Joe Ray

Friday, June 05, 2009

Sicilian sex food

RAGUSA, Sicily

I thought Ciccio Sultano was the only Sicilian serving sex food – the kind of stuff that makes you want to forget you’re in a public place, vault the table and make a meal out of your date.

RRROWWW!!!

One of the things I like about Chef Francesco Cassarino and his Ragusa restaurant is that he’s not afraid to do pizzas that tend to be in the 5-10 euro range on a menu that also includes a 58 euro tasting menu; both are great values, but it’s rare to see someone with the guts and skill to do it all right.

Naturally, Cassarino is a product freak and his menu lists four types of olive oil, six salts and five kinds of pepper. Apparently, we both share a dislike for Peugeot pepper grinders (no coarse grind) but he’s ordering a special German grinder normally used by scientists to extract the most from his peppercorns. Until then, he uses a mortar and pestle crushing pepper to order.

One of the first plates with a tasting menu is an index card-sized slice of fat from a Spanish pata negra cured ham atop a similar-sized thick slice of lightly-smoked beef carpaccio with Maldon salt and specially-imported Szechuan pepper so fresh that it actually fizzes in your mouth.

Everything happens at once: textures and flavors, smoky, salty and slippery, fizzy and raw.

Damn these public places. I want to vault the table.

Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio MAP
via P.Nenni 78
Ragusa
http://www.caravanserraglioragusa.com/

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Tuesday, June 02, 2009

The death of Pizza Otto

Ragusa, Sicily

Whenever I’m in the Motherland, Francesco, my good pal and stalwart guide, humors my quest to find the best pizza in Sicily.

There’s some good stuff in the south where he’s from, strong examples in Palermo and more unique, thicker pies in Trapani. We ignore the question of ‘what is real Sicilian pizza?’ and just go with our taste buds.

In the end, we got to the point where, instead of calling places by their names, we’d just call them by their score on a ten-point scale. The place in the hotel down the hill with Speedy Gonzales on the takeout box? Pizza Sette. The seaside place? Sette Punto Cinque. Reigning southern champion? La Contea in Modica, where a pie with rocket, cured wild boar and parmesan (a combination that tends to send me over the moon with glee no mater in which state I find it) which earned it the Pizza Otto title.

Before I came back to the Motherland, Francesco started hinting at a new find: a place he was calling ‘Pizza Nove Plus.’ The ‘plus’ being for the food at Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio (which we’ll get to in another post) hidden in the outskirts of Ragusa.

As a group appetizer, we order a tomato, mozzarella and basil pie. The sauce is sweet and acidic, the crust crisp and soft with wood-fired flavor. Plus, there’s milky sensuality from the mozzarella and a crisp, fresh bite from the basil.

Pizza Otto was dethroned in one bite.

Later, after a full non-pizza meal, I get edgy, thinking that I might not be back here for a while.

After the cheese course, I find chef Francesco Cassarino wandering the floor and ask for another pizza.

Full to the gills, everyone at the table stares at me funny until it shows up, but Francesco dutifully has a slice.

The pie has a sort of flight path: “This won’t change my life,” I think over my first bites, but then the Parmesan and cured meat sweeten and begin working together.

I look over and Francesco has broken his fork-and-knife protocol and eats his pie with his hands. He pops the last bite of crust into his mouth with an ‘I-told-you-so’ smile.

Then he asks for another slice.

Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio MAP
via P.Nenni 78
Ragusa
http://www.caravanserraglioragusa.com/

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Friday, May 29, 2009

Bianchetti Bingo

PORTOPALO DI CAPO PASSERO, Sicily

“Francesco – let’s grab my folks and get dinner on the ocean. You know that place I went for pizza at this place a couple years ago… in one of those towns at the southern tip of the island…you weren’t there…know the place I’m talking about?”

I fear for my memory when I’m older.

Strangely, he knew. Or thought he did. Maybe we’re both doomed.

In any case, the place we went – La Giara – was much better than the one I could only vaguely remember.

The good stuff comes first – we get fish called neonatu if you’re Sicilian, bianchetti if you’re Italian and gianchetti if you’re Ligurian (it’s big up there, too.)

Three names for a fish that’s as long as my thumb is wide? Turns out there are many species that can fall into the neonatu category – the baby form of anchovies, sardines and many other fish lumped into a group known as pesce azzurro – the veal of anchovies.

Until this night, I couldn’t figure out what the fuss was about. Bianchetti are often breaded individually, fried up and served on a plate – in Barcelona, they pay through the nose for this stuff – but being so tiny, their delicate flavor is overwhelmed by breading and fry oil.

Here, they make fritters out of them. Little balls of little fish where the outside stays nice and crunchy – that good fried-ness – and inside, you get sweet, delicate fish flavor. Realizing there’s only one left, Mom and I briefly glare at each other, but I realize I should be a good Sicilian boy and defer with a grunt.
…
We also have an octopus carpaccio – which almost seems like a contract between chef and customer that says, “You trust us and we’ll do it right.”

They do. Serving it on a bed of rocket and spiced up with red pepper flakes, Mom, who prefers everything she eats well done has several bites.
…
Wine worth noting: 2006 Sicilia by MandraRossa using the fiano grape. The father/uncle of the Planeta clan LINK, shows the grace and restraint of a proud patriarch.
…
The pasta (a bit more photogenic than fried fritters) is honest and good. At the end of my meal, I make a note – ‘There are thousands of places like this in Italy, and we’re lucky every time we eat in one.”

La Giara MAP
Portopalo di Capo Passero (Along the port.)
Sicily
+39 0931 843217
Closed Monday

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Thursday, May 07, 2009

Lunch by the numbers

Paris

Get there before it’s overrun with ministers.

Maybe because it’s brand new and hasn’t been discovered yet. Maybe it’s because it was a vacation week or just a slow day, but four of us had Le 122, smack in the heart of ministry central to ourselves.

Instead of that depressing, feel bad for the owners, ‘why are we whispering?’ feeling, it was perfect. The chef and his wife came over to talk once in a while and the waiter nosed in with an off the cuff crack that had huge crash and burn potential, but instead, he had read us perfectly.

Chef’s pedigree shows in his fish dishes like a toothy and full of flavor smoked sardine and anise-tomato marmelade appetizer and a cod pissaladière – a Provencal pizza cousin, this one doing a wonderful job of respecting the fish.

We share a Coteaux du Vendomois that Chef calls his wine of the month. It’s made by a friend of his and so good and well-priced, I hope everything on the wine list is made by his friends.

Dessert? Strawberries with a tea foam that sits in a glass bowl and looks like a floating flower.

A friend was supposed to leave early, instead, she asked for another spoon.

Le 122 MAP
122 rue de Grenelle
75007 Paris

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Thursday, April 09, 2009

Leave the wine. Take the cannoli.

A quick pause from Belgian beer to say that when it comes to finding the best Italian in the 11th arrondissement, you win, Francois.

Last night, taking the advice of locals and friends, a sommelier friend and I went to Casa Vigata for Sicilian on rue Léon Frot for a hit and miss extravaganza.

The hits:
The Seafood – a clam and artichoke appetizer full of flavor and sauce made for bread dipping, whole-roasted octopus served with just a slice of lemon and a perfectly-cooked breaded swordfish main. Paris can be disastrous when you’re looking for good fish and these guys nail it.

The Cannoli – Leave the gun. The friendly owner makes these daily using a crispy shell, light, tangy ricotta and just a touch of candied orange peel. If there’s better in Paris I haven’t found it.

The misses:
Consistency: Our neighbors ordered two of the same dishes as we did; their octopus was cooked better (mine was slightly over) and their swordfish/caponata portions were significantly larger. They also got a shot of lemoncello with their check. The last is certainly at the owner’s discretion, but all three together leave a bitter taste.

The worst:
The wine – overpriced and, um, bad. A red Sicilian table wine for 40 euros? I love a good Nero d’Avola, but please.

It took us 10 minutes looking at the wine list to essentially decide how we were going to be fleeced and we still lost. My friend was talking about…something when I got distracted by a sip of the white we ordered…

Me: “This is bad.”
Sommelier friend: “Very bad.”

The verdict?
I’ll try again in a year. Maybe.

Casa Vigata MAP
44 rue Léon Frot
75011 Paris
+33.1.43.56.38.66

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Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Snail’s Grace

An old standby is a new favorite.

I’d been to L’Escargot, tucked away in the far reaches of Belleville, years ago when Canadian singer Sarah Slean and her entourage were in town and they turned to me for a place to go.

It’s been a bit too long to remember what we ate, but my favorite moment was when the diva’s dad turned to me and said, “That was the best meal we’ve had in France.”

Recently, I ate at L’Escargot a couple times in a two-week span – enough to notice that chef Frederic Valade had the guts to propose gizzards as a bar snack. Earning more points, I also learned he runs a triperie (hard-core butcher shop) down the street.

… but I’m putting the cart in front of the horse.

Like Mehdi As-Siyad at L’Incroyable, what Valade is doing is some of my favorite stuff in Paris right now – young chefs, making some seriously good food and having fun.

One night, Valade walked out into the open kitchen in a pink wig, then giant sunglasses, then a cabaret-style sequined hat, all of which would have made him look really dumb if the food wasn’t good.

Instead, his duck confît is among the best in town – crunchy on the outside, melting on the inside and packed with flavor. Add to the plate a little tower of mashed potatoes with truffle oil and a salad with a vinaigrette that keeps your taste buds awake and - Petit Fer A Cheval take note - you’ve got something comforting, luxurious and well-priced.

Almost every dish at L’Escargot is this good – a venison steak with winter vegetables, braised lamb shank that bursts with flavor, incredibly tender kangaroo (!) filet and ‘beef bo bun’ – a bowl of bite-sized seared flank steak in a lemongrass sauce.

Dessert? The only problem with the crispy crepe (think: thin cousin of a sugar cone, broken up, and shaped into a little puck of goodness nestled under a dense cloud of whipped cream) was that I got a little aggressive with my spoon and launched half of the dish onto the table and my lap.

I ate it anyway.

L’Escargot
50, rue de La Villette MAP
75019 Paris
+33 1 42 06 03 96

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Saturday, January 31, 2009

La Coupole

In nearly a decade living in Paris, I had never been to the Montparnasse brasserie La Coupole - it’s the Bostonian’s equivalent of never having been to Legal Sea Foods.

Part of the reason for not going was that I snobbishly avoid chains on principle and La Coupole is owned by the Flo group, which owns or bought up more a dozen brasseries in Paris and across Europe including Bofinger, Brasserie Flo and Julien.

I’d also be justified in staying away for nothing more than wanting to boycott those cheap-looking sandwich board that each Flo brasserie has out on the sidewalk advertising something like a 19-euro prix fixe menu. It looks like they pimped them from the semi-ubiquitous French steakhouse chain called Hippopotamus. I imagine the original owner of each brasserie groaning every time they walk past those things.

But the other afternoon, it was cold and we needed a coffee, went inside and I immediately wondered aloud why I had stayed away so long. Like brasserie Wepler, it’s got that great, big-town feeling that envelops you as soon as you walk through the door. Everything from the big, beautiful cupola that floats over the room to the waiters in their black and whites swooping around with big plates of shellfish to the sense of space the mammoth room affords – it all gives a sort of city comfort.

What I’d really like to applaud is the price of La Coupole’s coffee and hot chocolate. Though 4,10€ for cappuccino makes me groan, particularly considering the poor quality of most French coffee, I’d pay a similar price at my neighborhood café. La Coupole’s hot chocolate, made with high-end Valrhona chocolate, costs about the same and it beats the pants off the powdered junk with the pony on the label that most cafes use.

La Coupole MAP
102, bd du Montparnasse
75014 Paris
+33 1 43 20 14 20
http://www.flobrasseries.com/coupoleparis/

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Thursday, January 29, 2009

Switching From Work to Play

I arrived a few minutes early to lunch the other day at Auberge Pyrénées Cévennes and knew I was in good shape by watching the table of businessmen across the room.

Before the food arrived, everyone was fidgety – they clearly didn’t know each other too well and spent time pulling their cell phones from those goofy belt-holster things to check messages instead of talking with one another.

Their wine showed up and the mood lifted, but the big change came with the first plate. A fortysomething guy with glasses and salt and pepper hair watched a neighbor’s plate arrive and his face sort of melted. Then he switched to a big, childlike grin.

The noise level picked up noticeably as the plates arrived. Everyone was smiling. Suddenly, everyone had something to say. The bridge between business and pleasure had been crossed and one of the men lifted a glass and offered a toast.

“Bon appétit, les amis!”
…

Auberge Pyrénées Cévennes is not for the slightly peckish – this is the cuisine of la France profonde, complete with hunting lodge décor, and built for that kind of appetite: a standard lunch might be a big lentil salad, a wonderful cassoulet, and a fantastic tarte tatin that comes (as it should) with its own bowl of crème fraiche.

The 30-euro menu is more than you need at lunch (price included), but at dinner, it would just make you feel spoiled and happy.

Auberge Pyrénées Cévennes MAP
106, Rue de la Folie Méricourt
75011 Paris, France
+33 1 43 57 33 78

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Thursday, January 22, 2009

Duck Quackery

Thanks to a dinner at a friend’s house in Barcelona and another at one of my new Paris faves, l’Escargot, I’ve recently been lured back into loving confît de canard.

Crunchy on the outside, melting and moist on the inside, these two dinners reminded me why the dish is a classic.

This afternoon, however, at Le Petit Fer à Cheval – a Marais classic in its own right and a place that prides itself on the dish – I remembered why it’s been so long.

Allow me to work through my plate in reverse…

Yes, it’s winter and the selections at the vegetable stands are pretty grim at this time of year, but this was particularly depressing. There was a vague wave in the direction of seasonality with some cabbage, and there was even a bit of variety, but everything either squeaked on my teeth or was mushy.

C’mon guys…live a little and drizzle some olive oil on the steamed broccoli, try finishing the green beans with some butter and shallots or just punt and swap the veggies out for a salad. I love being in the Clean Plate Club, but not today.

The potatoes next to the veggies were hand cut and crunchy on the outside - Hooray! - but more than a few were crunchy on the inside, too. Ick.

Finally, the duck itself reminded me why I hadn’t had this dish in so long – it was crunchy on the outside (though I almost wonder if, considering the laziness of the preparation for the rest of the dish, they just crisped it up by throwing it into the Frialator with my spuds), but inside it was lifeless.

What’s frustrating is that I like this place – the well-dressed waiters, the U-shaped bar that gives the restaurant its name, the big wall clock that goes backward, the good Parisian feeling that you get here – but I think it’ll be a while before I come back.

I lied unconvincingly when my waiter asked me how it was but the kicker, and a good part of the reason why I’m writing this, was the ridiculous price tag: 20 euros (!!!) or the equivalent of 26 bucks. At L’Escargot, where I would eat it again and again, their confît comes with a potato puree with truffle oil and a beautiful salad for 17 euros.

Expensive and good I can deal with. Expensive and bad just makes me angry.

“Really?” I blurted out to the poor bartender.

“The duck is the specialty of the house,” he said.

It has nothing to do with the guy behind the bar, but quit insulting me.

L’Escargot MAP
50, rue de la Villette
75019 Paris
+33.1.42.06.03.96

Le Petit Fer à Cheval MAP
75004 Paris‎
+33.9.62.09.23.38‎

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Monday, December 22, 2008

Negociating Imperfection

Why do I keep coming back to this place? Beautiful and flawed, Aux Negociants is still one of those places (like Au Reve across the street) that’s the perfect place to come when you get off the plane for a fast dose of Parisian Paris.

One of the most glaring idiosyncrasies is the chef. What’s he doing in the front of the house at suppertime? Shouldn’t he be out back cooking our dinners?

Instead, he seems to have come up with a menu that allows him to spend most of the service time at dinner out at the bar shooting the breeze with his pétanque buddies or time to get mad at me for sending the wine back.

There’s stuffed cabbage, saucisse de Montbeliard, confît de canard - all stuff that you either make ahead of time and/or just heat up… I can’t tell if I’m miffed that he isn’t out back doting on my food or impressed at the preparation that goes into it.

In any case, the food’s good and there’s the friendly crowd, good wine and that funny feeling that I want to come back again.

Aux Negociants MAP
27 rue Lambert
+33.1.46.06.15.11

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