Surf and turf

There was a sale on filet mignon at Whole Foods today, and I love meat too much to pass something like this up. I was out of propane for my gas grill, so I had to pan sear it.





I decided to do a surf and turf - and added shrimp as well as some roasted cauliflower in a carrot and roasted garlic coulis.





Delicious. Total cost: Roughly $13. This would probably go for $36 in any respectable steakhouse, so I figure I'm ahead on this one.

Service Compris

Marcel's
2401 Pennsylvania Ave NW
Washington, DC 20037
202-296-1166

I did not grow up with very much exposure to what one would consider “haute cuisine”, or fine dining. In fact, the concept of a restaurant in my young mind was very loosely defined and confined to what the Chinese would consider a restaurant. These were typically the large banquet halls with round table sets of 8 or 10 – always bustling, always loud; the service efficient to the point of being brusque. Innovation in cooking was a scarce commodity, to the extent of being frowned upon – chefs were judged by how well they prepared the classical dishes. The driving force behind these restaurants was to feed people.

As I grew up and explored Western cuisine, I became fascinated with the French classics and especially with the concept of eating as experience. I am a fool for Old World formal dining, with restraint and respectability, with white tablecloths and starched napkins and more importantly, impeccable service. The driving force, I discovered, encompassed more than just feeding people, it was ensuring people had a good time. Eating was, far more than in the settings I had grown up in, a release from the day’s anxieties and frustrations. This meant that the diner’s every whim should be anticipated and acceded to within reason, and he should not want for anything.

Marcel’s in DC is just one of those restaurants, with Old World classics in haute cuisine married with a formal setting and excellent service. Nestled in that no-man’s land between the aristocratic elegance of the West End, and the bourgeois chic of Georgetown, it was opened in 1999 and feels like it has been around forever. In the cut-throat world of slim margins that is the restaurant business, you know the ones who hang around the longest are the best – and that is also the reason that if given the choice, I like to go to the restaurants with tradition rather than the latest offering by the latest celebrity chef.

As my time in DC slowly winds to a close, I finally made it to Marcel’s the other night for a completely and utterly decadent evening. Marcel’s has a stonewall interior and even though it is large the space is divided into cozy rooms, each seating no more than 30 or 40. This gives you the feeling of privacy even amongst a crowd, and the noise never rises to above a murmur. The Beaux-Arts iron fixtures are a beautiful touch, and the restaurant is bathed in a dim glow that would make even me look attractive. There was live piano jazz at the bar, accompanied by a beautiful singer in a shimmering black dress who crooned the Tin Pan Alley tunes that I am such a fan of. At one point in the night I thought to myself, “Play Misty for me”, and she did. It was the most uncanny thing.

I have to admit that because we ordered such fine (and expensive) wines, we were accorded special treatment – the maitre d’ himself attended to us, and a phalanx of servers saw to our every need. But judging from the way the staff did their job, excellence was a quality intrinsic to their offering. Danny Meyer writes, “Service describes how you technically deliver a product, Hospitality describes how you make the recipient of that product FEEL.” The staff that waited on us were not merely bringing us food and pouring us water, but they were fashioning a night to remember for us. They did their jobs with efficiency but also pride and dignity, and not once did the thought occur to me that anything could make the night better.

And the food. The food was mind-blowingly good. Typically in a multi-course meal you wind up trying many things – especially if you are dining with others and get to try a bite of their food too. And sometimes even if a restaurant is excellent and makes many impressive dishes there are invariably one or two which aren’t as memorable as the rest. This is unavoidable. At Marcel’s, though, this was not the case. Everything that was brought out was technically perfect. The challenge sometimes laid upon formal haute cuisine is that while it stimulates the intellect and the palate, it does not comfort the soul so much – and the tiny portions at some restaurants don’t help either. Again, this was not the case at Marcel’s. The food had a soothing, warming quality, and came in just the right portions and at just the right timings that left us unequivocally satisfied.

This was Brody’s first course – a steak tartare that was equal parts citrusy from the lemon and savoury from the beef. Ty and I had the sweet corn soup with Gulf shrimp (not pictured), which had a country hearth heft to it but also the delicacy of classical cuisine, which is just a fancy way of saying it had a lot of butter in it.


My second course of foie gras with glazed apricots. I love apricots. People should cook with them more. The tartness of the apricots complemented the savoury creaminess of the foie gras; and it was like a party in my mouth. Ty had the snails in garlic butter (not pictured), which did not have an overwhelming taste of snails, but instead burst into waves of flavour – of earth and of garlic and of butter – in my mouth just before I gulped it down.


My third course – roulade of rabbit in a carrot ginger sauce. I love rabbit. The texture is very gentle, yet grainy, and the taste gamy yet subdued. It complements sauces very well, but has a taste of its own.


Ty and Brody each had the lamb wrapped in phyllo dough; I had a bite and I have to say, all I remember was that the phyllo dough was delicious. I thought to myself that it was wonderful how the kitchen applied itself to technical excellence in every aspect of every dish.


I trooped away from Marcel’s castigating myself for not trying this under-appreciated DC gem sooner. To be fair, it is expensive, and definitely not everyday dining. But it was classical food in exquisite preparations, comforting and colourful, in a setting of elegance and attentive service. What more could you want from a restaurant?

The one-way street

I recall having a conversation once, a while back, with Michael about the pleasures of fine wine, as we were in a taxi on our way to Logan airport. He always has a ready smile and is quick to laughter, but that day was a little different; he said little, and it fell to me to keep up the banter. Yet when I mentioned that I'd had a good bottle of wine recently, his eyes perked up and his mood lightened. We have pretty similar tastes in wine, and soon we were exchanging recommendations and telling stories of all the great bottles in our past, and the ones that got away. Michael had come to fine wine later in life than I had, and like any other convert could no longer go back to the commercial swill that passes for wine these days.

I have been spoilt beyond my wildest imaginations in that between drinking and eating with Michael, RK and a few others, I have been fortunate enough to be inducted into the world of delicious but oh-so-expensive wines. I have been ruined for table wine, ruined for the mass-bottled stuff with gaudy labels and dubious origins. I try my best not to be snobby about it, but once you have had your palate challenged by the structure and intensity of a first growth Bordeaux, or by the depth and complexity of a Brunello di Montalcino, then it is pretty fucking hard to go back to drinking Trader Joe's wine, or Charles Shaw. As Michael put it so eloquently, fine wine is a one-way street.

The other night RK led a couple of us on one of the most decadent adventures I have ever been on. Apart from having apertivi at I Ricchi (well executed, but not spectacular), followed by dinner at Marcel's (mind-blowingly good and deserving of its own blog post, which is soon to follow) - we had six bottles of what we can only modestly refer to as "the good stuff".

Fuligni, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
RK brought this wine to I Ricchi for a "'taste-test" - he wanted my opinion on it as he was considering serving it at a dinner we were going to host later this year. It opened weakly, I thought, without the traditionally arresting nose that I have come to expect of the Brunello grape. It went on to fill out a little but never developed into a big, strong wine. Sweet fruits - apricots and dates, very jammy, very little tannins or acid to speak of. RK and I agreed, this wine was, well, drinkable.

(*Easily the most backhanded compliment one can make about any wine.)

(**How spoilt are we, that we label a Brunello merely "drinkable".)

Sassicaia, Tenuta San Guido, Bolgheri, Italy 2004
After that disappointment we were determined not to repeat our mistake, and chose as a followup one of the best wines I have ever had the fortune to drink. Along with Ornellaia, this wine occupies the highest echelons of the Super Tuscans, and can be considered Italian wine nobility. It was a deep ruby red and had an intoxicating bouquet of forest flowers along with a little smoke. It drank smoothly upon opening, but after being given 15 minutes really began to open up, and presented flavours of lavender, violet, and a little chocolate. It had a buttery mouth feel, very mineral and almost chalky - and was very fresh, lively and danced around your tongue. We had this with first a mushroom appetiser and then some bizteca, and in accompaniment with the food it kept morphing into something different with each taste. Every sip was an adventure in itself - and all conversation fell away as we rolled the wine around our tongues, each time searching for an added dimension, searching for another facet of this wonderful wine. It never disappointed. RK put it best when he leaned back in his seat and said simply, "Luxuriating."

Valdicava, Madonna del Piano, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
At this time Brody joined us, and not wanting him to miss out, we ordered another bottle of the Sassicaia, meanwhile pondering what could we possibly move on to that would not represent a step down. Onward and upward indeed. We settled on this Brunello - it had a pretty label, very simple and sleek. Once I smelt it I knew I had fallen. This was the kind of Brunello that made me such a fool for the grape - dark, rich, velvety, complex. Perfect balance of tannins and acid, flavours of crushed berries with a deep earthy musk. The oak was strong but not dominant, and the finish lingered tantalizingly, long after the last sip was gone. Excellent, excellent wine, and while choosing between this and the Sassicaia made for some interesting debate, I say we were being silly, and should have just thanked our lucky stars to be able to drink two such fine wines.

Chateau Lafite Rothschild, Pauillac, Bordeaux, France, 1996
We then moved the party to Marcel's, where Ty met us for dinner. In the taxi ride over RK was already plotting, hatching plans and considering options for our next bottle. When you have reached perfection, where do you go? What would we drink next? The answer must have jumped out at him, for he made his decision within seconds of browsing the winelist. And what a selection it was.

The '96 has been acclaimed as the best wine that Lafite Rothschild has produced in recent years, and received a 100 point score from Robert Parker. As much as it was possible, my first sip and swallow made me completely and utterly forget the wines we had had earlier. The intensity almost knocked me out. Who knew wine could be this big, this powerful, and at the same time this complex, this delicate? The 96 Lafite was still in its infancy, and one could sense that it would develop into a beautiful, beautiful wine in 20 or 30 years time. But our time was now, and I did not complain.


Beautiful legs, strong terroir in the nose. Licorice, cream, cassis and a touch of mint. It was like drinking a decadent dessert, but with earth and minerals and acid and tannins and all the other flavours that make red wine so good. Huge, huge wine.

Hermitage, "La Sizeranne", M. Chapoutier, France, 1947
There was only one thing that could complement youth and technical precision, and that was age and grace. The present day M. Chapoutier has gotten on the capitalist gravy train and now makes a wide variety of wines, and has even expanded beyond French soil. The Mondavi of France, if you will. Still "La Sizeranne" remains one of their prestige labels, and while it is no first growth today - a bottle of the 1947 vintage promised much, especially after the Lafite.

As the maitre d' tenderly presented the bottle, we could see the label slowly peeling off. This was a wine that was made as the world reverberated and rebuilt itself after the dropping of the atom bomb and Hitler's surrender. The Marshall Plan was established, offering American aid to devastated European nations and presaging the United States' ascent to global superpower status. While all this was happening, somewhere in the Rhone Valley a master craftsman made this wine - without the technological advances we now take for granted, with minimal science and even less capital at his disposal.

It was astounding. Clearly the wine could have kept for another 10 or 15 years. It had lost much of its colour but still presented strongly, with a heavy taste of cedar and pencil shavings. As it continued to breathe, it became stronger and stronger, accompanying our meats perfectly while being absolutely enjoyable in its own right. It was truly, and pardon the cheesiness, a wine for the ages.


As we polished the bottle off we each marveled at the sediment that was left in this bottle - this bottle that was older than any of us at the table. Older, even, than Brody and myself put together. It was sobering to think that it was conceivable that Winston Churchill, one of my heroes, might have had this same bottle of wine. Entirely possible. That was enough to put a wistful smile on my face.

To say that it was quite a memorable night would probably not do it justice. It is not every night - and a school night, even - that one gets to try a bottle of wine that retails for more than a thousand dollars, and a bottle of wine that is from the World War 2 era. Oh, and let's not forget the others we had before that. As I walked home I despaired, for I knew I was going further and further down that one-way street Michael had talked about.

Blue Hill, Blue Duck, Stone Park

August was a great month. We laughed, we cried, we drank some wine, we saw old friends, we made some new friends, etc. etc. Throughout this month of highs and lows, strikes and gutters, the food I've been eating has been top notch. In three weekends I ate at three extremely delicious and very expensive restaurants. Some people may do this every weekend in New York but for me it has been quite a blowout.

A couple of weeks ago Jason was in town and he made us a late reservation at Blue Hill, which hadn't been on my culinary radar up until then. We had a great meal, which I will get into in a minute, but most of all we had a great time. I hadn't seen our friends Camille and Reed in far, far too long, and it was a pleasure to reconnect with them and to then proceed to drink copious amounts of whatever we could get our hands on. Blue Hill is a great space for a nice meal, it's very warm and welcoming. I particularly liked the minimal signage and the whole speak-easy vibe. We started out the meal with a really nice Morgon Beaujolais, a great wine to begin with. I had the sweet corn ravioli with red kale and basil. These tiny pouches were very delicate both in terms of texture and taste. They were not a huge portion, but I thought they worked very well as an appetizer, the intense sweetness of the corn and the buttery sauce was an excellent combination. I followed that up with the grass-fed lamb. I'm not exactly sure what cut they were using for this steak, but it was very flavorful and tender. Unfortunately, I thought they could have gotten a better sear on the outside, to be honest. It came with sauteed vegetables and an herb sauce that was also very fresh, rich and delicious. My entree went extremely well with the second wine we ordered, a Pinot Nero. I had digestif instead of dessert but they all looked great. I know that you have to pay a premium for fresh ingredients and sustainable, grass-fed meat, but I was still a little shocked at the sticker price on my lamb: $36. That's a lot of money. It was a great meal, but it's definitely going to be another special occasion if I'm going to return.

The next week I was in D.C. visiting Jason and we made a great meal, despite the last minute lack of a grill. The second night I was there we went out to the Blue Duck Tavern. This, I thought was a great restaurant. The open kitchen is a delight to watch. I am shocked, shocked that it manages to do all of the food for their many seats, the lounge and all the In-Room dining as well. How do you even place a meat order when you have that many possible people eating? On any given day you could have dozens of people eating in their rooms. Crazy. I feel like, while I had a great meal, I did not see this restaurant at its best. It was a Sunday night, so they ran out of both the soft shell crab appetizer and the mackerel rillette. Furthermore, they had recently had a chimney fire in their wood burning oven, which 86ed the roasted bone marrow... alas and alack, all my favorite dishes were dropping like flies. That having been said, the crab cake with remoulade was extremely crabby, sweet and delicious. Though not particularly innovative, it was certainly well executed, which is what haute tavern cuisine is all about. My braised beef rib with house steak sauce was extremely delicious. Perfectly braised, well presented, with the sauce providing a nice tangy, mildly hot contrast to the intensity of the beef. It was like the apotheosis of A1. The Brunello we were drinking didn't hurt the equation at all. I adore braised meats, I often find them to be the most interesting preparations since the cuts tend to be more flavorful and harder to find. Give me the braised beef cheeks and I'm happy. Ah yes, and an after dinner cigar, which we also indulged in.

Most recently I had a meal in Brooklyn at the Stone Park Cafe. This was an excellent meal as well. I went with wine aficionado and winebar-tender Dave, who was ready to blow out his gaff after 7 straight nights of work. I had heard good things about this spot from fellow Stoned-homie Buckley. I started with the braised octopus with chopped salad greens and a lemon- black pepper vinaigrette. The octopus was extremely tender. This is something I've never made, but am very, very interested in attempting. I order it pretty much every time I see it so I look forward to trying my hand. I then had the grilled strip steak with herb spatzle, wilted mustard greens and green peppercorn jus. This was a giant, and I mean giant steak. The sides were well seasoned and the jus was luscious. Weighing in at $27 I was quite happy with the dish. We were drinking an extremely, nay even obscenely expensive bottle of Barbaresco, which had a structure and finish that just wouldn't quit. A sensational meal, I will definitely return, funds permitting. I oddly found that this was the second sirloin I had in maybe 3 weeks. I adore steak, but having eaten 2 NY strip sirloins in such a short period I found myself thinking that it is a relatively uninteresting steak. Perhaps uninteresting is a little strong but I think I actually prefer the "lesser" steak cuts like hanger, skirt and flank, or tri-tip. They just have more interesting flavor.

On the whole it was a roaring success of a month on any number of notes, but particularly when it came to eating & drinking beyond my means, just generally living life in 4th gear.

Tasting Notes 8/26/2008

Verbena, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
That same weekend that Morgan and Meg were here, we went to the Blue Duck Tavern - one of my favourite DC restaurants - for what was quite, really, the perfect meal. Which is to say we ate well, drank well, and finished it off sitting outside sipping coffee and smoking cigars. We opened this bottle first and by common consensus this was the favoured of the two wines we had that night. Took a while to open but had good structure, aromas of earth, fruit and spices - with anise, raspberries and plums standing out. Very smooth drinking if lacking the power of a traditional Brunello.

Fontevecchia, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 1997
This was a bottle that Michael had given to me, and I had been saving it for a special occasion because I knew our tastes were similar and I would enjoy this. This was more aesthetically pleasing than the Verbena, with beautiful legs and a ruby-red colour. It was a little more subtle, with nice, rounded tannins and tasted of dark cherry and vanilla. If I had known what I do now, I would have swapped the order of the two - the earth and heft of the Verbena would have complemented the game and meats we were eating as entrees a little better. But this was still a fabulous wine in its own right, and will keep drinking for a long while to come.

Miner Family Vineyards, Chardonnay, USA, vintage unknown
I rarely ever drink white wines because most of the times my dining companions prefer red, and I know I do. Even in the summer I am perfectly happy drinking a Beaujolais or a CdP, or one of those fruit-forward wines from Spain or Italy. Drinking a white really does not occur to me. Yet there are times when you have to make compromises, and this lovely discovery was the byproduct of one such concession. I have the utmost respect for Miner Family Vineyards, I think they make great products, for reasonably affordable prices. This was another example, a clean, crisp oaky white with strong hints of apple and a long, tangy finish.

Tocai Friuliano, Ronco dei Tassi, Italy, 2005
Another beautiful discovery courtesy of yielding to popular opinion and getting a white wine. We had this wine at Centovini in New York, the first of three, and it seemed only appropriate to start with a white. Besides, there were three women at the table and there would have been many a disapproving look if I had not complied with their wishes. This wine was dramatic in colour and expression - the light made it apple-golden to the eye, and it had a strong, tangy taste of almonds and butterscotch.

Pelaverga Piccolo, "Basadone", Castello di Verduno, Italy, 2006
The second of the wines at Centovini - I was looking for a light red to transition towards the bigger, stronger wines I really wanted to be drinking. This served that purpose but was unfortunately not much to write home about. Balanced, fresh, semi-sweet, with berries and black pepper. Would probably have been good for sipping al fresco.

Aglianico del Vulture, "Valle del Noce", D'Angelo, Italy, 2003
The pick of the night, in my opinion but sadly not Shanaz's. Morgan had joined us by this time and he seemed pretty taken with the wine as well. I knew it was good when the person who showed up to present and open the bottle was not our regular waiter but instead the sommelier. He gave me that insider's smile and assured me that I had made a great choice. Robust, leathery red with strong acidity and hints of cloves and chocolate. Morgan tasted peppermint, which I thought was spot-on, and also quite a playful touch. I have not had much experience with Aglianico, but I think I will start paying more attention to it now.

Photo journal update

I have probably mentioned it too many times to count in these pages, but I love shrimp. I made them recently with cajun spices, and ate them with a chilled cucumber and basil salad. Simple and delicious.



I made hake with chanterelles one night and rued the fact that I did not have any parsley on hand. It's tough having fresh produce around given that I travel so much, and I wind up having to throw a lot of stuff away. Sometimes the waste galls me personally, and makes me a little guilty. I try to reason away the guilt by a sort of selfish assertion that I deserve fresh food made from fresh ingredients, and will tolerate whatever waste is generated to ensure that happens - but Mother Nature keeps a running tab, and karma is a bitch. It is not the most selfless of thoughts, and I am not proud of myself sometimes.

On a happier note, I think I am a fan of hake. It has the sweetness of cod, with slightly more sophistication, less flake, and can stand up to stronger flavourings and pairings. A very versatile white fish that doesn't require chef-like finesse to manipulate - perfect for the home cook to experiment on.


Morgan and Meg came to visit recently, and Meg brought fresh picked corn from her backyard in Concord, MA that we absolutely had to use. And after debating the finer points of aioli in the car ride home from sailing, we had to make some for dinner. This was an avocado and corn salad, topped with sauted shrimp and a parsley aioli. I think we were all quite happy with how this dish turned out, for the corn was incredibly sweet, and the avocado was, well, avocado - which is to say awesome.


That same meal, we made loin of lamb with chanterelles and broccoli rabe, with mashed potatoes and a fresh fig and sherry reduction. This was a lot of meat, almost sleep-inducing. I made the mashed potatoes, and they turned out fabulous, if I may say so myself.

Some Like It Hot

One of my pet peeves, when working as a cook in the very fine restaurant in which I toil, is watching hot food cool for lack of runner, or someone, anyone, to take it to the table. I just busted my ass to get everything up and hot and ready at the same time. Watching it sit there is excruciating. For one thing, we don't use heat lamps, which is, I think, a good thing, nobody wants their food to be sitting there for mad long, dessicating under the lamps while the herbs and salad go brown and the steak overcooks. Also, I think that heat lamps provide cooks with a false sense that food can wait a little while... It can't. Everything has to be ready together. Otherwise, you're an asshole. In the best of circumstances, we are constantly asking "do you have the pasta for 10?... how long on 8?... start 13 now... etc. etc."

But I have also been shocked, when trailing (or eating) at other restaurants, at the lack of importance having the food arrive hot is given. At Aquavit, we took our sweet ass time making the plates look nice, at the expense of the (barely cooked) salmon or tuna arriving even vaguely warm. (Sidenote: the kitchen was hot as balls, so no matter what, I'm sure it would seem warm to those chillin' in the AC.) My one criticism of Babbo would be that my quail was warm, not hot. But then again I like my quail lightly handled, so I was in a good place from that point of view.

I noticed while traveling in Argentina that the food there was served extremely hot. While staying with Sheena's former host family they would put their food back into a hot oven while they finished their first helping. It kept cooking, perhaps too much... The pizza just kept getting darker and darker, but they seemed to have a system and to like the results.

I like my food to be piping. I like my coffee scalding. I like my white wine chilled and my hot food hot. What can I say? Perhaps its a personal thing...

Maha's

One of the saddest things to witness in the fair city of New York is the passing of a restaurant. It's no mystery that this happens all the time... It's a very tough business to make money in. Sometimes you can see it coming from a mile away: empty restaurants with menus the length of my arm, disastrous concepts, hideous spaces, etc. Other times it's the real estate market turning on people who have been around and been successful. There have been a couple of high profile losses recently: Florent in the Meat Packing district for one. I was particularly discouraged today when I learned that my falafel joint, Maha's (69 6th Ave. between Flatbush and Bergen) has lost their lease and will be closing on August 31st.
Maha's is about as small of an eatery as you can get. There can't be more than 4 tables. The kitchen, such as it is, is made up of a small preping area, an electric stove and a toaster oven. It looks like grandma's kitchen. The woman in charge is Maha Ziadeh, who, with one helper works all day and night, 6 days a week. She's extremely pleasant, and her falafel is awesome. This was one of the first places I ate when I moved to Brooklyn, so it will always have a special place in my heart and stomach. I wish the best for her and hope that her new place (if she finds one) is still close to my house.

Rhapsody in Blue

Blue Hill
75 Washington Place (at Sixth Ave)
New York, NY 10011
212-539-1776

I first heard of Dan Barber when I read this article in this New York Times (“Chaos Theory”, NYT August 7 2005), where he describes first-hand the idiosyncrasies of Daniel Bouley and a subsequent lesson in respecting food and its preparation. I was sold, and went on to read more about Mr Barber and his flagship Blue Hill at Stone Barns, its sister restaurant in Manhattan, and all the work he has done to promote awareness of issues such as sustainability and nutrition in the way we eat. Coming from a country with such a scarcity of natural resources that it grows little to none of the food it consumes, the idea of eating locally and responsibly resonates with me. It made perfect sense that I would one day make the pilgrimage to Blue Hill, that bastion of farm-fresh flavour – and I finally made the trip this past weekend.

Kellyn and Brian had decided a long while ago that they would visit the Big Apple this past weekend, and for weeks had pestered Hunter and myself to tag along. I made the pretense of holding out – I had been travelling for work quite a bit and wanted to spend the weekends at home – but in reality I had a free roundtrip Amtrak ticket and had been meaning to go up for a while. Some of my favourite people in the world live in New York, and Reed’s latest move to the city meant that one more had joined the ranks. I finally caved, took the train up on Friday and arranged for dinner with Morgan, Reed and Camille. We all enjoy a good meal, and upon consultation with Camille, I decided that this was where we would have it.

Named after the Barbers’ family farm in the Berkshires, Blue Hill at Stone Barns and its Manhattan counterpart both practice the art of showcasing what is primary about the ingredients – its original flavours and colours – and letting them speak for themselves. Barber and his team take care not to drown their food in sauce, and show amazing restraint in seasoning and dressing their dishes. This is nowhere better exemplified in the amuse-geule that was laid out for us – cherry tomatoes, almost naked in their simplicity. Morgan poked at them to see if anything had been done to them – a sprinkle of sea salt, maybe, a drizzle of olive oil – but if it had, we were none the wiser.

Reed had called dibs on the “This Morning’s Farm Egg” appetiser long before we had even set foot in the restaurant and it worked out well that there was something else for everyone. I ordered a half portion of the creamy farro, which came in an intensely sweet tomato sauce and topped with braised belly and crispy jowl. It seemed a little incongruous that one of the healthiest of grains should be paired with one of the fattiest of proteins, but that was the last thing on my mind as I slurped it all down. Camille had what was probably the standout of the appetizers, a chilled corn soup that was almost overpowering in its taste and freshness.

(Wine tasting notes – Jean Foillard, Cote du Py, Gamay, Morgon, Burgundy, France 2006: An earthy Beaujolais, not too overpowering. Sweet, spicy black cherries. A nice middle-to-heavyweight wine with tremendous versatility in pairing with food.)

Before I had made up my mind on the entrees, Camille had picked the pork and Morgan the lamb and I was left with no other meats. Both the fish dishes looked intriguing, and I finally settled on the wolf fish. The wolf fish, as I learned, was an eel-like white fish similar to a catfish and just as ugly – but it had a strong texture and would stand up better to the reds that we were drinking. It was paired with spring vegetables and toasted spices, which made the wine taste more complex.

(Wine tasting notes – Frecciarossa, “Giorgio Odero”, Pinot Nero, Oltrepo’ Pavese, Italy 2005: Excellent garnet colour and legs that went on forever. Hints of balsamic, dark fruits – plums, blackberries. Absolutely delicious.)

It was sobering to think that most of the ingredients that went into our meal had come from a farm just 30 miles north of where we sat, and some – like the egg that Reed ate – might even have just been harvested that day. The freshness of the ingredients was certainly evident, and it was an exciting challenge in itself to pick out all the individual flavours of the ingredients. For a palate that is not particularly cultured, like mine, it was tough because my tongue kept searching for that added flavouring, that extra pat of butter or bouillon, or – horrors – MSG. What it found in the end was ten times better, a natural intensity of flavour that is often masked through too much manipulation on the part of the chef. Like I said during the meal, a tomato in August is a beautiful thing.

Wining and dining

I recently had the good fortune to attend a tasting at the Fairmont hotel in DC, where my company is planning to host its annual conference later this year. We were hosted wonderfully by JD, the exec chef, who kindly indulged me and allowed me to take photos of his work.


This was one of the appetiser choices, an avocado and corn timbale with portobello caviar. I loved this, it had a nice tartness and incredible texture, and the flavours went quite well together.


Another appetiser choice, a play on shrimp cocktail - jumbo chilled shrimp on a bed of cucumber and a horseradish cocktail. I would have liked the shrimp to have been seasoned a little more, but it is so hard to get the seasoning right for chilled items, and harder to adjust after it is chilled. Nicole did point out to me that I did not dip the shrimp in the cocktail like I should have and instead ate it plain, so I guess it may have been my own fault.


We had to try the crabcakes since that is a local specialty, and these were served with potato croquettes. An odd choice of pairings, and I am sad to say that the crabcakes were a little disappointing. I love a good crabcake, with juicy crab meat and a nice, sharp, acidic tang, seasoned well and seasoned strongly. Unfortunately for us, this was not it.


This was a play on traditional beef Wellington, but with lamb instead. Taste-wise probably my favourite of the entrees, but the lamb wound up a little over-cooked.


As we slid into the mid-afternoon the light in the Colonnade at the Fairmont began to take on a life of its own, and the shimmering and shading allowed for some beautiful photos of food bathed in a warm white summer glow. This was my favourite of the desserts, a blueberry mascarpone torte which I absolutely could not keep my hands off. I must have been lost to the conversation at this point, for all I could think about was how much I could get onto my spoon without it overflowing.


The dessert selection that we were lucky enough to try. The molten chocolate cake (pistachio center) was a very close second, and I had to arm-wrestle Nicole just to pick the blueberry torte for our event.

If wishes were fishes, DC edition

Places I'd like to eat at, in no particular order:

Minibar
6-seater (hence the name) afterthought of a restaurant that serves a 30-course tasting menu showcasing all the tricks (and the pretension) of molecular gastronomy. I'm usually not a fan of things that are what Morgan calls "unrecognizable as food", but hey, you can't knock it till you've tried it, right?

The Inn at Little Washington
Back in the days when I was enamoured with French classical cooking, and Italian simplicity of style, I often wondered, "What can New American do for me?" Nowadays I see so much in the American style that I like - it is healthy, eclectic, inventive and unrestricted by ethnic boundaries. All this, and more, is apparently showcased in what is one of Washington's perennial top ten restaurants.

Obelisk
With the closure of Galileo for extended renovations this is reportedly the best Italian in town, which may not be saying much. If I were in New York I could probably throw a stone and hit five Italian restaurants, and at least one of them would be amazing. As much as I cannot stand him, we need a Mario Batali in this town. People just don't seem to know, or get excited about, good Italian food, much less good regional Italian food.

Ray's the Steaks
A mecca of meat and apparently the best steak in town. I was out of town the last time the guys organised a trip out to Arlington for this one. No excuses, I have to make it here before my time in DC is up.

Makoto
DC's closest thing to Masa, except a third as expensive, and even then that makes it one of the more expensive places in town. They make you take your shoes off and wear special slippers, so either those slippers are ridiculously expensive, or the food is ridiculously good. I don't know, I'm not a psychic. Emi has promised to take me here so if you are reading this, dear, holy buckets you'd better come good on this one.

Ode to the onion

There was a time in my life, when I was much younger, when I did not eat onions. Now I absolutely adore them. They say that converts have the strongest conviction because their beliefs have to be arrived at - and in my case I have certainly found that to be true.

The best thing about onions is the variety of ways you can manipulate them, and how marvellously they hold up to manipulation. You can eat them raw, you can undercook them, and you can cook the bejesus out of them and they will still be delicious.

I made myself a burger on ciabatta the other day and caramelized some onions to go with it. Jose taught me to caramelize them in the oven, but as my colleague Doug and I agreed: stovetop was the only way to go.

Chanterelle season is here!

I walked into Whole Foods this past Saturday and immediately saw something that brightened my day – those wrinkled, funnel-shaped golden mini-packages of deliciousness that are chanterelles. I nearly knocked over whatever women and children were in the way just to get to them. I would have bought the entire crate of them, but in an uncharacteristic display of restraint I limited myself to a couple of handfuls. Chanterelles were expensive, and these are tough times we live in.

My little brother does not eat mushrooms, which for the life of me I cannot understand. Mushrooms are the culinary world’s best team players – they are wonderfully versatile as the supporting cast in a dish, but can also be the showpiece if and when given the chance. Chanterelles, then, would be the star players in the mushroom world. They have a delicate flavor, and tend to retain more of their firmness after cooking than other mushrooms. Best of all, they are so very pretty.

As Morgan argues, less IS more especially when it comes to cooking chanterelles, and I usually like to do no more with them than sauté them in a generous pat of butter, salt and pepper, maybe some parsley. A friend once asked me what my philosophy in cooking was and without thinking I responded, “Always cook in season, and keep things simple.” Upon reflection I was amazed at how eloquent and true those words rang, and I resolved to keep that in mind more often when cooking.

(When it comes to butter, however, more definitely is more. One can never have enough butter.)

Less is More

One of my favorite food websites is Savory Cities: New York. It features brief (2 min.) videos in which well known chefs or restaurateurs talk about the concepts behind their food and their restaurants in general. I love the website, it's fantastic, but there is one thing that cracks me up about those videos. Every chef says in his or her voice over: "I'm all about showcasing ingredients, I think that the ingredients should speak for themselves and that less should be done with them."

Meanwhile, the camera pans to plates that are unrecognizable as food... How are these guys doing "so little" to their food and still making it look like it came from another planet?

Jason and I have discussed how our cuisines (if we want to be pretentious enough to call it that) have changed over the years... For myself I would say that a number of things have changed.

For one thing my palette had become much more attuned to salt. I love salt. Love it. I find that an under seasoned dish always fails to excite me, even when I've adjusted it myself. The best restaurants nail this spot on. Some others, such as Otto (where the food was inedibly salty) and Flatbush Farm (where the trout I had was bland) highlight the intense difference that this single ingredient makes.
Another thing that has changed is my interest in variety meats and odd fish. Menu items that get me worked up: cheeks (fish, pig, cow), bacalhau in any form, tongue (beef, pork, or duck), headcheese, liver (duck, chicken, calf, pork), tripe, kidneys, etc. I always want to see how some chef (or immigrant from wherever) makes these things taste good.
Thirdly, my cuisine really has become (I think) rather restrained, a more bare bones style. Protein, vegetables, and a little sauce. Less really is more. Particularly if you are cooking with intense, interesting meats, it is very easy to do too much to them. I want my food to look and taste delicious and I want it to be recognizable as what it is. I was feeling pretty flush yesterday so I bought a 2" hand-cut sirloin steak from A&S Pork Store in Park Slope (here's a link to make you want to cry.) It came out to about a pound and a half of steak deliciousness. I prepared this glorious hunk of beef au poivre, with a dollop of herb butter. I served it with simple roasted vegetables: potatoes, tomatoes, red onions, as well as a radicchio and arugula salad, dressed with lemon juice and olive oil. I put a lot of love into this, and it came out better than I had hoped. Simple flavors, very little sauce: the bounty of summer plus a giant piece of meat.