Uncategorized

It’s no secret that Joanne and I love traveling to London.

Over the past 20-30 years (and at least that many visits), we’ve observed stodgy old London’s transformation into one of the most influential restaurant cities on the planet. What was once a culinary backwater known for bland, uninspired and overcooked food has become a global powerhouse driven by immigration, globalization and chefs who have embraced diverse ingredients and techniques.

Think Heston Blumenthal, Helene Darroze, Gordon Ramsay and Jason Atherton, just to name just a few.

Joanne and I have been so fortunate to be able to go along for the ride. Yet all the while, we never paid much attention to the local pubs.

Well, this post is ALL ABOUT PUBS. So pour yourself a cask ale and read on…

While the Romans, when they were in what is now England, may have been the first to open tavern-like spots along the vast network of roads they built throughout the country, pubs, as we know them, are a more recent creature, one that emerged in the early 1800’s.

They were called PUBLIC HOUSES, establishments the served alcoholic beverages and limited food. Over time, “pub” came the universal shorthand for “public house.”

And although the vast majority were run by Mom and Pop, that began to change in the latter half of the 20^th century when increased industry competition prompted the major breweries to buy up independent pubs as a way to control and ultimately secure the beer business for themselves.

These brewery-owned establishments were called TIED HOUSES and they carried only their owners’ brands.

Frequently they offer a limited menu of food –known as “pub grub” assembled in tiny kitchens the size of Monopoly boards and equipped with microwaves.

Pub grub is all about comfort. Think Bangers and Mash (sausage and mashed potatoes, always topped with onion gravy), Toad-in-the-Hole (sausage baked in Yorkshire pudding batter), Fish ‘n Chips, Bubble and Squeak (left over veggies, mashed and fried until crispy), Steak and Kidney Pie, and Welsh Rarebit (grain toast capped with potent English mustard, a brush of ale, Worcestershire sauce, and melty sharp cheddar cheese).

For generations pubs have been a mainstay of the British drinking and dining scene, but since the beginning of this century, we’ve seen a dramatic decline in their number –from 61,000 in 2000…. to fewer than 40,000 today.

Why, you ask?

Blame it on a convergence of events. To save money, pub operators steadily reduced the quality of their food offerings. Today, much of it is made off premises or frozen and delivered (the same thing has happened to French cafes). Then there was the smoking ban in 2007, which caused a dramatic drop in customers. Along with it, the rise in cheap supermarket beer, wine and liquor resulted in lots of folks deciding to drink at home.  With the immigration to the East London neighborhoods of  over 2 million Muslims – for whom alcohol consumption is forbidden – pubs took another hit. In areas where immigrants concentrated, many had no guest base and they closed. Finally, there was the rise of the GASTROPUB – a competitor that actually served good food. 

Now, Joanne and I do not keep secrets from our readers…and here is a place that we discovered: a gastropub hidden away on the dimly lit backstreets of Fulham in West London. It’s called THE HARWOOD ARMS and is city’s ONE and ONLY pub to hold a coveted Michelin Star.

The brainchild of iconic London chef Brett Graham, the culinary genius behind the three-star LEDBURY in Notting Hill, the Harwood Arms serves refined British food (with game as it’s beating heart) masterfully prepared with premium local ingredients and served at fair prices. The ethos behind Graham’s creation is well-balanced food, bursting with flavor in a relaxed setting. NO HIGH REVERENCE OR POMPOSITY.

One of our recent visits began with top-notch bar snacks, including thick slices of house-made Guinness Irish Soda Bread, a dense molasses gastronomic boozer with a biscuity crust and a slab of Maldon salted churned butter…’NUFF SAID. We also enjoyed complimentary piggy treats: crunchy, salty pork cracklings. They snap!

Moving on to appetizers, we zeroed in on the Harwood Arms’ vaunted Venison Scotch Eggs, served with a hot and fruity British Oxford dipping sauce to balance out the richness of the perfect runny egg yolk encased in venison sausage and Panko breadcrumbs. Each egg costs about 9 pounds.

Two other options not to be overlooked: the teenie-weenie homemade buttery English muffins – one-bite wonders topped with a dollop of briny Cornish crab; and a spectacular, somewhat quiche-like warm Onion Tart. It’s baked with creamy British Stilton blue cheese, then showered with crispy shallots.

Now for the mains…

Since our visits to London are always in October, game abounds, with Bambi and Thumper being the thread of continuity throughout the menu. But don’t be alarmed! Chicken, Galloway beef, and Cornish cod are also available. Are they any good? I can’t tell you, as I had straight for the seasonal offerings.

Fallow Deer, for example, is an autumn mainstay, one we’ve enjoyed in several delicious iterations. Among them: Slow-Roasted Loin of Berkshire Fallow Deer with red leaves and cranberries (40 pounds); Henley-On-Thames Fallow Deer Loin Chops with beetroot and smoked bone marrow (42 pounds); and, during the holidays, Venison Wellington.

The Harwood Arms also offers Sladesdown Wild Pheasant for Two. It arrives wrapped in bacon, with chestnuts and champ (potatoes, scallions and butter) and runs about 60 pounds. The Roast Cornish Cod comes with artichokes, hazelnuts and white beans (23 pounds). Roast Loin of Middle-white Pork is served with chanterelles, carrots and endive (28 pounds), and Braised Shoulder of Hogget Lamb has crispy cabbage, wild garlic and roast turnips as accompaniments.

Finally…well, almost…

Make room for the tart Branley Apple Parfait with cinnamon ice cream, toasted hazelnuts and shortbread (8 pounds). And if you really want to go to town, include a cheese course. On our last visit, the cheese board at the Harwood Arms included Appleby’s Cheshire farmhouse cheese, Stilton blue cheese, and Baron Bigod artisanal cheese from Suffolk’s Fen Farm Dairy, accompanied by oat cakes and a boozy prune chutney.

Some footnotes…

• – I believe it was the Guardian newspaper in London that said something to the effect of, “The difference between London pubs and the Harwood Arms is the difference between black & white and Technicolor.
  
• – Done on a Sunday night and you can enjoy what is perhaps the city’s best SUNDAY ROAST value, featuring slabs of rosy-red prime rib of beef, crusty roasted potatoes, and fresh vegetables together with Yorkshire pudding.
  
• – For the same experience closer to home, enjoy MANNY’S SUNDAY EVENING ROAST, which was directly inspired by Harwood Arms’ offering. On a windy and raw winter night (in Minneapolis or London), what could be cozier than settling into a booth for Sunday Roast and a silky-smooth bottle of red wine?
  
• – Think of it as Thanksgiving dinner with prime roast beef.

WTF,

PHIL

Men’s Health magazine – a publication that focuses on fitness, nutrition, health, style and more – happens to be the largest circulated men’s periodical in the world.

So, you can imagine how pleased and proud we were a few years back when, unbeknownst to us, Men’s Health named MANNY’S as one of the “TOP 10 STEAKHOUSES IN THE WORLD?” Not the best steakhouse in downtown Minneapolis… Not in the state of Minnesota or the Upper Midwest… or even the United States – but one of the 10 best on the PLANET!!

Now…a bit of humility. Yes, we know MANNY’S is good…indeed, very, very good.

But a host of other steakhouses all around the globe are also very, very good. Any number of them easily could have been included in this list.

Nevertheless…we were honored to be recognized for what the entire Manny’s team has accomplished.

I’ll bet you are wondering about the other nine honorees. Who are they? And how did they make the Top 10?

Well, I’ve dined at five of the other award winners – some several times – and can tell you a bit about them.

To nobody’s surprise, PETER LUGER made the list. So did RELAIS DE VENISE in Paris and HAWKSMOOR in London. Down under, in Sydney, is ROCKPOOL and in Buenos Aires there’s DON JULIO.

They’re all very good. All deserving. All quite different.

Peter Luger doesn’t need much of an introduction. Lots and lots of my blog followers have been there. And lots and lots of them have been immensely pleased.  Well, mostly pleased. They’re not so enamored of Luger’s cash-only policy – NO CARDS!!!! Others chafe at the gruffness of the waiters (no women among them). “OK folks, here’s what you’re gonna do here,” says your server. “You’re all having the Porterhouse steak for 4 ($286). Then a Tomato & Onion Salad, followed by Onion Rings and German Hash Browns ($18) and finally Apple Strudel Mit Schlag (whipped cream).”

On our last visit there, with Parasole colleagues, Joanne timidly interrupted the waiter’s schtick by asking about the live lobster. He snapped, “Lady, don’t you know where the hell you are?”

(Normally I wouldn’t let anyone talk to Joanne like that. But I was hungry. And duty called.)

One curious thing about the servers’ gruffness: Not only does it convey an attitude, it also serves to speed the dining process considerably, as your waiter basically decides what you’re going to have and places the order without your actually agreeing to it. Seriously. It’s part schtick, part table-turnover strategy.

Anyway, if you can put up with – or find any humor in – your server’s delivery, and if you don’t mind being hustled out of there in about an hour ! – you will be rewarded with an exceptionally juicy, well-charred, buttery, fork-tender, dry-aged steak.

Like Manny’s, Peter Luger is a “guy’s place that women love.” Unlike Manny’s, it’s also a place where regulars are treated much differently than the rabble (you can identify the regulars by the leisurely pace of their meal, and by the $1,000 bottles of Cabernet on their table). Something else you might notice here: the striking number of young blonde “nieces” dining with their much older “uncles.”

Want a different vibe? Fly to Paris and get in line at RELAIS DE VENISE at Porte Maillot in Paris, just behind the Arc de Triomphe. You can enjoy the view while you stand outside waiting for a table to open…no reservations.

Once seated, you’ll be served a set menu that runs about $40. Waitresses (not a waiter in sight) take your wine order and only ask you how you like your meat: BLUE? RARE? MEDIUM? That’s it. No medium-well, and certainly no well-done. Crusty hunks of warm French baguette and a small, crisp green salad arrive along with your bottle of perfectly good table wine (all choices in the $25-45 dollar range). Then you’ll receive a portion of sliced sirloin topped with their signature house green-herb butter sauce and accompanied by a slew of golden fries (think McDonalds. Yes, they’re that good.)

When you finish your first portion, a second round of steak and fries will be served. BTW, the fries are unlimited.

Relais de Venise is not “all you can eat,” but it certainly is generous. And don’t pass on the profiteroles, which run about $8 bucks. Relais de Venise is loads of fun.

Next on the list is the British chain, HAWKSMOOR, with several locations in London and elsewhere in England.

When Joanne and I began going to Hawksmoor, their restaurants were in basements, no doubt to save on rent. But the spaces were squat with low ceilings and basically decorated in shades of brown…not the most uplifting environment. However, the drinks were stiff, and the steaks were pliable and juicy premium Scotch Beef. For appetizers we enjoyed caviar bumps atop grilled sea scallops. Spiny lobster and lobster rolls are offered, and a particularly satisfying rendition of sticky toffee pudding headlines the dessert offerings.

We dined there on a busy Sunday night and both of us had THE SUNDAY ROAST, which is a long-held Sunday tradition throughout England. Hawksmoor was absolutely my inspiration for bringing the now very popular, value-focused Sunday Roast to MANNY’S.

ROCKPOOL (now closed), the brainchild of renowned Australian restaurateur Neil Perry, resided in the buzzy heart of downtown Sydney. The dramatic marble-clad space had soaring ceilings (perhaps it was a bank before it was a restaurant) which contributed to the dreadful acoustics that marred an otherwise delightful evening.

The menu offerings might be considered slightly exotic for American palates. Joanne cringed as I snapped the heads off the Jumbo Head-On Prawns appetizer and dipped them into a remoulade-like spicy sauce.

The steaks were not the dry-aged, grain-fed cuts that dominate the menus of high-end American steakhouses. Rather they were at two ends of the spectrum. At the low end, Rockpool served grass-fed beef (not very good). At the upper end was Wagyu – very, very expensive and very rich.

But what caught my attention was the trio of char-grilled “MORELAND BAY BUGS.” 

Perhaps you’re asking yourself, “Just what the hell are Moreland Bay Bugs?” Well, they’re not insects. They are crustaceans that resemble lobsters, except they have a pre-historic alien-like look with broad primitive heads, flattened antennae and no claws. Most of the delicious white meat is in the bugs’ lobster-like tail and they are popular all along Australia’s East coast from Brisbane to Melbourne.

For the less adventuresome, Rockpool’s beefy pappardelle laced with sinfully rich braised short rib morsels was quite good.

Next stop: Buenos Aires and DON JULIO PARRILLA.

Now, a parrilla refers to a restaurant that slow-grills hunks of cow over a wood fire and embers…kinda like BBQ. It’s probably the most popular cooking method in restaurants throughout meat-obsessed Argentina.

The history of the parrilla dates to the gauchos (Argentine cowboys) and their tradition of grilling and eating every part of the whole animal – and I mean EVERY PART (more on that later).

Buenos Aires has legions of parrillas, and all are pretty much alike. Even Don Julio. For example, as you enter the restaurant, you walk by a long red-hot flaming grill manned by four or five sweat-soaked grill masters.

One way this steakhouse distinguishes itself is not with its beef but with its…tomatoes. They celebrate ‘em. You proceed to the TOMATO BAR and select a big fat heirloom tomato for your table. Your server takes note, then returns shortly with tomato intact and promptly gets to work. He cuts it into quarters, drizzles a generous measure of olive oil on the wedges, and sprinkles them with a shower of sea-salt flakes. 

The Argentine steak cuts often depart from what you’ll find in America. The ribeye, for example, is called an “Ancho de Bife” and doesn’t quite look like the version we’re accustomed to seeing. Nevertheless, it’s a smoky, delicious steak. Likewise, short ribs are dubbed “Tira de Asodo.” They’re fall-off-the-bone tender, juicy and also smoky.

Remember, I said earlier that every part of the animal is used? Well, Don Julio gives new meaning to “every part.” On the menu at most parradillas, including this one, was an item labeled “CHINCHULINES.” I was game and ordered a small platter of the deep-fried little ringlets with a squeeze of lemon juice.

BIG MISTAKE! Unbeknownst to stupid me, they were veal intestines. Chomping into my first (and only) bite, I gagged. I wretched. I WRITHED and SPIT it out on the table. They tasted like s**t (or so I imagine, since I’m not much into coprophagy).

But do not let that discourage you from booking a table to Don Julio. Everything else was superb.

Just don’t order the CHINCHULINES (unless you are a certain kind of person).

JUST DON’T!!!!

WTF

PHIL

Charlie Brown gets it.

“SUMMER, WE HARDLY KNEW YA.” 

In fact, sometimes, we can barely recognize ya!

June certainly can’t be trusted. Sure, there are some summer-like days…but in this part of the country, we get more than our share of April-like stretches: cold, wet, raw, windy.

Then, in a few short weeks, it’s June 21, the summer solstice, and suddenly the days are getting shorter. Hell, summer hasn’t even started and we’re already on the slippery slope to fall and winter.

The 4^th of July helps for a day – but just a day. Target starts promoting its back-to-school merchandise on the 5^th.

Making matters worse, a definitive “FALL IS HERE” sign arrives in early August when the Vikings gear up. It was August 9^th, I believe, that the Vikings hosted (and I might note, defeated) the Houston Texans at US Bank Stadium.

HOLD ON. We ain’t done yet.

The final and official, brutal stake in the heart of our Minnesota summer is…THE STATE FAIR. That means the leaves are about to turn. And, wait a minute, is Target already sneaking Christmas decorations into its aisles?

Well, perhaps there’s a glimmer of hope.

Pete Wells, the former food critic of the New York Times, recently published a piece on “The Hand-held Symbol of Summer” – THE LOBSTER ROLL…our last grasp to hold on to a fleeting summer.

A brief history…and a sorta grubby one.

The early settlers in Massachusetts and Maine viewed the lobster as a nuisance – as trash food. After storms in New England, lobsters would wash ashore and pile up, sometime to a depth of a foot or more. Irritated locals would use them as bait or fertilizer. The state would use them to feed the destitute and incarcerated.

Lobster was actually referred to as “poor people’s food,” the “poor man’s chicken,” and the “cockroach of the sea.”

“Ugh, lobster AGAIN?” said prisoners as they were handed their metal meal trays.

But perceptions began to shift. The development of the railroad system –and subsequently iced down refrigerated rail cars – allowed for lobster to be shipped inland, where it was marketed to people who had no idea that it was considered a junk food in its place of origin. They tried it and found lobster meat to be an exotic and delicious addition to their diet.

Some of lobster’s most ardent fans were moneyed New Yorkers and Bostonians who enjoyed the crustacean in luxury hotels and upscale restaurants where it was rebranded as a high-end offering. Then there were the elite trendsetters – wealthy families like the Rockefellers who served lobster to guests at their summer homes in Maine. They gave “the cockroach of the sea” an unassailable imprimatur of respectability.

As demand (and the overall population) grew, lobster became less plentiful and thus more expensive. This reinforced its status as a delicacy.

Despite a substantial dip in price during the Great Depression and World War II, canned lobster was not rationed and became a cheap source of protein for the public as well as our soldiers overseas.

As economic stability returned, lobster quickly regained its status, and today it’s as coveted as ever. Even at MANNY’S we regularly sell out of our JUMBO NOVA SCOTIA LOBSTER TAIL, which clocks in at a whopping 1¾ pounds.

Now, back to trying to hang on to summer.

Is anything better than clutching a refreshing LOBSTER ROLL on a hot summer day?

As near as I can tell, the lobster roll was created around 1920 at a restaurant in Milford, Connecticut called PERRY’S. It was lobster morsels only, drowned in melted butter.

Fast forward to 1990 in the West Village in New York when the diminutive PEARL’S OYSTER BAR was launched, followed by the equally tiny MARY’S FISH CAMP.  Their versions of the lobster roll departed from the original by swapping out the drawn butter for a binder of mayo with a sprinkling of herbs and a little chopped celery. That’s it!

And that was plenty! New Yorkers could not resist. Restaurants in other cities followed suit. The gold standard for lobster rolls was established.

But CAUTION! Just like steak, good lobster is expensive, and cheap lobster is not good. So, beware of imposters – because there are many!

One trick is to add fillers like SURIMI (imitation meat paste fashioned into crab leg shapes). MONK FISH (the “poor man’s lobster”) is used as well. So is WHITING. Perhaps the most deceptive trick: replacing lobster meat with that of the LANGOSTINO, a shrimp-like crustacean related to the lobster, but more similar in appearance to a hermit crab. Its flesh isn’t just tough, it has about a third of the flavor of lobster meat.

How common is this practice? Inside Edition ran DNA tests on lobster dishes from 28 restaurants across the country and found that 35% of the samples contained cheaper seafood, such as whiting and langostino.

So if you find a lobster roll at a price that’s too good to be true, it probably isn’t true.

After all, the key to a DELICIOUS LOBSTER ROLL is the meat. All the best restaurants and lobster shacks along the New England Coast USE ONLY KNUCKLE and CLAW MEAT (firm, meaty, rich and sweet). That’s the rule at MANNY’S, PITTSBURGH BLUE and SALUT.

So, as the lazy, crazy, hazy days of summer wind down, REACH FOR A LOBSTER ROLL and – as the song goes – “Hang on Sloop, Sloopy, hang on!” 

WTF

OK, globetrotting VIKINGS fans…

This fall, our Minnesota Vikings play two games back-to-back across the pond. The first is in Dublin on September 28. Kickoff in London is at half two on October 5^th. (That’s Brit-speak for 2:30)

Demand for the London game has been so high – 250,000 people are in the queue for Tottingham Stadium’s 63,000 seats – that Ticketmaster has paused sales.

I’ve recently talked to more than several Minnesotans who are planning on attending the games. If you’re among them, this is for you.

Knowing the London dining scene, I’d wager that the city’s highest-profile restaurants – J. SHEEKEY…SCOTT’S…THE RIVER CAFÉ, etc. – are already sold out.

But do not fret. I’m here to tell you about three sorta-secret UNDER THE RADAR neighborhood spots that Joanne and I have enjoyed immensely. You will, too, because in all likelihood, you still have time to snag a dinner reservation.

BTW, all three have proudly earned a coveted MICHELIN STAR – without going the “tweezer food” route.  A PROPER FEED (with booze!) will run about $130 to $170 (or 100-120 pounds) per person. That ain’t cheap, but for food of this caliber, and a delightful evening out, it’s a bargain compared to many London hotspots.

Option 1 is 64 GOODGE STREET. The name is unlovely, but the location, in Fitzrovia, right next to Marylebone, couldn’t be more central.

Chef Stuart Andrew’s French-inflected menu features bold flavor combinations, as gutsy as they are refined. The dining room is handsome and cozy. Service is attentive and friendly without being overbearing.

You’ll be off to a good start with a couple snail, bacon, and black garlic bonbons (croquettes), along with a pair of crispy frog leg lollipops. Aw, c’mon Minnesota – STRAP IT ON!

Menu highlights include a saddle of rabbit with “Sauce Moutard” (mustard)…simply grilled sliced tenderloin with Bernaise sauce…and Joanne’s pick, the star of the show: lobster vol au vent (in a pastry shell). I can still hear her muttering (with a smile), “There’s TOO MUCH LOBSTER in this thing.” 

As I said: these places ain’t dainty.

Next is a small Basque restaurant called LURRA, nestled quietly on a side street behind Marble Arch at 9 Seymour Place in Marylebone.

Inspired by time spent in San Sebastian, the center of Basque country cuisine, the owners opened Lurra in September of 2015.

The room’s bright Scandia design contradicts the rustic-homespun nature of Basque Cuisine, which is NOT pretty food, but instead is simple, straightforward and plain spoken.

Joanne and I have spent time in Basque country. Lurra is exactly how we  remember the food.

We began with two items steeped in Basque tradition: grilled, blistered and salted Padron peppers and a platter of “piggy treats” – nutty, melt-in-your-mouth Iberico Ham, sliced paper thin. Connoisseurs of this delicacy, produced by the region’s black-hoofed, acorn-eating pigs, say it’s better than prosciutto.

Next, we enjoyed a half-dozen grilled langoustines, fresh from the waters near Spain and Portugal, complemented by a bottle of Basque Toxacoli, a spritzy white wine that’s as affordable as it is refreshing.

On to the mains….

From the white-hot, wood-fired grill came a whopping 2 lb. grilled ribeye sliced steak from 14-year-old Rubia Gallega Cows…long, long retired, free-roaming ex-milkers.  

Let’s pause for a moment to note that these are NOT beef cattle. There’s a trend where restaurants – likely trying to save a buck or two on food costs – are selling the meat of retired dairy cattle as though it has some kind of special attributes. Meat suppliers will even age the steaks to ramp up the flavor and texture. At best, the meat is…fine. Adequate. Worthy. Certainly it’s fatty enough to be flavorful, and if you grill it properly, season it sufficiently and give it the right sauce, you can have a good meal. Especially in a setting as lovely as Lurra’s.

But, make no mistake, it’s a horse and a mouse when compared to the flavor, texture and chew of midwestern, corn-fed, dry-aged Angus.

So yeah, we liked it well enough. However, the real showstopper at Lurra – an entrée that caused me to suddenly sit straight up in my seat – was the COLOSSAL WHOLE TURBOT. When our server brought the uncooked to the table for our consideration, Joanne and I were a bit taken aback. It is a hideous flat fish, with no scales,  that all but dares you to eat it.

I accepted the challenge. In fact, we ordered a two-pounder.

After a spin on the Lurra’s blazing wood grill, the turbot is generously brushed with Taxoli sauce – wine, shallots and butter, butter, BUTTER – then de-boned tableside. My recollection is that it easily fed the two of us and cost roughly $70. Well, well worth it.

Oh, and if you go, no matter how stuffed, bloated and TURGID you are after finishing off your entrees, you MUST try the Basque burnt mascarpone cheesecake.  ‘Nuff said.

One more thing: If it’s just the two of you, ask for Table #3 in the corner by the window.

Finally, we come to THE NINTH, located on 22 Charlotte Street, one of London’s buzziest culinary thoroughfares (not far from Goodge Street). At first glance, The Ninth appears to be a humble little neighborhood joint. But behind its modest façade is a Michelin-starred jewel that strikes a perfect balance between sophisticated and approachable. It’s run by chef/owner Jun Tanaka, who cut his teeth at the world-famous temple of gastronomy, LA GAVROCHE, in Mayfair.

Eschewing the world of white tablecloths and hushed reverence for a more relaxed approach to refined dining, The Ninth serves up sharing plates of classic French cuisine with a dose of Italian comfort food.

Take note: If there are two of you, request TABLE #9, right in the front window overlooking the action on Charlotte Street.

Joanne and I shared three appetizers: Razor Clams Ceviche, fresh from the waters off Cornwall; a chilled plate of Vitello Tonnato (perfect for late summer); and Oxtail Croquettes in their crunchy casing, filled with well-seasoned, moist and juicy oxtail meat. They come resting on a punchy pool of watercress mayo and will run you about $4 each. DO NOT PASS THEM BY. 

After another round of drinks, we moved on to Langoustine Ravioli – plump with a mixture of slightly sweet, slightly salty and utterly buttery tail meat. The real splurge, though, was our companion pasta: an order of Orecchiette with butter and egg yolk, smothered with a fistful of black truffles. A justifiable indulgence.

If you have room, don’t overlook the Salted Beef Cheeks with Grilled Hispi Cabbage in Oxtail Consommé. Just be sure you’ve saved some bread for sopping up the oxtail broth. Yeah, it’s okay to SOP at The Ninth.

Finally, as if we hadn’t eaten enough, we couldn’t pass up the classic French creation – THE PARIS-BREST. It’s a showstopper of toasted almond-studded choux pastry filled with creamy praline mousseline, made daily in the Ninth’s kitchen.

So that’s it, international travelers, food lovers and football fans.

Book now. AND GO VIKINGS!

WTF,

Phil

I’ve always been a little fuzzy about the distinctions among French eating establishments. Am I eating in a brasserie or a bistro or a restaurant?

BRASSERIES originated in the Alsace region, right next door to Germany, but are now found throughout France. Traditionally they offer all-day, non-stop service, including breakfast, and are typically open late. Most are large, informal and lively. And – in line with their Germanic roots – beer is often made on the premises. Menus are more expansive than what you’ll find at a bistro. They feature hearty traditional French comfort food like coq au vin, boeuf bourguignon, steak frites, and almost always a huge variety of fresh oysters. More often than not, they’ll also feature the Teutonic classic, choucroute garni – mit sauerkraut und grain mustard.

BISTROS are usually cozy and informal, intimate and neighborhood-y. They’re traditionally family run, with smaller menus that focus on simple, home-style Frenchy cooking. Offerings can vary from day to day depending on the season and whatever’s freshest at the local market. Consequently, menus are often written on a chalkboard. Bistros are open for lunch and dinner only and often close between meal periods.

RESTAURANTS are, for most French people, occasion establishments – what we in the industry call “destination dining.” They can be resolutely traditional, spare and chic, or dripping with opulence. But, in the end, they’re sophisticated, quiet, and more formal, both for customers and staff. They often have set hours for lunch and dinner, and their menus are usually more extensive than bistros or brasseries. Plating is carefully considered and often a visual feast. Service is smooth and often chi-chi. Same for the bill.

The distinctions among French eating establishments have always been rather rigid, but these days the differences can be difficult to discern. Some brasseries have culinary aspirations equal to most any restaurant. Some bistros really should be classed as restaurants.

So, with all that in mind, I began to think about why there are almost no French chain restaurants in America. Certainly, there are a few. LA MADELEINE is a casual French bakery and café with several dozen locations, primarily in the southeastern and southern states. But that’s about it for the big operations. The last time I checked, Nation’s Restaurant News listed not a single French restaurant in its annual Top 100 Listing of chain restaurants.

Among the more notable smaller chains, PASTIS comes to mind. It has two locations in New York, as well as ones in Miami, Washington and Nashville. The genius behind them is KEITH McNALLY…and he is a genius.

But we can’t talk “genius” without mentioning RICHARD MELMAN. Among too many successful restaurants to count, he created MON AMI GABI in Chicago. Now there are at least five, including the big and beautiful Mon Ami Gabi in Las Vegas.

So what’s the deal? There are countless Italian restaurant chains in America – OLIVE GARDEN, BERTUCCI’S, MAGGIANO’S, and even our own PARASOLE creation, BUCA DI BEPPO. Why only a scant handful of French?

Well, we need to talk about differences in culinary culture.

When I attended culinary school in Italy under Marcella Hazan, she drilled into my brain the difference between French cuisine and Italian cuisine. ITALIAN is straightforward, with simple cooking techniques using the freshest and best ingredients. It’s cooking with love, from the heart. Improvisation is okay…even encouraged. But because it’s simple, Italian is fairly easy to cook consistently, even at scale.

Her take on FRENCH FOOD? No surprise here. “It’s overly complicated and much too fussy.  Too many sauces”. Marcella dismissed it with dispatch, and I think I detected a sneer as she did so. I also recall her reminding us that it was an Italian noblewoman, Catherine de Medici, who taught the French how to cook when she became that country’s queen.

Marcella might not be right on all counts, but you can’t argue that French food emphasizes meticulous TECHNIQUE. Precise execution is de rigueur. And it’s not just the freshest local and seasonal ingredients that French chefs prize. They love the most expensive ones – lobster, prime cuts of beef, truffles, saffron, foie gras, superior heavy cream (which adds depth to sauces) and high-butterfat French butter, with its decadent flavor.

But it doesn’t stop there. Add to these premium ingredients the SKILLED LABOR required to render the classic French dishes. It requires years of training. For example, the kitchen service begins with the preparation of the five “MOTHER SAUCES” – BECHAMEL, ESPAGNOLE, VELOUTE, TOMATO and HOLLANDAISE. Several steps are required to make each of them, and success depends on patience, skill and precision, along with a deep understanding of culinary science. They’re called mother sauces for a reason; they’re the building blocks of countless additional sauces. Think DEMI-GLACE and MOUSSELINE. Oh,  yes…NO IMPROVISATION!

So, there’s your answer. French food is much more complicated, with sky-high food costs as well as labor costs that reflect the need for a highly skilled brigade of kitchen staff. With the myriad steps required to prepare each dish (it takes forever even to learn how to make a proper French omelet), there is vastly more room for error along the way…resulting in lousy food.

That’s why, my friends, that there are only a few folks in this nation who can effectively manage multiple French food restaurants. I’ve already mentioned two people who can – Keith McNally and Richard Melman.

And I am compelled to say, that French cuisine, when well-prepared, is absolutely wonderful…especially the SAUCES.

Which causes the French to say, ”WITH THE RIGHT SAUCE, YOU CAN EAT YOUR FATHER.”

WTF,

PHIL 

I think it was just before COVID that I first became aware of a buzzy, new product called the IMPOSSIBLE BURGER. Supposedly, this plant-based patty smelled, tasted and cooked like real ground beef.

Initially they were somewhat hard to find in supermarkets around town. But eventually I was able to snag a green-colored bag of 6 perfectly preformed Impossible Burgers. After rounding out my purchase with brioche buns, a red onion and an heirloom tomato, I returned home to see what all the buzz was about.

I’ll have to admit that I was skeptical because most burger substitutes that I had tried in the past had not been very good. Nevertheless, I fired up my cast-iron skillet and slapped down two of these new-fangled patties.

SURPRISE! SURPRISE!!

They SPATTERED, SIZZLED, SEARED and BLED…just like real hamburgers.

And after building up the bun with my grocery-store garnishments, I carefully placed my juicy “burger” on top and capped it with the pillowy-soft toasted brioche.

I cracked a beer and grabbed my creation with both hands, took a big bite…and…

Guess what? It was BEEFY, WARM, FATTY, NAUGHTY and had just the right amount of MOUTHFEEL and CHEW.

I can’t say that I was hooked, but I became a semi-regular eater of Impossible Burgers.

It wasn’t long before they became a staple in most every supermarket…although not without controversy.    Some meat departments didn’t want the product displayed beside actual hamburger. The frozen food folks wanted to merchandize them with other iterations of veggie burgers. And, in recognition of Impossible Burgers’ popularity, some grocery store operators displayed them in a stand-alone case.

I didn’t care.

Neither did families…who liked the “burgers” and might have been swayed by claims – echoed by their kids – that plant-based patties are better for the environment and definitely better for the cows.

Fast food restaurants soon got on the Impossible Burger Express. BURGER KING introduced the Impossible Whopper. APPLEBEE’S embraced the Impossible. McDONALD’S tested the Impossible Big Mac in Sweden but swiftly came to the conclusion that the manufacturer would not be able to keep up with the demand. So McDonald’s created its own version of an Impossible burger, dubbed the “McPlant.”

Mmmm, McPlant!

KFC couldn’t be left behind. It tested an outlet with an entire menu of PLANT-BASED CHICKEN. I think that was the one-and-only store they tried. It didn’t work.

What did work was Impossible Burgers at WHITE CASTLE. To my knowledge, the little plant-based sliders are still offered.

But sometime around 2023 and 2024, the bloom came off the rose.

Consumer excitement hit a wall. Perhaps Impossible Burgers were too expensive. Perhaps there just weren’t enough consumers who wanted meat alternatives.

But more than that, questions surfaced around safety and nutrition. Yes, Impossible Burgers were low in cholesterol and high in fiber, calcium, and potassium. But among scientists, nutritionists and even the general public, concerns were rising due to the product’s ULTRA PROCESSED nature – particularly its use of untested modified GMO yeast and GMO soybeans. While those concerns weren’t especially worrisome to the FDA, which declared the product safe in 2018, the public seemed to conclude that Impossible Burgers were at once healthy and potentially unhealthy.

Consumer ambivalence raised concern among investors. Did Impossible Burger’s wealthy backers (such as Bill Gates and various hedge funds) step in to stop the bleeding? 

As far as I can tell, the biggest change has been a shift in packaging. The plant-green labels are out and red-meat red is in. That may help a little bit.

At our GOOD EARTH restaurant, here in Edina, Minnesota, we choose not to offer Impossible Burgers. Our customers prefer our “CLEAN,” all-natural PLANET BURGERS. A top seller for 40 years, they’re made from a backbone of adzuki beans, sunflower seeds and toasted cashews, seasoned with secret herbs and spices. We hand make ‘em in-house with no additives and no preservatives…..and NO GMO’S.

So, are meat substitutes just a fad? Will they bounce back? Will Impossible Burgers and vegan alternatives exist side by side?  And what’s the outlook for thick, charred, chewy, juicy, real-beef burgers? Will environmentalists reject them in enough numbers to alter an industry?

Or will they end up creating an IMPOSSIBLE BURGER that doesn’t involve the ULTRA PROCESSED GMO’S and still delivers that remarkable  BEEFY, BEEFY FLAVOR ?

DUNNO…

WTF,

Phil

Over forty years ago, on a rainy evening in New York City, business associates told me that we would dine that night at a new restaurant on the Upper East Side called PRONTO RISTORANTE. Bring from Minnesota, my expectations were low. Were we going to dine on some version of State Fair PRONTO PUPS or corndogs?

As our taxi pulled up to the restaurant, I was surprised by the line of people extending down the block – and even more surprised to see DUSTIN HOFFMAN in the queue.

We finally worked our way to the door and walked into this stunning, gleaming, white subway-tiled dining room with a little open kitchen smack-dab in the middle. An Italian Mama appeared to be making noodles there. Having recently launched MUFFULETTA, I knew just a little bit about restaurant food costs. Freshly made strips of pasta hung from racks, next to which were flats of brown eggs and stacks of bagged flour. Now at that time, I believe eggs were about 4 cents apiece and there was no need whatsoever to cost out flour. More important was the fact that these plates of flour and egg noodles were coming out of this little kitchen to the tune of about $20 a crack and that Dustin Hoffman was waiting in a long line to get one.

I called my partner, Pete, that night and the next morning he arrived in New York to see this thing called PRONTO. By the middle of the afternoon, we had a hand-shake deal with the owners to open one in Minneapolis.

Well, it so happened that the new Hyatt Regency was in the final stages of construction on Nicollet Mall near Orchestra Hall and by chance the developer was from New York. Even more of a coincidence: Pronto was his favorite restaurant in all of New York.

So, it didn’t take long for Pete and Phil, these two young, confident but naïve entrepreneurs, to hammer out a lease for the new Minneapolis Pronto.

But REALITY STRUCK…and STRUCK HARD: We didn’t know JACK-SHIT about Italian food.

Now Joanne and I had been subscribing to the New York Times for a couple of years, mainly for the Travel section, and I vaguely recalled a recent column written by the renowned Times food editor, Craig Claiborne, regarding an emerging expert and teacher of Italian cuisine.

Her name was Marcella something.

I checked her out and was pleased and excited that this person – MARCELLA HAZAN was her name – had published a cookbook and was holding two-week Italian cooking classes in Bologna, Italy. 

It was clear what had to be done: PETE AND I HAD TO GO TO COOKING SCHOOL IN ITALY.

With families in tow, we boarded our first flight ever on Alitalia (the airline with the hair under its wings). In 1980, Bologna wasn’t well known or highly regarded…and Marcella Hazan was not yet MARCELLA HAZAN. In fact, being the 6^th largest city in Italy, Bologna was something of a tourist backwater at the time. 

What we encountered was a world-class destination – an enchanting medieval city, untouched and unspoiled by the throngs of mouth-breathing tourists, boasting a network of covered walkways with arched colonnades.

We learned that Bologna had a number of nicknames, including “The Learned” (in reference to the University of Bologna, the oldest university in the western world, founded in 1088), “The Fat” (highlighting its reputation for rich, hearty food – the hallmark of Emilia-Romagna) and “The Red” (in recognition of its brick architecture, iconic terracotta roofs and warm-colored buildings –but primarily for the thriving stronghold of the communist party in Bologna.  

So much for all that…

It’s time to go to COOKING SCHOOL.

The first evening was a seminar on the geography and cuisine of Italy, loaded with MARCELLA’S COMMANDMENTS.

Among them:

1. “The less basil cooks, the more flavor it has.”
   
2. “The less basil cooks, the more flavor it has.”
   
3. “Use only the very freshest, highest-quality ingredients. Do not skimp…ever! Celebrate the simple, clear expressions of the primary flavors.
   
4. “Since Italy only became a united country in 1861, there is no singular Italian cuisine, but possibly as many local cuisines as there are regions and provinces – somewhere between 20 and 100, each with its own distinctive climate, soil, water, products, flavors and techniques.”
   
5. “Never stop stirring risotto.”
   
6. “If I had invented pasta salad, I would hide.”
   
7. “In cooking, what you keep out is just as important as what you put in.”
   
8. “Use no Parmesan cheese that is not Parmigiano-Reggiano.”
   
9. “Never buy grated cheese of any type. Grate the wedge yourself.”
   
10. “Not everyone in Italy knows how to cook, but everyone knows how to eat.”
    
11. “80% of Italian cooking is done in a sauté pan.”

Classes began early the next morning with a visit to the FRESH MARKET just off the main square, where Marcella encouraged us to squeeze and smell the bounty of the region. Next stop was TAMBURINI, the iconic deli, and SALUMERIA OF BOLOGNA, where we watched a cured-meat artisan create a colossal round of mind-numbing, heart-stopping MORTADELLA, the iconic cold-cut with finely ground pink pork studded with fat cubes and pistachios.

In the following days we visited farms to see the making and aging of PARMIGIANO-REGGIANO CHEESE. We went to Modena to witness the production of BALSAMIC VINEGAR aged for years in oak or mulberry small barrels. And we visited Parma to see PROSCUITTO HAM being cured.

Classes back in Marcella’s kitchen included pasta production – especially tortellini, the most famous pasta of Emilia-Romagna.

I’d never heard of monkfish, the ugliest, meanest-looking fish on the planet. But there it was, in the kitchen one morning ready to be worked over by the local fishmonger, selected by Marcella to instruct us in the art of MONKFISH BUTCHERING. I learned that the only edible part of the monster fish was the tail. Check out young Pete cleaning the tail.

As Pete Wells of the New York Times stated, “Marcella will have gained a place in history, if she had done nothing else, except her roasted ENGAGEMENT CHICKEN.” Where does the name come from? Well, it’s said to be so delicious that after girls dine on the chicken with their boyfriend, diamond rings and marriage proposals are miraculously proffered. HMMMM? Engagement or not, the roast chicken recipe is simple, satisfying and utterly delicious, being seasoned only with salt and pepper, then stuffed with two toothpick-punctured lemons, resulting in a memorably salty and crispy skin with a bright and lemony flavor. It’s in her book.

Marcella’s husband, a wine expert named Victor, taught a daily Italian wine tutorial to the class…with generous samplings. I had a buzz by late morning.

They were a pair to behold – sweet and complementary to one another.

I think Pete and I managed to graduate with “Gentlemen’s C’s.”

Back to PRONTO. 1981. And the MARCELLA EFFECT.

Opening in the new Hyatt with a vivid measure of razzle-dazzle, Pronto certainly made an impression on Minnesotans. Some were dazzled by what they saw. Others recoiled from the white-tiled, chrome and brass dining room and said, “Am I eating in a drug store?”  “It’s not cozy” “Too bright and shrill.”

What most everyone liked was the novelty and theater of the noodle-making kitchen, a replica of what I’d seen in New York. They did, however, have mixed feelings about its output. “What the hell are those noodles doing in a white sauce? Spaghetti should be covered in tomato sauce and sprinkled with that delicious KRAFT cheese from the bright green can.”

But the white sauces soon became wildly popular. And I will forever thank Marcella for LINGUINE IN WHITE CLAM SAUCE…RAVIOLI WITH TOASTED SAGE IN BROWN BUTTER…FETTUCCINE CARBONARA, of course…and our knockout TORTELLINI BARONESSA, made with cream, mushrooms, butter, peas and prosciutto.

A few years later, we opened FIGLIO – and here, too, Marcella made her mark. We served Tortellini Baronessa to a wildly enthusiastic audience. Then there was the top seller at Figlio: Marcella’s RAVIOLI POMODORO, filled with mozzarella and ricotta cheese in a meatless tomato sauce consisting of just three ingredients – canned San Marzano tomatoes, a whole onion, and a stick of butter. That’s it. Look it up.

For those of you who cook, MAKE HER BOLOGNESE SAUCE. It is deep, bold, intense and smooth all at once – the gold standard for Bolognese. Marcella’s secret? Butter, nutmeg and a cup of whole milk.

Pete Well’s accurately stated, “Marcella didn’t have FOLLOWERS. She had DISCIPLES.”

I was, and forever will be, a DISCIPLE.

Marcella had a reputation for being somewhat vexing. For instance, she didn’t measure. “Just a little of this…and some of that…a little taste…a dash or a handful.” Imagine the exasperation of her cookbook’s publisher, Knopf, when writing her recipes. (But also imagine the THRILL of how well the cookbooks sold.)

Marcella was kind and sweet…despite, as Pete Wells noted, her “reputation for being impatient, brusque, solidly accented, cured in cigarette smoke and marinated in Jack Daniel’s.”

So, when I asked her, “Marcella, how long do you roast an Engagement Chicken?” she curtly replied, “UNTIL IT’S DONE.”

WTF,

PHIL

Most of the time when we dine out, we’re presented with a standard “A LA CARTE” menu – the kind that lists individual dishes with separate prices, allowing diners to order each item independently.

A la carte menus, particularly in France, are often complemented by “PRIX FIXE,” or “fixed price,” menus (also called “Le Formula,” “Set Menu” or simply “Le Menu”). Typically, they offer diners a choice of two or three courses (think appetizer, main and dessert) for less than what you’d pay if you were to order each dish separately. The offerings usually come from the à la carte menu, and you get to choose among two or three pre-selected items from each category.

And then there are “TASTING MENUS,” usually found at chef-driven, fine-dining destination restaurants like FRENCH LAUNDRY in Napa, 11 MADISON PARK in New York, or HELENE DARROZE in London. They may involve any number of small dishes, can run hundreds of dollars ($365/person at 11 Madison Park), and take hours to consume. Japanese restaurants’ tasting menus are called OMAKASE or KAISEKI, and in France they’re called DEGUSTATIONS – the more elaborate of which can include up to 30 mini-tastings.

Some tasting menus hew to traditions; others give the chef free reign to indulge his or her creativity, with no rules and few limits.

Tasting menus can be wonderful, even spectacular. Or they can be punishing – a contest between you and the chef to see who will cry uncle first.

The best ones are painstakingly created and curated by chefs to express their culinary philosophy. They may have a theme or point of view. Perhaps the menu will be centered around game or seafood. Perhaps it will be a meditation on the season, a region, or a particular ingredient. Some years ago, one of our restaurants offered a multi-course feast celebrating the magnificent flesh of the Mangalitsa pig. How about a 20-course Italian cheese tasting? Or an 18-course pastrami discovery (well, maybe not.).

The parade and progression of tiny dishes is often punctuated with absurdly wild and crazy, funny, clever, witty interpretations of familiar ingredients.  (Note the cast iron meat-grinder bolted right-to the table cranking out ground-up carrots for CARROT TARTARE, one of the 20 offerings on Madison Park’s tasting menu.)  

Joanne and I recently had a well-crafted tasting menu in London at CLUB GASCON, a smallish two-star Michelin restaurant, near Smithfield Market. Club Gascon salutes the robust cuisine of, you guessed it, GASCONY in southwest France. The strong flavors of the region did not put us off. Rather, we binged on the affordably priced ten-course tasting menu as we abandoned all dignity and surrendered to the sturdy flavors, textures and aromas from the age-old southwest corner of the Gallic republic. We managed to pleasure ourselves as we plied our way through every tiny course involving foie gras torchon, juicy free-range Landes chicken breast, duck confit on toast, and morsels of Magret duck breast with black cherries – finally ending with their signature caneles (crispy on the outside, custardy on the inside).

But…tasting menus are not for everyone…including me.

There are restrictions and rules. First off, all people at the same table are required to order the tightly structured tasting menu. You get NO CHOICES and NO SUBSTITUTIONS, with NO EXCEPTIONS. (Funny, though, often they WILL offer SUPPLEMENTS to hike the price. Want white truffles rained down upon your tagliatelle? It’s only $50 more).

Which leads me to another caveat: Tasting menus are EXPENSIVE…and possibly exploitative. Generally, everyone knows the range of how much a chicken breast or sea bass dinner might cost. But how do you gauge the appropriate price for a meticulously prepared, exquisitely presented, fifteen-course tasting menu? Is $120 about right? Or $175? How about $275 or $375?…..which leaves the restaurant free to charge black market prices. 

Dine at the Michelin three-star restaurant Guy Savoy in Paris and you’ll choose between $400 and $550 menus. Wine pairings not included.

Also, as Julia Child points out, “Not all tasting menus are great, since not every chef is a creator, and those who cannot create copy those who can.” Add to that….how quickly sizzling tiny bites of food can get cold.

Finally, with many fine-dining restaurants abandoning à la carte menus in favor of tasting menus, it can feel like a TASTING MENU ARMS RACE out there. And not everyone wants to sit through a three or four-hour endurance test – especially when they feel obligated to completely finish every last nibble of each and every course.

To wit: Several years ago, we were in Paris with friends and decided to reward ourselves with a splurge night out at LE GRAND VEFOUR, then a Michelin three-star temple of gastronomy.  To our midwestern surprise, they featured a 14-course tasting menu only. But, no problem: At a restaurant of this caliber, we expected a culinary symphony of art, flavors, timing, tempo and harmony. 

On all those counts, LE GRAND VERFOUR did not disappoint.

What did disappoint, however, was that about halfway through the meal, I felt the dreaded sensation…I WAS FULL!

Even worse, two-and-a-half hours into the meal, MY ASS WAS SORE. I asked our waiter “How much longer?” He replied, “Just a few more hours.”

Around the time of the twelfth course, we were presented with THE PRE-DESSERT. Yes, the dessert BEFORE the dessert. That was followed by the regular dessert, only to be followed by the surprise of a checkerboard of WHITE and BLACK CHOCOLATE TRUFFLES. I don’t recall if I was a VICTIM or a GUEST by that time.

At about the four-hour mark, with the PAIN IN MY ASS now spiraling out of control, came the check – and with it, sixteen one-inch-square, drop-dead gorgeous, BABY BON BONS.

Time to surrender. Time to puke. Time for bed.

Right after we get through the cheese cart.

You know, as elegant and creative and as long as the LE GRAND VEFOUR experience was, sometimes you just want a burger or a platter of fried chicken.

Now…earlier I mentioned absurd creations. Well, here’s one that’s downright CREEPY.

In Italy, nestled in the province of Lecce in the heel of the boot, LORIANO PELLEGRINO, the chef/owner of Michelin-starred BROS RESTAURANT, boasts a $300, twenty-five course tasting menu. His ego got the best of him and he’s way too full of himself. So, he has fashioned a ghoulish plaster casting of his own mouth that is the signature course of the evening. Served with no utensils, this hand-held, baseball-sized orb sporting Florian’s lips and open mouth is filled with strawberry foam. You hold it in your hand, just like French-Kissing you stick your tongue deep into Florian’s hollowed-out mouth. And you lick out the foam. YEETCH!!!! 

BTW, I’ve noticed Pellegrino isn’t alone in allowing his depraved ego to worm its way into tasting menus, especially desserts.  I’ve seen more than a few phallic representations. When I shared these penile images with folks here at Parasole, the general response was, “Oh, Phil. That’s just your SICK, FILTHY, ROTTEN, PERVERTED MIND that you think you see that kind of stuff.”

OK, I’LL SEE MYSELF OUT.

WTF

PHIL

I got to thinking about Boston the other day and the foods it’s known for, like BOSTON BAKED BEANS and BOSTON CLAM CHOWDAH. Then my mind wandered off and I thought about BOSTON SCROD. What the hell is a scrod anyway? I’ve since learned that it’s a made-up name created by the PARKER HOUSE HOTEL to refer to any fish that is the “top of the catch” and therefore the freshest of the fresh because it was caught at the end of a several-day run. Fish caught earlier in the week were iced down in the bottom of the boat, with the more recent hauls iced and piled upon them.

Scrod. What an odd name. But it stuck.

There are even legends about scrod.

I recall one that involves an extremely well-educated Harvard cab driver who picks up a businessman who’s just arrived in town. This is his first trip to Boston and he’s eager to try some of the local food…especially Boston Scrod. As he gets into the taxi at Logan airport, the first thing he asks is, “Do you know where I can get scrod here?”

The cabbie answers, “Listen, Mac. I’ve been asked that illegal question many times, in many ways, but never in the past pluperfect subjunctive.”

So, there.

Back in the mid-seventies, off the coast of Chile, there was a relatively obscure creature called the PATAGONIAN TOOTHFISH. At best, it was used for deep-fried, fast-food sandwiches or fish & chips – until Lee Lantz, a seafood wholesaler from Los Angeles, decided there might be a market for its broad, flaky flesh, buttery mouthfeel and clean, slightly sweet taste. I could sell this, he thought.

But oh, that hideous name.

So he rebranded it – jettisoning “Patagonian Toothfish” for “Chilean Sea Bass.”

It not only became wildly popular throughout the world, it landed a spot on the menu of the Michelin three-star New York restaurant, the FOUR SEASONS.

That’s the good news. The bad news is that the re-branding was so successful it led to overfishing. The once plentiful stock of Chilean Sea Bass plummeted, and today it’s carefully monitored.

Then there’s the GOOSEFISH – known today as the MONKFISH.

Why monkfish? Legend has it that, years ago, when Italian fishermen returned to port in Genoa and Naples, they were met by area monks who had taken a vow of poverty and would ask for cast-off fish.

The mysterious creature of the deep, with its huge gaping mouth, was so ugly that nobody wanted to buy it. Consequently, the fishermen gave their unwanted catch to the monks.

It turned out, however, that monkfish tails – the only edible part of the fish – were absolutely delicious: bright white, firm and meaty, with a sweet flavor and texture that could almost pass for lobster. Alain Roux, owner of the acclaimed WATERSIDE INN on the Thames in Bray, just outside of London, trumpets monkfish on his Michelin-starred menu.

Certainly, a finalist in the UGLY NAME DEPARTMENT would be the SLIMEHEAD, found in deep, dark, cold ocean waters pretty much all around the world. Fishermen cursed when that rough, armor-plated, red wretch would clog their fishing nets.

That is, until someone renamed it ORANGE ROUGHY. Suddenly a fish that was typically dried and ground up for dog food became an international favorite.

Can you imagine being in a fine restaurant where the sommelier approaches your table and says, “May I interest you in a fine bottle of Willamette Valley Pinot Noir with notes of rose petals and raspberry to complement your SLIMEHEAD?”

These days, you don’t often see orange roughy on menus. That’s because it too was overfished. Efforts have been made to restore the stocks, but it’s at best borderline sustainable.

Okay, can you think of anything less appetizing than slimehead?

Well, how about WHORE’S EGGS?

Once considered garbage ilk, these spiny, globular invertebrates of the Echinodermata phylum got rebranded as SEA URCHINS. And today they’re a delicacy whose “roe” – a euphemism for their GONADS – is prized by chefs at fancy restaurants. Inside each sea urchin are five orange, creamy, lobe-like folds with an intensely briny flavor. Sea Urchin retails for as much as $360 a kilo in Japan, where it’s served raw as sashimi or in sushi. The Japanese love their “uni” so much that it’s also at risk of being overfished.

Let’s move on to the ghastly sounding PACIFIC SPINY DOGFISH. That name didn’t last long. It was reintroduced as ROCK SALMON (even though it’s part of the shark family). It’s been likened to a mushier version of cod and is used only for fish & chips. I’m sure a generous dousing of malt vinegar and a handful of salt makes it palatable enough.

Now consider ST. PETER’S FISH – better known as TILAPIA.  The name’s biblical roots reference the apostle St. Peter, who’s said to have pulled the fish from the Sea of Galilee (the same body of water that supplied the catch for Christ’s loaves-and-fishes miracle).  Today tilapia ranks #4 among the world’s most consumed fish. Still, there are efforts to revert the name back to St. Peter’s Fish in order to appeal to Catholics and Bible Belt Christians.

Note, however, that rebranding doesn’t only apply to seafood.

Could any of you be persuaded to place an order for VEAL THYMUS GLANDS at your favorite restaurant? Probably not. But if counseled to try the CRISPY SWEETBREADS, you might just try ‘em.

Now for dessert. In the UK, you’re apt to come across SPOTTED DICK. This yummy pudding sounds like a diseased penis, but remains enormously popular throughout the British Isles despite attempts to change the name. Spotted Dog?  Railway Cake? Even the British Parliament dining hall forbade the name on their menus. They tried “SPOTTED RICHARD” for a time. Guess that they’re back to?

And now, perhaps the most offensive name of them all: NUN’S ASSES. They’re pert, round, firm pink candies in the shape of – STOP RIGHT THERE! HERE NOW!  WE’LL HAVE NUN OF THAT!!!

W.T.F.

Phil

No question about it: For 40 years, Jeremy King’s iconic LE CAPRICE restaurant was – by far – London’s most popular draw for celebrities and Royals alike. Not even STUDIO 54 in its heyday or EL MOROCCO at its peak could boast a comparable roster of notables.

It sat on Arlington Street in St. James. Just walk by THE RITZ hotel and keep on walking a few doors down.

Among Le Caprice’s high-profile patrons: Elton John, Madonna, the Beatles, Liz Taylor, Mick Jagger, Michael Caine and especially the sleek and coquettish Princess Di. A regular, she took her seat at corner table #9 with her gal-pals (BTW, she always ordered the “Bang Bang Chicken” with light peanut butter sauce, cut with Asian seasoning, cilantro and toasted peanuts).

In the 1990’s, Joanne and I began visiting London on a semi-regular basis and had aspirations of snagging a spot at Le Caprice, but to no avail. It was hard to get a table if you weren’t a regular, and even harder to be a regular if you couldn’t get a table.

But on one fall evening, we stood in line and tried again. And either by accident or the grace of God, we got past the dreaded velvet rope. To our surprise, Joanne and I were warmly welcomed by the maître ‘d and escorted to the center of the restaurant. It felt as though we were going to have the best two hours of our lives.

We didn’t identify any celebrities, but were surrounded by members of London’s moneyed café society holding court in the stunning Art Deco dining room. Le Caprice’s black-framed rattan chairs and starched white tablecloths synchronized with the shiny black flooring, white ceiling, and striking David Baily black & white portraits adorning the walls. Even the staff was clad in black and white.

I think I was wearing a Dayton’s Boundary Waters sweater with some kind of tree and deer motif.

My memories of the food are more vivid. Plating was artful, with more than a little wit and whimsy, yet not overly fussy. It was comforting and uncomplicated, the stuff you could eat every day.

That was years ago.

AND THEN, IN 2020, COVID STRUCK!

Jeremy King was forced to close Le Caprice permanently.

Fast forward to the present. The powerful London business magnate, Richard Caring, bought the business (including the name, but not the site) and will debut his iteration of Le Caprice at the new CHANCERY ROSEWOOD HOTEL this coming June. It’s part of a multi-billion-dollar development housed in the iconic Eero Saarinen-designed former United States Embassy on Grosvenor Square, in the heart of well-heeled Mayfair.

But…OH OH…..

JEREMY KING, ever the relentless restaurateur, couldn’t sit by idly as a rival attempted to steal his glory. Seeing that the original location remained vacant, he re-acquired the space and opened a successor of his own. Dubbed THE ARLINGTON, it welcomed its first guests in March of 2024.

Joanne and I, accompanied by our Parasole colleagues, dined there last November.

We entered and…

OH BOY! OH BOY! The Arlington WAS Le Caprice!

The same Art Deco mirrors, the black & white floor and ceiling, the David Baily portraits and black wood-frame rattan chairs…

As Grace Dent of the London Guardian puts it, “Not a lot has changed….decor, menu, clientele….still Mayfair money, yacht tans and face lifts.” CHIC ART DECO.

My reaction? The Arlington is Le Caprice with a new name. It’s perhaps a bit spiffier, but the food is the same. It’s a new place doing the same old things – and doing them well. The Queen Mary meets the Stork Club.

We were seated, and the piano player (maybe the same one as before?) began to ease us through dinner.

Princess Di’s Bang Bang Chicken was still on the menu, as were the Spicy Tiger Prawns and Le Caprice’s signature dish, Salmon Fish Cakes served with buttered spinach in a light lemony sorrel sauce. Nostalgia never tasted so good.

Among our other selections were Vitello Tonnato, Crispy Duck with toasted cashews, Chicken Milanese and Shepherd’s Pie. Not overly trendy, some classics.

What was really nice, though – especially to a restaurateur – was observing a restaurant that runs like clockwork, consistently serving unfussy but tasty dishes.

To wit…If you order the Rhubarb Raspberry Crumble at The Arlington, it won’t be deconstructed. It won’t be a playful riff on the old-school classic. It’will be a moist, sweet, pink RHUBARB RASPBERRY CRUMBLE with a jug of vanilla custard.

Bottom line? We loved it. We will go back…again and again.

Giles Coren, the restaurant critic for the Times of London, sums things up pretty well: “Richard Caring is going to be pissed.”

W.T.F.

PHIL