Gotham Gastronomy

Genius in the Details

2006-06-05T13:04:00.001-04:00

Last week, I was enjoying a summer afternoon with friends at the outdoor portion of Bread Bar, Tabla's casual counterpart. When our wine arrived accompanied by stemless stemware, we were all disheartened; the staff was happy to assuage our fears and supply us with proper glasses, but not before noting the rationale behind their original choice. It seems that their sidewalk cafe is a bit of a wind tunnel, and the stemware has a propensity to blow over, spil, and shatter. Hence, the restaurant delivers heavier, squatter, more wind-resistant glassware!
Such thought is exactly what distinguishes Tabla and Danny Meyers other restaurants from their peers and competitors. Blue Smoke, Eleven Madison Park, and Gramercy Tavern all boast tasty fare, but none are ever going to match the quality and skills offered by the likes of one-namers like Daniel or Ducasse. This is not to say that the food is poor; to the contrary, it is quite tasty, but the appeal lies in the details and the service.
For example, about a decade ago, I dined at Gram-Tav with a comely female companion. She commented to our captain that she was feeling cold, and he quickly replied with a question.
"What color shawl would you like?"
She selected charcoal, and sure enough, a stylish charcoal shawl materialized at our table almost instantly. My favorite part of the experience came at meal's end when she had grown so attached to the garment (not to mention attached to the four bottles of wine that we had downed) that she left the premises with the piece firmly, uh, shouldered. As we were hailing a cab, the hostess appeared to retrieve the garment. Having consumed my fair share of the vino, I offered a few hundred dollars in cash for the shawl.
Aghast the kind employee declined the money questioning, "What would the other patrons wear when they get cold?"
Now, that is true dedication!
On the afore-mentioned windy visit to Bread Bar, we caught glimpse of none other than Danny Meyer himself. Mr. Meyer's background is actually in politics which make explain his devotion to pleasing as many people as possible. He certainly looked the part last week in a sharp suit with a bold, yet tasteful chartreuse tie. We engaged him in a conversation which may have bordered on some outright ass-kissing, but he humored it graciously. We spoke about his love of details be it shawls or matchbooks, all of the highest quality.
Then as the conversation wound down, the weather followed suit. The winds stopped pushing glasses and began pushing clouds. A light drizzle began to flirt with monsoon proportions.
Mr. Meyer prepared to bid us adieu, but first he commented that his favorite detail is the umbrellas... Needless to say we left lunch happy and dry beneath some top-of-the-line Tabla parasols!

Book Review: History In A Glass

2006-05-30T12:51:00.000-04:00

I am sucker for the impulse buy. For example, I arrived at a Memorial Day party bearing not just the prerequisite grillables, but also a cylinder of Normandy Butter because the latter is so tasty that I simply could not leave the market without it. Said lack of restraint manifests itself in the realm of books most frequently. So, when I stopped into Shakes & Co. to pick up a greeting card, it is was no surprise that exited with Ruth Reichl's latest.
Reichl is a grande dame amongst food writers, having served as restaurant critic for the New York Times in the nineties, before departing to helm Gourmet magazine. Unfortunately, her name's prominent positioning on the cover of History In A Glass was a bit misleading; in fact, Reichl did not pen the volume. Rather, she penned an introduction, and "edited" the work.
All the same, I was please with what I found. History In A Glass is a compilation of wine writing from Gourmet spanning the last sixty years.
The anthology offers all sorts of novelties which are delightful. A 1953 piece on dandelion wine by, scifi sultan, Ray Bradbury reads more like a short story from The Martian Chronicles than a n expository piece, but then again who cares? I really harbor no interest in making weeds into wine anyway! However, the writing is a joy to read. Likewise, many of the pieces within the book must be embraced as fun anecdotes or literary victory laps, not stared down as poor pedagogy.
However, historical significance is also quite present. The author list is littered with names like James Beard, Frederick Wildman, and Hugh Johnson, not to mention equally significant, but less familiar apellations such as Frank Schoonmaker and Gerald Asher. The volume presents the opportunity to understand why these titans became titans, not to mention the experience of reading some phenomenal food writing! The pleasure here is less a [product of education and more a sheer mastery of the language.
When one reads these writings, they realize how excellent our elders were especially compared with the crap in Wine Specullum (or in the blogosphere.) Here is a perfect segue to the last offering of the book which is a cross section of history. The act of reading American wine writing from such a long spectrum of time allows us to note how our nation's diction, as well as our views of wine have evolved... or how complex and non-impulsive our epistemology truly is!

Specks of Knowledge

2006-05-24T11:24:00.000-04:00

Speck?
A speck of what? This eccentric ingredient has be known to make a cameo or two on high-end Italian menus (notably accompanying ramps in a delicious pasta dish at A Voce.) However, few people, including waiters, can explain exactly what it is. Hell, my bible, Larousse Gastronomique does not even offer an entry! For that matter, neither does the dictionary at Epicurious or the otherwise overpopulated Wikipedia.
However, the ingredient is well worth knowing!
Speck derives its diminutive moniker from the German word for bacon, but like the old George Carlin routine about driving on the parkway and parking on the driveway, the term is misleading. Bacon and speck are of the same cured pork family. (Also of note from the boot are the less flavorful prosciutto and more "bacon-like" pancetta.) However, speck is far leaner than bacon and prepared entirely differently. Further, unlike bacon, speck is made from hogs' legs.
Speck is brined in garlic, black pepper, juniper berries, saltpeter, laurel, and bay leaves. After the initial treatment, the rectangular blocks of boneless pork are allowed to rest for a month. Subsequently, they are moved to a smoke house where the swine is treated a cold smoking of some mix of beechwood, laurel, juniper, and maple. The final stage of the process is several months of air drying, or dry-aging.
Alto Adige is to speck what the Cote d'Or is to Burgundy, and in fact, the government protects the distinction with a PGI designation for the meat. Here, the curing is still performed in small batches and primarily by farmers, not large companies. Hence, the speck season peaks in autumn as the slaughter is generally in February.
The end color resembles a medium rare steak that it is a bit more rare than medium, and the taste is logically) a combination of smoke, salt, and just a bit of fatty goodness. The meat can be eaten in slices a la prosciutto or diced. The product is also extremely versatile; it can be eaten unto itself or mixed into a dish. In the latter case, it pairs well with shellfish, pasta, risotto, or even a pizza.

Urban Grilling

2006-05-22T12:24:00.000-04:00

Southerners will tell you that we do nopt know how to barbecue here in the Big Apple.
And, for the most part, they are right. Indeed, despite the recent explosion (R.U.B., Blue Smoke, Dinosaur, etceteras) we are about a century behind those on the wrong side of the Mason-Dixon line when it comes to the art of slow smoking meat to tender goodness. However, being suckers for semantics, even the staunchest, southern stalwarts will concede that we can grill up here.
Unfortunately, apartment living makes the task a bit difficult, logistics wise. So, today, we tackle the topic of urban grilling.

First of all, NO!
In New York City, starting a fire on your terrace or roof is not legal even if your end intent is not more malevolent than a rare Porterhouse! (Come on, think about it, people.)
So, clearly, the entire post at hand is purely hypothetical, as GG would never endorse any transgressions to the wrong side of the law. [And, if one must violate the never-petty-legislation of the City of New York, please (seriously) keep an extinguisher or bucket of sand handy.]

One must also note that while superior, charcoal burning grills throw off smoke, a lot of smoke. If one is grilling on a terrace with neighboring apartments in the, uh, line of fire, those neighbors are probably going to be pretty irritated when their homes start assuming the smoky smell of your supper. Hence, a gas powered Hibachi is the best way to go unless you are living this suburban dream on a roof. In the latter case, there is no question; do you really want your food to taste of propane?

The quality of the grill itself does matter. It is tempting to hit the Duane-Reade (well, it is never tempting to patronize a D-R, but...) and purchase a cheap piece of equipment for under thirty dollars. However, you will regret the move when your successful inaugural run inspires and encore, and you discover the grill has begun rusting over the course of a week. Instead, I urge y'all to purchase a Weber. The company is the undisputed standard of the industry and for good reason. They make four models in the "portable" or city-friendly class, all available for well under a hundred dollars. Acquiring one is an investment akin to your first Creuset dutch oven.

The key to working with one of these smaller size units is planning. (The old army adage about preventing piss poor performance is pertinent.) Lighting a 160 square inch grill is not conducive to chimney cylinders, and there is little room for fiddling later in the process. So, if one desires indirect heat, be sure to deal with this arrangement of the briquettes from the onset. Further, I recommend the use of aluminum foil to folded upon itself to create barriers for the coals or small pans which can hold the likes of apple juice and other moisture infusing liquids for pork products such as ribs.

Ribs bring us to the next issue which is a case of measure twice, cut once. Unfortunately, items such as full racks of ribs, and larger steaks will not fit on the average hibachi. So, if one plans to cook them bring a ruler to the market (really) or be prepared to cut to size. In the latter scenario, do not simply snip off the excess, but instead divide into two larger pieces to maximize flavor.

Fianlly, do not forget potholders! These grills don't have too much weight. So, if you find yourself trying to scrape off that burger stuck to the grill too hard, the entire grill may fall of of your terrace onto Madison Avenue... and, that would be bad.

Finally... Turks & Frogs

2006-05-17T11:12:00.000-04:00

Joey, have you ever been in a Turkish prison? Young Turks. Turkish Delight. Talikin' Turkey? . . .
The wordplay is endless, and I have only tackled the first word. So, I shall gather my composure and restrain myself from further punning.
Time to focus!
Earlier in the week, I finally paid a visit to Turks & Frogs. The visit has been delayed so long that the much bally-hooed destination is actually two destinations, the West Village original 325 W. 11th btw. Hudson and Joe Dimaggio Freeway) and a Tribeca satellite (458Greenwich btw. Watts and Desbrosses.)
By now, the story is well known. Owner, Osman Cakir, dreamed of owning a drinkery his entire life, but found himself in the antiques business. His little brother was a weathered pro having served time in da 'biz. One day, the two set about converting Cakir's antiques shop into a wine bar and the rest is history. Voila, instant hotspot!
However, before investigating the West Village original, Gotham Gastronomy first visited the recently unveilled way-downtown. Said small strip of Greenwich is no West Broadway, and Drew Nierpont is no where to be seen, but Gentrification is certainly in full force. Of the four storefronts on the block, one is T&F, the other, a quaint cafe, and construction permits heralded changes in store (pun intended) at a third. The big G was also inescapably manifest in the converted loft residences towering above. All the same, we enjoyed the block; save the disappearance of the cobblestone, some character remained and there was no suffocating Scene.
As for the restaurant... The key word here is restaurant! While the original is a wine bar, the Tribeca venue is a restaurant that happens to hold a bar seating about nine. The remainder of the interior is decorated with the typical arches and lanterns of Turkey or North Africa. The motif flirts with cheese, but the minimallism manages to spare such a fate. This location offered a full bar and the drinks were well made, and the service very friendly and attentive.
The wine list is similliar at both locations; so, I might as well tackle it now. The selection was fairly impressive, but not to my liking. Yet, if you are a fan of the Big Red, here is a place for you. There are all sorts of Zins and Cabs from the New World, the Southern Rhone is well represented, and there are ven some Turkish types thrown in in hommage to the owners' subcontinental roots.

While I did not eat a proper meal, we did sample some of the bar food. If one is to believe that a restaurant can be judged by the bread offered, then Turks & Frogs is looking good! The other selections offered were the expected mix of lebni and hummus (aka"dips") as well as concotions of coriander, lemon, eggplant, and olive available at the bar. All were of top quality, but one must remember that top quality hummus is a different bird than top quality foie-gras and adjust their expectations accordingly.

After a couple glasses of wine, not to mention a martini, we made our way uptown to the West Eleventh location. This location featured a bar, some seating, and a back room behind french doors housing lounge-like seating for about dozen or so more patrons. The menu was limited here, the bar offered only beer and wine (virtually the same list.) However, the appeal lies largely in the atmosphere. The customers are the mellow West Village chic, the staff extremely attentive, and the vibe homey in spite of the chic. It was raining during our visit, and the space was perfect to pass away such an evening over wine.

What is Curry?

2006-05-15T13:15:00.000-04:00

If you want a sure-fire way to offend an Indian in an ignorant, latently racist fashion, tell them that they smell like curry. Rather than point out your racial insensitivities, they will probably ask you what curry is or simply tell you that there is no such thing as curry.
Huh? Is not curry a spice?
Well, not really.
Curry is an incredibly ambiguous term.
However, the term appears to be derived from the Tamil term, kari, which refers to a type of South Indian sauce. Before bastardizing the word, the British used the phrase to refer to a stew of sorts. Said application is not completely incorrect as Indian cuisine is often stew like, cooked at low temperatures for extended periods of time.
However, despite the Tamil roots, the term is rare in the south as are the stewed and meat laden dishes of the north a la Chicken Vindaloo. (Here is the Indian equivalent of ordering a n Extreme Jalapeno Popper in Mexico City.) In the ancient cuisine of the south, aromatics such as hot peppers, mustard seed, and hing are first toasted, then vegetables are added to mix and slowly cooked. The bouquet is essential and the cuisine is akin to Italian cooking as far as an emphasis on simple flavors in perfect proportions. The dish is often mixed with any number of lentil based concotions, pickled mango, and jasmine-esque rice flavored with rasam or samobar. The combination of these components results in that aroma and taste that confusion labels as curry.
Of course, the term has applications in North Indian and Thai gastronomy as well, but these appear about a millennium after the development of Tamil techniques; so, the explanation there can wait a day or two.
So, what is that smell?
And, what is that spice?
Well, curry powder does exist. It is the relic of imperialism to be exact. During the British occupation of the Subcontinent, the colonialist discovered that they enjoyed Indian cuisine, but found it difficult to replicate on the Isle. Consequently, they invented the fore-runner to shake n' bake: curry powder. The stuff is meant to imitate the stereotypical taste of Indian food, and is actually a mixture of dried spices. Those little jars from McCormick generally are a mix of cinnamon, clove, tumeric, cardamom, pepper, and mustard seed. The concept is that simply by seasoning a dish with the blend, it will taste "Indian"!

Gotham Gall

2006-05-10T11:31:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, we find ourselves with a nemesis in life.
Other times, we have a Newman.
A Newman is different from a nemesis in that "nemesis" implies one's equal, whereas a "Newman" is troublesome, but their residence is on a lower plane.
Gotham Gastronomy has found a Newman in a bothersome blog titled Gotham Gal.
The Gotham Gal seems to push all of our buttons! I won't stoop to comment on "virtual me" message attached to the avatar, nor will I lower myself to mocking the position of honor that Bruni's blog receives atop the the link list. (On a sidenote, another three star review? Did the NYT reduce their copay enough for Frank to beginning filling prescriptions for Zoloft?)
However, this week I shall let Bruni be. Dear readers, I may differ in opinion from the C-Section's scion, but I respect his knowledge. Unfortunately, the issue of respect is exactly the problem with said gotham gal.
Chefs and their colleagues in the front of the house (on all levels) practice an art, and one must establish a base respect for such skills before taking potshots at their work. A blind man should not critique a photo exhibit; Hilton Kramer does not ask for Nan Goldin to reprint her color creations in b&w before writing a review.
Yet, the gotham gals is apparently above such frivolities. Her recent write-up on Ditch Plains details her desire to order their dishes without garlic. For example, she orders the "standard" mussel preparation of white wine and shallots sans garlic. Uhhh... this classic dish has four components and she wants one removed? Okay. I have no problem with anyone else's preferences, but please do not portend any degree of expertise. Likewise, in regards to my favorite restaurant, Cru, she argues that, "they really MUST create a better more sophisticated ambiance to go with the fantastic food they are serving or honestly, we won't come back." Tense issues aside, I can not fathom a lack of sophistication serving as a source of criticism in regards to Cru. One means of improvement that the other GG suggests for Cru is the addition of flowers. Hmmm... well, Cru already has flowers. Perhaps, they were missed because the arrangements are understated. The rationale behind that probably has something to do with overpowering floral scents being a detriment to one of the largest wine lists in the world. Oh yeah, and something called class! Further, I must note that the idea Cru did not hire a decorator is absurd; the notion triggers a Proustian flash to Bruni's work on Urena and I realize that the gotham gal has achieved the impossible: improved my opinion of Frank. Alas, these criticisms continue on, as the gotham gal devotes character after character to confused criticism. At Perry Street, a "browned butter vinaigrette" was "good but rich. " Butter? Rich? Really? And, then there is Babbo's failure to receive "five stars" on account of rock and roll. Oh, I thought it was because the Old Grey Lady only has four to give.
Folks in the industry work very hard, and even in the purgatorial realm of the blogosphere, we have a responsibility to educate ourselves before trashing someone else's art and livelihood!
However, the respect issue most troubling is that of Judaism. I frequently crack jokes about my relations with my religion, but the gotham gal has taken the topic to taboo. To be exact, she needs to relax with the stereotypes, just a little bit. For example, I take offense at her professed principle that Jews judge one another's weddings based on the quantity of food served. (Damn, I must have left my scorecard at the last meeting of Media-Banking Conspiracy Club.) Likewise, her embrace of the medieval, stereotype of the penny pinching jew is a sad study in semiotics. On her blog, the jewess does not order dessert because she knows that the restaurant will offer complimentary petit-fours. This does not help our cause, at all.
I find solace in the fact that the g-gal does not confine her latent discrimination to our people. No, a Chinese restaurant must be good because the other patrons were speaking Chinese, not Mandarin, Cantonese, Hu, or Wakka, mind you. Never mind that like styles of cooking, these variations are basically different languages. Wow, they were speaking Chinese in Chinatown! Who'd have thunk it?
Thunk, well, think is exactly the issue at hand!
Try it sometime!

Bacon Grease Use #43

2006-05-08T11:45:00.000-04:00

There are few foods as tasty as bacon!
(My parents, therapist, and rabbi would certainly classify such superlative classification as a manifestation of my self loathing Judaism. Regardless...)
Side pork, smoked or cured, is rich in flavor at all meals of the day. It is also rich in fat! Perhaps said content is tied to the taste; it is also tied to the waste. As we all know, the grease is plentiful and can not be dumped down the drain. Sure, it can be put in can and tossed, but where is the creativity there?
The byproduct is excellent for cooking, particularly southern style greens, such as collared greens or green beans with the stuff, in a style proudly self described as "white trash". Of course, the fat lends moisture to big birds roasting.
However, my favorite use is popcorn (a method developed by Rochester Native, D.M.)
He advises us first to first cook bacon in a large pot.
When the strips are done, remove from pot, and blot on paper towel.
Turn heat down to medium low.
Add popcorn kernels to oil. (Beware of hot oil splattering painfully on hands.)
Eat bacon while corn pops.
Remove corn to bowl.
Serve and Enjoy!

What is a Good Table?

2006-05-05T11:19:00.000-04:00

Spend a night close observing the interactions in a restaurant, and you'll notice many things. You will see customers debate tips, and employees subtly react to them, you will see chefs shout and patrons "yumm", you will see reservations cancelled and specials eighty-sixed. However, most of all you will see some incessant complaining.
The first, if not the most comment complaint to surface in a dining scenario is concerning tables. The people in the banquettes want to sit in chairs, and those in the chairs want to sit in the banquettes. Other parties do not want to sit directly opposite one another at their two-top.
In a restaurants, there is a constant concern about sitting in a good table, maybe a fear of sitting in a bad table.
Yet, what is a good table? And, are there really bad tables?
Well, your momma wasn't lyin', there are some bad tables out there waiting to get you! In my opinion, the worst tables are found in smaller restaurants without the luxury of space for a lobby/entry foyer type of area. Instead, seating is crammed in by the door. This location is awful! The traffic is distracting and the shifts in temperature accompanying entries and exits is unpleasant to say the least.
Likewise, tables close to the kitchen are generally pretty poor. (Said coordinates should not be confused with the trendy table within the kitchen.) Dining near the point of departure for food leads to less privacy, blasts of heat, and the privilege of watching the wait staff scurry about for the entirety of your meal. On this note, one should also avoid sitting in the vicinity of service stations.
What of the style of seat? This topic is really a matter of a personal taste. However, I believe that the question is contextual. The banquette is nice when one is out flossin' with a bottle of Cristal and some, uhh, hoes, but I have not had such an opportunity since I recorded that duet with the late, great Notrorious B.I.G. If one is seeking fine dining as opposed to Gangsta' or Gangster stylings, the chair is probably the way to go. While the banquette offers comfort and privacy, I enjoy sitting at my meal upright not reclining; there is a reason that we eat in our dining room not our living room.
As for other facets of the "good table", the question of view comes into play. Legend has it that Joey Gallo always sat in a corner table so that he could see who was entering, and keep his back covered. (The incident at Umberto's Clam House dispelled the prudence of this technique.) For those of us not concerned about getting whacked, the corner table can often feel distant; depending on the type of dinner desired, this sensation can be classified as positive or negative.
The same can be said for the center ring feel of eating in the middle of the floor.
So, ultimately we see that the issue often boils down to a matter of taste! There are certainly bad tables, but the good seems a bit more subjective.

So Goes Food, So Goes the Nation

2006-05-01T16:53:00.000-04:00

Today, we offer a little food for thought concerning the influence of food on the US culture. Readercomments are always welcome, and at week's end, some academics will weigh in...

In 1981, the New York Times ran multiple articles addressing the question of Sushi’s safety; to be exact, the pieces generally focused on the safety of "raw fish", Japanese delicacy, also enjoyed by adventurous "non-orientals" in vanguard cities such as New York and Los Angeles. By 1987, New Yorkers had adopted some Japanese jargon and raw fish was universally referenced as "sushi"; Gothamites also adopted some Japanese tastes and the number of venues serving the food in the five boroughs increased more than tenfold within those six years. However, the opening of a Japanese joint in Bloomington, Illinois served as an anomaly sufficient enough to warrant mention in an article within said publication. Today, sushi is served in Major League Ballparks, and college cafeterias. The Greater Bloomington area features at least ten Japanese restaurants and New York boasts well over a hundred.
The issue raised by the rise of sushi is less a query concerning shifts of the American palate, and more one of cultural diffusion. Why and how did raw fish transition from an immigrant’s oddity to a New York and Los Angeles trend into an integral part of the national dining experience? In our current era of red states and blue states are the large coastal metropolises truly the source of trends? The spread of one simple food provides a template for examination of our national history and zeitgeist as a whole.
In the case in question, several other factors can be attributed to the shift in the American Palate. For instance, the opening of the restaurant in Bloomington, and many of the other first wave of sushi in the midwest can be attributed to the influx of Japanese corporations, particularly automakers in the region. (Think Stir Crazy with Michael Keaton!) Further, small, but crucial advances in refrigeration technology, the proliferation of air freight, and fishing treaties with both Canada and Japan combined to facilitate the arrival of fresh fish in the nation's center.
However, the coastal theory holds sway as well, and we must note that these areas were first introduced to sushi on account of their own large Japanese populations. From there, New York and LA proceded to warm up to the food, and ultimately integrate it into the upper tier lifestyle. Classs envy is as old as the country, and soon the middle class demanded acess; hence, the explosion of restaurants in these cities during the mid eighties did not compete with the existing high end establishments, but offer moderately priced alternatives. Once the middle coastal class embraced raw fish, the media centers based in said cities began including the food in film and television, making it synonomous with big city sophistication, and appending a sex appeal for the rest of the US.
The exercise is interesting unto itself, but fascinating when applied beyond food. For example, a mirror scenario took place between Sarah Jessica Parker and her television identity's love of Prada and Jimmy Choo. More importantly, we can apply the trend to business casual or even politics!

Loire Valley Roadshow

2006-04-28T12:49:00.000-04:00

Yesterday saw the annual Loire Valley Roadshow visit the Altman Building on West 18th Street. The tradeshow was a collection of wines from, surprise, surprise, the Loire Valley. Said region is located in France along the Loire River about 200 km from Paris. Some of the more popular apellations include Vouvray, Muscadet and Sancerre. Sancerres are comprised entirely of Sauvignon Blanc and Pinot Noir (DO NOT BOTHER WITH THE LATTER FROM LOIRE... EVER!) However, the major varietals for the remainder of the region are Muscadet, Chenin Blanc, and Cabernet Franc.
Loire is large, very large, so it is difficult to describe to list characteristics, but speaking generally, we can make some generalizations. The terroir is varied, but chalk, schist, and flintrock are abundant. The Ocean Atlantique makes for a generally cool climate, albeit the far northern areas do experience a brief period of intense heat midsummer. Most harvests take place over the course of September.
The region offers reds, whites, roses, and even sparkling wines. The reds are not particularly impressive, but the relatively sweet cousins have a time and a place. The Loire Valley bills itself as the birthplace of the French language, and it very well may be the birthplace of the picnic wine as well.

Back to The Show...
The LVR is a tasting of hundreds of different wines. The majority of the products are unrepresented by wholesalers in large parts of the States, and many are not even imported. In an effort to increase distribution, the event features numerous producers as opposed to Sales drones. Regardless of quality, the opportunity to speak with winemakers is one to be seized. Also of note were the pieces of stone from various terroirs that accompanied the tastings. I seized the opportunity to lick pieces of these minerals in an attempt to identify the corresponding taste in the juice. Surprisingly, the experiment worked well, and I recommend it to anyone who has a similar opportunity, be it at a vineyard or a tasting.
The wines themselves were... Well, there is a reason that many are not represented. Yet, most of the lot were well made, with little chemical supplement, no reverse centrifuges, and none of that Cali Lab nonsense.
They are affordable and simple; these bottles are the type of products that many Europeans drink on a day-to-day basis and we should not become so absorbed in our snobbery as to think that every Frenchmen is quaffing La Tache daily.
Of particular note was J. Mourat, Pere et Fils and Domaine des Herbauges. Unfortunately, they are not yet available on our side of the pond. However, with the weather warming, go to the store, and go out on a limb! Most Loire wines retail between ten and fifteen dollars, pick up a few and take them for what they are. If you do not like the bottle, the loss is minimal, cook with it!

Good Idea/Bad Idea

2006-04-27T14:35:00.000-04:00

Kids, once again it is time for a new installment of Good Idea/Bad Idea.

Bad Idea... The cocktail craze has gone far too far! Yesterday's Daily News reports on Blue Owl's "Gene Tunney" drink. The text discusses the namesake native East Villager who went on to become the heavyweight champion of the world prior to providing an excuse for scenesters to squander their one on an innovative drink. Unfortunately, the drink is not innovative! Adjacent to the article is a list of "ingredients": I ounce Hendrick's Gin, 3/4 ounce dry vermouth, dash of lemon juice, and a lemon peel for garnish.
Okay, first of all, this drink is not a Gene Tunney! It is a martini! Creating an alternative appellation for the godfather of cocktails is asinine and insulting, maybe just stupid.
Further, it is a bad martini. Why so much dry vermouth! Why so little alcohol? Is this a shot? The picture in the paper depicts a 12 ounce martini glass; how did it become so full?
Finally, Hendricks should be enjoyed sans garnish or etter yet, with a cucumber as the manufacturer even suggests. I could rant for hours, but you get the idea; maybe one day, the folks at Blue Owl will also.

Good Idea... Bouchon Bakery! This establishment is no food court. Yes, it is in a mall, albeit the most upscale mall in America. And, yes, it is beneath a giant Samsung sign, but ambiance wise, it is really more like the cafes in Avery Fisher Hall and the Met than a Wok n' Roll. Plus, the views of the Circle and Park are picturesque! Food wise, never has fast food tasted so good. The "cafe" achieves what Au Bon Pain and Pain Quotidien strive for, but never quite attain. Our visit was brief, but the baked goods are not only fresh, but damn near perfect. My companion loved her salad of beet and mache with goat cheese; I sampled the ingredients and they were certainly up to Keller's standards. The quiche is by far the best I have ever experienced.
The service was a notch above other eateries of the ilk. I shall return camera in hand, but for now, I can only complain about the limited hours (5:30 close Monday through Wednesday.)

Wine Writing, Part Two

2006-04-25T13:55:00.000-04:00

Wine Reviews Continued...

The immediate question surrounding the use of these specific registers is simply, “Why?” The query is the easiest portion of the project to address, bordering on self-explanatory. In France and Italy, wine is a staple, considered part of a way of life, but in the US and England, wine is relegated to the realm of luxury goods. Clearly, the invocation of the terminology devoted to other luxury goods, i.e. automobiles and horses is no coincidence. As for the preponderance of sexual phrases in American writing, we can simply state, “Sex sells.” Further, we must keep in mind that the products are inherently sensual and the American phraseology may be crass, but perhaps we do not quite fathom the distinction across the pond.

The next step is a closer read of the writing. Let us take a few reviews as samples for analysis. At random, I pulled the October 15, 1999 issue of WS off of my shelf and turned to their millennial champagne guide. In the sidebar, the publication picked Charles Heidsieck’s Brut Rose Champagne, 1985 as their top selection, and awarded the bubbly a score of 96 out of 100. The text reads, “What a wonderful rose. Puts it all together, with lively balance, creamy texture and lingering finish.” The most striking aspect of this write-up is the utter lack of information provided.

For the sake of discussion, I shall label the frst sentence, Lexia I and the following, Lexia II. Lexia I informs the reader that the writer considers the product “wonderful,” a condition that we have surmised via the numeric ratings. Then, we are reminded that the juice is a rose, a valid insertion as most drinkers do not think blush when they think champagne; yet, we must ponder whether the author is drawing a distinction between rose and champagne. Such a boundary would be technically and practically incorrect, but potentially helpful to Speculum’s readers. The second lexia opens with a shifter of sorts, and we are left to wonder exactly what is put all together. Still, the wine drinker is seeking harmony, and the connotation of the clause is decidedly positive, despite an absence of meaning. Such sentiment is continued through the reference to balance, but the preceding “lively” is curious. Once again, the adjective holds positive connotations, implying, well, life, and once again conjuring thoughts of show dogs, but it does not modify balanced… at all! The notion of a creamy texture is simple and appropriate, and the lingering finish is not specific (dopes it linger for a while?) but the concept is helpful. The choice of “lingering” triggers a subconscious reaction reminding the audience of lingerie, which is always nice.

Sadly, the review does not give us a feel for the wine! Oenophiles tend to break down their notes into color, concentration, nose, taste, and finish…

To Be Continued Once More…

Some Semiotics

2006-04-24T16:33:00.000-04:00

Beginning today, Gotham Gastronomy will begin explore some of the deeper issues ingrained in food and dining. The proceeding prose, our initial installment offers a brief overview of some issues associated with wine writing…

Over the past three decades wine has exploded in popularity like a bottle of Krug encountering a saber wielding sommelier. As the wise and powerful Yogurt reminds us, merchandising is always gripping tightly on the coattails of any fad. Along with wine glass marking charms, and sterling silver foil cutters, media has exploited the new market. Be it blogs or the Wine Speculum, tasting notes are no longer the province of small leather bound journals in collectors’ homes; rather, they are the heart of a billion dollar business.
These “reviews” often provide little helpful information for the reader, but a deeper semiotic analysis of said scripts certainly succeeds in offering a complex look into cultures and objectives. The careful reader still may be baffled by a wine that tastes like “a Porsche on the PCH,” but they will begin to recognize some of the psychological underpinnings to the text as well as differences in style and the motives behind such selections. Said concepts are best illustrated by looking at both the British and American wine writing, then seeking out some common themes and possible pertinent explanations.
In English wine writing, certain terminology is recurring. The University of Chicago’s Michael Silverstein examines the writing of Michael Broadbent, and discovers certain linguistic choices which run rampant through the work of Britons. The English borrow heavily in their style from the well established lexicons of gardening and “animal husbandry of prestige bred creatures such as dogs, race horses, etc.” Hence, we read terms like “assertive backbone” as well as personification (maybe “animalization”) via phrases such as “trying hard” or “curious”. The adjectives and phrases used to describe the visual aspects of the vino are often overt comparisons to popular English garden plants. On other occasions, they are borrowed terminology from the field of botany, i.e. straw yellow. (How many modern wine drinkers are truly familiar with the hue of straw?)
The american experiment has yielded an entirely different style better suited to the American Experiment. Robert Parker forever changed the field by popularizing the hundred point system in the early 1980’s. In the States, there is a tendency to question “what’s better?” as opposed to attributing differences to those in taste. The US gave the world Ralph Nader’s Consumer Reports and its straight to the point ratings, and this model was Parker’s inspiration. For, from the Puritanical pulpit on, the national epistemology has been one not disposed towards squandering words which were once considered only God’s domain. Likewise, true to Turner, we are nation of results, and the empirical rating ranks first here; in the American wine review, the focus is on the rating, whereas the numbers are an afterthought abroad.
However, the rise of the point system has not rendered New World writing strictly numeric. Gastronomy is sensual by nature, but American wine writing is downright sexual bordering on graphic, if not crass. Without fail, tasting notes include words such as “probing”, “intrusive”, “penetrating”, “firm”, and “curvy”. (Let’s not forget “seductive”!) The second field invoked is that of the automobile and the language of Road & Driver is virtually ubiquitous in American wine writing. Wines are described as fast, compact, or handling well. The diction is not exclusive to autos, the road itself is represented by references to asphalt, tar, and even the occasional pothole. When any semblance of representation is abandoned, we read of a finish that is akin to downshifting.

To be Continued Tomorrow…

La Fee Verte

2006-04-21T10:37:00.000-04:00

If memory serves me correct, absinthe was one of the most popular urban (intoxication) legends of my college career. However, long after the tales of highs from banana skins and morning glory seeds (don't pretend that you don't understand the reference) dissipated, the wonders of wormwood have maintained their allure with age. Recently, I have been fortunate to sample several varieties, and receive a small education on the topic.
Aside from the alleged hallucinogenic effects, absinthe rose to fame in turn of the century France where it was featured in so many of those belle epoque posters that foreshadowed the rise of Absolut ads. Absinthe is an extremely alcoholic liquor that is light green in color (think neon patina), and features an overwhelming anise flavor.
Of course, there is a reason that, say, zambuca does not hold the cache of absinthe. That reason is Artemisia Absinthium or wormwood. The flowers and leaves of this plant are the most famed portion of a mix of florals in the recipe. Wormwood is rumored to cause mild hallucinations known as absinthinium, hence the popularity amongst the college crew.
A second source of attraction is the thrill of the forbidden. By the start of the First World ar, absinthe was illegal in virtually every nation. (Switzerland amended their constitution to include the ban.) Fortunately, by the early nineties, the totalitarian teams of teetollers had been repulsed and Europe began to legalize the product once more.

Where It Gets Confusing...
Okay. So maybe you have a friend who bought the juice back from Prague? Presumably, you then put the sugar on the spoon, used the capillary effect to absorb some water, then caramellized the whole batch in a stunning pyrotechnic display?
That is quite a bit of fun, but really neither absinthe nor the absinthe experience!
Czech absinthe is made from an entirely different process; in fact, it is not even distilled, more flavored or infused.

Actual absinthe is marked by the highly oily content. These oils and aromas are released through louching, or that business with the spoon. Specifically, the absinthe is iced down, and then cold water is poured over sugar on a spoon. Consequently, the saturation point is broken and the oils are released causing a cloudiness in the cup.
Tasting...
However, as I write, it becomes apparent that the best way to understand the liquor is to experience it! Absinthe is actually quite common; many upper end restaurants stock the drink at their bars, and all one must do is ask. Less scrupulous characters than myself have also been known to order bottles online. Either way, like any spirit, there are degrees of quality. My personal favorite is Jade, a company that purchased all of the Pernod equipment, and produces the libation in exact accordance with the original recipes.

Contest!

2006-04-20T11:41:00.000-04:00

The past few weeks have been quite busy for Gotham Gastronomy; we promise a Harding-esque return to normalcy shortly, but today we are forced to take the low road. That said... We are proud to announce our first ever contest!
The first reader to email us with correct identifications of the following six images will win a dinner with us, as well as a guest post opportunity to review the experience.

(1)

(2)

(3)
(4)
(5)
(6)

Good Luck!

The Tragic Tale of Lamarche

2006-04-19T11:35:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, a wine seems like a sure winner, a lock if you will. Such is the case with a 1999, Grand Cru. As readers may recall from such episodes as: Yesterday, '99 was an incredible year for Burgundy, regarded by many as the best in recent history. Echezeaux located in the deep within Burgundy's vaunted village of Vosne-Romanee. Of course, there is nothing village-like about a Grand Cru.
Sadly, there is no such thing as sure-bet, and I would have rathered a Roumier village wine than this Lamarche folly. My cup brimmed over with cacophony! What was this fruit? Why so many tannins? Is that cream? This is not my beautiful wife! Was this wine young or just awful? I imagined that someone had taken of those sets of smells for wine lovers and dumped them into a big vat. The oak presence was proper, but overall the Echezeaux had about as much of a sense of bearing as the pacifier packing party-kids stumbling out of the most recent incarnation of the Limelightl at five on a Saturday morning. Winemaking scion, Francois Lamarche does not confine himself to squandering Echezeaux. No, he also plies his cruel art upon some of the most coveted land East of Grammercy. La Grande Rue, also from Vosne-Romanee is a monopole of, perhaps, the finest land in all of France. Coates reminds us that the 1.65 ha strip shares the same aspect, positioning, and terroir as La Tache; a glance at the map reveals prestigous neighbors such as La Romanee and La Romanee Conti directly across the street. Unfortunately, the Lamarche family is not particuylarly motivated, and their ill tended vines produce 8,000 bottles of disapointment! The yield is often processed into an insolent ink oddly offering big tastes of fruit, weed, and rasberry. Most of all the wines are sloppy; their definition, or lack thereof inspires thoughts of Bill Clinton testifying about sex.

Photo of La Grande Rue from Black Ink

Lamarche seems to enjoy making muscular wines, but the result is a kin to an East German swimmer and entirely devoid of finesse! There are many maxims about great producers and their brilliance really manifesting itself in off years; clearly this does not work in reverse! A poor producer prepares pathetic wines in even the best year! Further, we see that man can not live on terroir alone. Finally, we are offered a manifest moral: the cru system in Burgundy is not based on wines, but land!!!
What is worth is that the glamour associated with the Vosne-Romanee name provides little incentive for improvement. Franc's swill still commands prices over $150 a bottle in many outlets.
However, should a change of heart happen, the quality of the earth should make the task somewhat less daunting for Franc! In between patronizing points, Coates does point out that Lamarche has recently upgraded their casks, and we can only dream about what can be!

Years, A Primer

2006-04-18T12:14:00.000-04:00

The little tri-fold business card that I ripped out of the Wine Spectator just wasn't doing it for me as far as understanding vintages; so, I sat down with a som of substance and talked years focusing on wines that are have not already turned.) The following charts contain our conclusions as far as France figures. (Feedback is always appreciated.)

Bordeaux
'00 - Great, but the Prices are Gouged
'96 - Real Nice
'95 - Real Nice
'90 - Real Nice
'89 - Great on the Right Bank
'88 - Good Values
'86 - Real Nice
'85 - Good Values
'82 - Real Nice
'61 - Real Nice

South Rhone
'00 - Okay
'99 - Real Nice
'98 - Real Nice
'95 - Real Nice
'94 - Very Good
'90 - Real Nice
'89 - Real Nice
88 - Very Good
'85 - Real Nice
'83 - Good in Magnums
'78 - Real Nice
'70 - Real Nice

North Rhone
'99 - Real Nice
'98 - Good
'97 - Forward
'95 - Real Nice
'91 - Super!!!
'90 - Real Nice
'89 - Real Nice
'88 - Okay
'85 - Real Nice
'83 - Good
'82 - Good
'78 - Real Nice

Burgundy
Well, good years in Burgundy are great! The vintages listed below are all superb!
'04
'02
'99
'93
'90
'89
'85
'78
'71
'62
'57

Oeuf Again!

2006-04-17T11:15:00.000-04:00

In the wake of Easter, what better topic than eggs? Lent traditionally touted a ban on the egg, and the common, commerciallized practices of hunting and painting on Easter are a remaining vestige of a celebration of their return.
As ICA fans know, eggs come in all shapes and sizes, not to mention species from Ostrich to Sturgeon, but we will focus on the common egg, the hen's egg.
Those brown, natural eggs frequently sold for twice the price of their pasty peers are really no different; in fact, neither natural nor organic is indicated by hue. However, the brown eggs are apparently easier to examine in the event that you are buying them direct from the farm. In addition, they tend to house smaller contents.
City markets tend to sell eggs stamped with a two week expiration date, but if stored refrigerated, rounded end up in their crate, eggs will last over a month. Unfortunately, as an egg sits, it loses some of its moisture. Hence, Larouuse Gastronomique reminds us that we can test an egg's freshness by submerging it in salted water, "An egg up to 3 days old will sink to the bottom; an egg 3-6 days old will float halfway up in the water; if it is bad, it floats horizontally on top of the water." The catch being that eggs are like gremlins and once the shell has gotten wet, it should be broken shortly thereafter. (Of course, one should be careful with the sanitation of eggs as they are prone to visits from Uncle Sal!)
Eggs are one of the three products that the government still does the consumer the favor of classifying. The USDA ranks those of the best quality AA, followed by A and then B. The price differences in this hierarchy are minimal and one should always use AA eggs. The official website explains that the ova are also broken into the following weight-based categories: jumbo (30 oz. per dozen), extra large (27 oz.), large (24 oz.), medium (21 oz.), small (18 oz.) and peewee (15 oz.) A visible blood vessel or two is not a sign of fertility, simply an imperfection.
The albumen or whites are useful for in baking. The much denser yolk forms the base of countless sauces and mayo which is oft believed to be a derivation of the early french word for yolk or center, moyu. The yolk and white are connected via tissue called chalaza; the Wikipedia offers up the derivation of the word, "Greek word from "khalaza" meaning hailstone, or hard lump."
Prior Poetic Pondering of the Egg Here

Bronx Bummer

2006-04-13T13:12:00.000-04:00

As promised, Gotham Gastronomy returned to the comfortable confines of The Stadium this week. We took a break from rendering ourselves hoarse root, root, rooting for the Pinstripes as they delivered an offensive clinic to investigate the options for eats and drinks proffered by Centerplate Concessions. The verdict was no surprise.
Note: Of course, those of you sitting in the luxury boxes, the club sections, or the Stadium Club have additional, albeit it not necessarily superior options available. GG shall revisit the beer of bourgeoisie at a later date, but for today, we focus on the Everyman's options.

Beer...
At GG, we prefer the fruit of the vine to hops and barley, but the spirit of the experience discouraged us from ordering a single serving of Walnut Creek. Instead, we opted to immerse our liver in the domestic brew. Our choices were simple, Budweiser or Coors, both offered in Lite [sic] varieties. For the low price of $7.75, one can purchase the former in a twelve ounce, plastic, wide mouthed bottle. (In the interest of national security, the cap is removed for you by the helpful staff.) Nine times out of ten, these containers were warm; in the event you acquire a cold one, that is a cold one, drink it quickly as it will become warm in a matter of minutes!

A better option is the 22 oz. "Jumbo" cup of Coors pictured below. At $8.75, the brew is a buy (sort-of)! At least, it is a bit colder, and a bit cheaper. The taste is, well, lacking, but if one drinks like they vote, often and early, the flavor improves... actually, taste is just less noticeable! Soft Drinks were not much better, selling for $4.50!

Food...

Nothing goes better with a ballgame than peanuts and CrackerJacks. The former (in-shell and salted,) supplied by Bazzini are a bit beneath, say, a Trader Joe's, but more than passable. A bag of the beauties sells for $4.75. After controversy in recent years Cracker Jack is back, but relegated to a plastic and foil bag. (GG is a bit disappointed by the change in packaging as after sixty dollars worth of beer, we enjoy watching the vendors don the empty boxes as hats.) Regardless, the ballpark staple will cost you $5.50 a bag (prize included!)

Other options abound. Another classic, the hot dog is a Hebrew National Dinner Dog, retailing for $4.75. The bun was standard white bread, not stale, but saturated with enough preservatives to preclude the adjective "fresh". My companion commented that the dog was disappointed, though he enjoyed the crispy skin. A bucket of Utz popcorn is $3.00 and perfect for soaking up said suds. Hot pretzels lost their luster under the heat lamp, and I longed for a midtown pushcart after squandering another four dollars. Assorted candies sold for $3.50, but I shall not waste space whining about my dislike for processed milk chocolate.

Jurancon

2006-04-11T11:34:00.000-04:00

Last evening, I set out in search of an appropriate wine to pair with such a delightful day. A white seemed an obvious choice, but I preferred something a bit more playful than such Chard standards as Chablis or a Puligny Montrachet. Perhaps, a Gruner or a Riesling? Instead, I was introduced to the oft overlooked Jurancon. Wha-Rhone-What?
Exactly!
Bordeaux is like Bryant Park, replete with tradition and grand chateaus; the region is popular resides in the midtown of the wine of the wine world. Burgundy is more a Grammercy Park; the products are a bit more difficult to access, metaphorically gated, the region is slightly off the beaten path, and the respect the wines garner is largely from those "in-the-know". The Loire Valley provides us the winehattan with its Washington Square. In downtown France, there are lots of jugglers, musicians, and other street performers; most of the circus is entertaining, but not worth a second glass. However, occasionally a gem can be found.
Jurancon is sort of like that little vest pocket park where two avenues intersect... When one walks by, the pedestrian ponders whether the four square foot triangular patch of grass and flowers is even a park, but a little green sign assigns you of the appellation.
In the case in question, that little patch is 40km and located in the Southwest of France between Bordeaux and the Pyrenees; Jurancon roommates in this lush loft include Cahors, Madiran, Bergerac, and Monbazillac. (See map below.) All of these apellations present some fantabulous finds in the price to quality ratio realm, but I digress.
The mountains manifest themselves via frequent frosts in the spring, yet the autumn is awesome, dry and cool. The land is mixed, but according to Clive Coates, we can simplify it into a mix of marl or loam, with gravel, and some large stones.
The major components in Jurancon are Petit Manseng and Gros Manseng. Both Manseng grapes offer more florals than Wave Hill, not to mention an acidity worthy of Energizer! The Petit varietal yields little juice, but much alcohol; the grape is infamous for long vine time and offers a sweeter product.
The taste of the varietals translates almost directly to the finished wine; variables such as terroir and wine making style are less evident Jurancon than most of their peers.
The region produces sweet wines as well as dry, but both are marked by an abundance of fruit, specifically apple and peach, as well as overwhelming florals, particularly green flowers. There is little wood or nutty flavors to be found in a glass.
Historically, Jurancon is respected as the first area protected by the cru system. Further, on December 13, 1553, Henry the Great was christened with a Jurancon soaked clove of garlic rubbed across his lips. His grandfather raised the infant to the waiting crowd and proclaimed, "Here is the lion that is born to the ewe of Navarres.) Three and a half decades later, Henry ruled not just Jurancon, but all of France. French legend professes that this ritual instilled the king with a vigor that never left him... so, Jurancon got that going for it, which is nice!

Some producers of note...
- Domaine Cauhape
- Domaine Nigri
- Clos Lapeyre
- Domaine Bellegarde

Z'Auction

2006-04-10T11:30:00.000-04:00

There are many auctions in the wine world, but Zachy's remains the undisputed king of them all; according to their own corporate propaganda, Westchester's finest records sales 81% above their nearest competitor. The lots are consistently diverse in variety as well as price, and personally, I prefer their casual environment inside Daniel as opposed to lines of chairs at Christie's. So, Gotham Gastronomy spent Friday and Saturday at the Z'Auction. Here's the report, kids.

Wine...
Although threat of tax deadlines yielded a slightly slimmer turnout, the bid was brisk and often high (on the midrange items.) However, bargains were manifest for the patient patrons who devoted the necessary time.
But, in the blogosphere bargains are boring, so here are some blockbuster highlights, as well as a few of the more moderate moments...

- Chateau Lafleur 1982 (6 magnums), $50,000
- Chablis Les Clos Raveneau 1992, GC (2 bottles), $1400
- Screaming Eagle Vertical from 1997-2002 (3 bottles each year), $20,500
- Hermitage JL Chave 1989 (12 bottles), $2800
- Chateau Haut Brion 1961 (1 bottle), $950
- Chateau Cheval Blanc 1928 (1 bottle), $2000
- DRC, 2002 (3 bottles), $9000
- Chateau Margaux 1990 (1 imperial), $9000
- Chateau Meyney 1975 (12 bottles) $650

Note: We were happy to see (and hear) Goddess of the Gavel, Ursula Hermacinski, and cult crier, Fritz Hatton; in addition, the Zachy's folk have hired a new hand on the block,. While she had an unfortunate habit of reading lot numbers, but not their contents, we have high hopes that she will grow into the gavel.

Daniel...
There is a reason that Monsieur Boulud's establishment is ranked within New York's top five, and it ain't graft. The luxurious interior has not lost any of its charm and with the arrival of spring, we were treated to perfectly placed tulips adorning the restaurant in such quantity that I can only speculate the Danish GNP has doubled.
Registered bidders were offered lunch for sixty dollars in what amounts to the nicest all-you-can-eat that I've experienced outside of Vegas. (Okay, this jackpot makes Vegas look like the Turning Stone.) A simple chilled pea soup with croutons was followed by an overwhelming selection of charcuterie and terrines. Then, two treats followed. The first was a small reed wheel about three inches in diameter and one inch tall resembling a tuna tartar, placed atop a cracker; in fact, the dish was a "Tomato-Tartin". The second was simply Gravlax. Both of these dishes were extremely simple, but relied on the best ingredients to deliver tastes in their purest form: delicious!
The feast to follow is too much to describe at once, but worthy of note was the salt crusted cod, a classic french preparation delivered flawlessly by Boulud. The beef canelloni with a reduction and wild mushrooms (cepes?) warranted a second serving. The usual short ribs were absent, and in there stead, an equally tasty braised veal cheek with polenta was offered. On the poultry side, a simple bacon wrapped chicken was shockingly succulent, and tender. The accompanying carrots peas were well done, but not particularly exciting.
Daniel's buffet played to the crowd offering quarter sized servings of his trademark DB burger and fries under a heat lamp. The presence of this preposterous device and the fact that this section of the buffet was the only area lacking a server signaled his indifference and one could taste it! The usually overrated and overpriced entree, was underpriced, but still overrated this weekend.

bruni branches out...

2006-04-10T00:14:00.000-04:00

bosephus notes...
check this out, at the very bottom of the NYT wedding announcement
re: NBC's campbell brown, it states that "Frank Bruni contributed
reporting from Beaver Creek for this article."
interesting!
the write-up

The Perfectionist - Pretty Perfect!

2006-04-06T11:04:00.000-04:00

Maybe, I have been too affected by my overbearing Jewish parents, but the importance of education has always maintained the house table in my brain's eatery. For a moment, forgetting the Frankfurt School, the principle is pertinent to hobbies, i.e. gastronomy as well. So, today, another book report, err, review...

The Perfectionist
by Rudolph Chelminski

Sadly, Bernard Loiseau is often remembered as the chef who took his own life when faced with the rumors that Michelin was planning to repossess his mecca, Cote d'Or's, third star, but his tragic demise eclipses one of the most significant culinary careers of the twentieth century. In his biography, The Perfectionist, Rudolph Chelminski goes far beyond recounting one man's life and cooking; the author has read his Donne and understands that in order to understand the trajectory of Cote d'Or and its proprietor, we must account for numerous other factors, subsequently, Chelminski provides his readers with an incredible portrait of modern French fine dining.
Much of the work is devoted not to Loiseau, but his peers, rivals, and mentors; hence, we are given an unprecedented peek into the life and works of Paul Bocuse, les freres Troisgros, Ferdinand Point, and Alain Ducasse to drop just a few of the names that pepper the pages. The writer reminds us that each entree and chef is one piece of a complex family tree no different than the development of social thought, music, literature, or art. Likewise, Loiseau's story is intertwined with Michelin and I found the thrity or so pages devoted to these fuhrers of food to be far more enlightening than Pascal Remy's entire tell-all tale.
The research is so thorough that Robert Caro might turn rose after a read. Chelmiski's prose is succinct, yet seductive. He neither settles for a simple journalistic regurgitation of the facts, nor does he fall victim to the temptation to supersede his station by mistaking his work for a grand novel. Recognizing the continental context of his chronicle, he inserts French terms and idioms when necessary, as opposed to watering down the work with weak translations. Most importantly, food and service is described in delicious detail: not an easy task! Translating the sensual to pulp and print is too often a sanitizing process, and while Proust can sleep easy (or not as ROTP explains,) Chelminski performs an admirable job. The description of jambonnettes or black truffle soup was sufficient to inspire a visit to Orbitz in the hopes of finding cheap air fare across the pond. Chelminski explains not just the taste and appearance of plates, but the evolution, preparation, and history of the cuisine.
Perhaps, the most exciting facet of the biography is intangible. Rudolph Chelminski tells a story that is partially concerned with a poor boy searching for fame and love in the city and the country, partially about fine dining, and partially about media pressures. The result is transcendent and a must read for anyone interested in cuisine or a simple Campbell-esque myth.

Connerries

2006-04-05T09:19:00.000-04:00

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm just a caveman. I fell on some ice and was later thawed by some of your scientists. Your world frightens and confuses me! Sometimes when I fly to Europe on the Concorde, I wonder, am I inside some sort of giant bird? Am I gonna be digested? I don't know, because I'm a caveman, and that's the way I think! When I'm courtside at a Knicks game, I wonder if the ball is some sort of food they're fighting over. When I see my image on the security camera at the country club, I wonder, are they stealing my soul? I get so upset, I hop out of my Range Rover, and run across the fairway to to the clubhouse, where I get Carlos to make me one of those martinis he's so famous for, to soothe my primitive caveman brain. But whatever world you're from, I do know one thing -

I know that Frank Bruni's journalistic judgment, if not integrity, is seriously suspect! When I read his three (F'ing) star review of Country, I wonder, "Did he eat at the same place as me?"
And, of course, the answer is not really. You see, over the course of my multiple meals at the same establishment, I experienced no "flawlessly crunchy skin," perfectly succulent meat," or any dish "braised to a lusciousness." I did experience "sucky service," "caustic cauliflower," and a captain who volunteered details of Bruni's visit last Tuesday as cold compensation for a menu and space that was navigated with as much ease as dinghy on a trans-Atlantic journey.
Of course, my photograph does not hang in the kitchen of Country or any other kitchen (save my own.) However, Frank's does. Well, actually, many restaurants refrain from displaying his likeness because the critic is so well known that most seasoned employees recognize him on sight. In the event that the individual is blind, they can still find the Waldo of wordsmiths via vox as FB notoriously calls restaurants for follow-up information himself. One Danny Meyer employee futilely pining for a re-review of Eleven Madison Park explained to me that the trick is recognizing his advance men.
To paraphrase a legendary Hemingway-Fitzgerald exchange, the result is that Bruni is served differently than you or I.
The ensuing question is whether this is a bad thing. From an ethical angle, the answer is resoundingly affirmative. New York magazine's literary laurels largely stem from confusion with the New Yorker, but even in semi-retirement, Gael Greene still refuses to be photographed without a costume. Hell, (s)he's Pat, we don't even know gender. (A lot of people ask, "Who's he? Or she?"... It's time for androgyny!) Of course, the les garcons du Clermont-Ferrand hold their anonymity so tight that following publications, Rushdie felt safer than Remy. A professor at the Columbia School of Journalism explains that in investigative reporting, one should constantly be aware of biased information fed to the press, but identify themselves after the preliminary stages for the purpose of response. (Said approach sound quite a bit like the Michelin method.)
In defense of Frank, it is difficult to hold his position and remain anonymous. But, you can offer our palates something more than lip service!
Admittedly, we must note that on occasion, the Times' tactics work out; Urena was worthy of both stars and their congenial, familial atmosphere involves in-depth interaction with the customers precluding a "hardy" meal faceless amongst the maddening crowd. The concept of the small restaurant with a chef working both sides of the house predates Careme.
However, Zakarian is not Careme, the Carlton is not Urena, and most of Gotham, restaurants included, is not small.
Congrats to Country, but, perhaps, the staff should remove Frank's manhood from their mouths long enough to taste their own food; the other 7,999,999 potential customers in NYC might enjoy some improvements.

RIP Phil.

Gastronomical Gimmicks

2006-04-04T12:32:00.000-04:00

New York City has always been a mecca of malfeasance; we were home to Boss Tweed and, hell, Gotham gave the world Times Square. However, the home to the hustle settles for no simple scheme. There is always a hook involved, and restaurants are no exception to the glut of gimmicks. (Just look at Ninja or the now defunct World Wrestling Federation eatery.) So, before you play three card monte with your meal, be weary potential pitfalls.

- Wine Paired by the Course - The key concept here is the idea that each dish receives the perfect pairing. However, in reality, the option offers an easy outlet for restaurants to clear their cellar of slow moving, low-end wines (at an absurd mark-up.) Look at the suggested glasses, often it involves such "sluttly" staples as Apocalypse Now Redux a.k.a. Coppola's Blue Diamond; this vino is so poor that it pairs with little aside form a hangover.
A better option is to actually speak with the sommelier. Generally, a meal can be matched with one white which bridges the early courses and one red that matches well with the mature manifestations arriving after the fish "finale". If foie-gras is involved, it generally warrants it's own wine, in time out of ten, the appropriate partner is a sauternes, tokai, or sweet wine off of the existing glass list.

- Specials - Listen carefully to the special! Is it, well, special? To the point, does this dish involve a rare or seasonal ingredient? For example, king crab legs are special, but baked ziti is not. Even if the captain tells you that the ziti was hand rolled by one armed Jesuit monk after his escape from St. Helena, the bottom line is that the kitchen probably got sick of that Jesuit and is trying to unload some food before it goes stale. Further, legitimate specials are often a means for the back of the house to test new dishes. That sounds great, but as Bruni is so fond of noting, new dishes (and restaurants) often need some work, time to work out the worries and wrinkles. Chances are that the menu has other dishes that are new to you, but time tested to them. If, in fact, you do frequent that restaurant so frequently that the entire menu is passe, then your rapport with the staff should be sufficient to circumvent said shenanigans.

- Country Con - The discussion of new dishes provides a perfect segue to a little scheme receiving much attention on account of M. Zakarian... Here at Country, we change the menu every two weeks.
Please!
Why?
Said statement means that the establishment is always one week from having their shite together!
Hint to Diners: Better restaurants constantly change their menus to account for seasonal ingredients and innovations in the back. They simply do not make a big show of it like the polyester clad used car salesman that Zakarian and shamed sidekick, Doug Psaltis, have become. If you want to eat in a restaurant built on marketing scams, go to the Hard Rock... at least, you can buy a souvenir cup there!

Cedars of Lebanon? How 'bout 'dem grapes?

2006-04-03T10:21:00.000-04:00

Last week we sampled some product from Chateau Musar from Lebanon's Bekaa Valley. The house has drawn considerable praise from the likes of Decanter and the Wine Speculum with Serge Hochar even drawing a nomination for Man of the Year from the latter publication. However, I can not help but wonder whether the award was given for the noble task of producing a wine in a land ravaged by civil war or for the actual quality of the wine itself.
I am guessing the former.

The Base Whites...
There are quaffing wines and there are bad wines.
These are bad wines.
They do not warrant any note save "Stay Away!"
At $23.99 a bottle, the 2003 Cuvee Blanc and the 2004 Cuvee Rose were not only some of the worst wines that I have experienced, but frontrunners for GG Opus One Award for OverPriced Wines.

The Base Reds...
Hochar Pere et Fils, 2000 - The second label of the vineyard, this may be their best. The mix of CabSauv, Carignan, and Cinsault* stood up well. The color and concentration were cliche, offering that typical taut, ruby red, syrup. When I heard the phrase, "made in the classic Bordeaux style," I began to shudder and break out in cold sweats. I've been down this New World road before, and it only makes me homesick, well nostalgic for my oenological home in Burgundy. As I swished and prepared to sniff, my digits secured my frame to the tasting table , preparing for the worst, like a first time flyer in turbulence.
However, the assault of oak never quite came. Instead, I got a little tobacco, orange, and leather. The palate revealed cocoa, raspberry, cherry, and understated! tannins. The finish was medium in length and did, indeed, mimic that of a mid-grade Cali wine. True to the promotional nonsense, the vino was evocative of the sun drenched land. All in all, a nice wine with a filet, but not strong enough to support a ribeye; although the suggested price was twenty seven dollars which was roughly on Al-Ham too many.
* (Cinsault is a French varietal with a sweet, grainy flavor; it's most popular roles include Languedoc and Chateauneuf-du-Pape; the grape is often blended with Grenache, Syrah, Mourvedre, and of course, Carignan. Carignan tastes of anise, boisonberry, and pepper. The varietal is popular in warm climates such as the South of France and Spain. It is often mixed with the afore mentioned grapes or simply used to pump out table wine.)

The Reserve...
The upper end of the line, like Boston's original opus, is self titled, but for all intents and purposes it is a reserve. This juice is also mixture of Cabernet Sauvignon, Carignan, and Cinsault.
The two Musar vintages sampled were the same two available for sale currently, the '97 and the '95. An extremely rude rep* reluctantly poured me my tastes and then allowed me the honor of listening as he explained his pricing policy to two (tutu?) other ignorant, but well dressed patrons. Apparently, the house had a debate as to the quality of the individual years spilling over into a sticker snafu. Ultimately, a compromise came about, and both bottles were marked at the same price point, MSRP $65.00. (So, ultimately, a poor decision was made and both bottles were marked forty dollars to high! Sixty five? Have you spent too much time "tasting"?)
Anyhoo, indeed, the '97 is superior to the '95. The former is far smoother and complex, and is far better blended without the back handed slap across the face of too much unchecked CabSauv. However, like most women who have smacked me in the face, the '95 is not so simply forgotten. So, some notes...
'95 - Paraphrasing Parker, this wine spanned the gamut of taste from A to B, but at least it was consistent from A to Z as far as characteristic concentration and aggressiveness. The nose, palate, and finish all feature the same foundations of fruit, berry, game, earth, tobacco, and tannins. The finish was long lasting and added some acidity.
'97 - Here is a textbook case of the differences between a good year and a not so good year. The '97 also featured similar tastes, but in the later vintage they actually worked! The acid was balanced, the earth complimented tobacco and strawberry yielding a sort of boisonberry flavor, and the finish was something to savor not dismiss with water and crackers.* In fact, I believe that this gentleman was the proprietor himself, but, here at GG, we don't kowtow kids.

Spring Eats

2006-03-30T11:34:00.000-05:00

Spring is finally in full force. The flowers are flowering, the grass is greening, and the songbirds are singing. Gotham Gastronomy's fascination with a special song bird called the Ortolan is well documented, (but not so well documented that any investigations should be opened, because we would never dream of consuming a protected species! Well, maybe, we would dream of it, but we would never do it, unless... dohhh!)
Regardless, an exploration of the palate pleasing potential of grass and flowers is in order.

Grass...
The most commonly consumed grass is Sour Grass. Sadly, said strain is simply sorrel. Sorrel is high in Oxalic Acid which endows the greens with an unbalanced acidity (think Sangiovese) and a tartness. Of course, the leaves make many a cameo in salads. Further, it can be cooked like spinach or chard and served in their stead or added to both in small doses for a bit of a tangy, lemony supplement.The second variety of edible grass is the Thai staple, Lemon Grass or Takrai. Lemon Grass can be purchased fresh or dried, but do not mistake it with the little pots of grass found in many Manhattan bodegas; the latter are simply normal grass marketed for cats. Lemon Grass is much thicker, and is based by a bulbous ball, resembling a green onion. It is often treated in a similar fashion, the stems chopped thin, and the bulb bruised then cooked. However, the stalks can be cleaned and trimmed, then cooked whole as well. Powdered incarnations make rare appearances as well.
The taste is as advertised: citrusy. The texture is less important as lemon grass is rarely consumed outright, but generally used to infuse flavor. Lemon grass pairs extremely well with chiles and garlic, not to mention curry powders and garam masala.Note: Blog-gar in Residence, Dr. W., is an ardent advocate of setting fire to another varietal of grass, and he is quick to emphasize that his favorite, a cross between, ah, Bluegrass, Kentucky Bluegrass, Featherbed Bent, and Northern California Sensemilia can be mixed with butter, fats, or oil for consumption, but that is not the business of our blog.

Flowers... The flowers are funny feature, but before beginning, keep two key concepts in mind!
(1) Most flowers are not edible; in fact they are toxic! (Beware of pesticides and downright deadly flowers!)
(2) Even edible flowers tend to look far, far better than they taste!
However, since the Romans, buds have bloomed in cuisine. Larousse Gastronomique accurately emphasizes the fact that flowers are most often found in eastern cooking, and western libations. The best of batch are hand down the blossom trio: zucchini, squash, and garlic blossoms are all quite tasty; try stuffing them and then quickly cooking. (Most often these are fried.)
Lavender and Rose are incredibly fragrant and make for excellent jellies, marmalades, and infusions. Further, when enjoying a cheap bubbly or prosecco, throw a few petals in for added aroma and a nice visual touch.
The standard use is in salads and garnishes. This involves "raw" flowers, albeit they should be stored with stems in cold water, until they are cleaned, destemmed, and plated.) A list of common salad flowers and basic descriptions of their taste follow.
Nasturtiums - pepper and watercress
Borage - cucumber, with hints of a weak oyster like a Kumamoto
Dandelion - honey taste when young, like humans, with maturity comes bitterness
Edible flowers can be found in farmer's markets or pre-packaged and selling for absurd prices in Dean & Deluca, as well as Whole Foods. For those coveting further 'fo on flowers, an excellent chart for reference can be found on this about.com spin-off. Go out, experiment, live a little!

What the Hell is a Kumquat?

2006-03-29T11:03:00.000-05:00

Maturity has never been my strongpoint, and merely mouthing the word, kumquat (alternatively spelled, cumquat), still elicits a giggle from me; fortunately for my ego, I noticed that the term conjured the same crass reaction from a room filled with my fellow thirty somethings.
Recently, I have taken the contrarian route and begun referring to these fruits by their alternate appellation, kinkans. (Sadly, kinkan is not much better; in fact it sounds like foreplay before the kumquat.) If all this word-play excites you and creates a catalyst for etymological inquiries, I will briefly note the etymology which stems from the Cantonese phrase for golden orange, gam gwat.

Now that we were able to dismiss with the childish chicanery, on to the topic at hand. What is a kumquat? Well, thanks for asking!
The kumquat is often mistaken for a miniature orange, and when it was first introduced to the Occident in 1846 by noted Orientalist, rather Horticulturalist, Robert Fortune, it was placed in the Citrus genus, but time told a tangential tale, and ultimately, a correction was enacted, transferring the fruit to the, modestly monikered, genus Fortunella.
While we are cultivating kinkan, and playing games, I will submit the following dominant description. The fruit is occasionally elliptical, but more often than not, the kumquat resembles a ping pong ball in size and ranges from tennis ball yellow to basketball orange.
Simply speaking, the skin and flesh of the fruit are sweet, and the interior, nether regions are sour and extraordinarily tart, sometimes to the point of inedibility. The interior also yields a sticky juice. (It's funny because it's true!) Biting into one is a bit baffling to the body, the back of the brain is pondering pepper, and the front is screaming orange, but the palate is writing it's own dissenting opinion: neither. The sweet taste is not that of spring, but rather of fire in winter, a hidden nucleus of candy that must be freed of it's protective shell; teeth breaking through the neon skin is a jouissance of sorts. However, the liberation is short lived, as it is often followed by a caustic combination of acid, pepper, and lemon; even worse, this cutting cocktail is often served all over the place in as the liquid shrapnel flies about. One must eat the kumquat like the soup dumpling, with gentle nibbles.

What should I do with these things?
- One of the major uses of the kumquat is decoration. A bowl of our featured fruit resembles a Cezanne, if not a Picasso, and many golden oranges are cruelly left uneaten. Further, the evergreen tree yielding the kumquat is a traditional Christmas decoration in many parts of the world.
- Eat them as is! (But watch out for the center!)
- Some of establishments which shall remain nameless on account of my benevolence use them as martini garnishes. Okay, this is just dumb. The fruit are too large and unwieldy, and, oh yeah, the flavor is not complimentary to gin... at all.
- Jelly, Marmalade, etceteras.
- In Chinatown, candied kumquats abound, and I'll be damned if there not tasty!
- Of course, a great chef can use just about any ingredient in countless ways; so, be alert for purees, vinaigrettes, and cameos in salads.

Doctored, Strange Love: Or How I learned to Stop Swishing and Love the Krug

2006-03-28T10:11:00.000-05:00

Over the past few days, we have also been fortunate enough to quaff, rather taste... taste very carefully and professionally, much champagne. Today, we focus on three Marquis players of the Grand Marques, offering up some thoughts on the houses and studies of their NV/MV staples.

Veuve Clicquot - This house is hawked wherever anorexia and cocaine can be found; it is virtually ubiquitous at trendy establishments worldwide. The house's popularity can be largely linked to mega-lux-corp LVMH's purchase of the brand in 1987 or more to the point, linked to their subsequent marketing blitz, as well as the consistency. Actually, Clicquot was not particularly consistent prior to Jacques Peters ascendancy to cellar master. In fact, few champagnes are; they vary year to year dependent on the harvest. However, under Peters' tutelage the Grande Dame has begun to behave a bit like Emma Goldman; radicality has risen. Peters broke with tradition, and in non-vintage years, he blends nearly three times as much reserve juice into the mix as any of his competitors. A further distinguishing decision implemented by Peters the move to eschew the standard Pinot Meunier and Chardonnay in favor of a blend comprised over 50% of Pinot Noir. The result is that Clicquot does not taste like Champagne; ordering a bottle off of a decent wine list is akin to ordering a salad at Peter Luger's.
Technically speaking, the wine is straw and pale, if not ill looking. The nose offers some citrus and a faint apple, but is most marked by a yeast aroma one step removed from stale beer in a college dorm room. On the taste, the balance is nice, but like the last Coldplay album, Clicquot is so utterly inoffensive that it begins to lack meaning, and offers us no reason to love it. (The Panglosses out there call this "clean"). The finish features a reprise of that unpleasant yeast, but thankfully it is mercifully short... so, it's got that going for it, which is nice.
Of course, no discussion of VC is complete without noting the story of the actual Widow Clicquot who built the label, and elevated the vineyard in an era of intolerance; a truly incredible tale.

Krug - Krug is the truly 800 pound gorilla of the champagne world, and what a gentle ape it is. Here is the loving creature cradling Fay Wray, not Moet's brut(e) swatting at biplanes. Krug is a young house (1843) and also fell victim to LVMH's juggernaut, but through six generations, the family maintained a steady presence in every aspect of the operation. Despite the corporate parent, the product retains that artisinal method and taste. Accordingly, their output is fairly minimal; Krug owns 19+ ha, and buys from an additional 56 ha.
The MV is a lighter, but still radiant gold, evocative of Louis XIV, himself. Apres cela, le deluge! The nose has touches of fresh florals, but is dominated by nut and oak. Krug's bubbles are larger than most, the Beluga to Clicquot's Sevruga, yet the stream is steady and possesses a tremendous longevity. The taste varies from vintage to vintage and amongst the various varieties, but the careful, unhurried time spent in barrels produces a consistent characteristic subtle oak and cream, that is more fraiche than heavy. Further, the appetizing taste of apple is prominent in their product, complimented by a slight citrus. The finish is long and beautiful.

Moet & Chandon - This house has about as many offshoots as Mick Jagger has children. (In other words, we're not certain exactly how many, but quite a few.) However, whether a cup of their bubbly is loving or just our imagination running away with the status conscious remains indeterminate. M&C is best known as the maker of Dom Perignon, the winner of GG's award for worst price/quality ratio. The only scenario that would warrant the purchase of this base brand is an attempt to impress a date., but then again is the type of person impressed by Dom really worth dating?
The basic non vintage dubbed Brut Imperial delivers an anemic hue of yellow resembling battered brass more than gold. I'm told by a sales rep that the bouquet has "lots of fruit", and I detected some grapefruit, but the nose was almost absent. The bubbles are small and steady. As for the taste, it is balanced with a bit of caramel apples, brioche, dry fruits, and toast. The finish is a bit tart, with some lemon lasting a bit longer than one would like.
There is little phenomenal about the Brut Imperial, but admittedly, it is a far more classical juice than VC, and a far better buy.
As a self respecting French Establishment, M&C also has a storied history; the house dates back to 1743 and has catered to kings, Napoleon, and Thomas Jefferson; it is also owned by LVMH.

Tastings, Part I

2006-03-27T10:20:00.000-05:00

After, several days of Dionysian celebration*, Gotham Gastronomy is back! We have much to report, and we'll begin, well, at the beginning. On Friday, we took full advantage of the wine promotions offered by New York's steakhouses, (and not coincidentally overlapping with the industry's tasting.) A visit to Maloney & Porcelli yielded some mediocre service, great conversation, beef "meating" but not exceeding standards, and the opportunity to drink several different wines for ten dollars total. The bottles sampled were not spectacular, but several were quite tasty! (They all retail for between fifteen and thirty-five dollars.) Here's the report...

Piper Sonoma, Brut, Sonoma N.V. - Champagne does not simply clean the palate; Champagne actually freshens the palate. A flute of that chalky bubbly is the best way to begin a meal or tasting. Needless to say, we did not have said option, but the sparkling white wine presented to us sufficed. The methode champenoise offered by the Piper rep served its purpose. The wine was tart and tasted overwhelmingly of green apples, with many medium bubbles and acidity from swish to finish. Krug has nothing to fear, but Gruet does.

Chateau Greysac, Medoc, Bordeaux 2000 - Here is a product to make Poe proud;
the nose offered up must, evoking memories of dusty cellars peppered with cobwebs. However, this bottle was no cask of Amontillado despite the heavy concentration. The wine offered a wonderful menagerie of strawberries, cassis, and grape jelly making it the undisputed star of the afternoon.) The finish was long and tannic. For lovers of the New World, here is a French product well suited to the American palate, and for Francophiles, such as myself, the millennium was a historic year for Bordeaux; on can not complain about anything from 2000 (except the prices!)
Parker Station, Pinot Noir, Santa Barbara 2004 - These Pinot Noir indubitably hailed from the West Coast, not from Vosne Romanee. The color was intense, the concentration was amongst the highest that I have experienced in the varietal, and the nose had some cranberry , tangerine, and light citrus, but these aromas were all but eclipsed by enough heat to power a Fiat. The taste offered more citrus, a hint of acidity, and strong flavor that we identified as a chocolate or coco. The wine was actually well balanced and the medium finish appropriate. We described the wine as a "non-Pinot Pinot" and if one accepts this appellation as a destination, the ride is pretty enjoyable.

Stonestreet, Merlot, Napa 2001 - Toasty wood in Sonoma wine? Wait, it's not oak! My tongue and nose were traumatized top encounter cedar in the Stonestreet. Has someone robbed my humidor? Cherry and plum were abundant on the taste, and a bit of pepper lingered on the medium finish. (Nice mid level wine if you are into the Napa style.)
Carpineto, Chianti Classico, Tuscany 2003 - This Tuscan is a mix of Sangiovese and the standard 10% of Canaiola resulting in the typical intense ruby red, heavily concentrated juice. The bottle reminded us that all Chiantis do not come in straw surrounded bottles destined to serve as candle holders in low grade Italian restaurants and dorm rooms; however, the product still paled in comparison to the boot's elite. The taste was heavy in cherry and boisonberry, almost offering a continental version of a the Cali jam-bomb. The finish lingered slightly, but the final acid tang was an unwelcome guest in the Hotel Itallia. (they haven't had that spirit there since 1999.)

Villa Mt. Eden, "Grand Reserve" Cabernet Sauvignon, Napa 2002 - In the business, we have a technical term for this variety of vino: quaffing wine. The winemaker tried hard, and the balance is there (sort of,) but at the grapes simply are just not that into you. I detected lots of fruit and oak (surprise, surprise) as well as some plum and currant. The marketing rep told me that there was also mint and vanilla, but I think that he was lying. Drink only if you receive this bottle for free.
St. Francis, Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon, Sonoma 1998 - When we were served this wine, I expected the steward to bang on a pan and beginning singing some Led Zep; everything about this wine screamed Cali. It is big, alcoholic, opaque in color, and holds a concentration bordering on syrup. (Oh, did I mention that Coastal staple, oak?) Once again, chocolate was also present on the buds as was currant and boisonberry. The bottle age was not only nice, but necessary. The '98 is drinking now, but tannins persist; expect it to hold up to seven more years of cellaring.R.H. Phillips, Chardonnay, Dunnigan Hills, 2004 - I'm sorry; I just don't like New World Chards, particularly bad ones.

* Some might call cruelly label said endeavors a "bender".

Working Hard, Hardly Working

2006-03-24T13:23:00.000-05:00

Gotham Gastronomy is spending the afternoon tasting wines; if we can still see by five, we'll post a full report today.
However, our relentless search for a great bakery in the city continues! Any suggestions, please email us! (If your nomination wins, spoils worthy of Caesar shall be yours. For example, you may receive a baguette or a Black & White cookie, if you're lucky, maybe both!)

Numbers Game

2006-03-23T10:40:00.000-05:00

In homage to the Harper's Index, (alas, Lewis Lapham, we hardly knew ye) Gotham Gastronomy looks at some numbers in the world of food.

30 Degrees - The angle between a bar stool and the bar. Apparently, the seats are positioned in this fashion for the benefit of women who are more likely to wear skirts than men (excepting the occasional Scott donning his birthright) and are also far more prone to crossing their legs (the women that is, the Scots prefer to air it out). Keeping the chairs in said positions prepares these pedestals for easier ascension by female customers.

72 Degrees - The average setting on most restaurant thermostats. While this may sound a bit hot, particularly for a crowded room, the high ceillings of most restaurants coupled with the door traffic makes this mark ideal.

Six Degrees - Yea, the cliche reigns true in restaurant-world as well. (It's damn incestuous in that, there kitchen.) Chefs and staff tend to follow one another up through various restaurants and promotions leaving us with the ability to write a viurtual family tree beginning with the French Pavillion at the World's Fair throught the present. Moral: Don't piss off someone in the restaurant business unless you are prepared to restrict your dining options for years to come.

Table Numbers - In many establishments, my coat is taken and returned at the door, and no chit, no plastic card, no shameless Amex promotion is aver exchanged. How do they do check coats without those tickets? Well, the belongings are simply filed according to the table number.

Fifty Percent - The average retail mark up on one lobe of Grade A Foie-Gras. Res Ipso Loquitor!

Eight People - The maximum number most restaurants will allow at one table in the dining room. If exceeded, the service becomes unwieldy and the room must be roconfigured. Further, such large numbers at a table generally inspire the patrons to speak louder and louder until their not-as-impressive-as-they-think conversation about the time they were at Smith & Wollensky and bought a magnum of Opus One on expense account is broadcast to the remainder of the restaurant who really couldn't care less.

How do you tell if your Manhattan restaurant is racist? A manual.

2006-03-21T22:22:00.000-05:00

Nota bene: Another installment in our visiting scholar/blogger series; Dr. Ortolan holds a doctorate from Harvard* and served as sous-chef at Hizzoner's in Chicago from January 1996 until March of that year. He is currently working on the definitive compendium of first-growth Temecula wines.

How do you know your restaurant is racist? (inspired by events).
by Finale Whortolan, JF

1. Food w/french or british roots is called "classic" on the menu; that of brown people: "world," "ethnic"...

2. The waiter asks you three times, "you're sure you don't need help with the wine," even when you've ordered a 90 Roumier P-M, while the white guy sitting next to you gets an "excellent choice," for an overbearing, fruit bomb napa excrescence from Smith-Madrone.

3. A two-star restaurant asks you for I.D. when you pay.

4. Woman asks you to describe your bag twice at coat-check.

5. Another couple gives you the ticket for coat check and no one comes to clear up the confusion--maybe they think you work there as well.

6. You explain that "mulligatawny" soup is tamil (south indian language) for "pepper water" and the waiter tells you that the indians stole the word from "british"-- which he believes is a language separate from english. You explain that the british colonized the subcontinent and he tells you it was a joint decision.

7. The waiter asks you "where are you from?" and you say california, and he doesn't believe you, proceeding to ask where you are "really from," and then, in frustration tells your alabaster-skin companion, that people are so "sensitive" these days.

8. You return to the restaurant and start checking in coats for others (aka colonialism).

9. You start to show I.D. with your credit card, just as a preventative measure.

10. You ask, and they say, "Yes, of course we are. We're French."

Next week: How to tell if your Manhattan restaurant is sexist.
Stay tuned

* The J.F. or "Junior Fellowship" was designated the equivalent of the Ph.D. by President Lowell and Harvard trustees in 1933. The directors of G.G. have not been able to obtain independent confirmation of the existence of Hizzoner's restaurant.

O Captain, My Captain

2006-03-21T10:15:00.000-05:00

A year or so ago, Per Se received some press for their decision to hire a ballet master to train their staff; most restaurants do not take such steps (coughh, publicity stunt, cough, cough;) however, any top tier eatery offers a choreography that would make Balanchine proud. When it breaks down, the result is little more than maddening, as one is annoyed and the check seems to have disappeared to a cave on the border of Pakistan, but when the dance is performed properly, a masterpiece is manifest. The plethora of plies and pirouettes service witnessed at most fine dining establishments are a product of the "captain system," a service standard generally acknowledged to be popularized statistics by New York's late, legend, Lutece.

How It Works...
What a layman would title as a "waiter" is in fact the captain. This individual holds an extensive knowledge of the restaurant's menu and most culinary concepts; they are responsible for taking the customer's orders, answering questions, generating a warm atmosphere, and explaining the food when it is presented. However, a captain rarely carries the actual food to the table.

Said task is the domain of the waiter. Well, actually, the "second waiter," but we'll hold off on him for a moment until we discuss the "first waiter." The first waiter reviews his copy of the table's order and is tasked with outfitting the table with the proper stemware, silverware, dishware, and underwear. (Semper ubi sub ubi!) His job is not to interact with the table, but simply to watch them voyeuristically, but inconspicuously and alert the captain should he note a need.
(When the captain does rise up and hear those bells, his job requires a mastery of minutiae to explain such details as the oceanic origins of the fish or the method of cooking to sate the likes of me.)

Now, we return to the second waiter, the salty little brother of the peppery captain. Thanklessly, this character serves as the bridge between the philosophically feuding front and back of the house. He takes orders to the kitchen, and delivers their wares to the table, but never interacts with the customer.

At the bottom of the food chain (double entendre intended) is the busboy. Alas, this thankless position is tasked with the dirty work of clearing the tables, filling the water, and folding the napkins during any sojourns from the table.

Also in the mix is the head waiter or maitre d'hotel who oversees the entire affair, and the sommelier who acts as a specialist dealing only with wine. In addition to pouring for patrons, a good sommelier will be also spend hours a day stocking the cellar, editing the list, and viewing for new vino. (Of course, the latter is often called upon to assist with other tasks which generally results in much tension after closing.)

Of Note:
- Amongst the first waiter's jobs are watching patrons eat, and telling the kitchen to fire the next course when they are near done. So, if you plan to make that phone call, smoke a cig, or have sex in the bathroom in between courses, let them know or you're food will be cold!
- All varieties of servers will tell you that the kitchen hates when plates come back unfinished; it may affect your next course!
- And, yes, the tips are split proportionately between the staff.

Seasonal Affective Disorder

2006-03-20T10:43:00.000-05:00

Today, marks the Vernal Equinox which means that school children across this once proud land will senselessly squander thousands of eggs in attempt to balance them on end. The date also means that restaurants, not to mention Manhattan's newfound Duane-Readean glut of high end markets will begin to shake up their offerings. Soon, we will be forced to don ash and sackcloth, and sit with heads lowered in mourning as we lament the loss of those terrific truffle tasting menus. However, do not grind those teeth and dab those brackish tears too long, as an entire new crop (literally) of treats will soon descend upon us. Gotham Gastronomy offers a quick refresher course on some of our favorite standards of spring.

Loquat - These "Japanese plums" become available at the end of April or the start of May. Different varieties span the spectrum of color from caution yellow to safety vest orange, and resemble pears, apples, or apricots in size and shape. They all posses a delicate dialectic of sweet and tart, yielding a transecendental synthesis of "more, please." A good Loquat will taste of the same perfectly balanced acidity found in a bottle of Roullot.

Rocket - Okay, okay, I know we call this bitter green "Arugula" over here, but Rocket simply sounds cooler. (Still sematically superior sounding is the French word, "Roquette.") Sort of like RFK Jr., the leafs' taste many never equal it's name, but the green remains ubiquitous for good reason. Arugula can, of course, be found wherever a salad needs a salad needs a spark.

Ramp - This tasty tube should appear in the Union Square Green Market and entrees across town within the next few weeks and disappear with equal speed. Although they are as natural as one can find, Ramps taste like an unholy (but, oh, so good) union of the onion and garlic clove, and they can be used in the stead of or in addition to either item. Ramps are relatively cheap (a dollar or two for a bundle) and they should be scooped up by the uninitiated and experienced alike.

Fiddleheads - These infant ferns are another harbinger of the spring. They appear for only a few months and taste of the uniquely American terroir of the eastern woodland, with a hint of green-ish asparagus. Specifically speaking, the fiddlehead is the unfurled head of the unbloomed fern which resembles a violin's top. The unique shape is in fact the leaves of the plant tightly wound which makes for a chewy texture unique to this delicacy.

Rhubarb(!) - Rhubarb season begins in April and runs until June (available through September, but the summer's yield are inferior,) and it is still not nearly long enough! At GG, we can not get enough of this stuff! It's intensely tart, but with sufficient sugar, delicious! Aside from the typical jams and compotes, be on the look out for savory sauces, and unusual pairings in the vein of last year's olive oil craze.

Button Mushrooms - These simple staples of suburban stir fry are actually tastier during this time of year. Paraphrasing a Burguindian maxim, it's not the great chef who creates a masterpiece with the morels, it's the great chef who creates a masterpiece with button mushrooms.
Wild Salmon - The season actually does not begin until May, but we're excited, very excited! Hopefully this year will not follow recent trends of low yields and high prices; we'll be eagerly waiting.

Deep Rote

2006-03-17T11:11:00.000-05:00

Readers, three weeks into this blogging experiment, I have . Perhaps the greatest contribution to my well being offered by Frank Bruni was the launch of his own food blog which seems to have legitimized the medium to the masses. (Thanks, Frankie!) All the same, I am still loath to publicly describe myself as a blogger. (Insecurity's a bitch, ain't it!)
Regardless, my writing and immersion in the world has been pedagogical, if not downright enlightening; yet questions linger, namely, "What the hell is food porn?"
The obvious answer seems well, obvious, and can be found in the likes of Tampopo and on a lesser scale 9 1/2 Weeks. However, this seemed highly unlikely; in fact, a visit (all in the line of work kids) to Gotham's smut staple, Toys in Babeland revealed that they had only two food themed films, The Dominaitrix Waitress, and The Dinner Party. (The latter really had little to do with dining... or, that's what I hear, anyway!)
After aborting my mind's spotaneous sojourn to the recesses revealed by boutiques of the Babes varietal, I began scouring the web for further foundations of the phrase, beginning with simple sources. There is an excellent website, Food Porn Watch, which catalogues superlative samples of the genre, i.e. this very site. I contacted it's proprietor, (nom de plume) Redbeard; he quickly replied that he, too, was uncertain, but hazarded a guess that the roots could be tied to the rise of food photography during the 1980's.
I proceeded to comb the web in search of this gourmet gold with the passion of Cortes in the new world. This hapless pilgrim became acutely aware that the obtuse concept was somewhat centered on utopian culinary concept. Food Porn, apparently, involves portraying perfectly plated, absurdly appetizing dishes for those without the benefit of consuming them.
Still, some vaguity remained, and the search turned towards more established sources and databases.
One of the earlier usages that I encountered is a 2003 piece from the Columbia Journalism Review by former New York Times writer (and brother of vaunted Yankees right fielder, Paul O'Neill,) Molly O'Neill who devotes the 6000 word piece to discussing the evolution of gastronomical writing. Molly O describes food porn as the post modern zenith of an evolution, describing it as "prose and recipes so removed from real life that they cannot be used except as vicarious experience."
Invigorated, I turned next to that digital Diderot, the Wikipedia. Their primary offering mirrored Molly, depicting extraordinary food and plating a la Iron Chef, tantalizingly unattainable to the common man. The online oracle followed up with a duo of minor meanings. They contend that the phrase is additionally applicable to unhealthy, high calorie items. Personally, I am quick to decidedly dismiss this definition if for no other reason than the fact my diet is comprised entirely of these butter based beauties. (I guess that according to the Wikipedia, that would make me a Porn Star, sweet!) Finally, the good folks at Wiki make note of my initial assumption, " a (mostly short-lived) fad of incorporating food into erotic play"; the last definition is followed by a link to "wet and messy fetishism."
Hmmm... maybe Top Chef is Top Gun.
The frame was filled, but the photo was still out of focus. Last night, I ran into Augie, and made the same inquiry; his response was a bit more existential in nature! He simply said something to the effect of, "There's the food, and then there's the porn!" At first, I was baffled, but I caught a glimpse of an incredible plate of crudo behind him, I thought, "People have got to see that!" and it clicked! (I then began pondering his advice to upgrade from a camera phone to an actual camera.)
Next week, we return to you with a slew of restaurant reviews and an update in our Bakery Quest... the new writing will be accompanied by photos (or porn.)

Spring Training & Teaser

2006-03-16T09:33:00.000-05:00

Baseball Preview...
Baseball season quickly approaches, and GG is dusting off our big foam fingers, our ice cream Sunday hardhats, and of course our (now contraband) "Boston Sucks" tee-shirt. Spring cleaning seemed like a suitable springboard to commence discussion concerning concessions at the pride of the New York Parks Department, (and Shea also.)
Well kids, it ain't any cheaper this year.
However, such is the nature of a monopoly, and one can always invoke the rationalization that paying such usurious prices instills the customer with a proprietary stake allowing them to complain as much as they want about Jaret Wright. Or, one can take solace in the knowledge that after the third beer, these prices seem exponetially less offensive.
The concessions at Yankee Stadium are run by Centerplate and those at Shea are managed by Aramark. Centerplate focuses on sporting venues, convention centers, and parks, but you may recall the latter organization from the Lansing Correctional facility or one of the other 500 prisons worldwide serviced by Aramark. Regardless, neither organization seems to hold the blog in high regard as they both refused to return my phone calls concerning menus and pricing; so, the official report will have to wait until opening day.
Unofficially, we can reasonably place the price of the average (dependent on size and the 1980's nomenclature of "domestic" versus "imported") beer in both parks at Seven Dollars! There is no sticker shock as one expects no less, yet problems persist. Specifically, the beers that are peddled to sitting patrons are served in the trendy, hooligan proof plastic bottle! Unfortunately, said container does little to keep the already lukewarm beer cool. The discerning customer is left with two options. The first of which is simply to drink quickly; the second option is to purchase one's frosties at the concession stands ringing the concourse. Alas, if you choose the second option, be prepared to miss at least half of an inning, and to encounter a large, semi illiterate mulleted man, who will bump into you, and relocate that Bud onto your shirt. Personally, the last time I chose the choice, I missed two innings of a pinstripe rally against the dreaded Sux.
Likewise, be prepared to miss at least half of the game if you desire chicken fingers... I know, I know, what happened to my loving discourses on Foie-Gras?
Regardless, any visitor to any ballpark should avoid all food save Pretzels, Peanuts, Hot Dogs, and Cracker Jacks.)
(And yes, after the much bally-hooed hiatus, the Cracker Jack will continue to be a staple in both Gotham Parks!)
Yet, the chicken finger is a tasty, less processed caveat, and appealing in it's rarity! In Yankee Stadium, one must purchase these deceptively described digits from the Field Level Food Court, the outdoor Sidewalk Cafe, or one of the private clubs. Expect frequent backorders and the longest lines in the facility. Also, expect your date to be very happy when you bring them back, and finally, expect her to be completely clueless as to why you are unhappy about missing that Grand Slam!
Baseball Food will be analyzed in depth on April 1!

Rumor has it...
Cru's Shea Gallante is rapidly approaching "galley stage" (pun not intended) on a forthcoming cookbook. GG will pay full retail for the secret of those braised lamb cheek ravioli alone!

On Top Chef

2006-03-15T13:46:00.000-05:00

Last night, I was (un?)fortunate enough to catch Bravo's BBC transplant, Top Chef. The show aired in my favorite food time slot, from 2:30 to three in the morning. I like to think that the networks cleverly rerun the episodes at this hour for the benefit of those who work in restaurants. In reality, there are only so many times one can replay Emeril or Celebrity Poker. (Plus, people returning from bars alone will watch just about anything with the exception of Roseanne reruns.)
Before, I move on top the premise, I can not resist skipping to some details.
- The show is hosted by Katie Lee Joel, wife of Billie "Martin"Joel; apparently said spouse is her primary qualification as it is the lede in her official bio. Within the parameters of the program, she does not seem to have much of raison d'etre either.
- New York foodie favorite and all-around-good-guy, Tom Colicchio serves as the resident authority, but for some reason, the series is set in San Francisco.
Okay, now, that I've gotten that out of the way... The series pretty much fits into the favorite formula of the reality rage, eliminating contestants weekly via challenges, including of immunity, etceteras. The contestants are the usual assortment of idiots, but admirably, the producers have chosen to stick to the cooking over contrived character conflict to date; however, I have nothing but low expectations for this week's episode which apparently features a "sex shop" (wow, a sex shop! Leather! They're so crrazy out there in SanFran!) (Please!)
That said, I must applaud the educated selection of contestants which clearly manifests a knowledge of fine dining. These characters do not only differ in the defacto experience, race, and gender, but also in the kinds of cuisine and cooking represented. For example, the show features a stereotypical, neo Alice Waters Organic Vegetable delegate, a chef that use bold Mexican flavors, the daring deconstructionist, and of course the classic French fundamentalist.
The panelists are knowledeable enough to fathom the foundations and provide intelligent, if not interesting commentary based on these understandings.
Overall, Top Chef was a worthy watch... for 2:30 AM.

Also of Note...
Eric Asimov jumps on the blog wagon this week, and thus far there is insufficent evidence for a decision, but did anyone else notice this reference, "the Grand Crew, my martial arts food and wine group?"
The Pour

Online Apertif

2006-03-14T11:31:00.000-05:00

Technical difficulties still persist here at GG; one can not help but note the ironic nature of organic acts such as writing and eating being hobbled by mechanical elements.
Until we are fully functional once again, y'all can entertain yourself with the following link to the Burger Boards. No, I am not attempting a bad Bruni impersonation. (Although, has anyone else noticed that his blog is improving? Perhaps, Mr. B's true calling is not print, but posting?)
Regardless, I'll leave the burgers to the pros, which is more than I can say for my efforts at tech support.
Burger Club

Some Spring Wines

2006-03-13T11:43:00.000-05:00

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest.
- Ernest Hemingway

Here at GG, Papa is more pariah than pop star, and contrary to Hemy's hopes, the spring has bought some housekeeping issues; so, today's entry will be short and sweet, but certainly sweet. Yes, temperatures topping 60, it is once again time for that staple of the movable feast, the picnic wine! The picnic wine does not require Riedel stems, sometimes, a simple Solo shot is sufficient, and in dire cases, it can be quaffed directly from the bottle. Further, these vintological varieties are paired not with the food, but with the weather. The picnic wine must be lighter, cheery, and display a bit more grass than earth. Dear reader, do not mistake my intent, for the picnic wine is not Franzia, or even Daniel J.'s entree into the boxed wine world, but it is meant to be enjoyed with some friends, fun, and warm weather, not over analyzed.
GG has never been afraid to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good of humanity; this weekend, it was our livers that we laid on the line for y'all. (Ohhh, when shall it end? The cross we bear grows heavier as Easter approaches!) Burdens aside, some spring suggestions...

Pigato Âle rus se ghineÂ 2004 Bruna - We found this one on the list at Cru about two months ago, and immediately bought ourselves a case in anticipation of spring; in fact, Italians refer to to Pigatos as "wine made of sunshine"! The vintage that we sampled harbored the hue of the early morning sun breaking through fog, and tasted of grass, wildflowers, flowery herbs, and a dash of honey. It seemed perfect at cellar temperature and required no additional chilling or time to warm. Best of all, the bottles retailed for aboput ten dollars apiece!

Tijou et fils, Clos des Perrieres, 2002 - The bottle is a Savennieres which is to say that it is a Chenin Blanc from the Loire Valley; the Loire Valley itself may be the primary producer of all picnic wine in the world, but for today, we'll focus on the vino in hand, not in the bush, err, vines. Averaging about $35 a bottle, this a fine specimen of the region and the season. There is a nicely balanced acidity and along with said aromas of herbals and grass. The finish is relatively quick, but offers up a tantalizing taste of caramel and lavender as a parting gift. Tijou is best drank chilled, but be weary of the Budweiser-Can-Tastebud-Numbing effects of over-chilling!

Juve y Camps Cava, 2001 - Cava is the ultimate wine for this season, dubbed poor man's champagne, the Spanish twist on the methode champenoisse is a decidedly different delight than their southern counterparts in France. The terroir of Penedes is not the chalk of Champagne and the primary grapes are Spanish varietals such as Macabeo, Parellada, and Xarel-lo. Cava will never hold the complexity, history, or romance of Champagne, but it does offer a "greener" alternative perfect for drinking without thinking, not to mention a lower price point! The Juve y Camps sample possessed a steady stream of small bubbles set against a golden backdrop, almost coordinated to match the afternoon sun. The juice was medium bodied with a toasty taste, and of course, the repetitivrequisitete of grass and herbs. (Most Cavas sell for between ten and twenty dollars.)

Flights of Fancy: A New Low for Zagat

2006-03-11T12:26:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, we are thrown a slow lob over the ol' Lalique plate and the pitch is so simple that we don't know how to hit it; taking the swing is like using your seven iron to hit a volleyball off a tee.
This is the case today.
Insert your own jokes after reading the following.
So, USA Today, expanding beyond their default position as Cliff Notes for the Times, commissioned Tim and Nina to conduct a little survey of best airport dining in the states. (Yo, Zagats, y'all need to chilll! First the stickers in Starbucks, then the Time Warner Center Guide, now this... When will it end? I regret the rambling, but restraint is not a strong point. Do you guys really need the paycheck that badly? Are you going to invoke the Barry Bonds 1st and 15th defense? I've seen your house on Iron Chef and it looked like you were doing just fine!)
Regardless, the exact parameters require the restaurant be situated within a twelve minute drive of an airport. (Very practical, as I generally rent a cars during layovers; no, wait, I'm from Manhattan and I don't drive!) New York is represented by Queens staples, Don Peppe, La Via Pizzeria, Trattoria, and Agnotti. Newark also makes the list, but it's really best if you took a gander yourself.
The List
The Article

Sous Vide Sous l'Attention

2006-03-10T13:30:00.000-05:00

Prep Work...
By now we have all had a day to ponder the prophecies parsed in the NYT's bombshell on the methode sous vide, and many of us have even begun to wonder whether the work was a bombshell at all! For those of you who have better means of spending your time than fetishizing food in the city, an explanation is in order. In short, after the famed foam phenomena sparked Ferra, Sous Vide became the new black; ushered east by Thomas Keller, the process has appeared at virtually every fine dining menu East of the Hudson since. The actual mechanics involve placing meat, fish, chicken, hell, even fruit in a cryovacced bag along with seasonings, and then placing the pampered pouch in a water bath held exactly at the contents desired temperature. From fundamental physics stand, the lack of oxygen creates a unique reaction that enhances the taste and tenderness. Further, when properly executed, the food is always perfectly cooked and overcooking is in impossible as the water never rises above the desired temperature.
Undercooking is an entirely different story!
(In fact, when relaying my own experiments and experiences to the adventurous, I am certain to stress that Chicken is not a good starting point!)
However, pros have different tools at their disposal than home chefs in Manhattan, i.e. they actually have temperature control on their ranges. Even more importantly, they use vacuum sealers replete with four digit price tags, as well as commercial grade water circulators designed for laboratory use.
Still the process is not without its dangers and the NYC Health Department seems eager to quash it until the procedures are properly codified.

The Meat...
The initial reaction to the article amongst foodies was something to the effect of, "Quelle damage! No more sous vide! Zut Allors! Merde!"
However, a Barthesian close read is required to understand what has slipped beneath the radar. The stealth secret here is the fact that Ms. Bowen does not masquerade as a Delphic deity, rather she reports on an ongoing crackdown... Yet, I still see sous vide on menus across town. Restaurants were aware of the change in rules long before the Times ran the piece, and it seems evident that most have opted to continue using the technique either playing a numbers game with the inspectors or swallowing the fines. (Damn the Tournedos!)

Plating...
Keeping deductions in mind, I spoke to some restauranteurs, chefs, and eaters last night. The following themes emerged.
- By the time that we are inspected, the regulations will be in place and the issue moot.
- What is Per Se going to do?
- By the time the codification occurs, the trend will be over.
- What is Per Se going to do?
- I've moved on to the Nitrogen fad.
- Sous Vide is safer.
- Finally, we hear, that the fining is not really a rampage; kitchens with better records, both historically and in regards to sous vide, tend to receive some leeway.

In Country, Part I

2006-03-09T11:01:00.000-05:00

Geoffrey Zakarian's Town was such a success that he opted to follow up with a sister restaurant dubbed Country.
I guess that passes for humor within a certain stratified set.
(The same set that regularly rides the bar car to Greenwich and prays for the day that the NASA scientists who bought us Tang are able to fuse Mayo, Dewar's, and Wonderbread into a single medium. Then... ascendancy... the second coming!)
Regardless, slouching towards Madison Square, Country is snugly situated the Carlton hotel on the Northwest corner 29th and Mad. (Surely, the neighboring Roger Wiliams is not too happy about the newer, trendier competitor!) The opening, actually the construction, of Country has been in the works for quite a while with a gut renovation that ran long past schedule. The result is a wacky warren of tables, sidetables, and bars beginning in the lobby and continuing up, down, and sideways through a tremendous space walled with francophillic molding, pickled wood, glass balcony guards that scream shopping mall (protecting a restaurant that screams food court), and generically hip, but uncomfortable furniture delivered in shades of chocolate ranging from 50 to 85% Cacao. I experienced some difficulty decoding the designated purpose for each area, not to mention finding the restrooms which are practically in the hotel's business center... however, the ability to fax in the facilities gives new meaning to "bathroom reading!" My odious odyssey reached a zenith when I entered the elevator to discover that nearing one half dozen, the floors give the list a run for its money. Each level is denoted by a series of letters that must have been spit out by a vintage Enigma machine.
The NSA cast-offs who serve as maitre-d'hotels (yes, plural,) decoded the layout for me explaining that there is a restaurant, a cafe, a bar, and a champagne bar contained within the complex.
I opted to stick with a visit to the Champagne Bar for the evening.
The Champagne Bar was one of at least three actual "bars" in the venue, but it is really more of a seating are with room for about 16 people. While waiting for the menus, we debated whether the cracks in the Starck-ish furniture were a design feature or not. (They were.)
When the menus manifested themselves melting from the hands of an equally generic upscale, black clad waitress, the furniture began to look better. Country is far more upscale, than, say, a Bubble Room, but the latter establishment actually delivers on the promised Bubbly. The former offered about ten, Fourteen Dollar Champagne (or sparkling wine) based cocktails made with fresh ingredients such as three types of mint puree or the bitters that seemed to be prominently displayed at each of the many turns. However, I can find cocktails at plenty of places and my interest was in the namesake, Champagne, and the list assembled by Sommelier David Sturno "in collaboration with Nick Mautone and Chef Zakarian."
Well, to quote some PE, "Don't believe the hype!"
The standard suspects such as Moet and Krug dutifully stood in the lineup, along with Bollinger, a personal favorite; yet, auspiciously absent was anything unusual. For example, where was my true love, Billecart-Salmon? Or even a Duval-Leroy?
The list was short and simple: disappointing for a self declared champagne bar.
The rest of the leather covered binder was devoted to other standards of the genre, the cognacs, and a civil selection Calvados. In short, I found myself in the type of establishment that one frequents to impress those who are impressed by cost and theory, not taste!
The service was satisfactory, and about midway through our "meal" we were presented with a cast iron pan about six inches in diameter, offering some hot pastry stuffed with spinach and Gruyere. The first of these canapes that I sampled was a kitchen error; the stuffing had been forgotten, and it was siply hollow: a perfect metaphor for Country's Champagne Bar.

In our next installment, we will address the question, "Does Doug Psaltis have a career left after the foodie fatwa issued following his Frey-esque memoir, The Seasoning of a Chef?"
Hint: Well, he's now the executive chef at Country.

Of Shrimps and Prawns

2006-03-08T10:51:00.000-05:00

David: "Look whether or not Anton is indeed a midget, or a dwarf..."
Alex: "No he's a midget"
David: "What's the difference?"
Alex: "A dwarf is someone who has disproportionately short arms and legs"
David: "Oh I know the ones"
Alex: "It's caused by a hormone deficiency"
David: "Yeah... bloody hormones"
Alex: "A midget is still a dwarf but their arms and legs are in proportion"
Gareth: "So... what's an elf?"
- The Office, Ricky Gervais and Steven Merchant

Any opportunity to quote comedic genius, Ricky Gervais, must be seized immediately; today, we address the analogous and equally puzzling, brackish, blue line separating prawns from shrimps. Admittedly, I spent many childhood visits to Chinese restaurants pondering said point. Sadly, despite a penchant for cookbook collecting, my mother's concept of cuisine involved adding water to powders, and adding pastas to water. My father did not eat shellfish, and the waiter defied theories of relative linguistics, never really finding the necessary lexicon to offer an English explanation.
As an adult, I have not found the answer much more accessible. The most common response in restaurants was, "Prawns are bigger."
Okay?
A visit to the old Fulton Fish Market (RIP,) was not more helpful as the responses ranged from, "You know that this market is for commercial buyers" to "I don't know, but I got some great Razor Clams."
Being a slow learner, I next turned to the government in search of an answer. Apparently, the FDA has opted not to regulate what is defined as a shrimp or a prawn! (Of course, the largest shrimp consuming city in America is, you guessed it, New Orleans... neglect of the Big Easy? Coincidence or Psychic Phenomena?)
As I am a persistent, yet lazy bastard, I opted to seek an answer on Al Gore's Internet.
Bad Idea! I found some, uh, enlightening, photos of sexual acts with midgets, but as far as actual information is concerned, the confusion only deepened. To paraphrase Groucho Marx, any medium on which I am published is probably suspect. The only solid fact I garnered is that the aussies call shrimps "prawns," and prawns are called "shrimps." However, as I have been unable to differentiate the two, this morsel served only to culminate my confusion.
Likewise, the previously infallible Larousse Gastronomique, shoved shrimps and prawns together in one listing, and did not deliver a distinction.
However, I can phillosophise the following from my fieldwork. Amongst the individual varieties of the creatures, some are classified as shrimp or prawn. For example, Rock Shrimp are always Rock Shrimp, never Rock Prawns; the converse applies to King Prawns.
A bit anti-climactic? My thoughts exactly! Well, kids, you can't win them all!

What of the Times?
To be frank, I actually have little negativity about today's Dining section. True, the work still lacks the "oomph" one would expect from the nation's premier paper, but then again, that can be said of the Old Grey Lady as a whole. Simply put, reading the NYT evokes the banality if not ennui, of a middle aged marriage grown boring with the occasional excitemnet of sex or an arguement, but primarilly an exercise in routine.

Wine Week

2006-03-07T15:05:00.000-05:00

If you're looking for straight-up fun, as opposed to a sampling of the rare be sure to check out Wine Week. The general idea is that the Smith & Wollensky, Cite, etceteras chain will serve 10 wines for ten dollars at lunch (creating the caveat that participation is contingent on the abillity to take off half a day of work.)
The bottles served are not Mouton Rothschild, but they are not Mouton Cadet either. Likewise, the steak is not Peter Luger's, but it sure ain't Tad's. The concept of steak versus haute cuisine is a perfect metaphor; how apropos! I am not the biggest fan of New World wines which are prevalent on their lists, but there is a time to put snobbery aside, and simply enjoy. The promotion is perfect for a large group to enjoy a good ol' fashioned night of eating red meat and gettin' sloshed... Think of it as Sizzler gone, very, very upscale!

A Long, Hard Screw

2006-03-07T11:37:00.000-05:00

I have just received a catalogue extolling the virtues of corkscrew technology in the twenty-first century, and the reaction in my gut is akin to the sensations sparked by my last visit to the 96th Street taco truck. Today, I will bypass pondering the perils and pleasures of Mexican street food and instead spend some time discussing the topic of corkscrews.
The most common corkscrew on the market is officially known as Double Lever; I prefer the moniker, "The Jumping Jack" on account of the flapping "arms." And, indeed, Jagger would be proud; the design is so sexual in nature that it would have made Leslie Fiedler blush! However, this train of thought is totally tangential as any semblance of personal puritanism mysteriously sojourns on sabbatical once I catch a glimpse of a nice bottle; the primary problem with these devices is far greater than mere morals. For starters, the manufacturers have a habit of adding large flanges to the threads of the worm, a technique that would be commendable if the goal were to power a submarine or biplane, but in the case of wine results in the sudden shredding of the coveted cork. Further, in the intersect of cost-cutting, this variety frequently feature solid core screws which are far better suited to a paper shredder than a Roumier. (The preferred alternative is hollow-core.)
Yet, the fundamental flaw of the product is its very nature; the mechanism is large and unnecessary. Wine is simple; it comes from the earth and it is a reflection of the earth. Simple. There is no need to erase this essence by harnessing the bottle to some contrived contraption out of Justine.
Likewise, I am not an advocate of any of the Bondian products on the market for the same reason. It may be true that inserting a six inch hypodermic needle into a cork may be a scientifically superior method of removing a cork(as well as detecting any prenatal warning signs.) Yet, in the words of Balki Bartokomous, "Don't be ridiculous!" I have never seen any depiction of Bachus wielding such an implement! And, when Noah was, uh, "gettin' his drink on" in the vineyard, I doubt that he asked Ham to fetch his Rabbit Five Piece Wine Opening Set.
My desired device is the wine key or "waiters' corkscrew."These simple, waddish workhorses are a cousin of the Swiss Army knife. In their most simple form, a three inch-ish oval body houses a worm which swings out to a perpendicular position and locks in place. Better models include a blade for cutting the foil, and a metal flap that can be used to build leverage. (You know what these look like! Every waiter in the city uses one; hence the appellation!)
The premier maker of this variety is French staple, Laguiole, (I believe pronounced la-yoll) applauded worldwide for their cutlery (not to mention the famed champagne saber!) Laguiole's logo is the regal Bee of the Napoleonic days and their products still maintain a level of excellence fit for an emperor, featuring superlative components and sturdy assembly. In addition to excellent engineering, these products are aesthetically stunning. They are handmade and unique; the handles are crafted from a wide range of materials ranging from Black Bull Horn to the exotic Yew Tree. The downside is that they are not cheap ranging from roughly one to three hundred dollars. If you have the liquidity, it is worth it, if not consider the following factors when shopping for a screw.

Some Quick Tips...
- The worm portion should have five, full revolutions.
- Hollow Core!
- Avoid plastic. (Sorry, Mr. McGuire, Benjamin.)
- Make sure that the worm locks.
- The less hinges, the less likely that they snap.
- You can use a knife... really... don't fall for the foil cutter, integrated.

Good Idea/Bad Idea

2006-03-03T09:52:00.000-05:00

Today, we debut a new segment here at GG! The title would work better with the proper prosody and jingles allowed by audio, but since we work with the written word, you'll have to use your imagination!

Good Idea...
Real estate agents operating on the Upper West Side allow us an amuse bouche or two, playing Pavlov and sending Upper-Westies into a frenzy of salivation. Two "big name restauranteurs" are both (independently) (and quietly) searching Upper Broadway for ventilation equipped space sized at roughly 8000 square feet. Several martinis coupled with shameless groveling failed to harvest any further details, but the prospect of any opening in the area is exciting. Case in point, consider the inexplicable elevation of Tom Valentini's Ouest to super star status; likewise, look at the success enjoyed by the late Arthur Cutler's junta in the area. A little goes a long way up there, and here, at GG, we think that even a cookie-cutter-cafe will be a welcome addition... Good Idea!

Bad Idea...
Multiple sources tell us that Colors is looking to expand. The worldly, worker owned and run restaurant is staffed by former employees of Windows on the World and features a menu comprised of dishes from their home-countries. Despite a myriad of mediocre reviews, the establishment is always packed; so, an expansion sounds simply superb! However, it's not! The problem lies in the fact that Colors is all heart; I respect their cause and concept, but at the end of the day, the food is everywhere and subsequently nowhere, not to mention the tables are too close and the service while happy and extremely amiable, well, leaves something to be desired on the fine dining level. Now, we are told the aim is to open a downscale version where the employees can "afford to take their own families." Once again, nice concept, but fine tune the existing aspects before pushing your luck guys... this city can eat you (alive)... Bad Idea!

Better Idea...
Colors should open a series of smaller vending establishments a la Danny Meyer where customers can sample savory bits of the ethnic cuisine, in effect advertising the mothership. With some work, Colors can be a presence in this town, but don't rush it!

Good Idea...
Kudos to Glenn on his return to Wd-50 as GM!

NOTE
After publication, I received an email from COLORS' publicist contradicting this report. He writes, "While it is true and has been reported in the past that ROC's goal is to open more restaurants based on the COLORS model in the future, there are no plans to do so at this time or in the near future."
Ethics dictate that I include this information, but I will respond that the information was readily volunteered to me by employees over the course of my two (and a half) visits... as I understand it, the restaurant is worker owned which would make my sources the owners.?! Perhaps, this confusion is an argument for a traditional ownership model? I hope not; preferrably COLORS can sort out all of their confusion and continue displaying their hues for years to come.

Volunteers Needed: Got taste, Bud?

2006-03-02T17:18:00.000-05:00

The Good News...
Here at GG, we need some help with a forthcoming blind tasting!

The Bad News...
We're tasting water.

Yea... hummm... still interested?
If so, please email us.

Stepping Gin-gerly

2006-03-02T09:53:00.000-05:00

Cru has one of the finest wine lists in America, if not the world; the wine program, led by the Honorable Robert Bohr, the Pontiff of Pairing, is unparalleled; only a fool would bypass such access to knowledge in favor of a cocktail.
And, indeed, I am that fool.
Sometimes, one is simply in the mood for a drink in an atmosphere that does not involve Philippe Starck or expats from Williamsburg. Cru offers a happy medium featuring a warm, welcoming front room, a superb staff, and, of course, a mastery of mixology. Their libations are made with a care and finesse hearkening back to a romanticized early era that probably never was. When one orders a Brandy Alexander, the Nutmeg is carefully ground over a microplane, and before bartending baron, Patrick C., completes the assembly of a Sidecar, he hand squeezes the citrus insuring that the sugar rimming the glass serves as a compliment, not a mask.
The establishment makes no pretenses about being a "drink" bar as it is not one. Further, they offer no qua-pseu-faux intellectual philosophy purporting to elevate the cocktail to a transcendental level. No, this is not a theme libation lounge a la Pegu Club, simply a fine dining restaurant that delivers the service one expects from an upper tier establishment.
Last night, I popped in to enjoy the King of Cocktails, the Martini. I prefer this beverage served up & dry, with a twist, unless I am in a venue stocking my gin of choice, Hendricks, in which case I take the Scotch Courage sans vermouth and accompanied by the de rigeur slice of cucumber.
However, in the evening in question, I was presented with a new option on the Gin front, and I served as a guinea pig sampling GBT Summer Gin. Yes, the micro-monster was not full after devouring a tasting menu of beers, bourbons, and vodkas; the beast is now snacking on some petit-fours of gin.
GBT is an American product, named after Portland, Oregon's cult restaurant, Gotham Bldg Tavern. Their kitchen is manned by Batali protege, Tommy Habetz, and owned by Michael and Naomi Hebberoy who are also the minds behind the gin. The liquor itself is only available in limited release; as opposed to retail sales, they have opted to distribute through 100 "top restaurants" in the United States. The gin will also be offered in a winter varietal come autumn.
In an interview with Food & Wine, Hebberoy explains his epistemology as that of an artist, citing influences such as the Clash and Keith Haring. (Oookay... Crack may be wack, but booze is beautiful.?!) The restauranteur proceeds to liken his forthcoming book, Kill the Restaurant to Rilke's writings.
In many ways, his product does taste like a Bowl of Roses, and the translation of his ontology from solid to liquid works a bit better than converting Rainer Maria's German to English. However, the philosophy may be flawed. Like a California wine, the gin strikes me as uber manufactured! Why must we over-engineer what works naturally? (Or in the case of gin, somewhat naturally...) Regardless, the drink was herbal, very herbal with an earthy finish featuring the sort of minerality that I covet in a Chambertin, but I find a bit awkward in a liquor. Further, there seems to be some floral elements thrown in, but that's the problem: they seem to be thrown in! This is not to say that GBT is an overstated drink, (it's not a Gin Zin,) but the are apparent after some sniffing and swishing. They are neither distinct nor purposeful, and I wonder whether the inspiration comes from a conscious, contrarian case to include ingredients that are not etched into the side of a bottle of Bombay S.
As for GBT's own bottle, it is exactly what one would expect, unlabelled, clear glass, with a wax sealed cork top. All very "indie," I'm certain that Mick Jones must be proud!
It's not that GBT is bad; in fact, it's certainly superior to plenty of products, but for now I'll stay square & east coast, sipping my consumerist Hendricks.

Bruni Redux

2006-03-01T09:26:00.000-05:00

That's word because you know
You can't touch this (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
You can't touch this (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
Break it down!
(Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
(Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
Stop! Bruni Time!

Look! I was going to enjoy my Wednesday like any other good New Yorker and simply read the Dining Out section without falling into a self-righteous rage; I figured that Augie's affronts actually draw responses from The Man, and the brain behind the Bruni Digest is far wittier than I. So, I was resigned to simply eat on, discussing the pleasures and pitfalls of the Marsanne and Rousanne varietals this morning.

And then...
A little after midnight, The Paper of Record's website updated, and I found myself staring down the meta-mine's cyber shaft at gastronomical gold, their most anticipated article since the Jayson Blair retractions: The Del Posto Review. Since Fox prudently pulled the ill fated dramedy "Kitchen Confidential," the Batali-Bruni feud is the biggest soap opera in the City's citadels of savory. Appearing in time for the Spring season, the opener did not disappoint!
The first oddity was not the stars or the writing (but, ohhh that shakepearean rag/so intelligent/so elegant... we shall get there soon enough.) No, dear readers, I was struck by the fact that for several hours, the online department opted to omit Bruni's name from the review, leaving it sans byline. I am sure that the absence was accidental, but in the business, that variety of slip is dubbed "Freudian."
As for the punchline... Nope! No fourth star today! (Maybe Hesser should have written the review; she doled out the stars with the reckless abandon of an elementary school teacher grading spelling homework.) I must put aside my love of Schadenfraude and give The Man credit; the piece was actually very well written, and the marks were well justified in reality as well as print. The author invokes metaphors in a timely and natural fashion, using semiotic oppositions such as "regal" and "populist" alongside a few attempts at the conceit (as opposed the all too familiar "conceited.") FB invokes the concept of "editing" several times which is probably more applicable to his writing than the restaurant; it is evident that he is not unaware that his famed "Black Crowes" review is responsible for Del Posto in the first place, and dedicated far more effort to wordsmithing than in previous weeks. Further, I found the actual meat (pun intended) of the work to be accurate and in agreement with my own experience as well as those of my friends.
Of course, the previously publicized criticisms of the critic are still valid. At upper echelon restaurants like Per Se any employee worth their salt (service) recognizes Frank on sight, and adjusts their service accordingly.
(Note to Frank: Didn't you find it odd that you were served by the same captain three times at said establishment?)
(Note to All: How does a critic masquerading as Every-Eater get so many resies at said eatery?)
Regardless, even at lesser caliber institutions, yearbook photos from the suburban NJ Prep School attended by Bruni's scout circulate in hopes of a heads-up.
Frankly, (sorry, I couldn't resist) there is still much work to be done, but for today, one gold star is awarded to FB.

Egg, Simply

2006-02-28T10:04:00.000-05:00

Ahh, the Egg!
How shall I sing your praises?
The egg is the source of life speaking biologically and culinarilly*; they are necessary to the procreation of a species, and the creations of a chef. Samuel Butler wrote, "A hen is only an egg's way of making another egg." Be it said humble Hen's egg or those garish grenades of flavor we call caviar, the egg is a peerless staple.
Time and again, this blog shall revisit the wonders of the ova, but for today, we shall focus on that most basic task, frying the egg. I am talking about that edible artist's palette, that postmodern sunrise, a delightful dome of beautiful bisque perfectly positioned atop an alabaster cathedral. (Or on a folk level, "your brain on drugs.")
Alas, dear readers, public perception is that the act is so easy that it does not warrant explanation! America's ironically named, seminal text, Mastering the Art of French Cooking does not even goes so far as to devote a single word to the action, so simple it seems. Most peer publications follow their lead. However, the act is anything but simple!
In fact, legend has it that culinary giant Ferdinand Point of La Pyramide accompanied by his three proteges, the brothers Troisgros and Paul Bocuse-- (Wow! Damn! Did I just type those names in the same sentence; they must have cooked one hell of a dinner!) Pardon the interruption, I was typing that according to Rudolph Chelminski's research, Point and company would use frying an egg as an audition of sorts for potential employees.
Hence a few culinary classics (most Gallic) such as Larousse Gastronomique touch on the topic, devoting little detail, but offering us a bit of basic background. So, we can see some simple rules emerging.
- Season with salt and pepper.
- Do not break the egg directly into the pan.
- Butter is always better. (I am partial to the fabulously fatty Normandy variety!)

Amongst the gastronomical elite, additional themes can be seen.
- Keep the heat low, very low! (Bocuse went so far as to advocate placing the pan atop a pot of boiling water and avoid direct heat!)
- Do not damage the aesthetics of the yolk with pepper. (That's why these guys get three Michelins!)

Some advocate cooking the whites and yolk separately. Others finish in the broiler. Point topped the assemblage with even more butter.

Non Sequitur...
Since we've begun discussing eggs, I can't restrain myself from including the punch line from Annie Hall. Here it is kids, Woody at his best...
I thought of that old joke. You know, this guy goes to his psychiatrist and says "Doc, my brother's crazy, he thinks he's a chicken." And the doctor says "well, why don't you turn him in?" And the guy says "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much now how I feel about relationships. You know, they're totally irrational, and crazy & absurd, but uh, I guess we keep going through it because most of us need the eggs.

*I am well aware that this isn't a word, but, hey, writing on the web affords some liberties!

ICA, Iko

2006-02-27T10:12:00.000-05:00

Last night marked the start of Iron Chef America's third season, and I was able to catch the program's late night/early morning showing as God and Nielsen intended. Yes, the program also airs earlier, but watching Iron Chef before midnight really neglects the full flavor of the form, like drinking a red wine that has been refrigerated.
Surprisingly, ICA is actually improving with age! For starters, the Challengers can now actually choose their opponents like their predecessors in the Japanese original. In the most recent episode, Challenger John Besh declares his intent to beat the "best chef in America" before selecting Batali.
(NOTE: I think that Lupa's a good time and all, and Otto is the only singles bar specializing in Italian Wine, not to mention the loudest; Babbo is nice, but even with the finite realm of the West Village, the establishment loses out to Il Mulino... point being, there is no way that Mario is even close to said superlative!)
Regardless, Besh's selection marked the return of "trash-talking" to the program; not since the notorious cutting board incident have we seen anything resembling a real rivalry. Instead, we are often subjected to a competition so benign and banal that I wonder if the chairman will conclude with some cheesy affirmation a la, "We're all winners tonight." Besh, a former marine, had the Iron Chef in the Bruni-esque crosshairs. The French Chef from the Big Easy casually continued his crusade throughout the remainder of the program tossing verbal volleys across the stadium much to my delight.
Another major improvement to the show included new camera angles, including a cool sky-cam type shot. Kevin Brauch's airtime has been reduced which is a necessary amputation. Further, I believe that the producers have opted to devote more time to the battle and less time to the judging; this decision is much needed given the latter segment is still maddeningly bad!
In last night's episode, the panel seemed baffled by a dish served "en gelee" devoting far too much time to a metaphor involving a treasure chest. Ahoy Polloi! Maties, Aspic is fairly common in French cooking; it is a standard at Daniel, and I even encountered it during my ill advised "incident" at Ninja. How the method appears foreign to alleged authorities on food is beyond me! Melissa Clark, a chef and author, displayed an embarrassingly inadequate knowledge of both gastronomy and the English language, but then again, I expected little more from anyone who titles a book, "Chef Interrupted."
(And yes, Bobbly Flail and Cat Cora are both still there, but at least the former is helpful in the J.R. Ewing-Love-To-Hate-Him role; as far as Sue Ellen is concerned, we can only hope that the new self-selection method of challenge reduces her appearances. )

Some Textual Tapas to Tide You Over

2006-02-25T11:19:00.000-05:00

Well, the weekend will be busy as we plot and subsequently commence our mission to finally answer the burning (well, actually baking,) question, "Are there any good bakeries left in the City?" Reader help is encouraged!
In the meantime, here are a couple points of note to keeep you occupied.

- The NYT (of course in the Style, not Dining Section) presents a great piece about, porn star, Savanna Samson's efforts at winemaking and the 91 Points that Parker awarded her first effort. (In this case, Bob's swishing increases the already cliched semiotics of Deep Throat.)
Naked Comes the Vitner

- Another great page! This one requires a bit of exploration with that shucking knife which is the mouse before she'll open up her secrets, but like any good dish, the results are well worth the effort.
She Loves New York

A Stem by Any Other Name Smells as Sweet?

2006-02-24T01:04:00.000-05:00

Prerequisite Preface...
Discussing stemware without mentioning Riedel is like eating an ortolan while unveiled. So, for starters, I'll preface by reminding y'all that it's pronounced Ree-dul, rhymes with needle. And yes, these glasses really are that great; the wine does taste better. Hell, I even take care to follow the instructions and steam 'em after washing. On the other hand, buying a name is never wise and this case is no exception! While self absorbed, self-professed gourmands such as myself lamented the introduction of stemless stemware in the form of the O series, the brand has been diluted and exploited even more than the Mondavi name (not that the latter was too impressive to begin with.) In the crystal equivalent of Mondavi BV (or Mouton Cadet for that matter,) they have now foolishly featured a fourth, little known, lesser legion to the legendary line; I discovered said product last week when I had the (mis)fortune of visiting of a Target store in New Jersey. Apparently, Riedel has joined the dubious ranks of Michael Graves and Moschimo in creating a low-end line specifically for these store. The result is crap, and the simple banging of my nail against the rim leads me to doubt whether the product is even crystal. However, the Vinum and Sommelier series remain unparalleled!

Pith and Pity...
But, enough of that!
While reading the Old Testament by "God" (see below,) I became aware of a product known as Les Impitoyables or The Pitiless. (Many translate the French name as the Merciless as it sounds cooler, but that is linguistically incorrect, and we needn't anger the likes of Christopher Prendergast or Nicole Kidman.) According to my own attempts to translate the company's propaganda, the crystal is pure (100%) and "hand" blown in the fourteenth Century style by eight French artisans. (Have fun with that sentence kids!) Regardless, the glasses are superb; they are a bit sturdier than Riedel and feature an arguably superior system of curves and angles to ensure that no aroma or taste is neglected. On the downside, no pity was taken on aesthetics either, and the glasses are awkward to handle in addition to their, well, less than pleasing postures.

Going Down the Line...
The No. 1 is a squat little fella resembling a brandy snifter more than a wine glass; we are told that his purpose is young red wines. Likewise, there is also No. 2 model for all white wines which stands 9.84 inches tall and looks like a champagne glass with a greater diameter. This model is not to be confused with the ornate, bubbled No. 4 for champagne. (I found little advantage to this variety.) As the linear logic dictates, there is also a No. 3 for mature reds. The No. 3 is a bit over eight inches in height and looks more than a little like a Riedel Vinum Burgundy glass.
The parallels to Riedel actually continue with Les Impitoyables' own version of the stemless stemware; The Taster Glass one-ups their famed freres featuring nooks on the bottom and side for the thumb and index finger. I found this glass to be wholly inadequate; the side nook interfered with the symmetry of my swish, the lack of stem caused hated heating, and the wine, itself, was shown much mercy.
Now, some may disagree on this last point.
Those "some" are apparently the folks at Myriad who boast of featuring the TG's in the tasting room of Crush. On their website, a prominently posted article on their website discusses the TG's at the store/bar and their exposure of "wine's every flaw and asset."
Please!
Look, we humored the whole IWM knockoff goes avant-garde concept without so much as a guffaw or snicker, but really, you are pushing the line of contrarianism for it own sake. With Daniel J at Daniel B's, and these tchotchkes in your patrons' hands, I must wonder if this time the Wellington-esque DN will lose at 'loo.

Coming Soon...
LabCabin California or How Oeno Drank a Pinot and Lived!

Book 'Em, Wino!

2006-02-23T10:59:00.000-05:00

Several sommeliers that I’ve spoken with have explained that the best way to understand wine is simply to drink as much as one can. Sadly, said formula presents some serious setbacks. Not the least of which is the vast chasm of access between them and I.

Hence, I am left to my own devices (which generally results in disaster… make that adventure!) Much of my wine knowledge is garnered from books, and then applied in public. My latest two acquisitions of pulp and print are Willliam Echikson’s Noble Rot: A Bordeaux Wine Revolution and Robert Parker’s seminal work, Wines of the Rhone Valley. The latter will take me a lifetime to process and the former took me about two trips on the C Line to read.

On Wines of the Rhone Valley…
I want to dislike Robert Parker. He exceeds 800 Pound Gorilla status; the man has been downright deified. (Really, his nickname is “God” Parker!) Supporting Bob feels like rooting for the Dallas Cowboys.

The problem is that Parker is perplexingly proficient at his preferred profession.

- Parker is good, really good. Those individuals fortunate enough to see him at work describe having their doubts washed away by a machine who can blindly identify dozens of wines consecutively.

- Parker is actually fairly humble, living in a modest home in Maryland and not causing much of a stir outside of the Sixty Minutes piece, and, ohh, that Shovel-eer business with Chirac.

- Parker really does his best to look out for the little man. Echikson describes his disgust with ’79-Oil-Crisis-Style of price gouging following his rave write-up of Bordeaux’s millennial harvest. “God” readied his bolts demanding an adjustment and declaring, “I don’t write for rich businessmen. The consumer is getting screwed by all this market manipulation.”
(If Melvin Van Peebles were a wine critic, he couldn’t get much more badass!)

As you’ve probably inferred, the book itself is must-buy. For starters, the subject matter is oft neglected, but vital; the Rhone Valley is widely regarded as possessing the best price to quality ratio of any region in the world and some knowledge is nice. Unlike the author’s recent forays into coffee table books, this work is all meat. Parker provides explanations of the major regions and producers, some faux-vintage maps, tasting notes, and a little history, personal and oenological. No, he does not write like Clive Coates, far more sanitized, yet, Parker succeeds in packing a tremendous amount of information into the volume without turning his diction too flowery or resorting to an excess of charts and numbers. The work is great for looking up specific details or reading, not reading straight through; in short, it’s a “bathroom book.” On the other end of the spectrum…

On Noble Rot…

Echikson’s book is the gastronomical equivalent of an airport novel; the writing is easy to process and the substance is, well, unsubstantial. The work did have some pedagogical value. However, the piece on French wines was constructed like a California wine: excruciatingly engineered and formulaic, not to mention devoid of soul. The author presents a jumble of historical facts on Bordeaux, but fails to build a compelling narrative, and any reader with a modicum of background knowledge finds themselves patronized by the insertion of metaphorical sugar into the juice. The writing attempts to straddle a fine introductory line, but ultimately, it is far more Dr. Seuss than Ogden Nash.

That said, reading said story was not some sort of Manichean struggle, and I did enjoy parts, particularly the following two factoid/quotes…

- The first known review of Bordeaux was found amongst the voluminous diaries of Samuel Pepys. After a night at London’s Royal Oak Tavern in 1622, he wrote, “Drank a sort of French wine called Ho Bryan [sic] that hath a good and most particular taste that I ever met with.”

- When Le Monde criticized for Yquem’s medieval (literally!) practices, i.e. employment through a system that involved all workers living on the estate and issuing checks to the family, as opposes to the individual, scion, Count Alexandre de Lur-Saluces “Rural society permits social relations that would escape the understanding of Parisian journalists.” (Echikson also notes that the family advocated the restoration of the Bourbon Monarchy well past the Second World War!)

Dining Out is Out

2006-02-22T12:55:00.000-05:00

As I look to Tampa in preparation for the return of the Great American Pastime, restaurant workers in New York are just concluding their own favorite pass time: complaining about Restaurant Week. Never mind that struggling establishments reduce their prices a whole fifty cents, serve mediocre menus, sneer at the patrons, and still find their covers doubled! No, the added hours and pathetic patrons are sufficient catalysts for a self-righteous rage extending into mid-February. A typical industry one-liner goes something to the effect of, "Table Nine just ordered a coffee, and asked for four straws!"
A second love of those in 'da biz' is trashing Amanda Hesser a la "Her palate will improve when she hits puberty!"
Such laments are not without warrant; of course, Ms. Hesser temporary editorship lasted slightly shorter than Maximillien Robespierre's stewardship, but succeeded in being slightly more damaging to the entity's long term well being. Indeed, the Old Grey Lady's Food coverage is still slipping closer and closer to the USA Today standards of journalism!
In today's issue, we are presented with an entire article devoted to the finger bowl. To be exact, Alex Witchel squanders column inches attempting to impress someone out there by boasting about the Bourgeois dinner parties that he attends replete with wait-staff and ubiquitous Foie-Gras. While restraining himself from name dropping, he does find the time to insert some self deprecation in the form of an anecdote detailing his ignorance metal finger bowls... really!
Res Ipso Locquitor!
The Finger Bowl Article
(The article is followed by a threat that we'll be subjected to Witchel's writings on a monthly basis.)
Next, we are asked to read a blatant filler piece on Chicken Soup which I simply refuse to dignify through discussion.
I do enjoy Eric Asimov's Wine pieces as well as the host of oenological all-stars who comprise his tasting panels. However, these pieces are too seldom (roughly twice a month) and wine, too often, appears to be the product of some journalistic equivalent of affirmative action (quality pieces grudgingly inserted, but not too many lest we upset the power structure.)
Florence Fabricant's work is excellent, but for reasons unbeknownst to this humble blogger, they rarely receive the space they deserve. Today, La Tour d'Argent's demotion to Michelin One Star Purgatory was given only a footnote amidst a shockingly scant 343 word effort on the new Michelin ratings. (Who would care about that?)
The Times is shockingly scarce in articles that are either practical or substantial! I must wonder whether this fallen standard can be attributed to its new bearer, Frank Bruni. After several years, Bruni has almost exorcised the specter of the infamous Babbo debut fiasco, and his writing is informative, insightful, and never fails to serve up the necessary historical data. All the same, it lacks a true eloquence (or elegance!) Bruni's obvious search for self and voice manifest itself not only through clumsy writings, but even worse through such Z-Axis experiments as his weeklong stint/gimmick as a waiter in New England.
Gastronomy is an inherently sensual, if not spiritual field, and Mr. Bruni has not yet mastered the all important art of writing that allows semantic expression of this essence. Therein lies the roots of the Dining In/Out Section's decline.
Alas, Billy T. where art thou?

Inaugural Fodder

2006-02-22T12:20:00.000-05:00

Well, admittedly, I fdon't have to say right now; I guess that doesn't bode well for the site's future! In fact, a loss for words is at direct odds with the entire blog concept! However, I have input sufficient characters to secure my project.
In the future, there will be opinions, many opinions! They will touch upon food and wine, and all things related, but mainly people, restaurants, vineyards, and books!