Oh My Bacash

Phil

I’m keenly aware that most of this blog’s readers aren’t contemplating a trip this fall or winter to Australia. It’s not just a long flight – and an expensive one – but after investing your time in that journey, you’re kind of committing yourself to a stay longer than most people can easily manage.

But if Australia’s on your radar screen, I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t share some finds with you. And besides, it’s worth remembering that summer in Australia is just around the corner.


Joanne and I visited both Sydney and Melbourne a few years back (see my postings from 4/29/16 and 7/21/16). My takeaway is this: Both Sydney and Melbourne are wonderful dining cities – inventive, vibrant, and very local. The trends and influences feel homegrown, far removed from American clichés and formulaic chain offerings.

Let’s set Sydney aside for now, and focus on Melbourne, where we discovered several worthy spots.


Right downtown on Flinders Lane (Melbourne’s restaurant row for budding independent eateries) we loved a smart, casual place called FATHER GOOSE. On our final night, Joanne and I splurged at a downstairs spot called EZARD…really good. And across from the train station in Federation Square is a cool joint called TAXI, an “industrial chic” venue with what I would characterize as modern French/Australian fare with more than a little nod to Japanese offerings. I’m normally not a fan of the hard and cold edges of “industrial chic” environments, but the colors and brightness of Melbourne warm environments in a way we can’t count on for most the year. More important, the attractive, clever and witty plating of the food won me over. We’d go back……for sure.

A two-hour walk from downtown will take you to Saint Kilda beach, where a great lunch spot called STOKEHOUSE awaits. You won’t regret hoofing it there (but after a big lunch you’ll want to take a taxi back to your hotel).

All of which brings me back to the walk away from downtown. Joanne and I left our hotel in the morning and set out for a stroll through the ROYAL BOTANICAL GARDENS, culminating at BACASH RESTAURANT, located in the fashionable South Yarro district on the edge of the park. While the views of the gardens are wonderful here, they’re trumped by the seafood-centric cuisine of owner and chef Michael Bacash and his wife, Fiona. Everyone says this is THE BEST SEAFOOD IN MELBOURNE. All I can tell you is that Bacash certainly offers the best seafood WE enjoyed there. Michael clearly knows where the best fish swim.

The aesthetic of BACASH is clean, spare and modern. Same with the food, which is precisely plated without being fussy.

We started with the Garfish, an ugly head-on little monster-bastard that looked up at us with resentment (maybe because we were about to eat him). The fish was flanked with prawn and ginger-stuffed nori rolls and cost $23. (For a starter. Ouch.) We also enjoyed oysters in several iterations – all fresh, all briny, all a step up from your standard Blue Points. Joanne and I chose a combo plate of oysters called Raw Wapengo Rocks, along with a version of the same dish given the “gratin treatment” – stuffed with shrimp and Parmesan cheese and browned in the oven. (Full disclosure: We’ve recently added those baked shrimp and Parm oysters to SALUT’S appetizer menu.)

Char-Grilled Calamari with pickled fennel, paprika and saffron aioli was a refreshing departure from the ubiquitous deep-fried offerings. You do pay for the novelty (and the saffron), though – it ran about $20 U.S.

Another hit was the housemade Gravlax atop blini with horseradish crème fraiche.

Among the mains, Bacash offers a worthy Scotch Filet Mignon with wild mushrooms and roasted shallots, as well as a few versions of duck, including a sliced breast accompanied by a confit duck pie with brandied cherries (YUM).

But the main event here is SEAFOOD, and Michael’s “go-to” dish is the Grilled Whole Flounder – simple and buttery-rich with just a squeeze of lemon. Warning: The flounder is not always available. After all, fish is a “hunted species,” so it all depends on how good the fishing was that day.

But, fear not: Great choices abound at Bacash. The Seared Sea Scallops and Chorizo on a bed of sweetcorn puree, for example ($22). Another is a surprise rendition of Grilled Red snapper, cooked Lebanese style with sumac-braised silverbeet (Swiss chard) and finished with caramelized onions, toasted pine nuts, tahini and currants (“Jeez, not that again.”)

We didn’t have it, but the Slow Roasted Tasmanian Salmon on Cauliflower Cream bound for the table next to ours looked special, and our neighbors loved it, especially with the accompanying fresh scallops, shrimp, calamari and mussels – around $40.

Two pastas round out the lunch menu: a summery offering of Shrimp-Stuffed Tortellini with Baby Heirloom Tomatoes and a Spaghetti Marinara loaded – and I mean, LOADED – with whatever the day’s catch might have been.

Desserts were not typical at all. I’d never had Sweet Pumpkin for dessert. Nor had I experienced Black Sesame Ice Cream. Both were delicious, clever and definitely memorable.

So, if you are in Melbourne, make a day of it: Take a leisurely stroll through the Botanical Gardens, work up an appetite and have a three-hour lunch at BACASH. Watch your wine intake, though – or you’ll end up Down Under the table.

W.T.F……G’DAY, MATE!


Phil

Seduced by the Mandolin

Phil

Recently Joanne and I discovered a wonderful Greek-Turkish restaurant in the Design District neighborhood of Miami.


Called MANDOLIN, it’s owned and run by a husband-wife team: Ahmet Erkaya and Anastasia Koutsiokis – he’s from Turkey, she’s Greek…which is a little odd since their home countries have been at odds for the past several hundred years. Well, I guess love – and a shared passion for Mediterranean cuisine – conquers all.

Joanne and I love the food in this part of the world, and one of our sweet spots in the states has been ESTIATORIO MILOS. A high-end seafood restaurant (that I wrote about early in 2017), Milos began in Montreal, then added locations in New York, Miami Beach, London, Las Vegas, and Athens (becoming – like Nobu – a very fancy chain).

Mandolin has just the one location and is very much a casual dining destination – far more typical of what you’ll actually find in Greece and Turkey, where Joanne and I have enjoyed traveling. Istanbul, Mykonos, Santorini, Crete, and a month-long stay in Molyvos, on the island of Lesvos, rank among our favorite trips.

Though the Greeks and Turks are quick to point out all the ways their cuisines differ, the fact is, they’re pretty similar in many ways, including their emphasis on simplicity and freshness. No surprise, considering the culinary comingling that occurred during the 400 years of Ottoman rule over Greece.

You might imagine how pleased we were to come across a locally owned independent restaurant that celebrated the simple, rustic “village cooking” of both Turkey and Greece. Nothing here is contrived. There’s no pretense, no fancy compositions – just straightforward, honest expressions of one of the world’s richest culinary heritages.

Food isn’t the only draw at Mandolin. The restaurant offers comfortable outdoor seating in a big, beautiful, lush garden. In fact, Joanne and I have never eaten inside. And speaking of gardens, the owners grow their own herbs and vegetables just behind the restaurant.

You need to start by ordering either the Turkish Sampler or the Greek Sampler – or both, depending on the size of your party. The Turkish spreads and dips include hummus, an onion-studded tomato-walnut dip, and a beet puree. The Greek version features tzatziki (garlic, cucumber, olive oil and yogurt, spiced with dill) along with melitzanosalata (smoked eggplant puree) and taramasalata, a puree of fish roe, olive oil, lemon juice and grated onions.
Both Samplers are accompanied by a little paper bag of warm, sesame-flecked, just-baked bread.

In addition to a crispy, bitey Arugula Salad, you must try the summery Arugula and Peach Salad with mint, almonds and Manouri goat cheese. It’s rivaled by the Arugula and Date salad, with pistachios and feta cheese dressed in a pomegranate vinaigrette. Someone at your table should also order the traditional horiatiki Greek village salad, made with vine-ripened tomato wedges, cucumber, red onion, green peppers, and Kalamata olives crowned with a plank of feta. Okay, enough about salads.

On to the appetizers. Where to start? Try the Spanakopita – spinach, feta, pine nuts, herbs and spices baked in phyllo ($12). For a little theater, get the Greektown classic, Saganaki, the flaming fried cheese dish usually accompanied by an annoying “OPAH!” The Greeks (and I suppose the Turks) really know octopus, so don’t miss Mandolin’s simply grilled version. Even though it’s usually a main course, we’ve shared Moussaka as an appetizer. A staple of Greek restaurants everywhere, it’s a baked dish of ground lamb, eggplant, thin sliced potatoes, onions, cheese, cinnamon and nutmeg – all topped with a layer of béchamel sauce and browned in the oven.

Among the mains, the Branzino (or European Sea Bass) is a standout. It’s so simple, so beautifully grilled – barely teased with lemon, olive oil, salt and pepper – that you’d think it was out of a Martha Stewart cookbook. Actually, a wide variety of Mandolin’s entrees boast the same attributes of simplicity and freshness. Obviously, you MUST order lamb – either the Lamb Chops over orzo pilaf ($46) or the thick chunks of rosemary-laced Saddle of Lamb. Even the Chicken Kebabs, the default dish of timid eaters, are delicious (all the more so when dipped in tzatziki). If you’re a dumpling fan (and who isn’t?), get the Manti, an iconic Turkish dish of homemade egg pasta dumplings filled with minced lamb, garlic and Aleppo peppers, topped with brown butter and garlicky yogurt.

Our grandkids dined on pulled lamb gyros and Mandolin’s signature lamb burger. Both come with fries and will run you $16. The kids devoured them both.

Yes, we had dessert as well.

Isn’t gluttony one of the Seven Deadly Sins? Maybe, but if you were to pass up the desserts here, you’d be guilty of stupidity, so go ahead and get the homemade Baklava. It’s loaded with honey and pistachios…OMG! On the lighter side, Fresh Figs topped with toasted walnuts, thick yogurt and honey are a seasonal must-have. I’d have them in a heartbeat for breakfast as well.


We all ended with super-strong Turkish coffee – even the kids. After they came down off the walls, I think they fell asleep around 4 AM.

So back to Anastasia and Ahmet. I wish them a long life together and hope they run the restaurant well into their golden years. Perhaps the example set by these lovers will prompt their fellow countrymen to cast aside their arms and gather at a table laden with fragrant meats, cheese and vegetables; a powerful reminder of all their respective cultures share (yeah, fat chance).

W.T.F.

PHIL

STRUDEL ÜBER ALLES

Phil

Bavaria, in the mountains of southern Germany, isn’t just beautiful, it scales the heights of German cuisine.


When Joanne and I used to fly Northwest Airlines to visit our daughter in Switzerland, the best option was to fly Minneapolis to Frankfurt and take a rental car south to Switzerland. Driving through the uninspiring central part of Germany, we would invariably stop at the same roadside restaurant and inn – can’t remember the name – but after an overnight flight, it was always a welcome stop at day’s end. The sausages were many and enormous; the mound of mashed potatoes, buttery and plentiful. And the beer came in giant frosty mugs. Comforting, yes. Filling, OMG yes. But that was about it.

In his piece, “Belly Bombs Away,” Calvin Trillin writes, “German food has determined the outcome of more wars than all other cuisines combined.” As he tells it, “For centuries, those nasty Prussians have vanquished foe after foe, battle after battle…UNTIL LUNCH…after which they were too stuffed to remount.”

Indeed. German food is BIG FOOD. The Germans favor hearty meals that include PORK, BEEF and POULTRY – in that order.

Many people find it too rich and too heavy. Some complain that’s not refined, even a little crude, and certainly not artful.

I happen to love it.

Lucky for me that we live in Minnesota, where we’re blessed with good choices.

One is GASTHOF BAVARIAN HUNTER, up near Stillwater, where we introduced our young grandkids to German food. Sausage, sauerkraut and Shirley Temples reigned at our table, while a giant sampling platter of pork, and more pork, chicken, dumplings and spaetzle delighted a family of four a couple of tables away.


Our daughter loves THE BLACK FOREST INN, especially during summer in the beer garden. The veal shank with spaetzle and the Jaeger schnitzel both delight on a cold February night. Do not miss the APPLE STRUDEL here.

And by the way, I loved their ad campaign poking good-natured fun at the stoic, humorless reputation of Germans.

So not only is German food big, it can be weird…and it can be delightful.

Witness the “gut-busting” sausage platter below – but also the hedgehog-like creature called a HACKEPETER: raw minced pork and raw onion meant to be spread on toast. No thank you.

German LIMBURGER CHEESE has the dubious distinction of smelling like dirty, sweaty feet…with a fungal infection. Next to the hedgehog, check out the small wheels of HARZER KASE, a cheese well-suited for olfactory warfare. It’s great for dieters, I’m told; bad for your social life. This cheese will stink-up your refrigerator even if it’s wrapped. Eat it in a public place and people will move away from you.

However, the crispy pork schnitzels are divine. As is the seasonal white asparagus with Hollandaise and sliced steamed potatoes. That and a bottle of Riesling? YUM.

There is no rival in the world to the iconic APPLE STRUDEL (Remember how it was featured in Inglorious Bastards? If you don’t, the movie’s worth renting just for that scene.)

And what about GERMAN CHOCOLATE CAKE with its coconut-pecan frosting? I’m told that the recipe begins with “First, invade the kitchen.”

My first exposure to authentic German food was when I was in college and went to Chicago for a weekend. My uncle Ben took me to THE BERGHOFF in the heart of the Loop on West Adams Street. I was instantly transported to Germany via the kitschy décor (which I did not know was kitschy) and foods that I had never, ever seen or tasted before, with the possible exception of my Aunt Rose’s WARM GERMAN POTATO SALAD.

Dinner began with a sort of relish tray, except this one had liverwurst, pickled herring and stinky cheese. Next I ordered something called Sauerbraten (pot roast) with that ginger-snappy gravy…first time ever…and I got a minor tutorial on SCHNITZELS, including a simple breaded pork cutlet with a squeeze of lemon and its fancy brother, SCHNITZEL ala HOLSTEIN, topped with two fried eggs. (No beer for me at that age, because my uncle might tell my dad.) As I wolfed down my STRUDEL, the OOM-PAH BAND took the stage…

My memory of the world famous (and long ago closed) LUCHOW’S, the Grande Dame of German restaurants in New York, was being there with one of my New York clients. It was big – two or three floors – and heavily decorated with all of the Bavarian clichés. I was told that Paul Newman was a regular and that Lauren Bacall celebrated her 60th birthday there. But most of all I remember the big industrial scale in the entry, where the custom was for patrons to weigh-in before dinner and then weigh-in again afterward. My weight gain flirted with 2 pounds.

A closing that saddened me most was the shuttering of KARL RATZCH’S, a Milwaukee institution since 1904. KARL RATZCH’S was a Hollywood set – perfectly put together in every over-the-top design detail. It served two-fisted German cuisine accompanied by a danceable “whumppa” from the oom-pah band on stage. During our BUCA Milwaukee opening, Joanne and I went there probably a dozen times, the most memorable of which were during the festive holiday season when the place sparkled and glittered like a Christmas tree. So warm…so cozy…so safe.

The menu had the kind of stuff that most all German restaurants serve – schnitzels, sauerbraten, duck, goose, etc. – and an offering that was fantastic and absolutely new to me: a CRACKLING PORK SHANK (more about that later).

These emblematic German-American restaurants set the stage for me and my first encounter with Munich.

Like every American and Japanese tourist, we started with THE HOFBRAUHAUS, a few blocks from City Hall. It dubs itself the world’s most famous tavern, and who am I to disagree. It’s certainly the most distinctive, and probably the oldest – founded in 1589, with a capacity of probably 600 seats. The place has an energy that’s on steroids. It’s open 365 days a year and – a surprise to me – it’s owned by the Bavarian State Government. It’s a well-run, well-oiled machine.

You do not go to the HOFBRAUHAUS to dine, you go there to DRINK – and to eat giant pretzels with mustard. Most of all, you go there for a good time. The Hofbrauhaus is a beer hall that happens to serve food.

It’s probably best to go on the early side as things tend to get out of hand as the night progresses. Joanne and I were there with my 82-year-old mother and her 81-year-old sister, and by the time we left a 100-person CONGA line was singing and snaking through the crowded dining room, doing something that resembled the BUNNY HOP – only to the beat of the German oom-pah band. About the same time, a group of drunk Japanese businessmen were standing atop a table singing Lord knows what, loudly. Top that all off with more than a few guys passed out or sound asleep in their chairs.


With all that drinking, my guess is that the HOFBRAUHAUS must employ more than a couple of “VOMITEERS.”

Okay, okay, if you are tightly wound, DON’T GO. But if you can roll with it and not fight it,” I guarantee you a GOOD TIME.

Our Munich experience ended on a high culinary note. We came across the restaurant HOXNBAUER, a place that specializes in PORK SHANKS and VEAL SHANKS with crackling skin from the rotisserie. Steamed potatoes, potato dumplings and red cabbage round out the menu, and that’s about all they serve – whole shanks, half shanks, sliced shanks. But let me tell you: HOXNBAUER DOES SHANKS WELL! They sell ‘em by 100 gram units….or 4.50 euros per unit…..about thirty to forty bucks for a shank. We went twice.


Now here’s and interesting tidbit: The Wall Street Journal recently reviewed a book by Laura Shapiro, What She Ate, about Hitler’s mistress (and, in the final days, his wife), Eva Braun. “While prisoners starved in concentration camps, Braun joined the diners at Hitler’s well ladened table.” And she went on….”At the end, the inhabitants of Hitler’s bunker began blocking out reality with magnum after magnum.”

But here’s the thing: On their final day in the bunker – the day Hitler shot himself – he and Eva did not indulge in the fatherland’s cuisine. Shapiro writes, “Hitler is said to have eaten his final lunch of spaghetti and tomato sauce.”

Apparently more of a purist than the Fuhrer, Eva eschewed the Italian fare and went straight for the cyanide.

WTF

PHIL

GIRD MY TENDERLOINS… Behold! THE OINKSTER has ARRIVED!!!!!

Phil

Philly has its Cheesesteak. Louisville, the Hot Brown. And Chicago has given us not just the Italian beef sandwich, but deepdish pizza and hotdogs “dragged through the garden.”


But who gave us the pork chop? Who can we thank for bacon? The gift of ham? Or the apotheosis of pigdom: the tenderloin? Glad you asked, because I’m from Kewanee, Illinois: THE HOG CAPITAL OF THE WORLD, where kids grow up Pork Proud.

As a typical, red-blooded young man, I was pretty social (some would say dorky, but f*** them), and I had my share of flirtations with the opposite sex. During my junior year of high school, I entered into my first romance, a mainly one-sided relationship with a girl named Bonnie.

She was sweet. She was beautiful. And every night we went out, I made it a point to shed her by 10:30 PM, because that gave me half an hour to make it to the local A&W ROOT BEER STAND and DRIVE IN before it closed promptly at 11 PM.

In the farmland of central Illinois, food is always your first love. I thought I loved Bonnie, but I LUSTED after A&W’s DEEP-FRIED SIGNATURE PORK TENDERLOIN SANDWICH. The flesh was flattened to the diameter of a frying pan, breaded and served hot and crispy, dwarfing the burger bun. And as luscious as Bonnie might have been, it was like comparing a horse and mouse – the horse wins because as fair and charming as Bonnie could be (usually)…(on occasion)…(okay, once, under the bleachers), the pork tenderloin never disappointed…was always supportive and there for me…and never, ever hinted that I was a dork. I was IN LOVE with a SANDWICH!

Now, I have to tell you that, to this day, there are deep-seeded resentments and arguments as to who originated the DEEP-FRIED PORK TENDERLOIN SANDWICH. Success has many fathers.

Some claim that the sandwich was birthed at THE HIGH LIFE LOUNGE in Des Moines, Iowa.


Yet legions of Hoosiers violently disagree. They insist that the blessed event took place at NICK’S KITCHEN in downtown Huntington, Indiana. The Indianapolis crowd say it was the INDIANA STATE FAIR.

But let’s get real: Iowa? Indiana? I think not.

A more viable candidate might be Peoria, Illinois, which calls itself “THE PORK TENDERLOIN CAPITAL OF THE WORLD.” It could have been invented at CASS’S PLACE by the Bradley Campus. Or maybe THE IGLOO.


One thing we can be certain of – and only one thing – is that the sandwich has its roots deep in the Midwest. And my money is on Illinois.

Evidently our hometown senator, Frank P. Johnson, thought the same way, because in 1947 he sponsored a bill that the Illinois State Legislature passed unanimously, paying tribute to “HIS ROYAL MAJESTY.. KING HOG.” The same bill singled out my hometown, KEWANEE, ILLINOIS, as “THE HOG CAPITAL OF THE WORLD!!!” (exclamation points might be mine).


Kewanee wasted no time in capitalizing on the official bestowment and hosted its first annual HOG DAY on Labor Day weekend of that year. The downtown streets were closed and renamed after iconic breeds of pig – DUROC AVENUE…HAMPSHIRE STREET…YORKSHIRE PLACE. The Hog Day parade was led down 2nd Avenue by a herd of Yorkshires and followed by batteries of high school bands and the renowned KEWANEE DRUM & BUGLE CORPS.

In the years that followed, Hog Day featured carnival rides and other attractions. A commemorative Hog Day decanter of Jim Beam Whiskey was commissioned. LITTLE MISS HOG DAY’s were crowned.

You can understand how, having grown up in a “hog culture,” I know more than a little about the original pork tenderloin sandwich (certainly more than those imposters who claim to have invented it). You can also understand why poor Bonnie got the boot at 10:30 so I could make it to the A&W.

Most important, you can trust me when I tell you that the PORK TENDERLOIN SANDWICH not only lives on, but has reached PERFECTION right here in Minneapolis, where I’ve introduced my beloved hometown “piggy treat” at LIBERTINE in Uptown.

Flattened to the size of a Manny’s Steak Platter, breaded with Panko bread crumbs, and dressed with tomato, pickles red onion and mayo, It’s dubbed THE OINKSTER.

Oh, and by the way, I never could get Bonnie to see things my way. Maybe if I’d loved her more than a sandwich – things might have turned out differently. We’ll never know.

W.T.F.

PHIL

P.S. – To celebrate the new OINKSTER, LIBERTINE will be offering the sandwich (including fries) for FIVE DOLLARS Sunday through Thursday nights during the month of September from 7 PM to close!

Yes, folks… you heard that right: $ 5.00 !!!!

Da Dora: I Adore Ya

Phil

Naples, Italy isn’t for everyone. I get that.

The city is dirty. Thieves, pickpockets and urchins abound. And if Gomorrah, the Netflix series on Naples’ drug trade is accurate, life can be very cheap there. (Check out my recent posting of August 3rd, 2017.)


On the other hand…

The architecture is beautiful, the surrounding area stuns, and the food couldn’t be better. If you can afford a stay at the Excelsior Hotel, so much the better.


(Just remember to leave your finest jewelry at home. Buy a Timex at Target.)

For those of you, like Joanne and I, whose sense of adventure trumps your trepidation, Naples is a real delight – rich with culinary experiences and a convenient jumping-off point for day trips to Sorrento and Capri. Just catch the ferry right near the hotel, and off you go. A bit of advice: For a few euros more, you can take the speedy hydrofoil instead of the regular ferry. In half an hour you’ll be docking in Capri.


This must-visit destination is as manicured as Naples is gritty. In fact, Capri numbers among the most beautiful and sophisticated places in Europe, replete with chic shops, hotels and fantastic restaurants – particularly for seafood. Moreover, the absence of cars in the town center makes it a paradise for pedestrians. By comparison, Positano is a tourist trap of t-shirt shops and gelato stands.

Take a Capri taxi at the port up to the village (They’re modified full-size cars that end up as kind of weird 4-door convertibles). Visit the BLUE GROTTO – touristy as hell but beautiful as can be. Stroll the town (without worrying about pickpockets). Then dine at ADD’O RICCO DE GABRIELE, high up and outdoors overlooking the Mediterranean.

I guarantee, you’ll want to go back to Capri the very next day, but don’t do it if that means passing up an opportunity to visit SORRENTO – a great strolling city, with restaurants that rival the best of Capri and Naples. If you stay overnight (and why wouldn’t you?), I recommend the Grand Hotel Excelsior Vittoria, which offers a spectacular view of Naples Harbour. It’s pricy in high season, but surprisingly affordable in the spring or fall.

But now back to Naples…

I really got to know the city during my early Buca days, and on one of our trips I discovered the best little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Naples: DA DORA. Immediately it became a mandatory stop for the Buca culinary team.


Located on a dimly lit, almost spookily desolate alley off the Rivera di Chiaia on Via Ferdinando Palasciano, Da Dora is actually easy to spot. Just look for the rather large illuminated shrine out front. “Hey … it can’t hurt.” Inside, you’ll find a tiny room – maybe 40 seats – that hasn’t changed since it was opened in 1973 by a married couple, who, prior to that, had run a seaside seafood shack. Both Giovani and Dora, the restaurant’s namesake, were children of fisherman. My sense is that the restaurant has always been entirely run by the family – including kids, aunts, uncles and cousins. There are no frills here, no pretension, no gimmicks – just straightforward preparations of just-caught seafood.

That no-nonsense, “we are what we are” quality is what I love about Da Dora. Far, far removed from the touristy spots that line the harbor, it has a genuineness and an innocence that can be neither concepted nor duplicated.

I’ve since discovered that the restaurant has achieved cult status among Italian celebrities ranging from the late Marcello Mastroianni and Fredrico Fellini to Giorgio Armani.

Check out the images below. Iterations of seafood pasta dominate the menu. Their Linguine Alle Vongole (clams) as well as the Crudo (raw seafood) appetizers were the best that I can recall ever eating. Also, look at the image with the octopus and the tiny, twice fried fish called ceruses, which means “baby”. Eat them whole … crunchy and salty. Grilled fish, lobsters and octopus are NOT TO BE MISSED!

Every time I’ve been there, Dora (no spring chicken) has been working the floor – serving, clearing, singing…and DANCING! Below you can see Buca’s founding chef Vittorio dancing with her after dinner…all to the tunes of a rather annoying guitarist.

To this day, I remain charmed by the unaffected, authentic innocence that the restaurant projects.

To wit: A recent and modest ad (not from Satchi & Satchi, that’s for sure) for Da Dora simply said, “Lunch, Dinner, Alcohol and TELEVISION” – and not a giant Samsung flat-screen. More like a Philco or Emerson or Magnavox. Remember them?


Go to Da Dora. It’s an experience you’ll never forget.

WTF

Phil

Junoon: Passionately Indian

Phil

I’ve always had a thing for Indian food, but living here in Minnesota, there just aren’t that many options other than a host of buffets (mainly for lunch) and none I’ve yet discovered that approach anything unique or special. Not that I’m a fine dining snob…..you all know better than that.

Now, Joanne and I have never been to India. And to be honest, I’m not that certain that I want to go. Several of our friends, who are seasoned travelers, report WILDLY MIXED and OPPOSING REVIEWS. Some wax passionately about the richness of the culture, history and landmarks.


Others can’t get past the rampant poverty and all the problems that come along with it. It’s said that if you have money – and ONLY if you have money – you can indulge in some of the world’s best hotels, equal to anything in New York, London, Bangkok or Hong Kong. You can also journey luxuriously by train (think THE ORIENT EXPRESS on steroids)…all of which insulate you from the conditions endured by many millions of India’s citizens. Even then, however, the country’s harsh realities present themselves. Yes, your hotel has state-of-the-art environmental protection, but step outside in a city like Delhi, and you’ll breathe air more polluted even than that of Beijing or Mexico City.

Will we ever visit India? I don’t know…I just don’t know.

But if I go, it’ll be for the food, because Joanne and I have been fortunate enough to experience really wonderful, stylish, clever and creative Indian cuisine, especially in London, where the huge influx of Indians and Pakistanis over the last several decades has created one of the richest dining scenes imaginable.

Our first experience was 25 years ago at the BOMBAY BRASSERIE, known for its bright and airy conservatory. This South Kensington restaurant is still a delight – and it’s still going strong.


More recently in London we’ve enjoyed AMAYA (in Belgravia), where dining theater is provided by three brass-clad Tandoori ovens right out front. The food here is outstanding – so good, in fact, that you can forgive the staff’s pompous attitude. We also love CHUTNEY MARY, now in St. James Place. The dining room here isn’t as dramatic as its old location on Kings Road in Chelsea, but the food is still as good. Keep CINNAMON CLUB (a little stuffy….but good) on your radar screen as well. Ditto for JAMAVAR on Mount Street in Mayfair. This is the first outpost of an acclaimed Indian chain, and it’s a knockout (If you go, request table #16 for two, in the corner).

Up until the last five years or so, New York didn’t seem to have much to offer in the way of interesting Indian cuisine.

But good news….we’ve discovered two possibilities that you might enjoy. The first is TAMARIND in Tribeca (check out my mention in my November 8th, 2016 posting, “LITTLE SPROUTS in the BIG APPLE”). I’ll do a major posting on TAMARIND in the next several weeks.


The other place that challenges Tamarind is JUNOON (pronounced U-NOON; I’m told that the name means “passion”). This Michelin-starred restaurant boasts a handsome, contemporary dining room lit in soft amber tones. These days, it’s considered un-PC to refer to cultures and countries from beyond our shores as “exotic,” so I’ll describe Junoon as worldly and intriguing, but its location actually IS kind of exotic: on a dark stretch of 24th Street just west of 5th Avenue.

The chef, Vikas Khanna, comes from Amritsar in the Punjab region of northwestern India, a tourist mecca and home of the GOLDEN TEMPLE.

The lengthy menu celebrates five distinct Indian cooking techniques:

TANDOOR….”white-hot” clay oven
SIGRI…open fire pit
HANDI….curry
TAWA….cast iron
PATTHAR….stone cooking

Our evening began with baskets of salty, buttery, garlicky NAAN plucked fresh from the white-hot walls of the Tandoori ovens and accompanied by a selection of exotic chutneys. Appetizers included a sharing dish of TANDOORI OCTOPUS with black garlic aioli, crispy potatoes and citrus wedges ($22). Another hit was EGGPLANT CHAAT, spicy hot crispy eggplant with tamarind chutney and – for those who can’t stand the heat – a cooling RAITA (yogurt, cucumber and mint) at $15. Another offering, not for the “faint-of-heart,” that we loved – and you should definitely try – was Tandoori chicken thighs and cashews and peppers called GHOST CHILI MURGH TIKKA (you probably know that the GHOST PEPPER beats out HABANEROS on the SCOVIL HEAT SCALE)… extra bowls of RAITA!…please !!…quickly !!!…now dammit !!!!! BTW, service was professional, polite and efficient.


Spices are so central to Indian cuisine that JUNOON has installed a special glass enclosed room on the lower level that’s used solely for the daily grinding and storing of spices. Ask your server and you’ll be escorted downstairs for a peek.

LAMB CHOPS were a real treat – effectively “tricked-out” with sweet potato puree, charred pineapple and Swiss chard ($39), as was a vegetarian dish called HARA PANEER KOFTA with mustard greens, paneer dumplings, preserved lemon relish and green chili for an extra kick (or should I say wallop?) at $23.

JUNOON IS NOT BLAND!!!!!

Now comes dessert, including a trio of seasonal KULFI (Indian ice cream); SAFFRON PHRINI, a Punjab treat of mango, rice, sugar and milk; and FALOODA, a sweet and creamy treat with strawberries, vanilla ice cream, rose syrup and pink peppercorn foam.


While Junoon’s meal enders were uniformly delightful (except for one medicinally flavored green ice cream), they’re somewhat out of the mainstream as western desserts go. In fact, they’re out of the mainstream compared to most Indian desserts. Wasn’t it food writer Calvin Trillin who observed that the preponderance of them “tend to have the texture of face cream?”

Does the POND’S INSTITUTE have a culinary branch in India????

Maybe so……maybe so…..

W.T.F.

Paris, via the Lexington Ave. Line

Phil

Long before I ever heard of Keith McNally, I was a big fan of his restaurants. In my frequent travels to New York during my previous life, I was an early adopter and a regular patron of THE ODEON, his first big hit. Perhaps its combination of French bistro/brasserie fare reminiscent of LA COUPOLE in Paris, served alongside American classics, resonated with me. Maybe it was the energized vibe of the restaurant, or the big neon Edward Hopper-ish sign promising excitement. I remember being taken by its location – a desolate, barren and scary neighborhood called TriBeCa. What really floored me, though, was the fact that Odeon looked like it had been there forever. It just seemed REAL to me.


A few years later, he opened CAFE LUXEMBOURG in the culinary wasteland of the Upper West Side. This was the pioneer of what became Keith McNally’s aesthetic sweet spot: French bistros that faithfully evoke 19th century Paris – and I mean FAITHFULLY. As Pete Wells of the New York Times put it: “…not exactly the real Paris, but the way you remember it a year after taking a vacation there.”

Full disclosure: It was about this time that I was creating BUCA, and McNally’s attention to detail drove me to obsess over the minutiae of Italian immigrants’ homes and neighborhood restaurants – the plastic flowers, kitschy trinkets and gaudy Catholic icons. The bad plaster statuary and floral carpets. The Christmas lights left up year-round; everything a visual and cultural metaphor of a STATE FAIR FRINGED PILLOW. So thank you, Keith.

My next discovery of McNally’s genius was BALTHAZAR, the quintessential SOHO brasserie, right out of central casting…and today possibly the busiest restaurant in New York (with a branch now open in Covent Garden in London). It was here that I truly began to appreciate his attention to detail. Sure, other New York bistros had the obligatory Parisian ochre walls – but McNally’s were purposely stained to evoke years of exposure to a clientele of two-pack-a-day cigarette smokers. Then there were the mirrors – not clean and bright, but distressed with hopelessly damaged silvering. The mosaic tiled floor’s patterns were imperfect and patched – from the day they were laid. And McNally bathed everything in flattering Renoir-ish light.


PASTIS soon followed in what was then another culinary backwater, the Meatpacking District. Here he capitalized on all the bistro/brasserie clichés, including the requisite Parisian “egg and dart” facing on the zinc bar. And the “decorating hits” just kept on coming. New Parisian “touchstones” beyond Balthazar’s red leather banquettes and marred mirrors included mismatched chairs, a stamped and faux-soiled tin ceiling, and what would become a McNally signature decorative device: chipped and damaged Paris Metro subway tiles adorning columns and walls.

Oh, and the food was pretty good, too.

The hits came in quick succession…. the striking, subterranean PRAVDA VODKA BAR; SCHILLER’S LIQUOR BAR (best name ever?); and the impossibly cozy, always-satisfying Minetta Tavern. As the New York Times wrote, “…McNally is the restaurateur who invented downtown Manhattan.”


Then McNally dabbled in two Italian adventures: MORANDI, a trattoria; and PULINO’S, a pizza-centric venue that opened and closed after a short run, but was quickly reimagined as CHERCHE MIDI (see my blog entry dated November 2, 2016).

That brings us to AUGUSTINE, McNally’s newest bistro and his giddiest yet. Last week, our Parasole culinary team visited Augustine, housed beautifully in the restored BEEKMAN HOTEL not far from City Hall. Note the image of the dining room – an over-the-top and gorgeous accumulation of all the visual and sensual devices that have served him so well over the last thirty years, with the addition of Art Nouveau-style glazed tiles featuring hand-painted climbing vines, tiger lilies, peonies and poppies. Pay particular attention also to the use of mosaic floor tiles.

And if there are two of you dining at Augustine, get the corner table pictured (#62). On Saturday, we started with brunch at a window table (#91; #92 is also good).

Joanne chose the Cheese Soufflé, perfectly prepared and really cheesy with Gruyere and Parmigiano Reggiano, accompanied by a horseradish fondue ($19, but worth it).

This was followed by the Heirloom Beet Tartine with ricotta, watercress and toasted walnuts – a bargain at $10. The Heirloom Tomato Salad with fresh mozzarella and charred jalapeno vinaigrette, while very good, was a whopping $19. I had Eggs in the Hole with smoked salmon, arugula and lemon creme fraiche. Avocado Toast followed with poached eggs, tomato coriander salsa and sliced avocados atop grilled focaccia (best Avocado Toast ever; $16). Finally, a perfectly “serviceable” Eggs Benedict on brioche – just fine, but just Eggs Benedict.

The Parasole folks gathered again at 6:00PM for dinner, and to reach our table we had to fight our way through Augustine’s lively bar, filled even at that early hour with drinkers and diners.

Shared dinner appetizers began with Salt Roasted Oysters topped with salmon roe. I had the Beef Tartare with yuzu, nori and a quail egg, while one of our group opted to go “snout-to-tail” and ordered the Marrow Bones with oxtail ragout. Joanne, in my opinion, had the biggest hit: Chilled Watercress Vichyssoise, drizzled with chive oil and served with buttery miniature brioche croutons – just $10 for a generous serving. Two crispy salads came next: a lightly dressed Frisée and mixed greens…and a surprise: a Waldorf Salad. Not very French or bistro-like, but delicious nonetheless.

I won’t go through all of the mains. They’re all pictured and all good. But I will mention a few standouts, including the tasty, artfully plated Duck à l’Orange, featuring juicy slices of Grand Marnier-braised breast meat layered over turnips and greens, served with a side of duck confit and orange marmalade. I had the Steak Au Poivre – fork-tender and beefy (and, as Pete Wells said, “dry aged and tender without being floppy). It was served with a generous side of crispy pomme frites – double fried (or maybe triple fried) just like in France.

But perhaps the most interesting offering at our table was a side-dish: POMMES PRESSÉ: layers and layers and layers of wafer-thin potato slices, stacked on a bed of pureed Yukon Golds and served with garlic aioli and wild thyme. I don’t know how it was prepared, but I think they deep fried the whole thing.

Apple Tarte Tatin with salted caramel ice cream, a Dark Chocolate Terrine and a surprising plate of sliced Blood Oranges with mint leaves sent us all crawling back to our hotel.

Finally, I wondered, Why the name “Augustine”?

Was McNally playing with us? Is this the same Augustine as the St. Augustine that Stephen Greenblat cited in the New Yorker magazine, who in 370 AD, at age 16, had an “incident” in a public bathhouse? “Hardly a world-shaking event,” he writes, “…but Augustine did become celibate and perhaps even obsessed with human sexuality” causing him to believe “‘that there is something fundamentally damaged about the entire human species’” – thus Adam & Eve and Augustine’s doctrine of Original Sin?


I don’t know. I was just wondering. What exactly did happen in that bathhouse?????

W.T.F.

Italy’s Finest Seafood Restaurant

Phil

Last week we discussed my favorite restaurant in northern Italy, TRATTORIA SOSTANZA in Florence.

Easily the best known city in Tuscany, Florence has the refinement, sophistication and money representative of so many of the Italian states and city states north of Rome.

Venture south, however, and you’ll discover just how poor much of Italy really is. With the exception of tiny pockets of great wealth that frequently have origins of dubious distinction, vast stretches of the south are arid and almost barren. They simply can’t support the crops and livestock that one finds in the north.

And yet…

The south has developed a cuisine that celebrates what the regions do have to offer. They call it “CUICINA ALLA POVERA” – the cuisine of the poor. And what a delight it is; different from the north, but equally as good. Think BUFALA MOZZARELLA, the world-renowned creamy cheese that comes from water buffalo raised just north of Naples. Why water buffalo? Because cows cannot stand the southern heat. Also, SAN MARZANO TOMATOES, probably the best in the world and grown only in the volcanic soil in the shadow of MT. VESUVIUS, also near Naples.

And finally, there’s the incredible bounty of the sea. Unlike the wealthy north, which relies much more on beef, pork and veal for protein, southern Italy celebrates fish and seafood, and its chefs do wondrous things with it.

That brings us to Naples. It’s a much-maligned city (often deservedly so), but if one can look beyond the obvious, you’ll find culture, beauty – and fantastic seafood – in abundance.


Situated on the east coast of the Mediterranean on the GULF OF NAPLES, the city occupies a strategic military location as evidenced by the numerous castles and fortresses that survive to this day. In a tribute to the armies of shoppers who flock to Naples, the city boasts one of the world’s first enclosed shopping centers – the vital, stunning glass-roofed GALLERIA UMBERTO I, built between 1887 and 1891.

Should you be fortunate enough to visit Naples, do sample the PIZZAS, most often made with SAN MARZANO TOMATOES and BUFULA MOZZARELLA (of course). In fact, pizza is said to have originated here. I certainly have no reason to disagree. Another must: the city’s spectacular open-air markets, brimming with “visual candy” ranging from fresh veggies to super-fresh seafood.

You’ll also want to take a day trip to POMPEII, about 20 miles south of Naples. In 79 AD, Pompeii, without warning, fell victim to a horrendous volcanic eruption that suffocated the town. But it wasn’t the fire or lava that killed the thousands of residents. It was the tons and tons of volcanic ash that blanketed Pompeii, burying people alive in their tracks. Ironically, the falling ash ended up preserving many of the city’s structures, which after 2,000 years old are remarkably intact.

Naples is a “gritty” place. The vast majority of the residents are poor (although you can find small shops housing Ferragamo, Gucci, Prada and the like in a tiny pocket of downtown that caters to wealthy tourists and probably mob wives). Not surprisingly, pickpockets and gypsies abound in Naples, and they’ve elevated their trade to an art. They’re stealthy. They’re fast. They will fleece you faster than a high school prom dress comes off. Joanne had her watch violently ripped from her wrist as we walked near our hotel. The thieves escaped lightning-fast on mopeds before we even realized what had happened.

So here’s some advice that you’d be wise to take: DO NOT – repeat, DO NOT – bring your expensive jewelry to Naples. If you need a watch, wear a $32 Timex, not a Rolex or a Cartier. That said, don’t freak out; you can easily stroll the city, especially during the daytime. Ladies, if you carry a purse, wear the strap over your opposite shoulder and hang on to it at all times. Gentlemen, keep your wallet and passport in your front pocket, or in the hotel safe. If you sport a backpack, be sure it’s locked and strapped over both shoulders.

In addition to the pickpockets and street urchins, you’ll also notice the somewhat invisible hand of the mafia lurking over the city. It announces itself in the padded meter of your taxi. It appears in the frequent garbage strikes that plague the city (until the right payoffs are made). It’s also found in the commissions that the Mafia receives from the many pickpockets it controls. Likewise, your inflated check at certain restaurants and hotels may reflect a Mafia “commission.”

Speaking of hotels, here’s another piece of advice: If you can afford it, stay at THE EXCELSIOR on the bay. Yes, it’s a bit of a splurge, but well worth the peace of mind of being secure. By the way, the EXCELSIOR has a wonderful rooftop restaurant with a Kodak view of Mt. Vesuvius. And if you’re a fan of The Sopranos, this is where Tony and the gang stayed on their visit to Italy.

Now that we have that behind us, let’s talk restaurants – MIMI ALLA FERROVIA, in particular, because it just might be the best seafood restaurant in all of Italy (and that includes LA ROSSETA in Rome).

As the name suggests, Mimi is near the train station (Ferrovia), not in the nicest or safest part of the city. Wisely, the Excelsior Hotel INSISTED that Joanne and I take a seasoned hotel car and driver to the restaurant. (By the way, our driver stayed parked out front ‘til we were finished with dinner).

The owner, Mimi, is on site and all over the dining room. As we dined, several fishermen brought in crates of just-caught fish (still squirming and flopping) and paraded it through the heart of the dining room en route to the kitchen.

Obviously, seafood reigns at Mimi’s. I do not recall ANY MEAT DISHES on the menu, but my memories are alive with visions of seafood pastas, redolent with clams, razor clams, shrimp, mussels, octopus and squid. Unsurprisingly, Mimi’s also offered various iterations of fresh swordfish from local waters (check out my photo from the market), along with tuna direct from the Straits of Messina, between the toe of the boot and Sicily. They even have the classic Sicilian dish … PASTA CON SARDE with sardines and crowned with herby bread crumbs … no PARMIGIANO REGGIANO in Naples …. No cows. And to finish, do not pass up Mimi’s intensely rummy BABA RHUM.

Do not be afraid. Go to Naples if you can – and by all means, GO TO MIMI’S. Just be careful. Be aware. And keep your antenna on high alert.

WTF

PHIL

The Abbondanza of Sostanza

Phil

During the BUCA years, Joanne and I traveled to Italy up to three times a year with our culinary teams and managers. These deep dives into Italy’s culinary heritage took us from the wealthy areas of the north to the less affluent, gritty areas that dominate the south, including the heel and toe of the boot as well as Sicily.

The thread of continuity that binds Italy is, of course, the food – the glorious food – equally wonderful from Bologna to Rome to Naples and Palermo; yet so different, sooo very different.

We’ve taken a breather for several years, but now Joanne and I are planning a trip back, this time with our grandkids. And that starts me thinking about the restaurants that we so enjoyed during our many visits.

Let’s start with Florence.


Despite the throngs of tourists, the city not only endures, it consistently charms. If it’s cold and rainy, you can easily spend a day inside the Uffizi Gallery, replete with treasures like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. But if the weather’s good, put on your walking shoes and head to the Ponte Vecchio. You can spend your euros on a cameo or spend some patience dodging the Germans who congregate around the Duomo and the Baptistery with their backpacks, annoying sandals and wool socks.

Joanne and I like to stroll across the Arno to the Pitti Palace and the entrance of the Boboli Gardens, a true oasis in the heart of the city. Stroll by the Dwarf Morgant Fountain that depicts an obese naked dwarf astride a turtle, his testicles squashed against the shell. We can stroll the gardens for hours and emerge back into the chaos of central Florence well refreshed.

Pisa is nearby – a perfect daytrip. And be sure to indulge in gelato…every day, maybe twice a day. Be sure also to visit Florence’s markets and salumerias for their beautifully merchandized bounty. While at the Central Market, don’t pass up the porchetta sandwiches (from the porchetta food stall on the first floor). As you stand in line for lunch, check out the photo they posted of our culinary team.

Afterward, head to the Academia and check off another item on your bucket list: viewing Michelangelo’s David.

As evening sets in, consider where you might dine. We love RISTORANTE CIBREO, near the Central Market, led by chef Fabio Picchi. The night we were there, all his arrogance and condescension were on display in the way he treated his guests, but so were his culinary talents – which are spectacular. If you’d prefer a little less attitude, make your way to the less costly and more casual CIBREO TRATTORIA and, weather permitting, snag an outdoor table.

We also love COCO LEZZONE on Via del Parioncino, where – strange as it may sound – you can make a budget meal of a small green salad accompanied by either of their incredibly robust soups (or are they stews?), including Pappa al Pomodoro (Italian tomato/bread soup) or the Ribollita (a thicker, “bready” vegetable soup). If you want Bistecca Fiorentina, you must call in advance, but my advice is to stick with the soups. I’ll steer you someplace better for steak.

By the way, look closely at the image I’ve posted of the dining room. Note the ochre-colored stripe on the wall. That represents the high-water mark from the disastrous 1967 flood that ravaged Florence.

Dining with a group? Don’t miss IL LATINI on Via dei Palchetti for spectacular family-style fare. It’s a carnivore’s heaven – totally meat-centric, with giant sharing platters of Bistecca Fiorentina, as well as mixed grills that include lamb, chicken and pork. Note the expressions on the faces of our Minneapolis colleagues as our server presents the platter. They do not take reservations, so line up early.

I’ve saved my favorite for last: the old school TRATTORIA SOSTANZA, located on a desolate, dimly lit little street called Via del Porcellana, two blocks from Santa Maria Novella. The restaurant is tiny – maybe 40 seats – with distressed white-tiled walls that evoke a vintage butcher shop. They haven’t changed a bit in the 25 years that we have been visiting there, and I hope they never do.

Like TRAMSHED in London (see my July 20, 2017 posting), Sostanza specializes in two offerings – CHICKEN and STEAK – but here they’re so good that the restaurant doesn’t need a Damien Hirst embalmed chicken and cow installation to wow the crowds. In fact, from a culinary perspective, comparing Sostanza and Tramshed is like placing a horse next to a mouse. Sostanza is far, far better.

Bistecca Fiorentina stars here. Harvested from huge Chianina cattle (Italy’s premium breed) and raised primarily in Tuscany and Umbria, the tender, well-marbled meat is available only through state-approved butchers, ensuring uniform quality (and high prices). Sostanza grills its one kilo porterhouse over white-hot embers. It’s about $100, but serves two to three people. And I have to say, it rivals MANNY’S porterhouse.

Now, if there are at least four people in your party, get the BISTECCA, which is arguably Florence’s best. But you MUST ALSO order the PETTI DI POLLO AL BURRO – brown butter chicken. YOU MUST! The dish consists of a pair of plump chicken breasts, lightly grilled and, while still hot, dredged in flour and passed through a bath of beaten eggs, then set in a small pan with at least a quarter to half a pound of premium butter, then finished over a bed of glowing embers. It’s brought to the table sizzling hot, its brown butter bubbling gloriously.

A good piece of advice: Get a side of CANNELINI BEANS, which are a welcome counterpoint to the richness of the Bistecca and the butter chicken.

Finish up with a slice of signature MERINGUE CAKE with fresh strawberries, and by all means order a few shots of GRAPPA. Even though tourists have certainly discovered this restaurant, you can toast the fact that Sostanza embodies the uncorrupted soul of Tuscan cooking.

W.T.F.

PHIL