Carpaccio and Pizza at Giorgione…A Little Bliss is a Good Thing 02.06.2012

I don’t know about you, but eating a good meal in a good New York City restaurant ranks pretty high on my happiness scale.  Throw in a good friend and all is right with the world.

A few weeks ago, I headed up to Manhattan for a meeting and afterward met up with my friend Robin for lunch at Giorgione, an Italian restaurant in SoHo-ish.  We had a 1:1 5 p.m. reservation; I arrived around 12:45 p.m. and the restaurant was devoid of diners.  I was slightly concerned but 30 minutes later the place was packed.

While I waited for Robin, I sat sipping a glass of 2009 Argiano Non Confunditur Super Tuscan, basking in the light, airy space, and classical music playing at a perfect low volume.  The Argiano was number 46 on Wine Spectator's Top 100 last year, and goes for a little less than $17 a bottle, which is about what I paid for one glass.  It’s been a while since I’ve appreciated a Super Tuscan, and I’ve decided that I’m not going to let that happen again.  What a fantastic, full-bodied red. 

There are wines that are okay, or fine, or even good, but when you taste something such as the Argiano NC…well, I’m not going to speak for you, but I do find myself pondering all the elements that must be in harmony to make a wine spectacular:  the weather, the ground, the health of the grapes as they grow, how the wine rests in the barrel…there’s a lot going on.  We’re all thinking it so I’m going to say it:  it’s magic.

Robin arrived and we were seated in a small corner of a large banquet against a wall stacked with shelves of wine bottles.  Robin is an amazing portrait photographer I’ve mentioned in previous posts, and if you have not read her blog, you must.  I would like her to photograph Alec Baldwin so I can randomly stop by to borrow a cup of sugar.  Or milk.  We’re always out of milk.

I started my meal with beef carpaccio, followed by the Capricciosa pizza (ham, mushrooms, fresh artichoke hearts, tomatoes, and mozzarella).  Delicious.  The carpaccio was sliced extremely thin (as it should be), with a small pile of celery and shaved parmigiano.  The pizza also was thin, light on the cheese, heavy on the toppings.  I am always on the hunt for a tremendous pizza, and I would come back to Giorgione.  (Incidently, the best pizza I’ve eaten on my hunt is at Motorino.)

The acoustics at Giorgione are an issue, as the majority of the surfaces are hard (aluminum tables) and angular.  It’s aesthetically pleasing, but not so great for conversation.  My next time dining at Giorgione will either be early, or when the lunch crowd is petering out.  I hear the acoustics at dinner are worse.

The service at Giorgione is excellent; everyone was especially helpful, friendly, and knowledgeable.  I would make my way back there, and I think you should, too.

By the way, Four Courses is now on Twitter, tweeting away about food, wine, and sometimes Alec Bladwin, which is pretty logical…right? Check it out HERE.

Happy eating!  

What Happened to My Pizza? 12.31.2010

For the past 15 years, I’ve known one consistent pizza fact:  the Atomica pizza at Pizzeria Paradiso was the bomb.  It was.  It was meaty and salty and fiery with red pepper flakes.  A crust thick, soft, and crispy at once, and the tomatoes and salami and black olives crafted and baked to look like art.  Whenever I was with child, I would go there, find a corner seat so no one would see a pregnant woman devouring a large Atomica with extra red pepper flakes all by herself.  The babies demanded it – that’s how good the Atomica tastes.

The family and I went to Pizzeria Paridiso in Dupont Circle earlier this week for lunch and I was horrified to be presented with a pizza that lacked any element of what makes the Atomica a great pizza.  The crust was flat in flavor and texture – almost as if someone forgot the yeast or used the wrong flour.  The tomatoes, cheese, and other ingredients had smaller real estate on the dough – a clear sign of betrayal.    But to add insult to injury, there was less cheese and salami than usual.  It simply did not taste like the Atomica.

Eric is not a Pizzeria Paradiso fan, but indulges me from time to time.  He agreed the pizza was subpar.  Had I been alone I would have lingered and talked to the manager, but the two small children dining with us were about to lose it.  Super Boy was throwing food at people throughout the meal, which should have tipped me off.  He may be one-and-a-half, but he’s pretty brilliant.

For years I’ve tolerated the bad service at Pizzeria Paradiso because of the Atomica.  Before I end the relationship, however, I’m going to give it one more chance.  I plan to dine there in the next few weeks and will report back.  Because we all have bad days, right? I have them all the time.  I just don’t promise anyone consistent cheesy-meaty-pizza goodness.

The one bright spot to this week’s visit there was the wine.  I had a glass of the house white, which is the 2008 Monferrato Bianco.  Lovely.  It was neutral -- hence it being a house wine -- but if it had to lean anywhere, it was in the direction of a chardonnay.  At the restaurant, it sells for $6 a glass, and $20 for a bottle.  I’ve put it on the list of things to stock up on if I learn the world is coming to an end.

A Tale of a Terrible Tiramisu

Okay, so this is the final blast from the past piece. In 1998, after a little urging, I wrote a piece about my first experience making tiramisu, that sensuous Italian dessert. The experience was interesting, to say the least. I also was urged to submit the piece to the Washington Post Food section (which appears each Wednesday), which I did, and it was published. So, here it is.

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 A Tale of a Terrible Tiramisu


[FINAL Edition]


The Washington Post - Washington, D.C.


You've told everyone about the tiramisu you had the other night, drooling on and on about its airy, creamy-cake texture and its hint of brandy so delicately intertwined with espresso that you swear you had died and gone to heaven.


When I made tiramisu for the first time, it wasn't exactly something to live for, let alone die for.


It was 1993, my first year out of college. Up until then, I had avoided any type of cooking. But Sara, a friend and now former colleague, loved all things Italian, most especially tiramisu. For Christmas that year, Sara gave me an Italian cookbook with an extensive tiramisu recipe.


I lived with my parents in Germantown, Md., at the time, and one evening while they were out, I decided to make this heaven in a loaf pan.


It took me almost two hours and visits to four grocery stores to gather all the ingredients--God forbid anyone in the suburbs should want to use mascarpone cheese.


In my mother's spacious kitchen, I carefully created the coffee mixture with espresso, sugar and brandy. I whisked the eggs with just the right wrist movement. I then lined the bottom of a loaf pan with ladyfingers dipped in the coffee mixture. I had trouble getting the ladyfingers to lay just right to form an even bed, but persisted. After all, Rome wasn't built in a day.


"The ladyfingers should be soaked with the coffee and will expand a little," the recipe said. I saw this happening. "Continue with more ladyfingers, lining the bottom of the pan lengthwise with them. You can trim them if they don't fit exactly," it went on. I did have trouble laying them out evenly--ladyfingers just aren't created in a single size.


In fact, I began thinking it was odd to use ladyfingers in a dessert. In India, where I was born, we use ladyfingers for main courses and side dishes. But for desserts? It's just not done. But really, I thought, who am I to question the Italians?


Once the pan was filled with alternating layers of ladyfingers, mascarpone cheese and shaved chocolate, I wrapped the loaf pan with wax paper and put it in the refrigerator for six hours.


The next morning, I flipped over the loaf pan, as instructed. A blob of tiramisu settled onto the serving dish quite easily. I began to lose hope: This was the most unattrac-tive dessert I had ever seen.


I finished the loaf with an icing made of whipping cream, vanilla and confectioners' sugar, and dusted it with cocoa powder and additional shaved chocolate. I carried the serving dish with tiramisu to my parents and suggested they try it.


My father lifted his eyes from behind his glasses with a look of disbelief. "I'm not going to eat that," he said. I proceeded to lecture him about life and how one should always try new things. "It's Italian," I coaxed. "It's exotic," I pleaded. He didn't bite. "No," he said, going back to his newspaper. "It looks disgusting."


My mother, who embodies the encouragement of the world, looked at me with all the unconditional love she could muster. "Maybe later?" she said. "Fine," I huffed. I turned around and went back to the kitchen. I placed the tiramisu on the counter top and stared at it. It looked awful.


The next day at work, I began questioning people about tiramisu. "Have you ever eaten tiramisu?" I asked two colleagues in the break room. "Yes," gushed Linda."Incredible," drooled Mark.


I explained to them that I had made tiramisu over the weekend and it wasn't really edible to me or my family.


Neither could understand why. Linda went on to explain, "You know, sometimes I make tiramisu with real sponge cake."


"Sponge cake!" I blurted out. "That makes a lot more sense. Have you ever made it with whole okra?"


Linda and Mark looked at each other.


"Whole okra?" Linda asked.


"Yes. You know, ladyfingers--whole okra?"


Linda turned her head to me, looking confused. "What are you talking about?" she asked.


"Ladyfingers are whole okra," I said, obviously.


Linda turned to Mark again and turned back to me.


"No," Linda said, trying slowly to speak through her laughter. "Ladyfingers are sponge-cake cookies."


Word quickly spread through the office that I had made a dessert with whole okra.


"Didn't you think, 'Why on Earth is a vegetable being used in a dessert?' " Sara asked, breathless from laughing.


"No," I said defiantly. "The recipe called for ladyfingers and I used ladyfingers."


The pain, the anguish and the utter embarrassment. But how was I to know? Distraught, I spent that evening calling my Indian friends to confirm that, in fact, whole okra is commonly known in India as ladyfingers.


Even my grandmother, who doesn't know a word of English, knows what ladyfingers are. When I stayed with her in India several years ago, she would tell me in Hindi to buy a half-kilo of ladyfingers when the vegetable cart rolled around in the early afternoon.


Needless to say, I have not since then made anything without tasting it or seeing a picture of it first. This has not, however, stopped those who know about The Incident from asking me anytime I cook something: "Is there okra in it?"


Tiramisu (6 servings)


Here's the recipe I used to make my ill-fated tiramisu. Just remember to use the right ladyfingers. The recipe is from "The Frugal Gourmet Cooks Italian" by Jeff Smith (Morrow, 1993).


For the filling:


1 1/2 cups espresso or triple-strength regular coffee at room temperature
1/2 cup sugar

1/4 cup brandy

2 egg yolks+

1 pound mascarpone cheese

8-ounce package ladyfingers

4 ounces semisweet chocolate, shaved (use a box grater)


For the icing:


1 cup fresh whipping (heavy) cream
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
2 tablespoons confectioners' sugar

For the garnish:


Cocoa powder for dusting
Shaved chocolate


Stir the espresso, sugar and brandy together in a bowl until the sugar dissolves. Put 1/3 cup of the mixture in another bowl and set the remainder aside. Whisk the egg yolks into the 1/3 cup of coffee. Add the mascarpone and whisk together just until smooth. Do not overmix or it may begin to separate.


Line the inside of a 9 1/2-by-5 1/2- inch loaf pan with a large sheet of wax paper. Tuck the paper into the corners, being careful not to tear it. If you have another identical loaf pan, carefully press it inside the lined pan so that the wax paper will be forced into the shape of the pan.


Dip 7 ladyfingers one at a time into the reserved coffee mixture and begin to place them crosswise in the lined pan. The ladyfingers should be soaked with the coffee and will expand a little. This will only take a few seconds; be sure not to soak them so long that they fall apart. Continue with more ladyfingers, lining the bottom of the pan lengthwise with them. You can trim them if they don't fit exactly. Spread on half of the cheese mixture. Sprinkle with 2 ounces of the shaved chocolate.


Layer again in the same manner with 7 more ladyfingers, the remaining cheese mixture and the remaining chocolate. Top the loaf pan with the remaining soaked ladyfingers. Fold the wax paper up around the top of the pan, cover the pan tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 6 hours.


Invert the chilled loaf pan onto a serving platter and tap the bottom of the pan to remove the loaf. Remove the wax paper.


Whip the cream, vanilla and confectioners' sugar in a bowl until stiff. Spread the whipped cream all over the inverted cake. (Or use a pastry bag to decorate it with whipped cream.) Place the cocoa in a fine strainer and dust the top of the cake. Sprinkle with additional shaved chocolate. Slice and serve.


+ NOTE: Uncooked eggs may be contaminated with salmonella and should be avoided by young children, the elderly and anyone with immune system deficiencies.


Per serving: 789 calories, 13 gm protein, 65 gm carbohydrates, 52 gm fat, 346 mg cholesterol, 28 gm saturated fat, 320 mg sodium

Credit: Special to The Washington Post


Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction or distribution is prohibited without permission.

Famoso

Several years ago, I thought about starting a food blog for the same reasons I just started one. I wrote a few pieces, one of which is below. This piece was based on a visit to Famoso in October 2006. I've been back a few times and can't say that it's gotten better. I prefer the cafe downstairs called M Cafe -- to be discussed in a separate post.

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If you were wondering where the older, nouveau riche types were going to dine in hip, modern surroundings north of the District line, wonder no more! Famoso will serve the purpose quite well. It is not yet open for lunch but when it is, I suspect that the ladies-who-lunch will find their luncheon needs met here in between shopping jaunts at Saks and Neiman’s and every store in between.

Famoso sits atop the MaxMara store in Chevy Chase. Also in the line of stores are Ralph Lauren, Barney’s, Jimmy Choo, Gucci, Cartier, Dior, Louis Vuitton, among others. The whole strip of stores officially has been dubbed “The Collection at Chevy Chase”.

You must enter Famoso by elevator and upon entering, are at the doorway of a chic bar and lounge with a Euro-trash ambiance, a tad more severe than Café Milano in Georgetown. We did not have a reservation and the maitre’d escorted us through the almost-empty dining room to a table in the back. With our backs to the wall we could see the entire room, which was minimally decorated with manufactured art.

The restaurant started to fill up quickly and almost every well-coifed person who walked in had a two-kiss relationship with the maitre’d. I found out later that the maitre’d is the “Maitre'd extraordinaire Ralph Fredericks most recently of the Coeur de Lion at Washington's Henley Park Hotel.”

The menu was divided into the traditional Antipasti, Insalate and Zuppe, Risotti, Paste, and Pesce and Carne.

We ordered sparking water and Eric got a martini, dry, straight up with olives. He’s not fussy about his gin but is mildly disappointed when there isn’t any Plymouth. After a little back-and-forth about various gins, Eric settled on Beefeater. It arrived with three plump, stuffed olives. I point this out because we have a ritual of sharing the olives and these olives were odd. I tasted one after Eric and agreed it tasted fishy. We informed our waiter who informed the manager. The manager arrived at our table officiously and informed us that the bar uses various types of stuffed olives. Another waiter who had gone to investigate the matter just then announced that the olives were stuffed with anchovies. I’m not a martini drinker but Eric confirmed my thoughts that anchovies do not belong in a martini.

The waiter was apologetic and whisked over a glass of red wine for Eric, on the house.

While we waited to order, we noticed that glasses of champagne were brought to various tables around the room to diners with two-kiss relationships with Ralph. The man carrying the champagne was the sommelier. He carried two glasses of champagne with the fingertips of both hands and stuck his elbows out to the side, as if carrying a crown on a pillow. Another waiter followed behind him, carrying the champagne in just that precise way.

As you know, I don’t care for music – loud or otherwise – while eating, and Famoso plays its Euro-techno/new-age music loud. We were also sitting right under a brand new Bose speaker on the ceiling so that may have made it louder for us.

I had had a tough day (actually a tough week) and was in no mood to be adventurous. I wanted the old standbys. I picked the fried calamari (gran fritto dell adriatico con verdure croccantsi for $15) and the risotto parmesan (risotto con fagiano e tartufo mantecato nella forma di parmigiano for $29) and stuck with sparkling water throughout the meal. Our waiter, John, was terribly excited I was getting the risotto. He described the creaming of the risotto in a wheel of cheese. On the menu, next to description of the risotto, the restaurant had noted it was the “2001 Winner of the ‘Golden Spoon’ – Best Risotto in Canada.” (The chef, Gabriele Paganelli, is from Canada.)

The calamari was fried perfectly but had an anchovy aftertaste. I couldn’t figure out if the taste from the olive remained with me or if the calamari had been cooked with anchovies. Mixed in with the calamari were julienned pieces of zucchini, carrots, and eggplant fried in the same manner as the calamari, and a spicy tomato sauce.

In between courses, three women were escorted to a table near us. The most stunning of the three while floating to her seat, gushed seductively to the waiter: “Thannnnnk you sweetheart!”

As I continued to observe the drama in the room, the sommelier rolled the wheel of cheese to our table. He poured pure alcohol into the wheel and set it on fire. Other diners looked our way. He then ladled the risotto into the wheel of cheese (mentacato) and stirred for a few minutes before ladling it onto a plate. He showed me a truffle (“This is a truffle.”) and shaved it on to the risotto. I could tell the risotto would have been delicious if the chef just had not given it that extra dash of salt. It wasn’t an overpowering saltiness but it was too much. Eric disagreed; he said it was perfect.

Once we completed our main courses, we settled back and resumed people-watching. We had no dessert partly because we were full and also because the dessert menu was not impressive. Eric had an espresso and I had Jasmine Mist tea.

Final thoughts: I probably will not come back to Famoso for food but will definitely come back for a beverage in the lounge. I recommend that you do go there for the experience and ask for a table up against the back wall. There are a few tables where couples can sit side-by-side, which is nice.

The maitre’d was friendly enough but gave his full attention to diners he already knew. He came to our table a few times, appearing to do so under duress. It would have been perfectly fine had he not visited us at all.

During the meal, one waiter came to our table and observed I was taking notes in a small notebook. He laughed nervously and asked if I was a spy. I said that I was.

Il Mulino 07.29.2010

It's difficult to go wrong with Italian cooking and Il Mulino satisfies as comfort food in a pinch.

A little background on the scene before I dive into the food: Il Mulino is in a not terribly impressive area of Washington, DC -- Vermont Avenue, north of the McPhearson Square Metro. There are lots of businesses and law firms and things get quiet after rush hour. I've eaten at Il Mulino three times, each time for a business lunch. And each time, the restaurant was mostly empty, and the service slow. When I ate there on Thursday with five colleagues, we were one of four tables with customers.

Il Mulino first opened in New York City by chefs Fernando and Gino Masci. The restaurant's website boasts that it was voted best Italian restaurant in New York City for two decades by Zagat's. Il Mulino is located in 13 different cities, including Tokyo, Las Vegas, Aspen, and San Juan. My recent experience at Il Mulino doesn't motivate me to go back, but I am curious about the flagship in New York City.

Now, the meal: We started with a bread basket -- white, wheat, and seasoned bread crisps. The white bread was fantastic: it was so soft and tasted fresh. Along with the bread was a plate of diced eggplant that had been sauteed in olive oil and herbs -- it was delicious. The combination of the eggplant on soft, white bread was utterly satisfying. Perhaps I should have ordered another round and called it a day. But no.

I don't know how much time passed from when we ordered our main course (no one ordered an appetizer) but it was enough time for us to discuss a number of current events, a few work issues, and learn that our summer intern had gone skydiving the previous weekend -- this was big news. Two people at our table inquired about the mechanics of Facebook and we spent some time explaining that. I was surprised to learn that I had more Facebook friends than the summer intern.

The main course finally arrived. I had ordered the gnocchi in tomato sauce with mozzarella -- all of it appeared to have been glopped on to the plate. Several large balls of mozzarella were planted in the gnocchi and rapidly melted from the heat of cooking. As I ate, the mozzarella went from warm and soft to cooling and chewy.

The portion was large, enough for two people really. I had not eaten breakfast and was sure I was going to finish it all, but I didn't. You can go both ways with gnocchi: I've had gnocchi that didn't taste or feel heavy in the belly, and then there was this gnocchi at Il Mulino that weighed me down. I did not eat fast but I had to catch my breath a few times. I love tomato sauce with pasta and am partial to sauces that are runny, rather than thick. The sauce with this gnocchi was perfectly salted but the texture -- not runny or thick -- tasted as if a step had been missed or it needed to stew a little longer.

A colleague and friend (and also a curmudgeon) ordered mushroom ravioli, off menu. I thought that was a nice touch. I discussed with him my thoughts about Il Mulino and he remarked, "It's a shell of it's former self." He noted that the menu used to be robust and interesting, and claims Il Mulino has seen more customers. When the menu was passed around at the start of the meal, two people at our table noted that the menu was scaled back. I have nothing against simple, paired down menus, but the options at Il Mulino were limited.

Il Mulino
1110 Vermont Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20005

202.293.1001