. “Yes baby, it was the same for me when I lived on the beach in Brazil doing kite surfing.” He made the funniest faces sometimes.
The wine was pouring fast. I always knew the wine was good just by how easy it was to drink. When a wine was not good, the bottle lingered. . . . And the Sacri Sassi was almost empty. You also knew a wine was good when you started talking about other amazing things in your life. . . . and that’s when Mauro started reminiscing, “Chateau d’Yquem, Romanee Conti. . . ”
“Where did you try those again?” I asked him. He swirled his glass and took a sip. “I tried them both on the same night. It was a 1901 Chateau d’Yquem. . .”
“1901? How much was that worth?”
Mauro stopped everything. “I have no idea. You can’t buy it in a store,” he could be so austere. “I think the owner said there were only five of them in the world.”
“Well, in what price range do you think it was?” I wanted to get some type of understanding how much a wine like that cost, just in case I ever got rich.
“Babe,” he looked at me again with sharp no-bullshit eyes, “there is no price. There’s not a bottle like that in business. It’s like. . . how is it. . . there’s no price. . . it’s out of the market. There’s no price,” his Italian accent started to hiss at the end of his pronunciation. “Let me try to explain. I was working at Le Calandre in 2002. We make private party in a small room, no more than twenty people. The host had a really huge important collection of wine from all over the world: Chateau d’Yquem, Romanee Conti Echezeaux La Tache; one of my first glass of Romanee Conti and I fall in love, one of the best glass in the world. . . for me, yes; could be 1988. I’m not sure.”
“Well, what did it taste like?”
Mauro paused again. “I don’t remember baby,” he said very fast. “I was like twenty-one years old; probably if I tasted it now I would not be able to tell – but it was beautiful,” and he smiled again.
“I wonder how many different owners that 1901 bottle of Chateau d’Yquem went through. I can’t even imagine drinking something like that.”
“I know,” Mauro’s body tightened and he started giggling.. . . .and then the cheese plate arrived. The great thing about Otto besides it having the greatest and best priced Italian wine list in the city and also having solid cheese, was that the bartender really knew and understood what he was serving. Wine and cheese was not just a beverage or a snack; the time, attention, history, knowledge, tradition, passion, talent, and respect that has been put into producing these artifacts was not something to take lightly if you chose to sell them (my opinion). Sometimes I looked at a wine list and just tried to comprehend how powerful it was – it could be as precious as a rare gem, even more valuable.
“Your cheese plate. . . Here we have the Pecorino semi stagionato which has been semi-aged in tomatoes; the Brescianella, which is similar to Taleggio, Robiola, Gorgonzola, and Parmesan.”
“Thank you,” Mauro and I both said graciously. We were so happy that it was Friday and we were back at Otto. It was home-run until Monday came.
Sacri Sassi, it is one of the most interesting white wines I’ve ever tried, and one of the most unique as well. I’ve never seen it on a wine list before. It’s important to have the little joys in life to look forward to, otherwise you are just working for the big pinnacles, and often when they come, even if they are celebrated, they can be stressful. For me, it’s the little things that make a difference – Mauro’s smile in the morning; the moment I walk out the door at work and know the night is mine; dinner with my family when I haven’t seen them in awhile; a nice warm shower when it’s cold out, or a cool one when it’s hot; the touch of the Caribbean ocean; cappuccino or coffee first thing in the morning; or a cheese plate with a bottle of wine and Mauro by my side. . . and the list goes on and on. Even if I never leave this restaurant business and achieve my goals of being an accomplished and notable writer/painter, those little joys will always be with me and hopefully forever expanding; drinking Sacri Sassi has recently been added to my joys, as well as writing this blog about Mauro, cheese and wine.

Artisanal: Wine Bar, No; Cheese Bar, Yes

2007-02-28T21:17:00.000-08:00

ART. . IS. . ANAL

I don’t even know where to begin. Mauro and I had agreed that we would go out only once a week to eat cheese and drink wine and instead we started Friday night when I met him at his apartment with half a bottle of Veuve Cliquot which we drank under his covers, while listening to my favorite Franz Ferdinand song “I know that you will surrender, I want this fantastic passion. . . you can feel my lips undress your eyes. . words of love and words so leisured, words of poisoned darts of pleasure dies. . . and so you died;” and then Saturday night at Otto after a long, stressful night at work, drinking our best cheap pick Lamuri Nero D’avola 2003 ($35), and eating (sadly) only a three cheese plate {(Pecorino di Fossa, Taleggio, and Aged Peppercorn Goat) $11}; and then Sunday we topped it off in his bedroom at two a.m. drinking a bottle of Querciabella, Chianti Classico 2004 ($25 at Astor Wines and Liquor) and some more cheese {(Taleggio, Fourme D’Ambert, and Idiazabal) about $18 from Whole Foods}. I had bought the wine and the cheese to use as models for a charcoal drawing I wanted to do of Mauro, Cheese and Wine – but, after working a double on Sunday and having to stay until midnight watching the Oscars, while wearing a cocktail dress and walking down the red carpet Klee Brasserie ornamented in the restaurant in high heels, Mauro and I pretty much skipped all previous inclinations of late night creativity and ate a whole baguette and almost all the cheese I bought (a lot of fucking cheese) instead. We stayed up until five thirty in the morning, surrounded by two portraits that didn’t really look like Mauro, and one empty plate of bread, two empty wine glasses, and only about three ounces of Fourme D’Ambert left – we just couldn’t finish it. But regardless of all the pre-Mauro, Cheese and Wine partying we did, Mauro and I were still on track and positive for our first official Monday night out in NYC with our blog in our hands ready to roll. We were going to Artisinal with some friends, even though we really just wanted to go back to Otto (one day we will drink every bottle on that whole amazing wine list); but right now sacrifices were going to have to be made in order to accomplish our goal: we must try something new every Monday.
Monday, Mauro and my favorite day of the week: we opened our eyes and looked at each other like we always did in the morning and smiled. “Mauro,” I whispered, “we don’t have to do anything today if we don’t want to.” “I know,” he squealed and looked at me, and then squeezed me and kicked his legs with great excitement. “I know,” he repeated, “isn’t it beautiful?” When Mauro was happy he got very passionate and stimulated – and when Mauro was angry he became just as intense – and he was usually either happy or angry; if not, then his most frequent in-between mood was pensive while feverishly biting his fingers/fingernails. Monday mornings, however, Mauro is as joyous as can be. We lay in each other’s arms, I investigated his personal stinks that I’ve grown to enjoy, and soon we went back to sleep.
By 1:30 p.m. I tried to start motivating the group (us) out of bed and onto the streets. We actually had a pretty busy agenda ahead of us. Every Monday Mauro cooks dinner for me and my mom (and this time with my older brother as well who was visiting from Sosua, Dominican Republic where he lives and owns a bar called Sleezies). I love to cook as well, so I am ecstatic to basically have my own personal cooking lessons from a chef who worked at El Bulli in Barcelona, Spain, and at Marchesi, a three-star Michelin in Italy.
“Mauro,” I tried to persuade him out of bed, “we need to get up if we want our cappuccino at Falai Café (our favorite Café on Lafayette and Prince that has amazing pastries and the best bread in NYC). You know, we do have some things to do. You’re cooking risotto for my family, and then you want to try and sell some of your olive oil to Otto. .” “Forget the olive oil baby, let’s stay in bed. .” “But Mauro, you know you need to get rid of this olive oil and how are you ever going to do that if you keep on putting it off? Every Monday you have to try and sell it.” “I know baby,” Mauro said with his Italian accent brushing me off. “Okay fine, skip the olive oil, but we still have to go grocery shopping, and then you wanted to go and get a drink at the Modern because your friend works there, and then we have to come back to my place and cook dinner, and then we are meeting friends at Artisanal around nine.” “Baby please, fifteen minutes more, please. . .” He was nicely trying to tell me to shut up.
Another hour passed by – the best one ever – we laid in darkness with a subtle white light as if the moon actually existed in our skyscraper kingdom. . .it was a gentle illumination, perfect for midday snoozing and a cheese and wine hangover. I didn’t even notice that I really did not feel as healthy as I would have liked – the bed was just too soft, and Mauro’s arms. . . better than Advil and water. I tell you, ever since I’ve met Mauro I’ve been eating primarily bread, cheese, pasta, and dessert while drinking strictly wine, cappuccino, coffee, and water – except that I make sure we take Emergen C vitamins every day. I asked Mauro if he noticed any difference drinking my vitamins daily and he replied almost pitying me, “after drinking eight coffees straight with no food, while working in the fucking kitchen, I’m sorry baby, I don’t think any vitamins are going to help me.” But I don’t care what he thinks; I know those vitamins are doing something. His face looks more colorful. . . . and his movements. . . so graceful.
Okay, fast forward – in The Modern (53rd St. betw. 5th and 6th Ave) trying to pick out a decent glass of wine to drink. We chose the Gruner Veltliner, “Ried Loiser Berg,” Brundlmayer 2005 ($13/glass), an Austrian grape that seemed to consistently have an overwhelming citrus flavor to it; “this tastes like lemon water!” Mauro said. Our restaurant, Klee Brasserie, actually serves a much nicer and cheaper one by the glass (around $8): Gruner Veltliner, “Veltliner #1,” 2004, whose strong citrus flavor is balanced with a nice blackberry nuance. It is crisp and perfect with the tarte flambé, a.k.a. Alsatian thin crust pizza, which Mauro and I were surprised to see placed in front of us on the bar at The Modern, compliments of his friend Garret. I thought The Modern was supposed to be the bomb because I’ve read such great reviews, specifically by the godfather himself, Frank Bruni, whose opinion about your restaurant could make or break you – but so far, Klee Brasserie’s wine by the glass list, and especially the tarte flambé, were much superior {even though Bruni did come in once to our restaurant, the third day after it was opened, and said a few negative comments about our white wine, lighting – which he said was too bright (I’ll let Mauro devour that topic at a later date), and something about the swordfish. However; critiquing a restaurant after it’s only been opened for three days?. . . hmm, I don’t think is so professional, no matter who you are -- and I think Frank Bruni would agree as well; he wrote in a review titled, Two Upstarts Don Their Elders' Laurels, published on January 10, 2007, about 11 Madison Park: "I gave Eleven Madison two stars in February 2005, and while I normally wouldn’t review a restaurant again so soon, Mr. Humm’s food — not the new table settings, not the tweaked lighting — made me do it. . . . I can’t cut into such impeccably roasted duck — glazed smartly, but not too sweetly, with lavender and honey — and shut up about it. That would be a dereliction of duty. It would be just plain mean."}. “Who is this Frank Bruni?” Mauro, shook his head with grave disappointment when he saw Daniel Angerer, owner and head chef of Klee Brasserie come into the restaurant with some decorations to try and alter the lighting by the open kitchen that allows to you to see not only the fire of the wood stone oven, but also allows you to hear Daniel curse and yell in English with an Austrian accent.
The reason why Klee Brasserie’s Alsatian thin crust pizza is so much better than The Modern’s is because while The Modern’s is soggy in the middle, Klee’s remains crispy and flaky with every bite (I’m not trying to brag just because I work there, or because my sexy Italian boyfriend is the chef de Cuisine at Klee, but honestly just because the tarte flambé is that damn fucking good). Garret also sent us the chicken liverwurst accompanied by pickled vegetables from The Modern’s bar menu: good, but nothing to write or argue about, but I’m not someone who would ever order chicken liverwurst. However, Mauro did get excited about the pickled veggies, “You would die babe if you tried some of my pickles.” “So make me some.” (What else was I supposed to say?) “Okay, one day I’ll let you try.” “Okay,” I said disappointed. It sucked having an amazing chef as a boyfriend and always hearing “one day I’ll let you try. . . .” Just fucking do it. I want to try your pickles . . . Now!
But he did blow my mind while I watched him prepare seafood risotto. I may not be a professional chef, but I know how it can be cooking in someone else’s kitchen and not having your own utensils or especially spices; “Jordana, do you have any tarragon?” “Let me see. . . no.” “Do you have saffron?” “No, definitely not.” “Okay, do you have any curry?” It kept getting weirder, “Yes,” I replied while thinking to myself, ‘how is he going to use curry in a risotto with seafood?’ “Do you have any fresh basil?” “No, I told you to buy basil.” “Yes,” he said frustrated, “but it’s a waste of money to buy a whole bunch when I just need a little.” Then he just stopped asking me and started grabbing the most random shit – in my opinion. He added soy sauce, and then the juice of pickled ginger because I didn’t have lemon (I had to ask him about that one later: the vinegar from the pickled ginger replaced the citrus from the lemon, and of course added a ginger flavor). On-top of all of that crazy mixture he added parmesan cheese. All in all, the risotto had this green seaweed thing called Salicornia, clams, bay scallops, and squid: it was phenomenal – and all those flavors blended so perfectly together that I was just excited eating every bite even though I was disappointedly already full. I even snuck a few more spoon-fulls in my mouth when I brought the dirty plates into the kitchen and realized that were leftovers in the pot. I started thinking bad thoughts about my mother and brother like ‘they better not eat this because I want it for lunch tomorrow and Mauro’s my boyfriend so I deserve them!’ Yes, it was sad and pathetic what good food could do to me.
I was completely stuffed, and had been since four a.m. when we finished about five ounces of Taleggio, six ounces of Idiazabal (similar to Manchego with a smoky flavor), a few ounces of Fourme D’Ambert, and a whole loaf of bread – but I had to go on. Our “real” night hadn’t even started yet. I had to eat more cheese, and at this point I really didn’t want to drink anymore or eat another bite of anything. I was upset, hiding the defeat I felt within myself, ‘why did I overdue everything before we even began?’ The only thing that made me feel good was the fact that I was wearing some of my tight, tight jeans and I wasn’t horrifically uncomfortable, they actually still fit me and Mauro’s eyebrows still raised when he saw me and told me “Wow, you look beautiful.” I could go on; there was still room for more cheese and wine.
Artisanal, 9:45 p.m. – next to the 32nd St. #6 subway stop, easy access; but right when we entered Mauro and I were unimpressed, though still wowed by the cheese bar. The regular bar though was boring to say the least. Artisanal had that feeling that you were still in the eighties in NYC. There really wasn’t anything powerful or spectacular about it other than the cheese – which really fucking stank when you walked in. It took like an hour until your nose acclimated to the smell. On any other night the same smell of blue cheese and goat cheese may have excited me, but not after sleeping with a piece of Fourme D’Ambert by your side for eight hours.
Mauro and I decided to wait at the bar, the dark bar, and asked for the wine list. “Uuuggghhh,” Mauro gasped and looked at me while his heart dropped. “What?” I asked adding more disappointment with my tone. “They have our Lamuri here for $56, at Otto it’s only $35!” “No way! That’s horrible.” “Babe, Otto’s wine list is just the best Italian wine list. I’m sorry, it can’t be beat . . the quality and the prices.” “Okay, yes, you’re right,” I said, “but that’s why we are here, we have to try new places Mauro. We have to go all over the city and discover what’s out there.” Mauro looked back at the wine list like a little boy who had been severely let down. “Mauro, why do they have such a horrible selection of wine, and I thought they had over a hundred different . . oh, I see, you can have any of the bottles they serve by the glass . . I guess that’s cool, but it kind of sucks when you want to buy a good bottle, there really isn’t anything that great and it’s all way overpriced.”
“What are we going to drink, the Pouilly Fumé?” Mauro asked me void of the usual hype and thrill he always had while picking out a bottle of wine at Otto’s. “I was thinking the same thing; I don’t really want any of their reds.” I started evaluating our predicament. . . I’ve got to find something positive from this experience . . . . yes, our friends – let’s not make this so technical – one of the best aspect about drinking and eating with company is that there is this common denominator act of sharing which transcended any otherwise pervading differences between people/opinions that could potentially irk you had there not been any food or wine in which to partake enjoyment. But it was a difficult start when our first two friends, Chris and Star, who worked for a computer company and were in NYC on a business trip, arrived around ten p.m. The bartender, without asking any of us, especially Mauro or me, had poured the more than half bottle of our Jean Paul Mollet L’Antique Pouilly Fumé 2004 ($52) into two wine glasses and placed them on the table in front of our friends before they even had time to take off their coats. I bit my cheek; I won’t even try to explain the look in Mauro’s eyes. ‘What type of blood clot service. . . .?’ I would never have served someone’s bottle to newcomers before asking the host of the wine party if he/she wanted the wine to be poured – and besides that, I would have never poured such large servings from any type of bottle service, unless it was strictly by the glass. I think that was some of the worst wine etiquette/service I had ever experienced. Mauro was scared; you should have heard the things he whispered to me.
Yet, as the wine started to reach our blood, our expectations and disappointments took back stage. I read a quote one time on the subway that said “you can change your life by changing your thoughts,” and instantly I thought about cheese and wine. Drinking wine and eating cheese was such an amazing experience because it affected you. . . the experience took your mind and your body to a place that you didn’t experience on a daily basis (usually). So once the wine and the conversation started to kick in, Artisanal became secondary; it didn’t really matter if it wasn’t as good as Otto, or if the wine list wasn’t as remarkable because we were with our friends enjoying our Monday off, and we were young, beautiful, talented, and appreciative enough to know that there was so much in life to be grateful for. We were happy, and we wanted another bottle of wine. I chose the Ribera del Duero Roble Vina Sastre 2003 ($40) because it was cheap and I knew it would be an easy drinking wine even though Mauro didn’t really like it.
The night was kicking in. Two more joined us around 10:30 p.m., one of my dearest and most beautiful friends from Sweden called Red and her more than boyfriend Mark who was still dressed in his suit from work – but a nice suit, not one of those cheap suits men wore when they didn’t really care about their job but knew that they had to look professional – no, he looked sharp and Red was sparkling as always. They ordered their own glasses of red wine and soon we were all laughing. I was taking a bunch of pictures and Mark who reminded me of Bill Murray, even looked like him a little when Bill Murray was younger, asked me “What are you Japanese?” Then he took the camera and stuffed it down his pants and said, “This one’s for you Mauro.” “Make sure the flash is on Mark,” someone said in the background. “Yeah,” Mauro said, “make sure you zoom in when you take that picture.” We were merry. Good times, good company; and the atmosphere was still nice.
Okay, we needed some cheese. “Excuse me, can we see the cheese menu?” “Of course,” a new server replied; we may have had three or four different servers by the time we left – we were the last table at twelve thirty a.m. on a Monday night (Oops, but it has happened to me over and over again as a server). While looking over the cheese list that offered about one hundred and fifty different cheeses to choose from the server mised en place our table with bread plates, silverware, and bread. “Oh my god Mauro, this menu is too huge, how are we supposed to pick just a few cheeses from it. . .” Mauro remained silent while he himself was overwhelmed by the selection. “I have an idea,” I said, “why doesn’t everyone who is eating cheese pick one? Perfect. . . I can’t go first though. Red are you eating cheese?” “Yes, of course.” “Okay, here’s the menu, we’ll all pick one.” While she was examining it, Mark could not keep his mind from devious invention. “Look,” he said as he picked up the plate with the Artisanal logo on it. He had covered the first half of the name so only -anal was showing – and of course we all started laughing because it was not even the things that Mark did that was funny, Mark was funny. And the domino effect, Mauro became inspired . . at that point we were about four glasses of wine into the night. . . “Look,” Mauro said as well as he partitioned the name into three different words with his hand “Art. . is. . anal.” Wow, we were really getting creative.
After about a half an hour we had all chosen our cheese, four different ones for the four of us who were eating: Red chose the Cascina chèvre from the island of Corsica (my favorite of the four); Chris chose the Isle of the Mull Cheddar from Scotland which is made from a small family farm, the only dairy farm on the island; Mauro chose the Tomme de Savoie from France; and I chose the Prätigauer from Switzerland because I wanted a firm cheese that I had never heard of after eating so much gooey Taleggio two nights in a row that, don’t deny it, smells like phlegm (yet it’s one of my faves). Five dollars per piece of cheese, which seemed chintz to me, but when the cheese arrived, even though I was not impressed by the display because it wasn’t accompanied by something sweet or beautiful, once we started eating it, we all became quiet and a subtle humming began to choir like crickets in the night, “Uumm,” “So good.” This was Artisanal’s secret weapon, which, obviously was not no secret. The cheese was where it was at and the cheese was fucking awesome. No matter how much cheese I had eaten that previous weekend, I wanted more; I still want more. I really did want to order more cheese, but I knew there was so way Mauro would concede; plus I would have looked like an addict – so instead we ordered another glass of wine each. I think we ordered the Chateauneuf-de-Pape, but I don’t remember because they didn’t have all the wines on their wine list; they kept on having to come back to offer us something different.
By 12:30 a.m. Mauro said he wanted to go to Otto or to Landmarc (located on West Broadway and Worth in Tribeca). I suggested Landmarc because it was closer to his apartment and Otto closed at one a.m. on the weekdays while Landmarc at two a.m.. We were kind of tipsy, in the subway waiting for the train and Mauro grabbed me and said, “I’m sorry babe, but Otto is the best. We are totally screwed with our blog and should just end it now. There’s no more to research, nothing’s going to beat it. . .” and we started laughing so loud like drunk fools for about ten minutes . .We were blissfully happy. We had an amazing night and it wasn’t even over yet. We were actually heading to Landmarc and we were going to drink another bottle of wine. We ordered the Aglianico from southern Italy which was very enjoyable – heavy leather, full-bodied with dark red fruit, firm tannins and good acidity. It was a beautiful end to our Monday – and even though the cheese plate would have been perfect with the wine, I ordered dessert instead: the tiramisu which was too tiny to enjoy, and two ice cream cones, pistachio and hazelnut. They were delicious; the hazelnut taking the lead. We closed the restaurant at a little past three a.m., being the last people there for only about fifteen minutes – but I made sure that we had closed out our check much earlier.
Mauro and I would never journey back again to Artisanal for wine or the atmosphere alone, but I would like some more cheese; however, because the former two are so weak, including the service being only fair, I may just order the cheese on-line next time I have a dinner party.