Augieland

Top 10 wines i was lucky enough to drink 05

·         34 DRC romaine conti
·         76 penfold’s grange hermitage
·         78 groffier bonnes mares
·         95 guigal cote rotie la landonne
·         82 cheval blanc
·         45 mouton Rothschild in jeroboam
·         88 Bartolo Mascarello in magnum
·         64 Dom perignon oenotheque
·         85 Niellon Batard Montrachet
·         86 chateau d'yquem

bread 3

In the food processor, with a metal blade, this time I put:

2 cups King Arthur bread flour (4g protein per ¼ cup)
1 cup Arrow Head Mills organic enriched unbleached flour (4g protein per ¼ cup)
½ cup Arrow Head Mills organic Kamut flour (5g protein per ¼ cup)
1 ¾ tsp Morton Coarse Kosher salt
1 ¼ tsp saf-instant dry yeast
1 ½ cup NYC tap water

I gave it a quick whiz in the food processor, and then placed it in a large metal bowl to rise. This time I laid the protective plastic wrap across the top of the bowl, letting it lay inside the bowl close to the dough, last time I stretched it across the top of the bowl and the dough developed a bit of a skin.

2 ¾ hours later I turned it out of the bowl, punched it down, divided it into 2 balls and let it rest under a floured side towel.

The 2 balls proofed for 4 hours. I then rolled them out, folded them into thirds, and slashed the tops with a razorblade.

I sprayed the oven walls with water and put the loaves on the stone in a 450-degree oven for 35 minutes.

This time I:
1.    Added an extra ¼ teaspoon salt trying to bring the flavor up.
2.    Added an extra ¼ teaspoon instant yeast trying to get more air in the bread.
3.    Put the bread stone up on its wire rack trying to get closer to the oven floor without being directly on the hot spot.
4.    Divided the bread into 2 loaves, giving it more room to capture air.
5.    Set the oven to 450 as opposed to 425.
6.    Cut one of the loaves with the razor blade across rather then lengthwise.

Notes on bread 3:
1.    The 450 oven seems to be too much: the bottom scorched again.
2.    1 ¾ tsp salt seems to be the right amount.
3.    The extra yeast seems only to have helped.
4.    The cross-length slashed loaf split its seam. It seemed that without the stretching room of the long slashes it expanded and pulled at the easiest point.
5.    The crust on bread 3 was just about right, the crumb is still a little dense and this time moist.

Hmmmm. Any one for bread 4?

side dish: puréed cauliflower

Every now and then Wife says, “Make mashed cauliflower.” She loves it, I love making it and it is easy. All I do is:

1. Cut the stem and leaves off a head of cauliflower.
2. Put it in a sauté pan with an inch of water in the bottom.
3. Drizzle olive oil over the crown and salt and pepper.
4. Throw it in a 425-degree oven for 35 minutes.
5. It is done when the crown is browned and a butter knife slides in easy.
6. Throw this in the food processor with 3 tablespoons butter and 1 tablespoon white truffle oil.
7. Spoon it onto a plate with some kind of protein.

I often make this when I am roasting something else and either throw it on the floor of the oven or put it in while I preheat for the main dish. It is that easy.

Big bottles

People seem to be fascinated by wine bottle sizes. Besides having wonderfully mythical names and looking very impressive at service, there is a method (if not logic) to the system, and there are reasons to own bottles of every size.

The entire system is based on the bottle. A bottle is three-quarters of a liter, 75cl. This rather awkward size is the result of the average bottle size at the time of industrial standardization. In the late 18/early 1900’s, as bottle production moved from artisanal to industrial, the size of the bottle was standardized to the average at the time. 750ml was the average because bottles were made with one breath of a glass blower, so apparently the average volume of air in a turn of the century glass blower’s lungs was about a bottle of wine’s worth.

The various volumes of the bigger bottles are all multiples of the 750ml size and break down as follows:

equivalent -  Bordeaux - Burgundy/Champagne

Bottle (.750L)       Bottle                  Bottle   
Two (1.5L)           Magnum               Magnum   
Three (2.25L)       Marie-Jeanne            -   
Four (3.0L)           Double Magnum   Jéroboam   
Six (4.5L)             Jéroboam            Rehoboam   
Eight (6.0L)          Impériale            Methuselah   
Twelve (9.0L)           -                     Salmanazar   
Sixteen (12.0L)         -                     Balthazar   
Twenty (15.0L)         -           Nebuchadnezzar 

As far as bottle shape has been explained to me, and I see no reason to dig deeper, the two shapes evolved as a response to sediment. The grapes of Bordeaux throw sediment, so the broad-shouldered bottle was shaped to create a wall to catch it against while decanting. The burgundy shape has a much gentler grade because the sediment of pinot noir is finer and catches over the long slope as the end is poured gently.

Before you go getting all angry that the French can’t agree among themselves on what the name of a size is, remember that, at the time these things were being developed, the Bordelaise were actually British and that communication was nowhere near efficient. So probably at some point one wine guy went from one area to the other, saw a big bottle and said “oh we call that a Jeroboam” not realizing that the bottle was actually a little bigger, or smaller, than the one back home.

The primary enemy to maturing wine is air. There is air in wine bottles between the juice and the cork. As the amount of wine in a bottle grows the amount of air in the neck grows in a far smaller proportion, so the wine in an Impériale is exposed to far less air than the wine in a bottle. The result is a much slower maturation process. Therefore the arc of evolution of wine in a bigger bottle is much longer and gradual than that of a smaller one.  The six liters of wine in a properly stored Impériale should last many generations. So, really, there is no reason, other than marketing, to produce still wine in a bottle larger then six liters.

For Champagne, however, there is the factor of the saturation of C02 in the juice; over time it will dissipate. As the wine matures and harmonizes, the gas is diminishing. The more liquid in the bottle, the more CO2 in the solution and the longer it will take to dissolve. This, plus how cool it looks on the head table at a wedding, is why champers is available in the larger bottles.

So, here is what we know about bottles. In smaller ones, the wine will mature faster. You want to drink that Borolo in seven years as opposed to fifteen? Buy it in a half-bottle. You want to share the treasure of the ‘96 vintage with your grandkids? Buy a double-magnum. With their grandkids? Buy a Jéroboam. The Bordeaux shape is made to catch sediment so the wine inside is probably made from thicker-skinned grapes. And best of all, the Champenoise for some reason think of pre-Christian Middle Eastern Kings when they look at large format bottles.

Respect your server

My friends have told me that if I have a special ability for food and wine, it is not some gifted palate nor is it a deft hand in the kitchen, rather it is the treatment I receive in restaurants in spite of the fact that I am basically destitute financially and not particularly good looking or well connected. The best I can sum up the treatment they refer to is the treatment restaurants give their regular customers, and it is achievable from your first visit to any good restaurant (a good place being one with a vision and a mission beyond making money.)  This is a series of the behaviors I see as natural that some do not.

Respect the knowledge and skill of your server. Professional servers in fine restaurants are not out-of-work actors. Although restaurant work is fantastic transient labor for people in more freelance fields, at this level of service it is an actual vocation and people are well compensated for it. As a result, most of your servers want to be right where they are. They have probably tasted better wine than you ever will and have been exposed to far more chefs' philosophies and food than you have from watching the Food Channel and reading the intro to Mario's Holiday Cookbook. Take advantage of this; seek out their views on what is not to be missed during your experience at this place. Opening a dialogue with your servers will educate you and make them far more likely to look out for your good time.

If you make this attempt and you find that you have a nitwit suggesting things only at the high end of the menu, or the servers don't seem to have an approach receptive to yours, just accept that this isn't necessarily the place for you. Take control, make the most of your dinner, leave 18% (assuming you got everything and it was hot or cold as it should be) and move on. There are a lot of great fish in this sea.

bread 2

My second attempt at baguettes started much the same as Bread 1. I went with Bittman’s basic measurements, except I cut back a little salt this time and varied the flours, trying to lighten the crumb from last time. In the food processor, with a metal blade, this time I put:

1 ½ cup King Arthur bread flour (4g protein per ¼ cup)
1 ½ cup Arrow Head Mills organic enriched unbleached flour (4g protein per ¼ cup)
½ cup Arrow Head Mills organic Kamut flour (5g protein per ¼ cup)
1 ½ tsp Morton Coarse Kosher salt
1 ½ tsp saf-instant dry yeast
1 ½ cup NYC tap water

I gave it a quick whiz in the food processor, and then placed it in a large metal bowl to rise. This time I stretched the protective plastic wrap across the top of the bowl, last time I pressed it down to the dough and it stuck a little when I removed it.

The dough proofed for 4.5 hours. I turned it out and divided it into 5 equal portions which I rolled into 5 balls and covered with a floured side-towel for a second rise. (There were some dryish spots I ignored.)

The 5 balls rose for an hour after which I rolled them out with a pin and folded them into thirds. I then pinched the seam together and placed them seam side down between two towels.

½ hour later I slashed the top of each loaf with a razorblade and put them all on the peel.

I sprayed the walls of the oven (preheated to 425 for ½ hour) with water and slid the 5 loaves off together onto the stone.

5 minutes into cooking, I sprayed the walls of the oven with water again.

25 minutes later I looked in and decided they were still a little blonde, so I sprayed the walls with water one last time.

27 total minutes in the oven and I pulled the 5 loaves out.

Ok, so this time I changed a couple of things:
1.    I snugged the stone against the back wall of the oven, since last time the loaves fell off the end.
2.    I put the stone on top of a roasting pan to avoid the hot spot in the center that scorched the bread last time.
3.    I went with 1 ½ tsp salt because Bread one was just a little salty with 2 tsp.
4.    I changed the flour to a three-way mix: bread, AP, and Kamut hoping to trap more air.
5.    I divided the dough into 5 loaves as opposed to 4.

Except for avoiding the scorching I did not love this bread more.
1.    I liked the crunch of the crust but not the carmelization.
2.    The crumb lacked the missing flavor of the salt.
3.    The baguettes were too thin in diameter
4.    The crumb was not significantly more airy.

There is always next time!

pio maya now open: 541 humbrillian stars

I have only been to Mexico once and it was not under the most adventurous of culinary conditions; I was with family on a cruise ship that docked in Cozumel for eight hours. Even in this situation, what I wanted to do was find food rather than climb pyramids. We rented an old VW bug and went for a long, looping drive on a long, looping road and finally picked a cantina to lunch at. The chicken fajitas I had (I was so young) were quite nice, but the only thing I remember as significant about them was that they were prepared with far more fresh cilantro then I was used to getting on Mexican food in New Jersey.

Growing up, Bestfriend lived in Denver. I would visit him, but not as much as he visited me, and one of the many discussions we would have about the differences between Colorado and NJ concerned the disparity in the quality of Mexican food. It was true, Mexican food was just better on that side of the Rockies.

In a past life, I had a career that led to a rather nomadic existence. At one point, I was forced to live in Hollywood for six months. Not being one to dwell on the negative, I will simply say that LA does offer two things of merit to a traveling New Yorker: In ‘n Out burgers, and awesome two dollar tacos from trucks parked on the roadside.

For some reason, New York accepts all of its food to be at one of two extremes. For Italian, there is the ziti from the pizza shop or the ravioli from Babbo. For French there is the steak frites at l’Express, or the burger at DB, and for Mexican, there is the mystery meat at Benny’s Burritos, or the guacamole at Rosa Mexicana. These foods in New York seem to always be priced over $30.00 a dish, or to be some rotten facsimile of these dishes, made from the most cheap ingredients, in the most lazy of manners for under $10.00.

In spite of the variety of ethnic foods available in the city, seldom do you find someone offering good product, well prepared, at a fair price like people in their places of origin expect every day. The cheap, unexciting versions sell because the other options are 200% more expensive and many people making and consuming them don’t know or care to expect better. While the expensive restaurants trading in fancy versions of traditional dishes make a good living off people with money to spend who want a taste of the real thing.

What is sadly overlooked is the fact that, back home, the most basic versions of these cuisines, the humble everyday variety, can be both great and inexpensive. Every now and then, someone in the city comes along who knows this, sees this niche (or glaring hole) in the middle, slides in, makes quality, authentic food at appropriate prices, and reaps a windfall as a result. Think Otto, Les Halles, and now Pio Maya.

Pio Maya is finally open, and now, officially, the only thing LA has that New York doesn’t is In ‘n Out. Pio Maya is the small Taqueria on 8th street between 5th and 6th Avenues, and it is perfect. Everything on the menu is fresh, everything is made to order and nothing is over thirteen dollars (with most dishes falling in the $2.50-$9 range). This places is built to make honest Mexican food that Mexicans make themselves everyday, There are gorgeous little chickens roasting on a rotisserie, a flattop grill right in front of you on which they brown fresh meats for tacos to order, and a cooler full of brightly colored sweet, sodas.

Wife and I popped in last night and asked our old friend Zooma, the proprietor, to give us our first sample of his food and so far we love it all, we had:

Shrimp Soup (a special) A simple tomato broth with shrimp, and mussels in shell, with cilantro and celery and the taste of the Gulf of Mexico.  I would compare it to good Manhattan clam chowder with the clean flavor well handled cilantro can provide.

Tamales, Pollo con Salsa If there is any one dish at Pio Mayo that is exponentially better then every other version I have ever had it is the tamale. Inside the skin is about equal portion spiced chicken and corn meal, and the two together become the flavors of simple rusticity. They do not become either a ridiculous way to show off rabbit (think Mesa Grill) or, even worse, a flavorless amalgam of mush the size of your head (think Caliente Cab Company.) The Tamales are $2.75 on the menu and one is exactly right to put with a taco or something else.

Cheese Chile Relleno On the menu it is served with rice and beans, in order to leave us some room, Zooma just gave us the Relleno. It would make sense that a roasted pepper (a favorite of mine) stuffed with a little fresh cheese, and simply dressed with a tomato sauce would be a natural preference, but some how every one I have tasted prior to this wonderful version, was somehow watery, thin, and heartless.

Tacos On our plates we each had one roast pork, one chorizo and one beef taco. The flavor of the roast pork was deep and savory, rather than somehow stewed on in some warm chaffing dish as is so often the case. The chorizo was chopped very small and browned on the flattop grill, giving it a great crunch, and the beef was small bits of what I would guess was a marinated flank steak, quickly browned on the griddle.  All three were dressed with fresh lettuce, some queso fresco, a white sauce that had also appeared on the Relleno, and a dollop of perfect guacamole, and all came with the most authentic of Mexican food traditions, a section of lime.

For a very short menu, Pio Maya still has about twenty-five things I need to try. I imagine this will take me about one very happy week. There is at least one other place in New York trying to make honest tacos, a stand on the outside of a bodega on Avenue A called Snack Dragon, and they do a very solid job. But as far as perfect, soft, chewy tortillas with deeply flavored ingredients born of products available to the people that live day by day and work on the land that produces them, brought together to taste as fresh as food has to in a part of the world that is so hot, go to Pio Maya, find Zooma, and order two or four things. Guaranteed you will find something you love there.

Gotham 453 nostaljrilian stars

If it were 1986 and Patrick Bateman needed to find a place to celebrate a pal advancing to director at his bank, he would open his copy of the Zagat restaurant guide and find Gotham on 12th Street. Once there, he would be reassured looking around the room with its tables of six to eight guys in varying versions of a French-blue shirt with suspenders and red ties, eating food artistically stacked into towers, and drinking wines with labels you would know from a distance. The American Psycho would be comforted by the fact that most every table in the place was a good one, so no guy from another bank could look and say, “look at Bateman, sitting right next to the kitchen.” He could enjoy bumping into all of his friends who crossed the barrier to downtown to try new places like this and Union Square Café. He could bask in the din of power people loudly discussing power things at Gotham and after dinner, pop over to Nell’s to party all night and murder on his way home.

I don’t know how we decided the right place to celebrate our friend’s promotion to director at his bank last night was Gotham (maybe Brett Easton Ellis is an even more powerful author than I thought) but no doubt it was. Gotham is still a place where brokers sit and envy each other’s watches. Although French blue has changed into oxford blue, and the ties and suspenders are gone, you can still pop into Gotham and find tables of six guys, four of which clearly played ball together at some state school, and two of whom crewed at an Ivy league school, sitting together drinking old Bordeaux with lobster.

Ok, so meatheads who suffer from stereo envy have a perfect room, somehow frozen in the time when a Laserdisc machine was a multi thousand-dollar purchase, to go to. There used to be many of these in town. Why is Gotham the one still going strong as a some how un-self-conscious time capsule?

Gone are the days when Alfred Portale was the new kid on the block doing amazing new things with seasonal produce downtown. In fact, the catch-22 of Gotham is that before a lot of people get there nowadays they have already had a version of Alfred’s food somewhere else, detracting from its uniqueness.

Gotham has begotten some of NYC’s most respected chefs and restaurants, Tom Colicchio, Scott Bryan, and Wylie Dufresne (of Craft/Gramercy Tavern, Veritas, and WD50, respectively) all went through Gotham to get where they are. Although no one would say these guys are making Alfred’s food at their places, certain similarities of theme cannot be denied.

So why is Gotham still exactly Gotham, while Jams, The Quilted Giraffe, and Nell’s are all gone? Gotham makes what Gotham helped become authentic American food exactly as it should be made, every time, without fail. Somehow the exorbitant pricing is forgiven because, as with everything else at Gotham, it stems organically from those decadent days when you could trust the place was good because it cost so much money.

Innovation is one of the greatest things in cuisine, but sometimes, when you want a great night out with a group of people who have been brought together in order to celebrate rather then dine, there is something comforting in going to place that is being copied or paid homage to throughout the dining world. You can rest assured there will be something to make everyone happy, even if they are the types to reject the unfamiliar.

In 1985 Frank Prial wrote: The Gotham Bar and Grill in Greenwich Village is the latest in the converted-dry-goods-emporium series of restaurants started by Joanna's, and it proves that it's possible to have a good list that is also inexpensive. There are decent wines at $9 and a Duboeuf chiroubles at an extraordinary $10.50.

So there we were, staring at a "comfortingly" expensive wine list, trying to decide which $200 bottle of wine to choose. Looking for a bright side in that the best part about buying in this range is the same forty dollars that doubles the price of an average wine we would grab in a restaurant is negligible as the difference between $180 and $220. It is kind of an in for a penny in for a pound program.

Being a couple of bottles of Champers and a few cocktails in all ready, we decided to skip right to red wine and kicked it all off with 2000 Marcassin Vineyard Pinot Noir from the Sonoma Coast. This wine is bold and genius with a rigid backbone and great fruit. A strong wood program is evident and you can tell no expense was spared in making this the best Pinot it could possibly be, which is undeniably American. A perfect wine for this place.

We followed the Marcassin with a 2001 Cims de Porrera from Priorat in Spain. Cims are summits and this wine is made of 70% Carignan and 30% Granacha from vines between 60 and 100 years old, grown at the tops of the hills between 400 and 600 meters up. It was exciting, with a nose of dried spices, white pepper, and red fruit. Wines like this are the reason to pay the exorbitant premiums demanded in Priorat.

After a try at a 1987 Pichon Lalande that was corked, Michael Nelson (wine guy extraordinaire) in his calm confident manner, suggested we trust him in going another way. We did, and he chose a 1999 Le Macioche Brunello di Montalcino. It was great, easy drinking, with red fruit perfectly matched to the entrees we were on at that point.

Dinner was kicked off with a fish course the kitchen sent out to us. It was house-cured salmon with a Meyer lemon sauce and a small, green salad. Four slices of salmon and a salad that contained, among other things, the lovely sting of shaved scallion, paired perfectly with the pinot we were drinking, something I wasn’t sure it could pull off with the fish offered as the first course. Everyone was happy to have it.

The second course section of the menu has never not pleased me and it was a huge success again this time. I sampled the Seared Foie Gras, the lady on my right had ordered, as did every one else at the table. To be honest, the scrum at the table next to us could have shared as well the portion was so plentiful. It has perfect texture and flavor; a simple sear is really one of the best preparations for a torchon of great quality foie. 

For my second course, I had the Gotham Pasta, which was home- made linguine with a simple cream sauce and a mélange of wild mushrooms. Great earthiness of beautifully pared down wild mushrooms with the sweetness of a cream sauce. Remember cream sauce on pasta? Well it is here and perfect.

The third course section has eleven choices, really something for everyone. I chose the Roast Squab; in October 1985, when Bryan Miller reviewed Gotham for the Times, he refers to the roast squab with Swiss chard as a great dish. Well it still is. It has wonderful little slices of potato that have been crisped up and mixed with sautéed greens (Swiss chard playing a part, I like to believe). There is also a slaw of shredded cabbage, which I can’t imagine Bryan would have failed to mention if it was there twenty-one years ago. It was great.

As often happens, dessert was skipped but espresso was had and it was great. I believe it is much harder to find a good coffee in this town than a great dessert, and it is another thing Gotham does exactly right.

Go to Gotham, whether you are nostalgic for the eighties, or really just want honest seasonal American food prepared exactly as it should be.  For twenty-one unchanging years, it hasn’t, and won’t, disappoint.

Iberian pea soup

I made a soup Sunday. A soup made from produce in the fridge that needed to be cooked.

The first step was Wife saying there was a large amount of D'Artagnan Chorizo left over from a Caldo Verde she had made earlier in the week. This, plus the fact that celery, onions, carrots and herbs show up in our weekly Fresh Direct order Sunday nights, made me figure I should make some room in the fridge.

First I diced the Chorizo and browned it in some Olive Oil. There were 5 links total.

I removed the rendered Chorizo and poured the fat out. To the bit of lipid that clung tenaciously to the hot pot, I added a dice of 4 ribs of celery (I had run a vegetable peeler down the back of), 3 peeled carrots, and 5 very small onions.  Once I had sweat them out and let the onions brown just a little I put the Chorizo back in.

I threw in 2 bags of organic dried split peas I had picked over and rinsed in a colander (dried legumes play a huge role in our winter larder). Stirred them in the mirepoix and chorizo as if I was making risotto, old habit I guess.

I also made a bouquet garni. Wife and I keep a coffee cup full of water in the fridge with our fresh herbs in it so, to make room for the next batch, I grabbed them all (this batch had thyme, rosemary and flat leaf parsley, if I remember correctly), added two bay leaves and bound it with some butcher's twine.

Over all this I poured a quart of chicken stock from the freezer that I had made out of the carcass of a truffled chicken I made in November, plus the remains of 2 of those cartons of organic chicken stock that were cluttering the fridge and then a pot of tap water to cover all the ingredients by about 2 inches.

Brought it all to a boil and it simmered it for 1½ hours, then turned it off and left it on the stove till dinner.

An hour before my intended serving time I put a low flame under it and ½ hour later added three potatoes I sliced on a mandolin. I had left the skins on intending for them to be whole when we ate them, but I got distracted after putting the lid on so they just cooked down to nothing. They did fortify the body nicely though, and the potato skins made for a great game of "what the hell is this?"

I added 7 splashes of Worcestershire sauce and a fistful of salt, stirred it and put it in bowls.

Each bowl was finished with a drizzle of Portuguese "new" olive oil, and a twist or two of black pepper.

I served it with some baguettes I'd made and some ridiculously good 85% butterfat organic sweet butter to go on them.

Downstairs, Bubby, and Bear showed up with Spanish red and it seemed to go over pretty well, at least every one got that drowsy look you want them to after a hearty winter soup.

Masa 544 fanjrillian stars

When the going gets tough, boys from Jersey get going... to the mall. Like a siren's song, the attraction was overwhelming. Between the Christmas season and the transit strike, I was beckoned. Bear, Wife and I figured the transit strike might open up some otherwise hard-to-get tables; Masa seemed a good place to start. So right after work we made our way over to the mall and at 6:40 sat down to the Omakase menu in the 26-seat box that is Masa.

Masa is in the back of the same mall that holds Per Se (I am done talking about what a let-down Per Se was), V Steak House (which sucks too much for words), and various other restaurants that I have yet to make it to. So far, the decorations of the various places have been absurd -- V looking like a baroque brothel that doesn't see enough business to patina the offensive luster, and Per Se like an amphitheater carved out of dark, boring clay. Masa is a large rectangular room with four tables of four and a sushi bar that seats ten. The decor is raw blond wood, bamboo, and room dividers with Japanese characters written on them. It looks like a very fancy Japanese restaurant in a very fancy mall in America. It leans towards sterile the way minimalism can.

There is a wine list I took a cursory glance at. The only thing that really popped was the Gaja and, if you are the person sitting down to multi-course dinner of raw fish and you even think to order a Gaja, you need not worry about me clamoring to join you.

There is also a Sake list and from it we chose a Yuki no Bosha AkitaKomachi Shikomi. It is served in a stone bowl, nestled in a pile of chipped ice, in a square, stone ice bucket. It is very light, and dry, and has a subtle hint of cucumber, fruit leaves, and melon. The Sake is served in frozen green bamboo joints, the aesthetics of which are lovely, but they do bring their own scent of raw greenness to the party which becomes more clear as the vessel thaws (as it inevitably will do over three hours of dining). I can say that it paired nicely with everything we ate, except the pickled ginger. It served to refresh the palate between tastes and mostly stayed out of the way otherwise. Well chosen, Bear. Huzzah!

I swear my intention was to take pictures of everything and to be a good little blogger this time, but our server asked me not to and, in the end, my companions admitted to being pleased not to have the distraction.

The truth is, ambiance and a great wine program can really give a place an advantage, and I guess it is possible that a cold room and wine list geared to trophy hunters (as opposed to people who look for a symbiosis in their food and beverage choices) may start at a disadvantage, unless the food is so sublime that, by the second or third dish, you become so relaxed that you start noticing things like warmth in the yellow hue of the screens by the walls, and the wonderful tactile sensation of the unadorned wood of the table. This food is that good.

It all started with:

APPETIZERS

Kegani Crab and Mozuku Seaweed Vinaigrett: Crabmeat is the sweetest flesh in the sea, but it is also very labor intensive to get at and alas, the work to reward ratio just does not always make crab a smart choice. It is best when a talented chef is willing to do the work for you. In this dish, the crabmeat itself was sweet and had the bite of the thumb meat of a hard-shell lobster. It was adorned with a light chrysanthemum vinaigrette and a mix of micro-greens; red benitade sprouts which were cinnamony, and purple shiso flowers which were peppery, offsetting the sweetness of the crab's meat.

Toro Tartare with Sterling Royal Caviar: Were you one of the kids who used to get yelled at for eating butter? Then this is the dish for you. The round, unctuous fattiness of the chopped Toro and the subtle saltiness of the caviar come together to be basically more a feeling than a flavor. It is served with small, warm toast squares and, when it is all put together, the sensation is that of salted butter on toast, except cleaner by way of the sea.

Fugu sashimi Salad: Ok, let's forget that at this point most Fugu in the world is not actually poisonous. I have always wanted to eat some and now I have. The flesh has a chew not unlike well-prepared squid; the liver is soft, like silken tofu, and flavorful and quite fun to bite into. The fact that Wife ate her way around the liver till the end and asked for reassurance she should eat made it feel daring anyway.

Fugu Karaage: Fugu is back again, this time fried. At the waiter's recommendation, we picked it up and ate it as if it were a chicken wing. The batter was lightly salty and the flesh possessed a wonderful seafood version of gaminess. I would eat this from a bucket in front of the TV, no problem.

Uni and Shirako Risotto with White Truffles: When Urchin told me this was one of her favorite dishes, I was very doubtful. How could the flavor of Uni, the wonderful lightness of the foam of a receding wave, mix well with the flavor of a white truffle, the wonderful earthiness of the forest floor covered in fallen leaves? Well it does, and it does well. The Shirako (soft roe) really rounds out the two extremes perfectly. This is no doubt one of the greatest dishes I have had. The best part is that it is available at Bar Masa a la carte. Finally, a reason to go to the mall every day; it's like I'm fifteen again.

Buri Wild Yellowtail Shabu Shabu: I watched an Iron Chef episode once in which the challenger was a master of Shabu Shabu, and I thought to myself "poaching food in broth, big whoop." Wow, what a whoop. The yellowtail was fantastic. Even better was the foie. I have never had foie taste clean; foie usually tastes rich, fatty, buttery, oleaginous, or unctuous, but not clean. When it had served its poaching purposes, we ate the broth, which was light and ethereal.

SUSHI COURSE

I will start the discussion of the sushi course by trying to ignore how angry chef Masa has made me with all the other NY chefs making what they call Sushi. Rather than dwell on their disproportionate fish size and clumpy rice, and wasabi that is really just dyed horseradish de- and re-hydrated, I will talk about what chef Masa gets so gloriously right. Starting with the rice, this is different food. The rice bed feels like it is somehow geometrically fit together rather than bound by the gluey starch in the rice.When you put it on your tongue, each kernel has its own integrity and flavor. The soy sauce, which the chef adds himself to each piece, has the deep flavor of a brewed product and isn't simply salty black water. The amount of wasabi is varied per piece by the chefs' deft hand, each one being exactly right. The nori that bound a couple of pieces was pliant, not crunchy, and tasted good and flavorful, not just of dried seaweed. This sushi is so far above the level of anything I have ever had (Morimoto in Philadelphia being the exception) as to make one believe everyone eating at Japonica is on crazy pills.

Toro (fatty tuna): No one will describe this better then Bruni did in his review. It is hard not to sound like an 80's teenybopper talking about Jordan from the New Kids. Suffice it to say we liked it so much, we seriously considered distracting the four Japanese businessmen next to us with some elaborate plan involving ninja-like moves and catapults to steal theirs when it was served them about half an hour later.

Shimaaji (Striped Jack): Buttery and soft, a nice step away from the Toro.

Hirami (Hallibut): Nice body and chew. Translucent pink in color.

Tai (Sea Bream): One of the fish you aren't supposed to ever find outside Japan, with the lovely, light flavor of the sea. Not unlike snapper.

Kinmee (Snapper): Clean, fresh, and firm.

Amaebi (Sweet Shrimp): Just that. Sweet. Shrimp.

Aoyagi (round clam): The chew and color of the center part of a cherrystone clamwith that same deep-water flavor.

Bay Scallop:  Rich and creamy, almost like a risotto.

Suji(grilled toro sinew): Somehow sweet and salty. You keep believing they are just pulling your leg and it is actually beef.

Squid: The bite of squid, with less resistance.

Kohada (shad): The bite of an oily fish (think Mackerel) without the oily finish.

Sayori (needlefish): Tiny fillets stacked like lumber and topped with the shiso flowers again, pepper this time playing off salt.

Iwashi (sardines): Tight flesh, very savory.

Saba (mackerel) with persimmon: The thinnest slice of persimmon adds a tang to the salty savory-ness of the mackerel.

Uni (Sea Urchin): Just like biting into a refreshingly cold wave at the shore.

White Truffle: That's right, white truffle. The conviction and confidence to simply take a small ball of warm rice and wrap it in the thinnest shavings of truffle I have ever seen is what is to be respected about this perfect little bite.

Hotate Grilled (Scallop): The wonderful texture of a fresh scallop with the added dimension of the slightest char. Bear loves it so much he wants to marry it.

Unagi (eel): At the other sushi restaurants in NY I am constantly requesting a substitution for the eel, not because I don't like eel, but because I hate that candied syrup they pour all over it. The Japanese have a fifth taste (beyond the accepted four: salty, sweet, bitter and sour) called umame. Often discussed in wine tasting, it is the feeling in your mouth of richness from protein. It is a common sensation in all of this food, but none more so than with the eel. There was a very light, sweet sauce brushed over the eel, which was served in a shaving of cucumber, but all it did was show off the richness of the eel. Sublime.

Negitoro roll: A roll with Toro and scallions. There was a serious hit of wasabi in this one and so much toro as to make us gleeful. It was the also the only piece we dipped in the bowl of soy sauce that had been put in front of us at the beginning of the sushi service. We had wanted to the whole time, but saw no reason to mess with the chef's perfect balance, until the server gave us the go-ahead to do it on this one. The soy sauce was as good as it smelled.

Ume ShisoBall: All meals should end like this. The smallest chiffonade of what was described as a type of Japanese mint on a small ball of rice, refreshing and unassuming.

DESSERT

Grapefruit Granite: I am just not a sweet fan in general, but at the end of a meal involving such subtleness, the lightest touch of a dish with sugar in it might have chased away too many flavors we wanted to hang on to. The granite was perfect, a little bitter, a little sweet. Made all the more light by its frozen delivery, this finished us in perfect style.

Soba Cha: was a tea made from Buckwheat that had a nutty aroma not unlike peanuts being shelled. Wife has been online ever since finding some for the house.

The food is perfect, honestly, but all people want to discuss when it comes to MASA seems to be price. This meal (exclusive of the Sake and gratuity) costs $350 and, indeed, that is a lot of money. It may seem like less to me at this point because a straight-shot cab home, a 50 block ride on unpopulated streets, cost us $45 in a yellow taxi because three of us went into a second zone on the special-for-the-strike guide to gouging New Yorkers the TLC gave the cabbies (this ride would normally total about $12.50).

The truth is, every single one of these courses was made from a perfect version, of luxury ingredients (that wouldn't be cheap if you were just getting them to make in your home and not including the expertise involved in their preparation at Masa).Here is the thing though, every New Yorker I know walks into the crappy sushi bars around town with some degree of regularity and drops between fifty or a hundred dollars, each time. My advice: skip this three-and-a-half to seven times and go to Masa once instead. Take the time, give yourself over to the experience and you will be as close to zen a person who eats animals can get.