Food, for all of us, has many implications. We need it and can’t do without it. Yet, something so necessary can create illness, disease, laughter, memories and happiness – it’s as conflicting as hot and cold. We manipulate what we eat so we can become leaner, bigger, faster and stronger. There is no end to the discussion of what food can do and the stories we can tell.
Therefore, we, at i8tonite, have decided to open up “Food Musings” to writers who want to write about food. Whatever that may be from the extremes of eating, tending to a garden and maybe raising a family chicken. It’s a no-holds-barred story.
Unfortunately, we aren’t paying – yet. We are working on finding a sponsor but then, just to be clear; we started i8tonite five months ago.
Besides, I get sick of listening to my own ramblings. When we don’t have one, I will pinch hit because – personally, every time I eat something, I have a story.
Please send all submissions at a word count of 1000 – 1200, and photos you would like to use (because we all love photos) to submissions@i8tonite.com.
With every essay, we want the author of each story to supply a recipe. Something fun for the reader to make at home — easy and homecooked. It can be part of the story or something you just want to highlight. You decide.
We will promote the story for you to our readers – making you famous.
Colonial America boasts an astonishing number of great walking cities. For our forefathers –and mothers – let’s not be sexist, land travel was either horse, buggy or early American settlers’ feet. Rambling from the North End to Boston Common, Financial District to West End, visitors can walk with the ghosts while reading plaques denoting historical spots, great bars and shopping along 18th-century cobblestoned streets. And Beacon Hill, Boston’s tony neighborhood is a microcosm of all three experiences.
Before the Revolution, Beacon Hill was a livestock grazing pasture with notable residents such as John Hancock, the flourished signer of the declaration. Now the historical area is home to over 10,000 occupants enfolded in restored early American brick row homes and carriage houses styled in Federal, Greek and Revival periods. Situated on a petite one-half square mile, the densely populated area is bordered by Beacon Street, Bowdoin Street, Cambridge Street and Storrow Drive, with Charles Street as its commerce hub. Ambling throughout the vital area to America’s birth, visitors are greeted with tree-lined lanes, gaslights, brass knockers and distinctive wrought iron decorations.
Credit: Greater Boston CVB
It’s hard to believe that the area, during the mid-20th century was home to urban decay, now it’s considered to be one of Boston’s most desirable neighborhood with homes well over the million dollar mark. For visitors and residents alike, Beacon Hill is one of the most historically-laden and significant areas in the country. It’s also one of Boston’s best locations to discover great eats while getting a history refresher course on how the US began – right in time for an election year.
Breakfast: The Paramount, opened since 1937, has long been considered the place for breakfast and inexpensive dining. Families, students, and young couples gather to sip coffee, eat waffles and fortify themselves before heading starting their day. The restaurant has received many “best of” by Beantown’s local media. Don’t question, just eat. Dinner is also superb.
My suggestion: The Buttermilk Pancakes are fluffy Frisbees of American goodness. Sprinkled with powdered sugar, served with whipped butter and pure maple syrup. Warming. Comforting. Fortifying.
Price: $8 for a stack of three. Yes, that’s right. Eight dollars in an area with multi-million dollar homes. For some of us, it may be the closest we get to living in one.
Lunch: Figs by Todd English. Long before I’ve eaten Mr. English’s illustrious pizza, I’m headed to Umbria with a former wine client from Montefalco – before the blog. She’s drunk on ecstasy and champagne before we are even off JFK’s international runway. (Trust me, the relationship did not end well.) After knocking back a few to keep myself sane – sans drugs – she starts tapping and whispering in my ear, “Isn’t that the famous chef Todd England?” (That’s what she called him.) I look at her, then him and shrug. She does it again. I say with an irritated edge because she’s becoming a nightmare – all touchy-feely, “I don’t know. Why don’t you go ask him?” It turns out it is. Very nice man and on his way to Perugia to sample Italian produced foodstuffs for his restaurants. Yep, dedicated, handsome, with a lumberjack-like stature, Todd – as he suggests we call him, is very nice. She is all over him. Todd and I stayed in touch and hung out with him at Olives, one of his dining New York City outposts. Lost touch after a period of time. That was my Todd English experience. Seriously, you can’t make this stuff up.
My suggestion: Pizza. Seriously. The man goes to Italy to source product for his customers. Get the pizza. Any of them will do.
Address: 42 Charles Street, Boston, Massachusetts, 02114
Phone Number: (617) 742 – 3447.
Website: http://toddenglishfigs.com/
Credit: Courtesy of TipTap Room
Snack: The Tip Tap Room. Okay, Boston is a beer town. It’s has a lot of swilling ale lovers of all persuasions who belly up to the bar. And The Tip Tap Room has a 100 of them and counting. The food – cheffed by Brian Poe — is delicious as evidenced by its accolades from places like Stuff, Urban Daddy, Maxim and Boston Magazine. After the food service is over, it becomes a hotspot for swinging singles. If you stayed for the food, stay for a little longer – you may not need Tinder.
My suggestion: Drink a beer. Any beer. Order something to go with the beer like the Baked Brie, Boar Meatballs or Hoisin Riblets.
Price: Who cares? You’re drinking beer in a Boston bar. Cheers!
Dinner: Mooo Restaurant is a steakhouse housed under the roof of XV Beacon Hotel. Created in 2007, by Chef Jaime Mammano, who also opened the famous Mistral – the legendary restaurant which put both the chef and Boston on the culinary map. Since, Mooo serves the food for a luxury hotel you don’t really have to leave the building as the eatery serves breakfast, lunch and dinner to the patrons of the property. (But get out – get some exercise and fresh air, unless you’re on a romantic weekend.). More importantly, Mooo (great name) features a Strube Ranch Wagyu steak on the menu. With fries. Steak and fries. In Boston. With beer. Sweet dreams are made of this.
Credit: Mooo Restaurant
My suggestion: Strube Wagyu Steak Frites. Strube is one of the leading bio-ranchers in the country. Their beef is well-marbled and succulent. If you’re going to eat a steak, make it a good one.
From his childhood days helping out in the family market and churning butter on the farm near Bergamo, Italy, Chef Ruggero Gadaldi developed his love for and understanding of regional Italian foods. His passion for preparing only the most authentic Italian cuisine lead him to study at Italy’s prestigious San Pellegrino Hotel School. From there, he made his way to the US via a number of positions at five-star hotels throughout Europe, New York, and finally San Francisco, with a stop in Los Angeles to cook for Pope John Paul II.
Inside Delarosa: Credit, Aubrie Pick
In 2008, Gadaldi received the San Francisco Chronicle Visionary Chef Award. His restaurant, Antica Trattoria, was voted Best Neighborhood Italian, Bay Area Critics Choice Award, SF Chronicle, 1996 – 2008.
In a city known for great food and plenty of Italian options, Delarosa, Gadaldi’s latest venture, is the kind of place that locals favor for reliable and reasonably priced Italian food served in a casual and contemporary atmosphere. The newest location at Yerba Buena Lane has exactly the same look and feel as the Marina location: the kitchen is open, and space is light, with accents of orange.
Delarosa is only one of a number of celebrated Italian restaurants in the Bay Area to which Gadaldi has dedicated his passion for preparing authentic Italian food.
Chef’s Questionnaire with Ruggero Gadaldi
How long have you been cooking? Since I entered the “Scuola Professionale Alberghiera di Stato” for Chef in San Pellegrino, Bergamo, Italy in 1972.
What is your favorite food to cook? Regional Italian.
What do you always have in your fridge at home? Cheese, salami and pickles
What do you cook at home? My wife does the cooking at home, I’m the dishwasher. (Big smile.)
Photo By Aubrie Pick
What marked characteristic do you love in a customer? When a customer is served and they take that first bite, they pause and then a smile appears. We hope then that we have added to their day.
What marked characteristic do you find unappealing in a customer? Being disrespectful.
Tupperware, Rubbermaid, or Pyrex? Pyrex
Beer, wine or cocktail? Wine with my meal, and a Negroni at the end of my day.
Food you dislike the most? There isn’t much I dislike. I love food !!!
How many tattoos? And if so, how many are of food? Zero. I admire some but cringe when I think about the pain they had to go through to get them.
Recipe: Meatballs in Spicy Tomato Sauce (Serves 4 – 6)
Tomato Sauce
3 Tbsp Olive oil
4 Chopped garlic cloves
1 tsp Calabrese chili flake
16 oz. Tomato-basil sauce
In a saucepan, heat olive oil and add garlic and chili flakes. When garlic starts to get brown add tomato- basil sauce. Cook for 10 minutes at medium heat.
Meatballs
¾ lb. ground beef
¼ lb. ground veal
½ lb. Italian sweet sausage (out of casing)
1 cup Bread crumbs
¼ cup Milk
1 Tbsp Finely chopped garlic
2 Tbsp Finely chopped fresh Italian parsley
2 Egg whites
½ C Grated Fresh Pecorino cheese
1 Tbsp Tomato Paste
Kosher Salt and Fresh Ground Pepper to Taste
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In large mixing bowl, combine all the ingredients. Mix thoroughly, though not over handling. Before creating balls, put a little bit of olive oil on your hands in order to minimize sticking. Spoon out mixture and create meatballs that are approx 1.5-inch balls. Place on a greased sheet pan and place in preheated oven for 30 minutes.
Place meatballs in the Spicy Tomato sauce and simmer for 7 to 10 minutes.
Plate: 2 to 3 meatballs on a plate and add a spoonful of sauce on top. Top with fresh grated Parmesan cheese if desired.
At the beginning of 2015, if anyone predicted that I would be living at year’s end in Phoenix — or starting my food blog for that matter, I would have howled with laughter. Me? In Phoenix? The American Southwest? Writing? Besides, press releases and commenting on Facebook? Yet, I am listening to my fountain cascade into the plunge pool and writing this lengthy post. I open the front door daily to walk the dogs and am awestruck with a view of Pietesawa Peak, crowned by blue skies and cottony clouds. Holly, our eleven-year-old Pitbull waddles past the security guard gate and the golf green, trying to keep up with J.J., our seven-year-old French bulldog, who likes to chase after rabbits. The bunnies hop around on our neighbor’s sixteenth golf hole, the nearby Frank Lloyd Wright-designed Arizona Biltmore – a mere five-minute walk to luxury pools and spas. I look at all this splendor with gratitude. It’s also coming from a person who – 25 years ago — thought he could never leave Manhattan, then the center of my Universe.
Photo by Kevin Dooley
As I grow older, and I’m grateful I am, the center of my Universe has expanded. Eventually, the Northeastern winters drove me to Los Angeles for 16 years, with 3 years in San Francisco for good behavior. Spiritually, I never felt either city was home though. They both seemed to be stopping points. I never really wanted meant to stay as long as I did. However, where do you go after Los Angeles, New York, and San Francisco? These are our national hubs of entertainment, technology and finance. International culture is unsurpassed in these meccas. You are supposed to want to be there. Did I think Miami? Paris? Back to New York? Phoenix wasn’t even a thought.
Photo by Kevin Dooley
After much discussion, Nick took the offered Phoenix position and we came out to look for a house. Instantly, we fell in love with the desert landscape, rich culture, sheer vastness and low-cost of living. Phoenix, in my eyes, is North America’s hidden gem, but it’s hard to hide the 6th largest city in the United States. However, it feels protected. Off the beaten path, waiting to be discovered. Tourists may come and visit one of Arizona’s 300 resorts but until you become a resident, hike the trails, meet the people, work and become a Phoenician do you understand the city’s natural splendor and sophistication.
I reckon The Valley of the Sun is physically the most attractive place I’ve ever lived. Red mountains are dissected by roads and Camelback, the dromedary rock formation casts its legendary shadow over the valley. It’s peaceful sentinel-like presence feels protective, calming and inspiring.
As we enter into the remaining days of 2015, and for the coming year, I urge you to allow change to happen. Step out of your comfort zone. The things you would say no to trying…try. Explore new possibilities and never say, “Never.” I’m so glad I did.
Photo by Alan Stark
Before I begin my 2015’s five – whoops, six most memorable food experiences, I need to let you dear reader know I still talk about these eats. That’s why I choose them. Some are new, some are not. I would go back to eat them time and again. Additionally, I paid for each one of these meals. Nothing was given gratis or comped, so I have nothing to gain from telling you about them.
Let’s start:
Photo Courtesy of Carson Kitchen
Carson Kitchen, Las Vegas, Nevada: Chicken Fried Skins, served with Smoked Honey Dipping Sauce ($9). The late Chef Kerry Simon, who died early this year with complications related to Mulitple Sclerosis, was a master of New American cooking. He imbued his dishes with a sense of humor and surprise. This dish is indicative of that experience. Who is going to order only chicken skins with a side of smoked honey? Well, I did. Three orders of the crunchy, salty, deliciously deep-fried morsels with the side of lightly smoked sweetness. I would never make this at home. Let’s definitely score points for that understanding.
Courtesy of Factory Kitchen
Factory Kitchen, Downtown Los Angeles, California: Handkerchief Pasta with Almond Basil Pesto ($19). I was living in San Francisco when I ate at Farina which is where I first had Chef Angelo Auriana’s superb pasta. I was in the middle of a fight with an ex. I try not to remember him. However, the sheet-like folds of pasta expertly painted with a light basil pesto, I remember. It wasn’t until I went to Factory Kitchen did it come back hauntingly. This time, I was celebrating one of my best friends birthdays (Shelley Levitt) in Los Angeles. We ordered the Ligurian-style noodle with green sauce. One bite, I knew I had eaten it once before. It’s so good that even years later I remembered it, except with this experience, the atmosphere was much more light-hearted and loving to enjoy it.
Photo Courtesy of Tropicale
The Tropicale Restaurant & Bar, Palm Springs, California:Brown Sugar-Brined, Double Cut Kurobata Pork Chop ($28). A little over a year ago, I discovered my longtime friend Chef Scooter Kanfer had encamped to this boisterous watering hole in the resort town of Palm Springs. About 10 years ago, she was the chef/owner of a stunning little place in LA’s Larchmont area called The House. Here, she received national accolades with her inventive takes on homespun items like macaroni and cheese and my favorite milk and cookies which is milk served in a whiskey shot glass accompanied by shortbread animal cookies. Now, she is under less pressure as the Chef de Cuisine of Tropicale but her food is still the best. I choose the Kurobata Pork Chop because she recommends it to me every time I see her. The only other place I ate this type of big, flavorful battering ram was at Cindy Pawlcyn’s Napa Valley-based Mustards Grill. I wasn’t in Napa this year but this may be the best pork chop in a restaurant ever.
Courtesy of Hollywood Pies
Hollywood Pies, Los Angeles, California: The Hollywood Pie ($27). I was never a lover of deep dish Chicago style pies. I didn’t get it. And then, I ate from this blink-and-you-miss-it spot. Jesus made this pizza for me. Seriously, that’s one of the names of the pie-makers. Everything from the crust to the cheese, the pizza sauce, homemade meatballs is made in-house. Unfortunately, getting a pizza isn’t always easy. They take forever to make (up to an hour). Sometimes, they don’t even pick up the phone to order one. This deep dish thickly crusted – like a casserole – is from heaven. Chewy, hint of heat in the sauce, pull until it snaps mozzarella…..trust me, Jesus made it.
Courtesy of ICDC
ICDC, Los Angeles, California: Salt & Pepper Caramel Doughnut/ Buttermilk Brown Butter ($2.50). ICDC, which stands for ice cream, donuts, and coffee, is a dream child of Amy Knoll Fraser and Pastry Chef Maria Swan. I don’t know Maria. I would love to know Maria. I would love Maria to make me a donut every day for the rest of my life. The Salt & Pepper Caramel along with the Buttermilk Brown Butter are heavenly puffs of circled dough with a little richness (butter or caramel) and a surprise (salt & pepper and not just butter but browned butter). If you have never had a seasoned donut or a browned butter donut – it’s wrong. Just wrong. It’s like being a virgin and everyone around you talking about sex.
Courtesy of Breakfast Club
The Breakfast Club, Scottsdale, Arizona: Huevos con Masa ($9). On our first trip to Phoenix, we got hungry as people do at the beginning of the day. We had appointments to look at houses and needed to fortify ourselves. We went to dine at place at 8 am. Twenty-minute wait. We left. Found another highly recommended eatery with a wait-time of twenty-minutes. Nick and I are starving, and it’s 9 am. On the third try, we arrive at Breakfast Club. They have a wait time too. We sit at the bar to avoid the wait time. It’s packed. Maybe 9:15 am on a Wednesday morning. I order the Huevos con Masa, a creative southwestern version of eggs benedict. Instead of hollandaise sauce, a pork green chile is served with poached eggs and chipotle cornbread. Eating it, I thought it was worth waiting for the discovery. The chile, a little heavier than I normally would eat for breakfast, is rich but compliments the poached eggs runny yolks. The cornbread has just enough heat and is incredibly moist, with flecks of chipotle. The Valley of the Sun breakfast experience also prompted me to write a story on the area’s breakfasts. (Note: If you like blonde, athletic women serving your food in skin-tight, black fitness wear, this is the place for you. Do not come if you want to see a brunette or red-head. Hell, I don’t think there was a curl in the place, either. Just sayin’.)
Where do you think North America’s leading authority on coffee is located? Seattle? Portland? Boston? New York? San Francisco? If you guessed Tempe, Arizona, you could win Jeopardy. On a small street, not far from Arizona State University and the nationally known brewery Four Peaks, is Patrick O’Malley’s Espresso Italia, a roastery creating some of the country’s most sublime caffeine brews. In a warehouse full of beans and leaves, O’Malley, the leading national authority on coffee and possibly tea works, lives and breathes caffeinated beverages.
O’Malley is unique as he is the only trained individual in the United States and 43rd in the world, allowed to teach Specialty Coffee
Ground Coffee: Photo by Joanie Simon.
Association of Europe’s certification. Matter of fact, mostly Europeans train – with a smattering of Americans — at his International Barista Coffee Academy where they learn every facet of making the perfect cup and cupping. He educates students on a specially created espresso machine that he – along with five of the world’s leading coffee authorities — and Sanremo, the Italian high-end coffee manufacturer produced. O’Malley’s students are much like him, fans of the brew and owners of cafes throughout the world such as Belgium, France, Italy, Turkey, although some do come from the States to attend.
The good thing for global coffee lovers is O’Malley opened a European-like café in April called Infusion Coffee and Tea. They just have to travel to Tempe.
In i8tonite’s Food People Questionnaire O’Malley talks about his love of soup, dislike for tofu, why he loves butchers and how to create a caffeinated martini, a new tradition for the holidays – sort of like egg nog except with caffeine. Heh.
What is your favorite food to cook at home? Wow. Good one. I would have to say my potato and leek soup because that’s what brings the biggest smile to Bugs. (Devin, my daughter.)
What do you always have in your fridge at home? Butter, white wine for cooking and garlic. My go to base for sauces.
O’Malley grades coffee beans. Photo by Joanie Simon.
What marked characteristic do you love in a person with whom you are sharing a meal? Adventurous people who will gladly try anything once.
What marked characteristic do you find unappealing in a person with whom you are sharing a meal? If they won’t even try something; how do you know if you don’t try it?
Beer, wine or cocktail? Guinness, Hendriks tonic and fresh cracked pepper. Its stupid good.
Favorite types of cuisine to cook? Anything where I need to make a sauce. I love making a sauce.
Beef, chicken, pork, seafood or tofu? NO TOFU. I love meat. All meat. Even entrails sometimes. They are the best bits.
Favorite vegetable? Beets.
Chef you most admire? Locally?? No way I can answer that we have so many in this town (meaning Phoenix and the surrounding communities) that deserve to be named. I have to go with my Mom. She was a baker but could cook very well. She raised 6 of us (5 boys, 1 girl and Dad) on not a lot but we ate like kings. Her liver and onions was the best you will ever have.
Food you like the most to eat? Just about anything placed in front of me, but I am a soup guy for sure. So soup.
Food you dislike the most? Tofu.
What is your favorite non-food thing to do? Travel, because I get to try new food.
Who do you most admire in food? Butchers. I love to watch them break down an animal that people can take home and eat, it’s cool to watch a good one work.
Where is your favorite place to eat? Every one of our customers’ restaurants. I rarely dine at a place unless they are an Espresso Italia customer, our accounts are our family.
Treviso Street: Photo by Marta Z.
What is your favorite restaurant? In Treviso, every time I arrive, Carlo, the owner of Sanremo espresso machine factory takes me directly to L’incontro. They have an appetizer bar that opens like a clam’s shell, once open its full of some of the best seafood and pure goodness ever.
Do you have any tattoos? And if so, how many are of food? Nope not one, I don’t follow trends. It’s just not who I am. I have never had a desire to have one, and if I did I don’t think tripe or liver would look good on my arm. LOL.
Patrick O’Malley’s Espresso Martini
Martini: Photo by Edsel Little
Espresso made with Infusion Push blend (blueberry, lime and chocolate profile) or if you can’t find it any espresso will do.
Vanilla Vodka 1oz
Chambord .25oz (or any good quality raspberry liquor)
Shake over ice. Strain into a chilled martini glass. Look out! It’s yummy.
McMinnville, Oregon is a town so wholesomely picturesque it borders on being a Stephen King settlement – meaning it’s so perfect a spot, something strange is bound to happen. A scant 45 minutes outside of Portland, it’s a charm-filled street scene with a couple of stoplights, red brick Victorian buildings, one post office, a few piercing and tattoo shops – it wouldn’t be Oregon without them — and the small town newspaper, right along their main drag, Third Street.
In 2014, Parade Magazine readers and editors named it Best Main Street, West of the Mississippi, an honorable distinction, second only to a Tennessee town (figures). During the summer, the leafy trees shade the sidewalks where couples stroll hand-in-hand while their little tykes pull their Fisher-Price telephones. In the colder months, people are doing the same thing, except in coats. The area wasn’t always a thriving economy, but it got assistance in the eighties by the burgeoning wine industry. With its red soil called jory, the Yamhill County area, where McMinnville’s located, is now the center of Oregon’s Pinot Noir country. It’s also one of my favorite eating destinations – in the world.
I’ve had meals in far-flung places that rocked my palate, but the element of surprise in a location, an ingredient or chef is what gets me. McMinnville, in my humble opinion, is one of the great small eating destinations in the country, and it was revelatory. I was smitten by the town’s quaintness but blown away by the sophisticated food. Every diner, restaurant, and café, there wasn’t a bad one in the bunch.
Breakfast: Crescent Café. Opened in 2007, this family owned and operated eatery offers locally sourced food and ingredients. Open only for breakfast, lunch and brunch, over a cup of strong coffee customers can talk forever to the staff about where the food is sourced. (Yes, it’s very Portlandia.) Best of all the bread is freshly made in-house including the English muffins. That alone is worth going the trip. Actually, if your in McMinnville, having breakfast here is a must – sort of like going to the Grand Canyon.
My suggestion: Scrambles. They change daily. Light and fluffy eggs with a variety of choices of the day such as a Fontina Cheese, Bacon, and Sundried Tomato
Lunch: Community Plate. The menu was created by Chef Eric Bechard, from the nationally acclaimed restaurant and winner of Oregon’s “Best Restaurant” in 2011, Thistle. The owners, husband and wife team Scott and Courtney Cunningham, seized the opportunity to craft a humble American neighborhood place sprinkled with scrumptious sandwiches, house-made pastries and a social atmosphere. At this little spot, the food is completely made on-site – from nut butters, to bread, to pickles. It’s also not an arm and a leg.
My suggestion: Grilled Cheeses. Oregon cheesemakers highlight this grownup white cheddar, chévre and Swiss sandwich with sautéed apples, a little fresh thyme on house-made bread. Simply one of the most delicious concoctions between two slices. One oozy bite and the eater receives a jumble of sweet, herbaceous and savory tastes.
Snack Time: McMenamin’s Pub. Located in a historic, Victorian hotel, this Oregon-based, family run brewhouse, pub, restaurant, coffee roaster and winery crafts delicious beers. The carved wood-filled space has a Pacific Northwest camaraderie where you hunker down at the bar, order up a cold one or a coffee and make friends in a minute. There are several McMenamin’s throughout Oregon and Washington, but they’re located in a significant, historical building, which keep the integrity of the community.
My suggestion: Get a beer. They many including IPAs, stouts and seasonal ales, all made in consideration of the environment.
Dinner: Thistle might be an obvious choice, but I have to give it Nick’s Italian Café. In 2014, The James Beard Foundation honored this 40-year old restaurant with an “American Classic” award. When it first opened in 1977, McMinnville was a small farming town – now it’s a hub of the most sought after American pinot noirs. This casual restaurant with the pool table in the back has been producing some of the Pacific Northwest’s finest Northern Italian food. The audience has broadened incorporating more travelers, but Nick’s Italian Café is still a neighborhood place since the creation of Oregon Wine Country. For me, Nick’s was an epiphany of the idea of small-town restaurants. I remember entering the compact restaurant with an antique stove centered against the wall. The waiter mentioning we could wait in the “Back Room” for the table, watch a game of billiards. I thought this was not going to good. It turned out to be one of the most deliciously, memorable meals I’ve ever had.
Dungeness Crab Lasagna: Photo, Nick’s Italian Cafe
Oregon Dungeness Crab Lasagna with Local Pine Nuts. I know you are not to mix seafood with cheese but – goodness gracious…this is the reason why you should.
Price: $16
Hours: Opened Monday – Sunday: Lunch, 11 am – 3 pm; Dinner, 5 pm – 11 pm.
As I do every year, I picked my mother up for Thanksgiving from her San Bernardino home. She will stay with us for a couple of days but instead of Los Angeles, the drive is from Phoenix, a round-trip excursion through the Sonoran desert. We will laugh, and I will tease her about her hearing as she’s asked me the same question three times, which I’ve answered three times.
I will finally state: “I think we need to get batteries for your hearing aids.”
She’ll roll her eyes in amusement and swat at me, laughing in annoyance, “Brian! You know I don’t wear hearing aids.”
I respond, “Exactly.”
She’s aging and frankly, so am I; these car journeys won’t be happening forever. My mother gave me a love of road trips. We took them often from Duarte, California, where I was born to wherever she wanted to go. Disneyland. Pasadena. San Diego. Santa Monica. The best voyage was when my parents divorced. She wanted her maternal family closer – they lived in South Carolina — and her best friend lived in Baltimore. The ink was barely dry on the papers, and she packed up the red Pontiac Firebird with the vinyl top. It was game on, a car trip through the southern half of the United States – East Coast bound.
She drove that car – a single woman and a kid — through Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas (two days), all the way to South Carolina in the early seventies. The AM radio was blaring Helen Reddy, Tony Orlando and Dawn, Vicki Lawrence, and The Carpenters. Wolfman Jack’s raspy baritone kept the truckers company and single family station wagons happy on long stretches of nothing. I recall a preacher man who drove his van around the dusty highways, solely to assist stranded drivers with broken cars. After fixing our ruined timing belt, his payment was joining him in prayer. My mother’s not a religious woman, but she believes in God. She was incredibly grateful for his help, so we held hands on the side of the two-lane desert highway and prayed.
This time, as we crossed the Colorado River, the border between California and Arizona, I was driving. She was the passenger, and the music was coming from an iTouch playing singalong Cher, Dusty Springfield, America and maybe Florence and The Machine. I threw in Elvis for my mom. The road has expanded from one car in each direction to a six-lane thoroughfare, at times almost eight – half going east, the others going west. I’ve rented a car, so I don’t have to worry about breaking down. I will call the rental company and be on the road in no-time.
Yes, it will be a good holiday.
Baked Sweet Potatoes (No recipe) (“It’s not Thanksgiving without them,” my mother’s declares)
Find the largest sweet potatoes you can grab. Wash and then dry thoroughly. Determine where the top of the tuber is and poke a line along the length of the skin. Then do the same with the center width (You should have a cross.) Rub with vegetable oil, wrapping in aluminum foil. Bake for about an hour or until done. Serve with crème fraiche (my favorite) or butter (my mother’s favorite). Throw some chives and serve.
On my fourth or fifth visit to Las Vegas, I wanted something different. I’ve danced at nightclubs, eaten the fancy meals with celebrity chefs, played slots and viewed the shows. On different occasions, I saw Bette Midler and Cher on both of their final farewell concerts before they came back with “I’m still here” tours. There are the repetitive Cirque de Soliel extravaganzas which are fun the first time around but by the third show, it’s schtick.
This time, I wanted food indicative of living in Las Vegas: What do the locals eat and where? I wanted to go beyond the Wynns and Arias, the Stratospheres and the MGMs. Nick and I were in agreement, walking through another smoke-filled casino to locate decent food should not be trying to get through a gauntlet.
Courtesy of Mob Museum.
Luckily, great food exists in Sin City – without the gambling — but it is in downtown Las Vegas. The rents are still cheap in the historic area. Restauranteurs have always been mavericks when it comes to selecting destinations for their outposts – fringe and marginal are words that come to mind. Moreover, downtown Las Vegas is no exception to that theory. Bright with a billion lights. Rowdy but there’s an honesty as the drunkards had all the intentions of getting drunk. No pretending it was post-theater. It is Las Vegas for the hipster set. Ignore – if possible – the Fremont Experience, which isn’t as fascinating as it sounds and Robert Urich has sadly long left the area. If you must, go ahead and at least do a one-time plunge down the Slotzilla Zipline. Once you’ve had the familiarity and said, “Okay, now I’ve done that”, head to the thought-provoking spaces such as Container Park, the Mob Museum and Emergency Arts building where artists, writers and other creative denizens showcase their wares.
Downtown Las Vegas Eats:
Courtesy of eat.
Breakfast:eat. Designed by Chef Natalie Young as a showcase for her creative breakfasts and lunch dishes in the Las Vegas’ downtown dining scene, eat features American comfort classics prepared with the chef’s culinary-trained twist, using the freshest and locally-sourced, organic ingredients.
My suggestion: Shrimp and Grits with Two Poached Eggs, Pico de Gallo. It’s Vegas. Have shrimp for breakfast and Chef Natalie’s cooking will make you see the night-time twinkling stars.
Price: $14.00
Hours: Monday – Friday, 8 am – 3 pm. Weekends, 8 am – 2 pm.
Address: 707 Carson Street (at 7th), LV, NV, 89101
Lunch: Carson Kitchen. The late celebrity chef Kerry Simon’s restaurant is an anomaly in the pantheon of Las Vegas eating establishments. First, it’s splendid and should be considered one of the city’s finest places to eat except the drinks don’t come in tumblers, there isn’t a slot machine, and I don’t remember seeing anyone smoking inside. It’s pure American comfort food with twists. Bacon Jam with Brie? Yep. Deviled Eggs with Pancetta and Caviar? Yep. Sophistication meets trailer-trash. Thank god they pulled the underwear from the clotheslines.…although, at Carson Kitchen, I probably would envision La Perla flapping in the desert wind.
My suggestion: Crispy Fried Chicken Skins with Smoked Honey. This is revelatory. I will come back for this time and time again in Las Vegas. Who knew it was just the skin you needed to eat and not the chicken?
Price: $6.00
Hours: Sunday – Wednesday, 11:30 am – 10 pm, Thursday – Saturday, 11:30 am – 11 pm
Address: 124 South Sixth Street, Suite 100, LV, NV, 89101
Snack Time: ChillSpot by SassaPops. Located in Container Park. The owner and creator of Zappos.com did something brilliant for the community and families of Las Vegas. He created an outdoor shopping mall and play area with interesting food – from high-end eating to handmade sweets. The park and mall are built entirely of shipping containers, and it includes a playground, a stage for music, and a screen for outdoor movies, plus food, glorious food. Chillspot’s conception is an outlet for the brother and sister team of SassaPops. Essentially, Sassapops or SassaSnow are freshly-made frozen desserts – ice cream, snowcones – without the use of additives. They make scrumptious chocolate brownies and cookies as well.
My suggestion: International Snow. Asian iced treats such as Filipino Halo-Halo or Korean Patbingsu. Sweet, fun, and culinary.
Price: $7
Hours: Monday – Thursday, 11 am – 9 pm; Friday – Saturday, 11 am – 10 pm, Sunday, 10 am – 8 pm.
Dinner: Andiamo’s Italian Steakhouse in the D Hotel. Reminiscent of an old-school Las Vegas, when the Italian mobsters ran the town. The leather banquettes, smoky mirrors, and brick might have something to do with it, but the place is fairly new. I expected to see The Rat Pack – led by Frank Sinatra – walking through the joint with a martini in one hand, a showgirl in the other and a cigarette dangling from Dean Martin’s lips. Thankfully, guns are outlawed but singing is not.
My suggestion: The enormous Andiamo Grande Meatball. Meat. Tomato sauce. Ricotta cheese. The size of a basketball.
This is a re-post of some of my favorite haunts Manhattan’s West Village. I’ve been traveling again….and it always messes with my postings.
The West Village conjures up Carrie Bradshaw-types and her many boyfriends tripping the light fantastic in the early morning, afternoon and night. It’s now a neighborhood peppered with forever young adults feigning an old-school worldliness…. and it was my playground for many years. At one time, I was one of those young adults so I know what I’m talking about. The West Village is timeless with it’s cobbled neighborhood streets and hustle and bustle of it’s residents. It’s on this colonial streets where I learned how to shop for food, drink gallons of vodka and eat well with my friend, Penny, sometimes Sharon, Annie and Tanya but mostly, Penny. With Penny – whom I claim as my culinary mentor — we would stop at Murray’s Cheese Shop to purchase a crunchy French baguette and an excellent stinky fromage. Then, we would traipse half a block to the Korean market, interestingly enough named Bleecker Farm Corp which carries some of the best priced produce. Once we filled our woven Parisian handwoven bags – because shopping without them is so… mundane — we would just jaunt up to Ottomanelli & Sons for a decent, inexpensive cut of something and then cook it. In between our mock-European “marketing”, we would stop at a bar for an alcoholic refreshment (or three) …something to give us a jolt before we started being all culinary and stuff in Penny’s miniscule “3 x 5” kitchen. God, I love New York.
Breakfast: Hudson Diner. There are so many fancy, schmancy places to get your eggs in the area. Steamed. Boiled. Chopped. Shirred. But there is nothing like a New York diner. Nothing. They always manage to please no matter what you order. It wasn’t the best food, meaning that every salad was made with iceberg but it was good food. Plentiful and cheap. Now, it’s not so cheap…but cheaper than the others. You can still find one of the old New York diners and pretend it’s 1986.
My suggestion: An omelet with hash browns. It’s like a New Yorker, it never goes out of style. Order any kind you want as long as it comes with the hash browns. There’s nothing like a pulpy bite with crisped almost burned edges. Heavily salted. (Potassium for the hangover.) Get rye toast. Or pumpernickel. They never offer you pumpernickel outside of New York City. Go ahead, eat the carbs.
Lunch: Da Silvano. For about eight or nine months out of the year, New York is the Emerald City. Beautiful fashion, amazing people watching and for the most part — lovely weather. When the weather is perfect in the Big Apple, it’s glorious which is why I love having lunch at Da Silvano, eating outside with freshly prepared Tuscan food. I can’t believe it still exists in the same place – corner of Bleecker and 6th Avenue — for the past forty years. While deciding on what to eat from the housemade pasta or antipasti, take a sip of a refreshing Negroni or a glass of Gavi di Gavi and gaze at the passersby. There is nothing more entertaining than watching people – in real time — while eating some of the best Italian food in the West Village. Who needs Broadway and the cinema when you have the spectacle of New York?
My suggestion: Any of the antipasti for lunch are brilliant and fresh. My favorite is the beef carpaccio. This was the first place I ever ate it.
Price: $14.50. Negronis are a separate price.
Hours: Sun – Thursday: Noon – Midnight; Friday and Saturday: Noon – 1:00am
Address: 260 6th Avenue, NYC, NY,
Phone Number: (212) 982 – 2343
Website: www.dasilvanos.com
Snack Time: White Horse Tavern. If there was ever a quintessential watering hole of the West Village this would be it. Serving up drinks since the 1880s, it’s a tavern with a literary bent – Dylan Thomas, James Baldwin and Jack Kerouac – all bellied-up to the bar. It’s probably in every New York City guidebook as it has a sense of history which most bars in the area don’t have anymore. This corner establishment with its neon sign beckoned so many famous and non-famous New Yorkers through its doors – for the casual nip or the full-on-let’s-drink-until-we-puke – it’s a slice of Manhattan history that hasn’t been replaced….yet. It’s not a dive – just worn around the edges with love and history. (Note: There is a well-known Alcoholics Anonymous building down the street at 50 Perry Street, just in case you have too many of the puke-till-you-drop episodes. Just sayin’.)
My suggestion: Anything you want with a slice of literary.
Address: 567 Hudson Street (between Perry and 11th Streets), NYC, NY
Phone Number: (212) 989-3856
Website: No website.
Dinner: Cornelia Street Café. In the 80s, the trend was not quiet little restaurants but big oversized – well, everything. Nightclubs, restaurants and, of course, that silly velvet rope. But down in the West Village, on a small little colonial street with a carmine-colored front lies Cornelia Street Café, a picturesque neighborhood establishment that has outlasted all the big guns and has only become better with age. In the beginning, there was a toaster, microwave and a coffee machine now – almost four decades later — it has expanded with two kitchens plus a cabaret. Owned by three artists who are still the proprietors, the café has become a landmark. It has the bistro chairs and tables, brick-walls, redolent of New York past and lovely food prepared by Chef Dan Latham. An absolute must. Small aside – I had my last date with a woman at Cornelia Street Café. She was a dancer with the Joffrey and was absolutely stunning. Olive-skinned. Beautiful body and face with Andie MacDowell hair. I knew I was gay when I only wanted to talk about her hair and clothes.
My suggestion: Black Sesame Crusted Salmon
Price: $22.00. (Seriously, where are you going to get a delicious piece of fish at this price in Manhattan?)
St. Helena is a petite and idyllic winemaking town in the heart of Napa Valley. Out of all the towns in the county of Napa, this is my undoubtedly my favorite. During the spring, the grape vines are incredibly bright green with mustard flowers popping up between rows. In the summer, that bright sun showcases the verdant green of the valley. And then in the fall, watching leaves and trees turn shades of orange is magnificent. The town is essentially one street from Yountville to Calistoga and passes through St. Helena. It has exemplary shopping, a great place to stroll, extraordinary wine drinking and some of the best eating in the world…in a town of only 5,000. What more could you ask for in a shire?
Breakfast: The Grill at Meadowood Napa Valley. Napa can be an expensive place to eat but you can enjoy some of the tonier aspects of it without breaking the bank. Instead of going to the three Michelin-starred The Restaurant at Meadowood, head to their smaller and extraordinarily good The Grill. At breakfast sit outside overlooking the verdant 8-hole golf course. Excellent place for business breakfasts or quiet repasts.
My suggestion: Corned Beef Hash. Simply a divine morning dish of protein and carbs before you head out for your morning wine tasting. Roughly chopped corn beef with delicious cubed bites of Yukon Gold potatoes and onions cooked together. This is a dish for dinner as well…if only it was served at that time. Eat it with poached eggs letting the runny yolks coat the succulent pieces of beef. One of the most perfect dishes to eat before sweating out the delicious Cabernets from the night before and replenishing with new ones.
Lunch: Gott’s Roadside. Long before the Shake Shacks, Umami Burgers and The Counter there was this charming roadside stand that served up delicious burgers, fries and other edibles in the heat of the Napa sun plus they served wines by the glass. It was a great place just to grab a bite after walking up and down Highway 29 tasting wines. Of course, Gott’s also has craft beers too. That’s what made it so fun and inventive at was dining al fresco with a glass of wine and a burger! There are two other joints in the Bay Area – including the San Francisco’s Ferry Building — but this is the one that started it all….and my favorite location.
My suggestion: Patty Melt. Yeah, I know. I’m a guy. I like my burger slapped between gooey Swiss cheese, oozing out sautéed onions, a zesty mustard and buttery rye toast. And for my wine choice…Jelly Jar rosé. Or any rosé. Light, fruity and pairs well with burgers and sautéed onions. Hell, anything pairs well with burgers and sautéed onions. Anything pairs well with rosé. It’s a winner.
Snack Time: Woodhouse Chocolates. The quintessential small town candy shop as only Napa Valley can do it. Stunningly handcrafted chocolates in unusual molds. Tracy Anderson, along with her husband, John, collects chocolate molds from around the world. At various times, visitors to the candy shop can view, in their specially refrigerated window, whole chess sets, shoes and Santa’s workshop…created in chocolate. It’s pretty awesome.
My suggestion: Buy chocolates per piece. You can pick and choose. Lovely varieties of ganache without being cloyingly sweet. Remember it’s a snack…you could buy a whole box but you don’t want to ruin your dinner. Or you could ruin your dinner….
Dinner: Cindy Pawlcyn’s Backstreet Kitchen & Bar. One of the reasons I love this place so much — along with Cooks St. Helena (not mentioned), Meadowood, Gotts, Woodhouse — is that it’s steeped in the history of Napa Valley winemaking. After all, not one of these establishments would be here if it weren’t for the area making great wines. Chef Cindy Pawlcyn was at the forefront of food and wine pairing in American Wine country. Beginning with Mustards Grill (Yountville), Pawlcyn’s second restaurant was Backstreet. Like its predecessor, it’s about good cooking with large portions and unpretentiousness. St. Helena has a lot of preciousness in its air, most likely because the earth was good to these grape-growers making them wealthy farmers, but the food, at Cindy’s Backstreet never became too rarefied – no foie gras or pates — it’s hearty deliciousness in a homey atmosphere where you savor your food and sip exquisite wines….while in your jeans.
My suggestion: This is a tough one but I will go with the Wild Mushroom Pie. It’s a unique dish using the best of area agriculture. It’s not light…but it’s pretty stellar.
Price: $22.95
Hours: 11:30am – 9:30pm
Address: 1327 Railroad Avenue, St. Helena, CA 94574
In Memory of Carrol Gettko: You truly were one of my great friends. I know you always wanted to live in Napa and watch the grapes grow even though you didn’t drink. I miss you a lot. Here’s to having a great spaghetti dinner again one day.
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Your favorite cookbook author? 
As I do every year, I picked my mother up for Thanksgiving from her San Bernardino home. She will stay with us for a couple of days but instead of Los Angeles, the drive is from Phoenix, a round-trip excursion through the Sonoran desert. We will laugh, and I will tease her about her hearing as she’s asked me the same question three times, which I’ve answered three times.
She drove that car – a single woman and a kid — through Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas (two days), all the way to South Carolina in the early seventies. The AM radio was blaring Helen Reddy, Tony Orlando and Dawn, Vicki Lawrence, and The Carpenters. Wolfman Jack’s raspy baritone kept the truckers company and single family station wagons happy on long stretches of nothing. I recall a preacher man who drove his van around the dusty highways, solely to assist stranded drivers with broken cars. After fixing our ruined timing belt, his payment was joining him in prayer. My mother’s not a religious woman, but she believes in God. She was incredibly grateful for his help, so we held hands on the side of the two-lane desert highway and prayed.
