I’ll be back next week with a new blog. Until then, Happy Thanksgiving from your friends at Parasole Restaurants.
Gobble-Gobble
WTF
Phil
Wine. Travel. Food.
I’ll be back next week with a new blog. Until then, Happy Thanksgiving from your friends at Parasole Restaurants.
Gobble-Gobble
WTF
Phil
Although Indian and Pakastani immigration to England had flourished under British Colonial Rule, it was after World War II and the breakup of the British Empire that the numbers dramatically increased…mainly from the Punjab region.
Today, some 300,000 Indians reside in London alone.
Lucky us. Joanne and I love the variety of cuisines that India has to offer. And while no major markets in the United States – except perhaps New York – have embraced any form of Indian polished dining, London is thriving.
Due to our ongoing research, particularly for CHINO LATINO, Joanne and I have been fortunate over the years to sample and screen the best of the best for you. So if anyone out there is contemplating a trip to London, stay tuned.
These are all good. They’re all different, yet all about the same price. Some have Michelin stars.
Our first experience in London was THE BOMBAY BRASSERIE in Kensington – still going strong since 1982. TAMARIND, near Green Park is as noisy as it is buzzy, so try to get a table on the perimeter. CHUTNEY MARY, also near Green Park, remains excellent – although in this newer space the restaurant seems to have lost some of the ambience from its previous spot in Chelsea. A sensational newcomer is JAMAVAR, on Mount Street, right in the heart of Mayfair. Get table #16….a corner table for two.
But in a restaurant that caters to a primarily non-Hindi-speaking clientele (based on the mix of our fellow diners), the lengthy menu written almost entirely in Hindi, without translation, has to be as irritating for the servers as it is for the diner. It required several trips on our waiter’s part to come to our table and translate. Why couldn’t we simply choose and order without subjecting him to a never-ending series of questions and translations? The frenzied nature of the dining room didn’t help either.
Don’t’ get me wrong: The food at Gymkhana is really, really good. It deserves a Michelin star. And if you don’t mind noise and frenzy (in the business, we call that “energy”), then book a table at Gymkhana. You’ll love it – especially if you speak Hindi.
Now, on to another Michelin-starred Indian restaurant: AMAYA.
I answered for him: “I think this plate of food now belongs to me. So as far as I’m concerned, you can go to hell!”
So we left.
Did that make me an ugly American? (Joanne would answer in the affirmative.)
But not being ones to hold a grudge (and being culinary whores for whom food trumps any sense of embarrassment), we’ve returned several times over the past few years. Plus, they appear to have thrown in the towel on food photography.
And the food here is superb – perhaps more refined than Gymkhana, possibly not as purely authentic, maybe with a flavor profile geared more to a western plate. The space, with its sultry lighting, sophistication and open kitchen theater (with plenty of shooting flames) is sleek, chic and current. Request table numbers 17 or 19. They are both “anchored” and are just far enough away from the radiant heat of the grill and the ovens.
You cannot go wrong with either. Maybe even try ‘em both.
W.T.F.
Prior to becoming Pope Francis, Jorge Bergoglio was Cardinal and Archbishop of Buenos Aires, where he spent almost his entire career overseeing churches and “shoe leather priests” … those who hear in their heart and do what they hear.
Well, apparently the answer is no. I’ve been unable to find any kind of restaurant trail established by him in Rome. It seems likely that he has maintained his habits from Argentina, where he’s reported to have eaten very simply, usually at home. The Argentine newspaper, La Nacion, wrote that Jorge Bergoglio’s lifestyle was “distinctly austere and frugal…frequently dining on just fruit, salad and skinless chicken breasts.”
So now comes the fun part.
Gammarelli is a great place for gifts. The shop is located right behind the Pantheon and right next door to the HOTEL SANTA CHIARA.
Finally, as I looked at the bright red shiny shoes in the window, I could not help but think, “The Devil may wear Prada, but the Pope wears Gammarelli.”
PHIL
On September 22, 2018 the New York Times reported that Anne Russ Federman, age 97, had passed away.
(I don’t know this for sure, but Russ & Daughters may be the last remaining “appetizer store” in New York.)
And so it was that in 1935, having no sons, Joel Russ made his three daughters full partners in the business. Thus began a long line of family generations that run the store to this day. The girls’ husbands all became part of the family business.
Today the fourth generation is at the helm, led by Niki Russ Federman and her cousin, Josh Russ Tupper. They’ve add a New Age “wasabi flying fish roe” to the mix – as a topping for the sliced smoked sturgeon inside the bagels – but for the most part the offerings remain as they always have.
You do not stay in business for a hundred years without being smart and crafty. And they were plenty smart to open RUSS & DAUGHTERS CAFÉ two short blocks away on Orchard Street. It’s an attractive, sit-down-and-be-waited-on kind of place where you can get dishes with any of their Houston Street offerings as well as complete meals such as Shakshouka, a Mediterranean dish of eggs poached in a peppery tomato stew.
I’ll leave you with this: Mark, the enterprising third-generation operator whose son, Noah, is a physician, was quoted in the New York Times piece as saying, “As far as I know, I am the only Jewish father who was disappointed that his kid became a doctor. I was thinking ‘sturgeon,’ not ‘surgeon.’”
PHIL
Around the time that the Civil War was drawing to a close, the Midwest and West were beginning to raise cattle in what soon became staggering numbers. Local processers soon found themselves overwhelmed by the burgeoning herds, and the ranchers had nowhere else to take their cattle. In response, nine enterprising railroad moguls banded together to form THE UNION STOCKYARDS in Chicago, a facility capable of processing beef from Colorado, Nebraska, Texas, Kansas and Montana.
So how do you navigate a next-gen steakhouse like GT Prime?
For one thing, adjust your eyes because this place is DARK. And once you do acclimate to the moody, high-design interior, don’t waste time looking for a shrimp cocktail – or, for that matter, a loaded baked potato.
Here you’ll start with Steak Tartare capped with mustard seeds and an egg yolk, and served with house-made malt vinegar potato chips. We also ordered the Tuna Tartare, which was pretty much as we expected. But the Chicken Liver Mousse with onion petals and port gelée ($13) was deep, deliciously gamy, and smooth as silk.
PHIL
We arrived at the incredible Milano Centrale Stazione around noon. It’s the largest train station in Europe (by volume) and the light from the gigantic, glass-covered, steel-arched dome naturally illuminates the vast interior. It is clean and pure.
Welcome to Milan, folks.
Now, the city is not as big Rome, or as beautiful as Florence or Venice. No romance or quaintness here. Milan is harsh, gritty and urban – truly Italy’s industrial capital. But change is afoot. In a recent piece in the Wall Street Journal, Andrew Farren writes, “As Italy’s undisputed capital of fashion and design…Milan is transitioning from gritty and gray to gorgeous and green.”
In the meantime, savor Milan’s timeless assets, like Santa Maria Nascente (commonly referred to as the Duomo) – the Italian Gothic cathedral frequently dubbed “The Birthday Cake.” Begun in the late 1300’s, it took nearly 600 years to finish and today is the second largest cathedral in Italy, after St. Peters in the Vatican.
The pristine Crudo, for example, didn’t smell like fish. It smelled fresh, like the ocean. That was followed by an antipasti of Grilled Octopus paired with righteous slices of Grilled Porcini Mushrooms – an odd pairing, but a delicious one.
No surprise: We ordered the Bistecca Fiorentina – a three-finger-thick block of cow. And not just any cow, but the premium Italian breed known as Chianina, expertly seasoned and fire-grilled, then brushed with a sort of rosemary gremolata. Does anybody with half a brain not love a perfectly prepared steak? Well, I guess my daughter, for one (what did I do to have a vegetarian for a child?)
So we faithfully “toasted” Arborio Rice in loads of butter, then added chopped pancetta (Italian bacon), shallots, chicken broth, a little olive oil and saffron threads steeped in hot chicken broth. Bone marrow was optional. After stirring continually for about twenty minutes, we added a generous handful of freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese to the pot and were directed to serve it in shallow bowls (to prevent cooling too quickly)…but never, ever on a flat plate. Makes sense. It was creamy, toothsome, cheesy and delicious.
“Toasting” means sautéing the rice in butter for three or four minutes, helping each kernel to absorb the butter without becoming soggy. And don’t skimp here: Use a premium butter with a high butterfat content like Kerrygold or Organic Valley. Be generous with the saffron – really generous. Steep it in a cup of hot broth for about 30 minutes. Yes, saffron is hellishly expensive, but if you take the low road, you’ll lose big time and miss its uniquely fragrant, concentrated flavor as well as the vivid color.
PHIL
This past summer Joanne and I took a food fact-finding trip to Germany.
Comfortably installed in the large, but comfortable street-level dining room, we began our meal just as you’d expect: with a bread basket of giant soft pretzels and two enormous steins of beer. Appetizers also featured Beer Cheese Soup for pretzel dipping (and diner, beware – the bread spread might be lard! Tasty, TASTY lard).
Traveling through Bavaria, you’ll experience perhaps the best sausages of your life and pork treated to as many delicious variations as your taste buds and stomach can stand. A national dish that we enjoyed and sampled often was Choucroute Garnie – sausages, weenies, smoked ham, sauerkraut and steamed new potatoes, all served up with thick and grainy, potent Germany mustard (just wait ‘til you try it at Salut this fall).
The restaurant HAXNBAUER seems to be the rotisserie gold standard for Crispy-skinned Schweinshaxen in Munich, but the one that I had at Spatenhaus was as good as I’ve ever had. It came with steamed root vegetables as well.
So my advice is to go with the flow…and EAT HEAVY…but DRESS COOL!!!
It’s a long flight.
But once you arrive in Sydney, you’ll quickly forget the confinement and monotony (if not the agony) of a trans-Pacific flight from Los Angeles.
For Joanne and me, Australia may be a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. But what an adventure it was.
So if you go, here are a couple of important tips.
First, if budget allows, book yourself into THE PARK HYATT. And don’t just book any room: BOOK ROOM #112. Check out the view from our window of the Sydney Opera House at dusk, and again when dramatically illuminated at midnight. Every night was a different show.
The handsome dining room dazzles with high reaching white Grecian columns and crystal chandeliers that twinkle and sparkle. The effect is luxurious, but not stifling, and the soft but theatrical lighting throws a flattering glow on all diners. Double-clothed tables and discreetly eager servers set a professional tone, yet one of ease and comfort. Joanne and I watched as tables were served by “masters of the swoop”…where all guests at the table are served simultaneously by an army of servers. At MANNY’S we call it “gang service.”
Onward…
We began by sharing six briny fresh oysters from Tasmania. Next I ordered Duck Foie Gras with grilled rhubarb, caramel nougatine and crispy, seedy flatbread. Joanne, having none of that, opted for a beautiful starter of local Spanner Crab with kohlrabi, a citrusy/garlicky yuzu kosho, and I believe a garnish of nasturtium leaves on top.
Our server returned to our table in seconds with an uncooked “bug” on a plate. It looked a little like a flat lobster without claws, and is apparently unique to Australia. He also brought two books from the kitchen explaining the difference between a Moreton Bay and a Balmain bug.
G’day Mate!
PHIL
For America’s burgeoning restaurant industry, the 1950s and ‘60s represented the essence of cool – especially in our largest cities, where prospering populations savored culinary indulgences unheard of during the “Meatless Tuesdays and Fridays” of World War II.
Jane Nickerson, a writer for the New York Times, said in 1953 (yes, in 1953) that New York had three possible sources for the origination of STEAK DIANE: the restaurant at the SHERRY NETHERLAND HOTEL; THE COLONY restaurant (where Jackie O. hung out); and THE DRAKE HOTEL at 56th and Park avenue.
The 21 Club on West 52nd St. in New York is said to be the last holdout, but it too threw in the towel in the late ‘80s.
The steaks need to be pounded thin to break down the fibers and insure a quick sear. The igniting of the brandy intensifies the flavors of the finished sauce by caramelizing the sugars. YUM. Mr. Nino of the Drake is said to have proclaimed, “This is the perfect sauce for the perfect steak.”
I’m told that the 21 features it on their menu from time to time. ALLORA on East 42 St. has it on their permanent menu. Keith McNally, perhaps New York’s best restauranteur, proudly serves it at MINETTA TAVERN. BRENNAN’S in New Orleans has never stopped and still prepares it tableside.
PHIL
Italians embrace mercurial politicians, but when it comes to restaurants, they’re a nation of Rockefeller Republicans – prizing tradition and voting for continuity. Nowhere is this truer than in Florence and Tuscany, where restaurant menus can seem interchangeable. That’s fine with me. I can’t argue with the likes of Papa di Pomodoro, Ribollita, or the obligatory pre-meal antipasti (particularly Chicken Liver Crostini). Nor do I have any quarrel with Chianti or Super Tuscan wines. And when Porcini Mushrooms are in season…well, you know.
And who can turn down the iconic Bistecca Fiorentina?
Not only do the menus hew to tradition, the flavor profiles fall within a fairly narrow range, and wherever you go plating tends to be honest and straightforward, without a lot of flair.
But after several evenings of eating the same sort of stuff, Joanne and I needed a counterpoint. And we found it at the BORGO SAN JACOPO.
As you cross the Ponte Vecchio to the south and take an immediate right, you’ll come to the HOTEL LUNGARNO, one of the best in Florence and home to this fantastic restaurant.
I don’t quite know how it happened, but Joanne and I managed – as walk-ins – to snag one of the four tables on the terrace. WHEW! And WOW !
The show began with an amuse bouche of two small glasses of refreshingly cool raspberry/orange foam generously invigorated with gin. The glasses “bookended” what appeared to be two rather large olives. Fooled me! They turned out to be Baby Peaches (yum) soaked in Campari (double yum). To offset the smoothish texture of the foam, a fry basket of homemade crispy Corn Chips rode shotgun.
Instead she replied, “Well, it’s 7:30 already and we’ve allotted you two hours to complete your dinner. We need this table at 9:00.” Needless to say, I asked for the manager, who turned out to be polite, contrite and embarrassed about the server’s “bedside manner.” He told us that the table was ours for the entire night if we chose, and he assigned another, more gracious, server to our table.
Let me stop a moment to say, as an operator, that I understand the focus on table turnover. But that’s my problem, not the diner’s. Guests should never feel rushed. And if they specifically ask you to slow down the service, you don’t exacerbate the problem the way our server did – you go into damage control mode the way the manager did.
Back to the meal – and the steady flow of wit and whimsy as evidenced in Joanne’s second course: a Risotto that infused Arborio rice with apple water, horseradish, vin santo (sweet dessert wine), raspberries and, of course, Parmigiano Reggiano.
PHIL