Augieland

Balzac: 762 honorellian stars

Spain is the birthplace of the modern cuisine; at this point the avant gardists have spread their fingers far and wide here and it is almost easier for a person doing a gastro-tour to find yogurt espuma than fine food born of the local flavors, coaxed and accentuated by the hands of a confident expert.

Wife and I came to Spain for the food, maybe a museum or two, but really mostly the food, the new food, the creative and the daring. But first it only made sense to have a truly well made, classic meal stemming from the flavors of the region. Only with a good sounding board would the plays involved in the new cuisine be able to make their appropriate impact.

On Calle Moreto, a short walk around the corner from the Prado Museum in Madrid, is Restaurant Balzac.  A simple room with that weird feeling preeminent in Europe where you walk into a space decorated sometime in the last 50 years, yet in a neighborhood of buildings that could have easily been built in the last thousand. Well put together and conceptually great, it seems self-conscious and dated but very recently so; a world where the beautiful cut crystal decorating everything looks like it is from ’93, but you know that may just be because the stain on the wood paneling surrounding it is oak rather than natural or cherry. Both could be from yesterday or twenty years ago, you just don’t have the local decorating mags at hand to check.

When traveling, we like to try to stay very local with our wine choices, one because of terroir (what grows together goes together), two because it is an ingratiating intro to conversation with the locals, and three because it is most often the best wine for the value. Here we had a blanco from Castilla y Leon, and then just a glass of house tinto when we saw a steak knife arrive in our mis en place.

We chose the chef’s degustation menu, identified by nothing more than a note at the bottom of the English language menu that said, “Ask for our menu so you can enjoy the cuisine created by our new team of chefs.”  Wouldn’t you? So the following names are based on what Wife and I could discern from experience, a helpful waiter with some English, and a phrase book with phrases as appropriate as, “we would like a children’s plate, nothing with eyeballs please.”

Our two amuse were truffle cream served in a shot glass, and a date with mustard cream and bacon. The truffle cream was thick as if a gelatin had been involved and was very much about the aroma of the other mushrooms in its preparation while the finish was lingering black truffle. The date was pitted and split, with a dollop of the mustard in its center and a small piece of crispy bacon placed on top.  The mustard cream was substantial, as if somehow porridge had been made of mustard grains and allowed to simmer to a very thick consistency. Neither hot nor vinegary, it made a good foil for the date’s sweetness while the bacon, shallow in depth, sliced very thinly and cooked to brittle crispness, gave enough salt and smoke to highlight the play between the other two components.

The first savory course was a tuna salad. Red tuna seared, sliced, and served with a tomato and garlic purée. There was a mixed green salad with alfalfa sprouts, chopped toasted hazelnuts, and a grassy green olive oil on the plate.  The flavor of this tuna was that of the deep sea the tuna hunt in rather than the lighter flavors we have come to associate with the fish. I am not sure if it was born of a preservation process or not, but this tasted both fresh and like fish, with no apologies.

For our second course, we were served poached white asparagus with wild mushrooms and foie gras. Big white asparagus, similar in circumference to a 16-gauge shotgun shell, made a platform on which a piece of seared foie gras sat with finely diced mushrooms and their broth. Alone, the asparagus was slightly astringent. When combined with the rich mushrooms and the richer foie gras, it became part of a harmony of disparate ingredients rounding each other’s edges. Rather artfully, I thought, under the medallion of foie a single raw arugula leaf was placed to wilt, as if to say, “here is a simple contrast to draw your attention to the others.”

Up third was a seared piece of cod. The cod was set atop a rather garlicky pile of tomato concasse that had been mixed through with thyme leaves, toasted pine nuts, chives, and olive oil. It was as if a well-seared and flavorful piece of fish had been asked to step in for the piece of toast in a bruscetta; the ultimate version of those flavors you associate with olive oil, garlic, and seafood dishes that come in terracotta plates at tapas places.

Fourth came roast pigeon served on a raisin-apple-pine nut-cinnamon- clove-honey- compote with a red wine, cherry reduction on top and a sweet potato chip.  It is nice to be reminded of the Moorish influence on Spain through a dish rather than a tour guide. With meat any less gamey than this pigeon this composition would have been deathly sweet. Not sure if this bird had been hung or not, but it was gamey, just gamey enough to make the combination of flavors perfect. In the stack of meat was a thick, rare piece of breast, a leg that had been prepared confit, and a slice of the roasted liver. I know of few people that would jump at this dish spelled out as I have done it, but I know of less people I dine with regularly that would have not called it the best dish of the eve.

Our first dessert was rice pudding. Much looser than the ones I am used to, this had the fennel, licorice, and herb flavors of Pernod, with a dusting of cinnamon and a candied orange slice as garnish. While traveling it is always nice to have some local herbal or bitter digestif. This played that role well, without taking it to that super-boozy place.

It just wouldn’t be a trip to Europe without a little chocolate mousse to remind you that, when done well, it is a great, light ending to a meal. At Balzac, a light frothy mousse is topped with some toasted hazelnuts and a canelle of vanilla gelato.

Looking to have the food of the place you are visiting all too often turns out to be having something slopped together ham-handedly by a brute with an unending supply of cooking gas, garlic, and cheap olive oil. It is nice to be guided to a great restaurant that makes indigenous food adroitly and confidently without getting lost in what the guidebooks say their food should be. Balzac made us food of local ingredients with local flavor unique to its place in the world, never getting preachy about humbleness or embarrassed for its refinement. 

Don't believe this idiocy

As a rule, I hate American nutritionists and blame the entire obesity/adult-onset diabetes epidemic in America completely on them and their idiocy. The reason I bring this up today is that on Thursday the Wall Street Journal ran a study saying that the Mediterranean diet may help people avoid Alzheimer’s.

It then goes on to explain this Mediterranean diet as follows. “The diet he tested includes eating lots of vegetables, legumes, fruits, cereals and fish, while limiting intake of meat and dairy products, drinking moderate amounts of alcohol and emphasizing monounsaturated fats, such as in olive oil, over saturated fats.”

Look, I am not saying this type of diet does not limit your likelihood of getting Alzheimer’s. I am sure these scientists did more than call a couple thousand people and ask them to describe the health level of their diet on a scale of one to ten. I am sure they took into account things like amount of hours potato chip eaters as opposed to carrot eaters spend in front of the TV instead of reading books. I am also sure they looked at factors like time spent outside walking in fresh air as opposed to driving in cars. And, most importantly, I am sure they factored in things like intellectual political discussion about topics like how asinine it is to do a dietary study of something inappropriately labeled a Mediterranean diet with friends over a glass of wine, as opposed to watching the evening news for 25 second sound-bites over a high fructose corn syrup-rich Coca Cola. Otherwise how would anyone lend any credibility to their hard scientific work?

What makes me insane is the claim that people in the Mediterranean areas have a diet that involves “limiting intake of meat and dairy products, drinking moderate amounts of alcohol and emphasizing monounsaturated fats, such as in olive oil, over saturated fats.” The truth is they are less likely to die of heart attack than us, in spite of the fact that this in no way describes their diet. Sure they eat more legumes, their governments are not busy subsidizing the development of frankencrops in grains over growing legumes, or funding asinine studies about dietary effects on Alzheimer’s rather than PCB consumption.

As for low dairy, the French consume about 42 pounds of cheese a year per capita while Americans consume about 20, and that is without splitting out what parts are natural as opposed to processed.

A diet low in meat intake? I love the Mediterranean and go often. Italians along the coast would literally stop existing if you took away their cured pork products.

And moderate alcohol consumption? The average wine consumption per capita in 2001 in France was 57.17 liters, in Spain it was 34.57, in Italy it was 52.92 in Croatia it was 43.20, in Greece it was 27.75 in Yugoslavia it was 13.11, in Slovenia it was 31.13, in Croatia it was 43.20, and in the US it was 8.77 (and I’m pretty sure I helped inflate that). Does this sound like moderation? Some of these countries on the Mediterranean consume almost seven times the wine we do.

Look, it is simply preposterous to call the diet that involves “limiting intake of meat and dairy products, drinking moderate amounts of alcohol and emphasizing monounsaturated fats, such as in olive oil, over saturated fats” a Mediterranean diet. The actual Mediterranean diet is loaded with all kinds of fats, animal, and vegetable. What it lacks is processed fats that were created by guys looking for an alternate to animal fats because idiots like Nikoloas Scarmeas and his group at the Columbia Medical Center in New York test things thing like the diet he tested.

You want to do a good experiment? Walk to a local Mediterranean place (please say you know I mean local not franchise; you are not allowed to do this experiment at Olive Garden or Romano’s), have a glass of lightly acidic wine with a huge plate of home-cured pig with its fat. Then do a round of vegetables grilled, roasted, or marinated in kinds of olive oil. Next, have a glass of nice, medium-bodied red with a small amount of pasta that has cheese and meat in it (and maybe even a touch of cream). Follow this with a small amount of protein with its fat – say a duck breast or a pan-fried veal cutlet – with a glass of some big red. Finish this all up with a couple of pieces of cheese and some fruit compote, then walk home. See if you don’t feel a little smarter.

Otto's Ramps Pizza

Imagine how much you could learn about Italian wine if you could talk Otto into hiring you for a short bit. I did, so often, aloud in Otto, that one day they took me up on it. So for a very fun, short period I was in the employ of Otto Enoteca Pizzeria. As a result, as with any thing you commit time and attention to, I have a love/hate relationship with the place and find it very hard to consider my feelings good or bad as objective, so I usually don’t report about Otto on Augieland. I am there often and freely suggest it to people quite regularly as I would to you, if asked, but there are so many insider caveats to my recommendations that my commentary would be hum drum food reading.

That said, it is ramp season and, except for their heirloom caprese salad in late August-September, the ramps pizza is Otto’s greatest thing. Simply a Margherita pizza that has had the basil replaced with charred ramps, it is exceptional. Thursday night, having already had my first stingy nettles of the season, and with Dirty Bird not serving fried chicken yet, I decided to pop over to Otto for a ramps pie.

I like to have the kitchen put a fried egg on top of the whole mess of ramps (something they will do to just about any pizza; try it on a pepperoni on a weekend afternoon when ramps season is over). When you break the yolk and spread it around its richness ties the whole package together perfectly in my opinion.

Ramps are wild leeks that are all about a super pungent aroma, somewhere between chives and green garlic. The fresh mozzarella and the egg yolk serve as a fat delivery system that allows this to cover your mouth and really dig in. The simple tomato sauce gives it a zippy, little, sweet/acidic tinge to point out how deep the flavors are.

I will probably have ramps a dozen ways this spring. Some people will tame them with long, slow cooking with butter; some will play the flavors up, serving them almost raw and tossed in pasta with other like spring ingredients (maybe favas, morels, or asparagus tips). Whatever comes, I am very much looking forward to it. For a jump-off sample, though, I can’t imagine a better indicator of what this season holds than Otto’s pizza.

Dirty Bird: 300 seamyzillian stars

Foodies like to play “what would you have for your last meal” -- a great game that usually involves your greatest dish ever.  Then someone always raises the stakes to a multi-course meal, and inevitably different chefs get to show up to prepare a course each. Best is when a different chef can be assigned components of each plate. What fun, and when I get involved in it I can throw down some amazing courses, progressions, chefs and wines to accompany. Truthfully, though, if I heard, "this is your last meal, what do you want?," I would get fried chicken with fluffy, white, mashed potatoes, and mac and cheese.

I am not really a comfort food guy in general (when I make meatloaf it involves veal and home made ketchup) but honestly I love fried chicken. I like good fried chicken, and I like crap-fried chicken. I like pressure-cooked just-the-skin chicken and I like battered fried chicken. I even like the chicken fried in a wok at Chinese take-out restaurants. The only fried chicken I can't stand is KFC. Moral/ethical issues aside, the moisture in the fattier parts just ruins it for me.

The best thing about fried chicken is that good fried chicken hot in a bucket is great fried chicken cold. I love cold fried chicken when tailgating with Bloody Marys. The ultimate, though, is fried chicken in the spring with a good rose wine or champagne, best during a picnic, but honestly good in the apartment in front of open windows. The salty fry on the skin of the chicken combined with the zing of good champagne, the acidity, the zesty bubbles, or the full-bodied crispness of a good rose well grounded by light tannins, makes it the kind of food-better-for-the-association-with-wine thing I live for.

The Times delivered a good bit of news last Wednesday, that Allison Vines-Rushing and her husband Slade Rushing would be opening a take-out fried chicken place in the neighborhood Monday, just in time for spring, and just in time for pink wine. I don't know if you ever made it to Jack's Luxury Oyster Bar while this duo was at the helm, but it was quite good. Unique southern touches added to the fare and made it a distinctive place and well worth visiting.

There seemed only one choice, chill down a blush, invite Bear over and walk up to the new place for some take out (they do deliver but it was a nice day). Then I got the news they hadn’t actually opened, so the pink was cold but the chicken was a no show.  Then Thursday they did what they called a “soft open” in that they were serving the rotisserie chicken and the salads, but nothing was going to get me to tread fresh the turf of a place named Dirty Bird with rotisserie fowl.

So today I wandered over to the corner of 14th and 7th to pick up some fried chicken at 11:30am and of course they weren’t quite ready yet, so I left a standing order for the first fried chicken and one of each of the four sides to be delivered as soon as it was, grabbed a lemonade and started walking home. As far as it goes the lemonade was great, cold, well sugared, properly sour and with so many of the oils from the skin involved that it laid a circle in the middle of my tongue and left a kind of herbal taste in my mouth, somewhere between mint and verbena.

F irst day, first bird, first delivery showed up at 1:15pm, and it is good. Nice, crunchy, flakey batter that fell off as you handled it so you could pick it up and happily crunch away. The meat was firm and juicy and well flavored. I salted both the chicken and the mac but only lightly.
There is a dilemma in organic and free range birds for fried chicken. As much as you want to eat the more flavorful, option and in a world where arsenic is showing up in conventional chickens it seems an easy choice, there is the fact that if you let things walk they develop muscle and their tendons get tight. So organic fried chicken often leaves you the work of chewing meat out of the legs. Happily that was not so much the case with this organic bird. Not sure if it was the brining or the acids in the buttermilk, but the leg was as toothsome as the breast, an accomplishment in itself. It is worth mentioning that the eight pieces, although more than enough for me and Wife, were not exactly eight parts. One of our eight pieces was half of a breast.

Like all the world’s great fried chicken, the piece I ate after letting cool for half an hour was exceptional. This is definitely the stuff to drag to the parks this summer.

Of the four sides Dirty Bird offers, mac & cheese, dirty rice, buttered snap peas and bliss potatoes, the rice was my favorite. Well spiced and rife with bits of roasted peppers, it tasted almost Spanish influenced.

This is really good fried chicken. With a start like this I am excited to see where it goes.

Blue Hill: 273 asuurazillian stars

You know how Jeremy Piven always kicks butt? Whether he's saying "bitches, man" in Say Anything, or showing up as the Versace salesman in Rush Hour 2, I am just happy when Piven is part of a film. He's not necessarily my favorite actor. In fact, I often forget about him even though he probably would be a better sidekick than most the people cast in most of the movies I watch. Of course, then there is Ari in Entourage. As Ari, Piven is doing a thing so perfect he joins the ranks of people like Nicholson as the Joker or Hillary Swank as Brandon Teena (those rare moments when the right actor gets the right role and there is a certain perfection).

Dan Barber is the Jeremy Piven of New York restaurants. There, well respected, always doing solid work and interchangeable with a couple of other people at his level. Dan is one of the reigning kings of in-season, indigenous product and definitely performs at the top of this echelon. Dan's Ari is spring; in spring, Chef Barber's performance is transcendent.

So when Pichon, Helmet, Mispooz, Wife, and I needed a place to celebrate Ringwald's birthday in mid-April, Blue Hill seemed an obvious choice. Blue Hill, on Washington Place just west of Washington Square Park, is probably the most unassuming restaurant in New York. Down a couple of steps under an awning hardly marked in any way, you open a glass door, walk through a velvet curtain, and are standing in a basement; a well lit, somber rectangle of a room with no windows anywhere in front of you. It seems to accept there was not much that could be done with the space so little was. It is comfortable and humble. Touches as simple as channeling the lights into the low ceiling and running a strip of mirror behind the bench seating that rings the room do a good job of overcoming some of the limitations of being in the bottom of a townhouse, without going so far as to point it out.

The focus of Blue Hill has always been on the food, and Mr. Barber has created a bit of local celebrity for himself in the world of letting-the-food-speak-for-itself, and is the Times' go to guy for articles on farmers by a chef, so we thought it best to leave the menu up to him and his star ingredients. When I booked the reservation I asked Franco, the GM (in the interest of disclosure, on one of my forays into the dining scene Franco was forced to fire me, rehire me, and then fire me again all in about 2 months. I bear him no ill will and he obviously bears me none as this dinner proves), to arrange us a tasting menu of the chef's choosing with paired wines. Here is what showed up:

Pre amuse:
Turnip soup, Basil Sorbet, Olive Oil Cake with Arugula Pesto, Fried Ravioli with Stone Barns Greens and Ricotta, and Arcuri Garlic Tuile: there was nothing here we didn't like. The group's favorite was the ravioli but I would be lying if I said we contemplated these bites. All of them were gone in about 4 minutes. You will see, though, that our spring tasting menu had already well covered most of the flavors of New York State in spring.

Amuse 1:
Ferona Beets with Lime Sorbet: sweet, light, and definitely beets. Although they lacked the topsoil flavors I have come to expect in beets, the texture was the interesting part as theirs was the texture of the flesh of an aloe plant.

Amuse 2:
Stone barns Greens Soup with Lime Marshmallow: can I just say yum and leave it at that? Really just about the freshness of spring greens, then the bit of marshmallow hit the tongue making it seem even fresher.

Pairing: these were all served with a round of Cava sent with Franco's compliments to Ringwald on her birthday (he was absent).

SPRING VEGETABLE SALAD GREENS FROM OUR FARM, RAW AND MARINATED PISTACIOS AND MUSHROOMS GELÉE undisputedly the most impressive course of the evening. There were maybe 15 components to this salad between various greens, beets, cauliflower, pickled sunchokes, carrots, marinated carrots, cauliflower, roasted root veggies, oils, and mushroom gelée. Each element had its own preparation; each was independent yet all came together with a harmony to be an extraordinary celebration of the little things that start growing this time of year.

Paired: '04 Maximin Grunhauser Riesling Kabinett, from Mosel-Saar-Ruwer perceptibly sweet for a Kabinett, it had the light acidity to make it seem springy as the salad.

GRILLED HAMACHI SPAGETTI SQUASH AND APPLE CELERY BROTH some of the most exact grill marks I have ever seen adorned the fish and brought that light, bitter touch of singed fish flesh to a dish that involved light sweetness (apples), light astringency (celery), and light body (spaghetti squash), with the clean ocean flavor of the raw center of the fresh fish.

Paired: '04 Movia, "Gredic" Furlanski Tokaj from Brda in Slovenia Friullian Tocai is a great white with cured meats but I don't feel this one was well paired to this dish. It had heavy woodnotes and was earthy for a Tocai and for this dish.

POACHED HAKE ZUCCHINI, QUINOA AND FIRST OF THE SEASON RAMPS the fish was a perfect texture, tight on its surface while being flakey and pliant through its interior. This was set atop a pool of buttery sauce permeated with the garlic-leek aroma of young ramps and studded with chewy little bits of sprouted quinoa. There was also seared, diced zucchini and wilted greens. This was the dish that caused us to remark on how deft they were with salt. Salt was one of the major components of this dish, working in accord with these flavors, taking a front seat but pushing nothing back.

Paired: '02 Ronco Del Gnemiz Chardonay Colli Orieantali Del Friuli Italy made a very short distance from Movia in Slovenia, this again seemed to be a mineraly, wood-influenced white that would have been better-suited to fricco or a well-salted, smoked leg of pork than this dish.

THIS MORNING'S FARM EGG PARSNIP PUREE, STONE BARNS GREENS AND LARDO AND MUSHROOM BROTH slow poached, the egg had an even texture through the white and the yolk and, when broken and stirred in to the broth, it brought a luxuriance to the earthy flavors of the soup. The best part of this dish was that the Lardo which had been slightly roasted in some way and tasted of walnuts. We asked and were told that no walnuts or walnut oil played any part in the dish, leaving us to assume that the pig had been on a walnut-heavy diet prior to slaughter. This small component of this dish was captivating enough to merit all of Dan's time working with local farms and farmers.

Pairing: '03 Sean H. Thackrey "Pleiades XIV" Old Vines from California A big, leathery, smoky, super-extracted red, it seemed out-sized to the dish. Clearly a wine with a wine maker's hand heavily involved, it seemed disparate to a dish that seemed so much about terroir.

BERKSHIRE PORK BRAISED BABY POTATOES, CRANBERRY MARMALADE, AND BRUSSELS SPROUT LEAVES what's better than well-prepared pork loin? The small piece of roasted bacon next to it. The little nugget potatoes were dense and deeply flavored, with the light crunch of the fresh little cabbages bringing a lightness to the dish.

Pairing: '00 Altesimo Brunello Di Montalcino Tuscany Italy well balanced, bright red fruit with supple tannin, it stood very well next to the dish.

STEAMED CHEESECAKE CANDIED KUMQUATS pretty straightforward light, airy cheesecake with a bit of sweet/bitter kumquat.

Pairng: '02 Helmut Gangl Scheurebe Trockenbeerenauslese, from Austria sweet, with enough defining acid to keep it from being cloying, it was reminiscent of golden raisins, peaches, and a little sweat.

The dishes were all winners across the board; the wines were three good and three that were more out of sync with the well-achieved mission of the meal than bad. Interesting wines with interesting pedigrees by interesting makers, they seemed a little over-worked next to food that was so much about the beauty of what happens when nature is guided by a light, confident touch.

The ingredients called "Stone Barns" come from the Blue Hill project in Westchester that is a fine dining restaurant on a working Farm. When it was started, I had a fear that one of the greats of the neighborhood would slide as its chef was distracted by a new project, a new kitchen, and the life of a farmer. Happily quite contrarily, the addition of Stone Barns seems to be providing even finer and fresher produce to the Village.

Dan Barber was in the restaurant and stopped by our table at the close of the meal to say hi. It was nice to see that on his surface he has settled nicely into the guise of a farmer -- thinner than I remember him from when his pictures first started appearing in the papers eight or so years ago, with a touch of gray well suiting a quietly confident man sure of what he does. Maybe I am just getting poetic about a guy that can make such a meal, but this was a meal with that power.

I love that Blue Hill is close and accessible, but the reality is that in summer and winter it is simply as good as most its competition and I let it slide down my list of places to get to. In autumn, it takes a small lead and stands in a small group of the greats. Then, in the spring, I remember the humble little giant tucked around the corner on Washington Place. Few achieve this level of excellence. Get in before it goes back to just being super.

Cru’s Stingy Nettle Risotto

My favorite spring things that must be eaten and eaten quickly because their window of availability/edibility is very short are fiddleheads, ramps, and stingy nettles. There are others, but these are the ones you can find growing up and down the Jersey Turnpike and I love local fare.

At this point, ramps make a good showing around town and fiddleheads are pretty well represented. Less often do you find stingy nettles. Which is somewhat ironic because, as awesome as the garlic/onion flavors of young ramps are, and as crisp, fresh, and young as the unfurled fiddle head is, nettles are the essence of young, spring, chlorophyll-laden greenness.

I like to make a nettle pasta that I top with a simple vongole, which is fun. More fun is stopping by Cru on the way home Monday night to see what springy stuff they're doing and finding the risotto in its usual spot, but currently made with stingy nettles and stracchino.

Sticking in northern Italy, where nettles are used well and often, Shea has made a creamy risotto with toasted pine nuts, heaps of wilted nettles, and the lactic richness of a simple cheese. A dish brimming with greenness.

It wouldn't be Cru without a wine pairing. To go along with it, Robert tried us on two wines --Quintarelli's Sauvignon, and a Smargd Gruner from the Wachau in Austria. The Sauvignon had a nice acidity that cleaned through the richness of the dish, but the Gruner ran away with the show. Almost viscous in its richness, it had herbal notes of tarragon and other parts of a spring mix; truly perfect with the dish.

So there you go: a nettles dish. It is spring after all.

Degustation: 392 progeniturillian stars

As the avant garde food movement becomes more well known and spreads its roots around the world from its Spanish source, it seems to make sense that some of the efforts of real merit it has engendered would start to appear around the world too. Besides everyone using foams, and a sous vide machine, and deconstructing everything from chowder to deli sandwiches, the chefs that are breaking new ground now also interact with their customers. Whether it be welcoming a stop in the kitchen at the end of the meal, or actually presenting the dishes themselves, the experimentation has forced the chefs from the protection of the kitchen to become part of the experience. These new preparations are born of a creativity best shared by their originator.

I have nothing against waiters. I like waiters. I was a waiter. I believe a good waiter can make a good food experience great and a bad waiter can make an experience with great food simply good. I feel in the wrong situation a good waiter can make a chef look genius or horrible and it will have little to do with the chefs actual skill. One of my favorite blogs is the waiter rant. But I have to tell you that one of the greatest things to come out of the modern cuisine movement is the loss of the waiter. I simply love the trend in restaurants that puts the chef right there, not near a special table in the kitchen but face to face, across a bar.

The latest chef to put himself right in front of you -- cooking your food, serving it, answering your questions about it -- is Wesley Genovart. I am sure because he has cooked in Spain, serves food in multiple courses, and uses a whipped cream canister to lighten some of his sauces, people in this town will brand him part of the molecular gastronomy movement, or whatever other trite phrase they are now using to brand food that exists outside their expectations. But, although it is a small bar behind which the chefs prepare and serve all your food, Degustation has little in common with the experimentations of Mini Bar.

Degustation inhabits the space next to Jewel Bako which has made fits and starts at being its own entity. I went to this latest incarnation, last night to sample the wares. You enter through a door and around a half wall to reveal what is basically a luxury version of the railroad car diner of the 50's. A grill, a griddle, and other means to make things hot or cold all live in the center of the room with a hip height counter surrounding them. Rather than Formica and chrome, Degusatation is outtfitted in lacquered woods and, rather than fluorescent, the lighting is directional. In the center of this is the chef, a good-looking young man named Wesley, who has a voice not unlike a young Benicio del Toro,

Wife, Bear and I made three and the menu was comprised of 16 items so we decided the best way to expose ourselves to the most was to let the chef choose his three favorite dishes in four rounds of food.

Our "amuse" was croquetas as light as anything I've had made with potatoes. A flaky fried shell barely hard enough to contain its insides crunched away from a warm pillow-like potato, ham, and green olive puree.

For our first course we had:

SALAD OF ARUGULA WITH JAMÓN SERRANO AND MARCONA ALMONDS: finished with a vinaigrette and citrus sections, it was fresh with pepperiness, aggressive acidity, and saltiness playing against the richness of the ham and nuts.

FRIED BABY ARTICHOKES WITH A KUMOMOTO OYSTER IN A MUSSEL BROTH WITH CELERY LEAVES: breaded, quartered baby artichokes, crisp yet soft in a briny broth that really drew the sea flavors from the oyster, topped with a grapefruit foam.

SLOWLY POACHED EGG WITH JAMÓN SERRANO AND BREAD CRUMBS IN AN HERBAL CHICKEN BROTH: the egg (creamy all the way through the albumin and the yolk) once pierced with your spoon blended into the broth, where it became a rich soup studded with crunchy bits of bread crumb and bacon (which adding a third texture and bacon goodness into the mix).

For our second course we had:

SQUID STUFFED WITH BRAISED SHORT RIBS AND LENTILS: the squid body was stuffed with chopped, braised short rib, grilled, and set atop lentils that had small bits of blood sausage, chorizo and pork belly mixed in.

SEARED SCALLOPS WITH CITRUS: two well caramelized scallops atop a citrus and herb relish with a jalapeño puree.

ROAST BEEF SANDWICH WITH FOIE GRAS MAYO AND HERB SALAD: it feels silly going any farther with this one because I think the name about says it all, but it was thinly sliced roast rib eye, open-faced on top of a round of grilled baguette. This was topped with a salad of tarragon, chervil, mint, parsley, and dill and accompanied by the foie gras mayo.

For our third course we had:

GRILLED LAMB LOIN WITH WILD MUSHROMS AND CLOROPHYLL: slow-roasted lamb loin with a nicely browned fat cap served with grilled hen of the woods or mitake mushrooms. The chlorophyll is parsley pureed with garlic in grapeseed oil, then drained, leaving a very green tasting paste with a light garlic aroma.

SEARED FOIE GRAS WITH CARAMEL WATER AND GRAPEFRUIT: the caramel water is lightly sweet, as if the water had been affected by botrytis. The grapefruit sections were seared and were both very sweet and very acidic. The foie had been cooked sous vide prior to being seared. Wesley explained that a hard sear brings a mealy texture to liver, in his opinion, so by slowly cooking it before a quick, light sear he can add that layer of flavor without compromising texture.

COD IN SALSA VERDE WITH CLAMS: The flesh of the cod was tight without changing its basic softness. Here, a section of the fillet is served in a broth freshened with the ground herbs and garlic of the salsa verde.

For our final course we had:

SELECTION OF COMPOSED CHEESES: grilled baguette rounds, home made marcona almond butter, a French cow's milk cheese, and a Spanish goat's milk cheese.

  GRILLED STRAWBERRIES, GINGER GRANITA AND EUCALYPTUS: pared strawberries that have been dusted with sugar are bruléed with a torch and set atop a strawberry coulis. Shaved ginger granita brings a heat, and eucalyptus espuma moves the flavors into your nose with a menthol touch.

TARTE TATIN WITH GREEK YOGURT: butter and sugared phyllo crisp and caramel sauce on top of an apple that has been shredded, spiced, shaped back into an apple and roasted are served with a vanilla-scented yogurt foam. Caramel is burnt sugar and this sauce is definitely about the bitters of scorched sugar. Tempered by the yogurt, the apple, and the crisp, it all keeps from getting too sweet and brings the meal to a perfect ending.

People have brought the Spanish-born version of the modern cuisine to NY in the past and been branded molecular gastronomists, or avant garde, become a spectacle, and disappeared. Wesley seems to be integrating the better aspects of the movement, finding harmony in contrasting aspects of textures and the combination of divergent flavors, but most importantly (the part that people forget when they brand contemplative food rather than try to understand it) he is making truly pleasing dishes. There is a genius harmony in the union of the disparate flavors of chorizo and the sea, if it is well handled, and Wesley allows you experience that treat. He also plans to vary his dishes with seasonal ingredients, monthly.

The dishes are fairly priced -- in fact, three of us had 80% of the menu and the most expensive white wine on the list on the list and got out of there for well under $250 with a good tip.

This is a place with meticulously and well prepared food that is unique without being alien, the chef is never more than about 12 feet away to discuss his passions and preparations with you, and three bon vivants left very pleased at a fair price. I'd say Degustation a good and welcome addition to the NY dining landscape.

italian hot dog

In Red Bank, New Jersey, on Monmouth Street, is a place called Mr. Pizza Slice. For all of my junior year of high school, I would meet up with my chums at the end of the school day and hang out there. We would listen to the jukebox, play video games, drink soda, and eat. It was all very Happy Days -- except with Catholic school blazers instead of letterman sweaters, and I don’t remember one single guy that carried a comb in his back pocket.

Steve was the guy behind the counter and he knew us all by name. Steve made a very good slice of pizza, had a great head of black hair, and was comfortable enough with all of us to know who the trouble-makers were and to chase us out after the time our rent (paid in slices, or orders of round French fries and fountain beverages) had ended, usually around 4:30 PM. The thing Steve made, though, that sits him squarely in the middle of my memories of great food only to be had in my hometown, is the Italian Hot Dog.

Most places in America with any credibility have their hot dog and its preparation. In Monmouth County, NJ, they are Shickhouse dogs that sit on a flat griddle for an indeterminate amount of time. Once the natural casing starts to brown and crack, they are ready. These dogs are about 10 inches long, mildly yet pleasantly spiced, and are available at most of the bars around town. In my opinion, they are best when they have done a progression from the cooler part to the ready part of the griddle and have then split wide on one side. Put this on a regular old bun that has had its inside tanned on the griddle, with spicy brown mustard and copious amounts of sauerkraut, and you would have my favorite version; that is, except for Steve’s Italian Hot Dog.

At Mr. Pizza Slice, the natural casing dog starts on a flat griddle. When you order an Italian Hot Dog, it is moved to a grill where it sits over a fire for a couple of seconds (a step I am against, except in this case). Then it goes into a deep, chewy, half an Italian sub roll (not Italian bread, but the unique rolls that exist only here for the subs of this area). On top of the dog goes a little pizza sauce and sautéed peppers and onions (just like you’d find on a sweet sausage at a street fair), then some round French (we called them Spanish) fries go on top of that. Onto all of this, I like to add a little mustard (it is a hot dog after all).

Maybe it’s because I had Steve’s growing up, or maybe because it is born of an aesthetic that runs through the Jersey shore and therefore through me, but I have had things people call an Italian hot dog in other places, and none are as good as this. Every time someone says theirs is better, they face Steve’s and concede. Don’t believe me? Try it.

Corkage

Corkage is a thing my opinions are very varied on, so I have been saving writing it up. But I'm seeing a new trend in NY restaurants at the moment that I see as so absurd I feel it needs addressing. Places that do not offer wine are charging for corkage which is ridiculous and, if we are learning anything from the saga of the East Village's European Union opening, probably criminal.

In a nutshell, corkage is the fee restaurants charge to serve you your own wine. The fee is justified as covering the costs of glassware and the staff to support the service of wine and the charge is understandable, because places make money on their wine and a certain amount of any restaurant with a liquor license's business model would be a certain amount of earnings from beverage service.

The few, simple guidelines I believe apply to bringing your own wine to a restaurant, are:

1. The wine should be something the restaurant does not offer. If they sell what you want there, you should buy it from them.
2. The wine should be unique from their offerings. Don't bring Ornellia to a place that sells Sassicaia. Even though they are indeed different, they are not unique enough to justify supplying your own.
3. Your wine should be significantly better than what they are offering. Or at least as good. The chef should not be expected to make food that will go well with a wine not on par with the caliber his place offers.
4. The most that any place should charge for corkage is the cost of the cheapest bottle of wine on their list. Half of that would be fairer, since they are losing no product in the exchange.
5. It is their place and thusly their policy is to be followed, no reason to argue. If you are bringing wine to a restaurant, you should call ahead of time and find out their corkage policy, not show up with wine in a scuba bag and argue about the house's rules.

Now, being a guy without a lot of depth in his wine cellar, at this point I am not faced with wanting to have so and so cook for me while I drink my prized bottle of such and such, which is the occasion I can imagine my wanting to bring a bottle to a place for.

At this point, I mostly still consider the wine program an intricate part of a restaurant's philosophy and judge their choices in offerings, as well as pricing and service, to be telling as to where their really heart lies.

As for this new, recurring practice of places charging a corkage fee while awaiting their liquor license -- screw that and screw them. When going to a new place, call and ask if they have a liquor license. If the don't, ask if they allow you to BYOW (no longer a safe assumption). If the answer is no, and then yes, ask if they have a corkage policy. If they charge you for serving you your wine when they have not gone through the costs of putting together a wine list, paying someone to maintain it, applying for and securing the proper licenses, and insuring the place against possible liquor-inspired law suits, they don't have the right to expect profit from the sale. If things are as they should be and there is no charge for corkage, buy their most expensive bottle of water and help keep them going on the right track.

Monster's Margarita, or the only one worth drinking

During one of my many sojourns into the restaurant business, I pretended to be a bartender at a rather upscale restaurant. My immediate overseer was Monster. Monster was journeyman wine guy/bartender with roots all the way back to the Zuni Café. In my few short weeks under Monster's tutelage, I learned the glory that can be a Margarita.

To say I did not have any appreciation for a Margarita before Monster showed me the Zuni Café version would be a lie. I grew up on the Jersey shore and, as I have learned is pretty common throughout America, the easiest place to use a fake ID back in high school was the local cantina, so I was pretty much weaned on pitchers of frozen margaritas that were at least 70% sour mix.

As I mature, I tend to prefer drier drinks, and the margaritas in a fish bowl, out of a slushie machine, and other versions served at most restaurants, are predominantly comprised of sweet crap (be it Rose's lime juice, simple syrup, sour mix, or the bartender's secret touch of OJ or Grand Marnier). So, before meeting Monster I had just decided Margaritas weren't my thing.

When Monster first asked me to make a Margarita, I did so as had been done for me thousands of times, as I believed it should be. I juiced half a lime and added a shot of simple syrup, since we didn't have sour mix (we were a fancy place after all). Then I poured a healthy dose of Tequila in a shaker, with a less healthy pour of Cointreau, shook it and poured it into a chilled up-glass with a salted rim.

Monster corrected this into a recipe I now not only make for friends but very much enjoy out, especially as spring springs. Like most genius things, it is simple and it is balanced between sweet, salty, sour, and bitter. Juice half a lime (a whole one if it is a drier lime) and pour a serious amount of your favorite 100% agave tequila, (the cheap kind, good tequila is for sipping) and a splash of Cointreau into a shaker full of ice. Close the shaker and shake the heck out of it, seriously as hard as you can for as long as 30 seconds. You will know you have done it right when your fingers get lightly stuck to the metal cup. Then, either pour this over fresh ice or into a chilled up-glass rimmed with kosher salt.

You should use Cointreau for the splash, the tequila has to be 100% agave, and you absolutely positively must use freshly squeezed lime juice. Monster likes up, I like rocks, either way as the weather warms this is a great cocktail. Don't let the fact that most are mediocre keep you from loving a classic drink.