I have long been one to prefer a rich Cabernet Sauvignon or spicy Zinfandel to a Merlot. But I must admit I felt sorry for Merlot winemakers when the movie Sideways cast a sorry blight upon the varietal (and elevated Pinot Noir beyond where it might or should otherwise stand). For years before Sideways, Merlot had the reputation for being one-note, “mellow†to the point of blandness, or worse, muddled or bitter. It also has suffered the slander of being deemed by those in the vinto-know as “accessible.†Surely, in so rarefied a field as viticulture this can not be meant as a compliment. Indeed, a quaffable wine adored by the masses is an easy mark for the disdain of oenophiles.
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Archive for February, 2008
I forked through the rich chocolate ganache, splitting the cake in half and thought, hey, where’s the PB? On account of the prominence of the term “peanut butter” in the title of the item, I assumed that would have a noticeable amount of, well, peanut butter in it. In actuality, it was mostly chocolate cake, with the thinnest of peanut butter schmears. Unfortunately, as a plain chocolate cake, the dessert also fell short–not the moistest I have ever had. I am sure there are other chocolate delicacies at S.M.’s that are more chocolately and delicious than this. So, if you love all things peanut butter, as I do, or even if you just have a hankering for chocolate cake, I would not recommend this particular dessert to you. Luckily, there are plenty of other winsome options to sample from that glass case at Sweet Melissa’s… Sweet Melissa
Within a few years the trend was no longer confined to Spanish fare; many types of cuisine picked up the tapas torch, but perhaps none so successfully as Italian. Now, I hazard a guess that Italian “small plates” (as they are now termed) joints outnumber tapas bars in New York–one can hardly turn a corner (especially in lower Manhattan) without finding one of these bruschetta- and wine-mongers. They follow the same model with varying degrees of success: antipasti, bruschetta, pressed sandwiches, salads, and cheese and meat plates, served on small white plates, set on rustic wood tables, with wines often served in stemless glassware (the reason behind this trend is not at all clear). Some distinguish themselves by saying they are enotecas, or wine bars, but trust me, c’est la même chose (or shall we say, è la stessa cosa). After Manhattan became flooded with these places, they began to pop up in my neighborhood in Brooklyn with places like Panino’tecca, and the much-ballyhooed Frankies 457 Spuntino. So when Bocca Lupo opened on Henry Street a year and a half ago, I hoped for the best, but feared the mediocrity that is often bred by market over-saturation. While they aren’t breaking any new ground (and as some have remarked, they are in fact treading much ground already broken specifically by ‘ino in the West Village of Manhattan), they have well-deservedly become a popular neighborhood dining destination. They also have become the reasonably priced restaurant to which I compare splurge meals (e.g., “I have had food I enjoyed more at Bocca Lupa than this expensive dinner I just had at Pó.”) To start with, I highly recommend the vegetable antipasti plate. It is not an uninspired mix of grilled vegetables, but perfect sautéed wild mushrooms, marinated vegetables, beet salad, asparagus, broccoli rabe, and whatever else they happen to whip up for the day. The bruschetta with white bean purée and olive tapenade varies form visit to visit (sometimes the puree is thick, sometimes runny, sometimes flavored strongly with rosemary, sometimes not), but is reliably good enough that we more often than not order it. They have a lot of other tasty bruschetta–the truffled egg salad with asparagus is another fave. They depart from the typical small plates model in that they offer a nightly risotto and pasta dish, which is a refreshing difference from the bread-heavy menus of most of these places. If I have any complaints, it is that the food is inconsistent; sometimes it is just okay, but sometimes it is absolutely divine. Their biggest issue seems to be with seasoning. For instance, on our last visit, the beet and truffle risotto and especially the pasta with gorgonzola and yellow squash we shared were oversalted. The oversaltiness wasn’t enough to render the dishes inedible, but I would have enjoyed them more had the salt been moderated. Conversely, the leek and truffle bruschetta suffered from undersalting to the point of blandness.
Consistency issues aside, there us much to recommend Bocca Lupa. Even when the food is isn’t as good as it can be, it is still better than other places in the nabe. Everyone can find something on the menu that they will like (it is kid- and vegetarian-friendly). Their wine list is substantial and reasonably priced. And there are little touches, such as the garnish on a plate of bruschetta–a throwaway at most places–here is unbelievably delicious marinated cauliflower, of which I could eat an entire plate alone. The desserts are also great. I love the banana and nutella panini, and the last time we went, we had a new item on the dessert menu: mascarpone cheesecake with apricots. I am not a huge fan of cheesecake in general, but this was delicious: the rich and creamy mascarpone was well paired with the sweet-tart, gooey apricots. I’d like to see more new items added the the dessert menu, as the dessert menu has remained exactly the same since opening until the addition of the marscapone cheesecake, and I am a little bored with it. Though there are some things Bocca Lupo can work on, there are many more things that it gets right. I can’t think of anything that would recommend it more than the following: We took my parents-in-law there soon after they had returned from a vacation traveling around Italy. They said the meal we had Bocca Lupa was better than anything they had in whilst in the motherland. As anyone who has eaten in Italy would tell you: that is high praise indeed. Bocca Lupo
Okay, now to this great cast iron griddle/grill. My sister gave it to me as a year ago (thanks, sis!), and she thoughtfully bought the pre-seasoned version (you can also buy a “raw” grill and season it yourself). I must admit the first time I used it, I burnt seventy-five percent of the pancake batch I was making because I couldn’t control the heat the way I wanted to. You see, never having used used cast iron, I wasn’t prepared for the crazy hot heat it generates and retains. After I mastered the art of properly heating cast iron, though, I learned to love it and now wouldn’t trade it for anything. I use it for pancakes, French toast, grilled vegetables, grilled cheese, quesadillas, grilled haloumi (this is a Cypriot cheese that isn’t great raw, but is amazing grilled–seriously, you must find it and try it), and much, much more! It is a breeze to clean (no soap, just sort of scrape it down, rinse it off, heat it back up and coat it with oil), and I have learned to use its amazing heat retention to great benefit. The heat is much more even and more intense than its aluminum counterparts. The one and only drawback is that it weighs more than the Libery Bell, but it is one hundred percent pure cast iron, waddya want?
Feb
19
2008
An Ode to the Western Farmer’s Market (and Popsicles)Posted by: Michelle in Food musings, West Coast BureauFirst, I must divulge that I grew up in America’s heartland, where the fields far outnumber the freeways. Inexplicably, the Midwestern diet is heavy on cheese and pork, light on fresh fruits and vegetables, so I didn’t really cultivate a taste for the bounties of the harvest until I moved to the big city (and became a vegetarian). Now that I live in Northern California, the thing that strikes me the most about the region is the abundant opportunity to “eat local.†Sure, I’ve been to farmer’s markets all over the United States (and Europe!), but in my experience they can be confected arrangements of knobby, gnarled fruit and bags of nuts trucked in from very far away, and the buying experience was rushed and overcrowded. Here, they are truly cornucopias of all that is delightful about food, and rarely is there a grower present whose fields are more than 50 miles from the market. My favorite farmer’s market is, hands down, the twice-weekly affair in Davis.
Every Wednesday afternoon and Saturday morning, the main park transforms into a delightful panoply of arts and crafts, flowers, baked goods, prepared foods, and a wonderful assortment of fruit, veggies, nuts, fish, and even fresh tortillas and wine. By no means is it the largest or most comprehensive market (the Sunday morning Sacramento farmer’s market far outstrips Davis’ in terms of quantity and diversity, and of course the farmer’s market at San Francisco’s Ferry Building is a singular experience), but darn if it isn’t always a good time. I come for the food and the people; my husband tags along for the Labrador Retriever rescue that always sets up shop at the far end of the park. The pace is leisurely, almost extravagant, as people file through with dogs or kids in arms; growers are friendly and willing to chat about any aspect of their business (they also love it when you take pictures of their produce!) as you munch on samples. Let’s be brutally frank, however: though I love the fresh almond butter (available in creamy OR crunchy!), the locally produced honey, and the gigantic fruit, my favorite thing about the Davis farmer’s market is the popsicles made by Aisu Pops. It’s almost a crime to call them mere popsicles, for they shouldn’t be lumped into the same category as an Otter Pop or a Fudgsicle. These are chilly innovation on a stick, and I find myself counting the days until I can go back and try another flavor. Aisu Pops are the brainchild of H.T. Jaymes Luu, a Davis local who brings her wares on a bicycle fitted with a freezer. Nearly all of the ingredients come from growers who sell at the farmer’s market, and they are made in small batches of 40 pops at a, well, pop. The flavors rotate according to season and chef-ly whim; some are conventional taste combinations such as strawberry coconut and kiwi mango, but step outside the norm and the results are astonishingly original and exciting: beet tangerine, kaffir limeade with avocado, blueberry grape with tarragon, and canteloupe chai are just a few of the flavors that have graced the freezer on wheels at markets past. This weekend, we tried the Thai iced tea popsicle, made creamy and even more orange with sweet potatoes, and kiwi mango (pictured above), which had the perfect blend of gritty seeds and velvety tropical delight. At $2 a pop, I can’t think of a more cost-effective way to eat local, undoubtedly with a smile. I am excited to introduce a new contributor to gastronormous! Michelle Treviño is a writer, editor, and friend extraordinaire. She was born in the Midwest and spent much of her life in cities small and large along the East Coast before moving to the West Coast a few years ago. Her gastroreporting will focus mostly on Sacramento and its environs, with some forays into San Francisco and other California locales. Michelle’s first post is about a farmer’s market, the bounty of which is perhaps best appreciated by someone who lived in New York for many years (as she did), and therefore understands the sadness of living someplace with a relative dearth of readily available, good-quality, fresh produce! [Ah, but I miss fresh California produce!] Okay, everyone, please welcome Michelle! You can contact her at michelle {at} gastronormous {dot} com. Where: Fragole Ristorante
We were happy to learn from the hostess that the wait would tonight be only 20 minutes. And, what luck, two seats opened up at the bar. We ordered a glass of wine to share while we waited. Then we waited. And waited. And waited. I began to worry that the hostess had forgotten about us, when a man sitting at the table next to the bar got up and volunteered to us that those at his table had eaten a basket of bread and consumed an entire bottle of wine and nobody had even come to take their order yet! This did not bode well for the chances of being seated and served in a timely manner. Looking around the bar, I began to realize what amateurs we were–you could tell the regular customers were those who ordered their food at the bar while they were waiting to be seated. That would have been a smart move as our 20 minute wait stretched into an hour before we got a table. After being seated, before looking at the menu, I knew that I was going to order a special from the chalkboard: wild mushroom ravioli with almonds and truffled pink sauce. Doesn’t that sound divine? We perused the menu briefly and collared the waiter the very next time we saw him–we were starving by this time and didn’t want to take the chance of being subjected to the same treatment as the fellow by the bar. When I placed my order he regretted to inform me that they were out of the wild mushroom ravioli, but could do a cheese ravioli with the same sauce. I was disappointed, but as I have never met a truffle I didn’t like, I decided to go with it anyway.
The entrees were quite tasty. Though I would have perhaps preferred the mushroom ravioli, the cheese ravioli were delicious–creamy, gooey, and flavorful–and lacking the ricotta-heavy, dry, granular texture that many cheese ravioli have. The sauce was delicious. It was a truffle-scented vodka-like sauce, but the truffle didn’t overwhelm. The tomatoes, cream, and truffles were given equal respect, as it should be (truffles can by cloying if used heavy handedly). My only complaint is that the sauce was a tad too salty (and I have quite a salty tooth, so this says a lot). The tilapia was served in the paper in which it was cooked, along with shrimp, artichoke hearts, some superfluous snow peas, and seasoned simply but tastily with oregano and lemon. The tilapia was expertly cooked and had a creamy rather than flaky texture that melted in the mouth. The shrimp were few, and it is just as well as I believe they were frozen–they paled in comparison to the tilapia. The fish was served with a side of broccoli rabe simply sauteed with garlic, which was delicious also. I am not a particular fan of Chianti, but this one was rich and spicy and tasted more like a Primitivo to me, and I quite enjoyed it. Definitely a Chianti I would have again. After our plates were cleared we were given the dessert menu. We considered getting something, but after waiting a while for the waiter to return, we realized if we didn’t leave now, we might never get out! Besides the long waits before being seated and after dinner, the service was actually not bad. They seemed to be short on waitstaff, which may be a chronic issue here as they are as well know for their long waits as they are for their good food. When our bill arrived, we were told that our bar bill was on the house, which was quite kind of them. Unfortunately, it didn’t register that that is what the waiter had said before he disappeared again, so we didn’t get to thank him. Hubs suggested that we were comped the glass of wine because of my assiduous picture- and note-taking. I’d rather like to think that they felt badly for making us wait–but maybe I am just looking for excuses to return despite the service.
The best news for people with teeny kitchens (like me!), is that it doesn’t take up as much room as the Rabbit and other super-efficient corkscrews. As is the case with many corkscrews, the Screwpull works better with real cork than with the plastic ones, but still works better on them than our old chrome one. Sadly, the screw part of our Screwpull broke clean off a week ago, after three years of use. Call me a sucker, but I am planning to buy another one!
The other night I made some roasted cauliflower and garlic to act as a side to leftover mushroom risotto. The recipe is so easy, and the ingredients so few, but the flavor of the resultant dish so complex and delicious. The common sulfurous flavor of cauliflower is mellowed, the edges are rich and crispy, and the garlic is caramelized to a chewy, sweet perfection.
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