Matters of Taste

Praise for Panna Cotta

Once upon a time, panna cotta was a simple custard dessert, a rather humdrum affair, an unexciting option, in my opinion, to be passed over in favor of, say, a gushing lava cake. Indeed, the trusty food dictionary,"Food Lover's Companion," describes the classic as "...a light, silky egg custard, which is often flavored with caramel.” End of story.

But having recently discovered the Meyer Lemon Buttermilk Panna Cotta at Delfina in San Francisco, I’m thinking a re-write might be in order. Today, panna cotta is a cook's canvas for showing off style, talent and local, seasonal ingredients.

At Delfina, pastry chef Abby Olitzky subs buttermilk for the regular milk involved (panna cotta typically consists of just milk, cream, sugar and gelatin) to give her final product a lighter, brighter taste. She further punches up the flavor with Meyer lemon juice. The quivery creation is then topped with segments of local Ora Blanca and Star Ruby grapefruits that are glazed with a sauce of their juices and simple syrup. The texture is sublime; the flavor, a captivating mix of sweetness and tang.

Olitzky is not alone in exploring the possibilities of the panna cotta repertoire. At Babbo in New York City, Mario Batali does a rich, barely sweetened, saffron-tinted custard topped with juicy blackberries and a bracing lemon sorbetto. Farther uptown, Daniel Boulud delights diners at DB Bistro with an exotic lemon grass panna cotta served with vanilla-strawberry sorbet.

But panna cotta isn't limited to the dessert menu these days. Savory versions are showing up as hors d'oeuvre and entree.  Jeff Jackson, executive chef at The Lodge at Torrey Pines here in La Jolla, does a sumptuous panna cotta flecked with caviar and smoked salmon; and French-born chef Jean Marie Josselin of Josselin’s Tapas Bar & Grill in Kauai wows guests with his edamame (soybean) panna cotta with a hint of fiery wasabi. I also loved the work of Chef Gordon Mayberry, who’s made waves at the Peninsula Hotel, New York city and Loews, Miami Beach: a sublime goat cheese panna cotta with creme fraiche and fresh basil, served warm with toasts.

This is the gastronomic version of the little black dress. Play it straight with a strand of pearls, or go Gaga with edible bling --- you can’t go wrong with this versatile Italian favorite.

 

 

 

Raves for Bottega Ristorante

How do I love Bottega Ristorante? Well, I need both hands to count the ways.

For starters, this three-year-old Michael Chiarello restaurant, in the heart of the Napa Valley hamlet of Yountville, is a totally captivating scene. The rooms are stylish, with lots of space, high ceilings, flattering lighting and a bustling open kitchen. From the instant you step inside the door, there’s an energy and joy that’s palpable. The staff is lively, attractive and adroit; Chiarello himself seems to be everywhere, meeting and greeting his guests; and the sophisticated, well-dressed crowd knows how to have a great time.

Then there’s Bottega’s food – it’s fabulous. There’s simply no other word to describe the single potato dough raviolo I enjoyed recently. The delicate pasta package was filled with spinach and ricotta cheese and topped with an organic, soft-cooked egg that mingled its vivid yolk with a brown butter sauce flecked with fresh sage. The perfect package was showered with fresh black truffles.

Fabulous would also describe the unique caramelle pasta that was filled with tiny dice of caramelized butternut squash and Bosc pears, and finished with brown butter, pecorino cheese and deep-fried sage leaves. The final flurry of poppy seeds and crushed Amaretti was fascinating. (The caramelle pasta shape was a new one to me; it’s a small, homemade tube pasta that gets twisted on each end and looks like a piece of salt water taffy.)

Our shared appetizers were also something to rave about: a perfect bite-size specimen of sushi-quality   tuna teamed with one paper-thin slice of crisped garlic and one fragrant basil leaf; and heavenly burrata with walnut pesto bruschetta, peppercress and a truffle vinaigrette infused with orange essence.

Brussels sprouts are the darling of wine country menus this season. We ate them at Bouchon in Yountville (with smoky bacon lardons); at Grace’s Table in Napa, where they were creamed with bacon and potatoes; and at Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen in St. Helena where a simple salt-pepper-butter version paired well with seared chicken breast.

But the shaved, caramelized sprouts at Bottega ended up stealing the show in a stylish salad (pictured here) that also included toasted Marcona almonds, wisps of prosciutto, citrus segments and an aged balsamic vinaigrette.

Bottega’s wine list is heavy on local, small-production wines which you’ll rarely see anyplace outside of the wine country. (There’s also an admirable roster of Italian wines but I can’t pass up a great wine made locally for a great wine that’s been schlepped 6,000 or more miles.)

And Bottega’s service is nothing short of superlative. Our server was a charming, professional young guy with joie de vivre to spare and no shortage of opinions. Another server (who joked that he was the oldest guy in the place) was equally endearing, appearing out of nowhere when my sister’s Black Pepper Bucatini alla Carbonara arrived at the table. He swooped in and picked up her knife and fork, eagerly tossing the hot noodles, broccolini and crisp guaciale with the barely cooked egg on top. “You don’t want the egg to cool before it’s mixed with the pasta,” was his basic message, delivered with a joy that was contagious.

Though we loved everything about our dining experience, the icing on the cake was just that --- icing on the cake. Or, more accurately, creme anglaise on the cake. Chef Chiarello graciously surprised us with the house signature dessert -- a luscious chocolate souffle cake, with molten chocolate center, hazelnut creme anglaise and candied hazelnut brittle -- to celebrate my mother’s 89th birthday. (The dessert requires 20 minutes to cook...plan ahead.)

Located in the atmospheric Marketplace 1870, a development of eateries and shops in a 140-year-old winery estate, Bottega Ristorante offers great options for an after-dinner walk. Stroll the V Estates or browse the windows in Yountville before heading home to bed.

Lemon Meringue Pie Re-visited....at The Ivy Inn

Some desserts have really good PR machines. The chocolate lava cake, also known as molten chocolate cake, flourless chocolate cake and chocolate fondant cake, has been the hands-down darling of the past couple of decades. Diners can’t get enough of the stuff, even when it’s a mediocre rendition (sometimes a prepared, frozen product!) that’s coming out of the kitchen.

Then there’s lemon meringue pie. Not an ounce of drama, no cachet, no sensationalist articles in newspaper and magazine food pages. But the simple, glossy British-American classic has been pleasing its fans since the 19^th century.

Of course, my personal favorite is the one my mother made every year for my birthday (who said it had to be a birthday “cake?”) Hers was the condensed milk variety, a pale, smooth and creamy filling topped with fluffy egg white peaks bronzed in the oven.

But recently I found another version that I love, sorry Mother, just as much.  OK, OK. Almost as much.

That's the Lemon Meringue Ice Box Cake at the The Ivy Inn in Charlottesville, VA, where I dined a week ago with my husband and his college friends.

The elegant creation starts with a wafer-thin, buttery graham cracker crust and moves onward and upward with tangy, zest-infused lemon curd and caramel cream layers. On top, an ethereal cap of toasted meringue, along with barely-there pieces of candied lemon zest and coarse organic sugar. On the side, a delicate lemon lace cookie. And it's all framed by a fresh, fragrant lemon-berry coulis.

The combination of tastes and textures is awesome…which is why my husband and I went back to the Inn for a second dinner two nights later.  Professional food critics aren’t supposed to do that….with only three nights in Charlottesville, I should have dined in three different restaurants.

But the lemon meringue wonder, by pastry chef Jon Thornburg, lured me back to the Inn just as effectively as mythology’s Sirens seduced sailors to shipwreck on the rocky coast of their island.

And the fact that I had also flipped over chef-owner Angelo Vangilopoulos’ Puree of Butternut Squash
Soup on the first night made the repeat visit an easy call. (Yes, I ate the soup, swirled with scallion cream and dotted with smoked bacon bits and glazed, spiced pecans, on the second visit, too!)

Both dishes were in perfect sync with the Inn’s gracious, homey Virginia-horse-country vibe ---
sophisticated but understated. The original property – a multi-building estate – was built shortly after a fire destroyed the original building in 1815. Since then it has changed hands several times, including years of stewardship by the University of Virginia, whose “grounds” are a mile away. (The property was once called “Faulkner House” after William Faulkner, who was a distinguished University “Writer in Residence.”)

Since 1973 the quaint cottage surrounded by overgrown gardens, has been The Ivy Inn restaurant. (This photo is from the blog HarvestThymeHerbFarm.) In 1995 it was purchased by Vangelopoulos, who graduated from the Culinary Institute of American (CIA) in Hyde Park, NY, and trained at  Washington, D.C.’s Galileo restaurant and Cilantro’s in Del Mar, CA.Today he runs the restaurant with his wife, Farrell.

The rest of the menu, which changes frequently and features products from the central Virginia area, is as enticing as the dishes that hooked me. Consider Polyface Farms Slow Cooked Chicken with cloud-like gnocchi, local Andouille sausage and wild mushrooms;  Pumpkin-Seed Crusted Red Drum Fillet with couscous, avocado, lime and Carolina shrimp; Homemade Pumpkin Ravioli with crispy leeks, pumpkinseeds and fresh sage; Sticky English Toffee Pudding…then make a detour to this captivating academic town and check out The Ivy Inn.

(2244 Old Ivy Road, Charlottesville, VA; 434-977-1222. Appetizers $6-$12; entrees, $22-$36. Lemon Meringue Ice Box Cake, $8.)

 

THREE-PEAT: Cocktails at FIG, Charleston, S.C.

When was the last time I found myself in a bar downing Manhattans three nights in a row? Like, ah, never! Much as I love a good drink, hanging out in bars and belting back hard liquor is not my normal M.O.

But, I guess there’s a time and a place for everything, and last week in Charleston S.C. with about 50 fellow members of the Association of Food Journalists was clearly that time and place.

We were in the picturesque coastal town for our annual conference, four days of seminars, speakers, business meetings, tastings, field trips and fabulous meals. Straight off the plane on Tuesday night I headed to FIG (Food is Good) with two West Coast colleagues. We all knew about chef Mike Lata (who won “Best Chef Southeast” at the 2010 James Beard Awards) and our mouths were watering for such Lata specialties as Carolina Shrimp Escabeche and Tomato Tarte Tatin.

But the cocktail menu turned out to be a serious speed-bump.

For starters there was the list of Proprietary Cocktails that included the Marfa Daisy (Espolon Blanco tequila, elderflower liqueur, aquavit, grapefruit juice and grapefruit bitters) that was the sassy super-model of margaritas; and the Greenthumb (Cathead Vodka, green Chartreuse, lime, mint, cucumber and celery bitters).

Then there was the Make-Your-Own Manhattan extravaganza featuring 15 bourbons (and a few ryes), eight types of sweet vermouth, and 13 types of bitters, mostly homemade. Feeling like a kid in a candy store, I poured over the lists, then picked Old Overholt Rye (new to me but Lata' favorite), Dolin Rouge Vermouth (another new friend), and Angostura orange bitters. Served straight up in an old-fashioned “champagne” glass it was a delicious swirl of sweet, smoke, herb and tang.

The third page featured riffs on the Negroni, a classic Italian aperitif of Campari, sweet vermouth and   gin that was invented in Florence in the early 1900s. Calling it the “short and perfect aperitivo,” the menu lists nine versions including the Rhubarb Negroni with Farmer’s Gin, Zucca Rabarbaro (syrup) and Dolin Rouge vermouth;  the Negroni Sbagliato with Campari, sweet vermouth and Prosecco; and the Hummingbird (Beefeater, Campari, elderflower, Nouilly Pratt and crushed ice). (This photo is from a cool Website called Cocktails in Charleston that seems proof positive that I am not the only one who has spent time tippling in this historic town.)

Reporters being reporters, word about FIG’s creative cocktails and lively bar scene spread fast among AFJ members, each of whom by definition is obsessed with finding delicious things to eat and drink. So it was that I found myself back at FIG for nightcaps the next two nights, with colleagues who were equally smitten by the talented mixologists.

I’m now a big fan of subbing Prosecco for the gin in a regular Negroni (the sparkling wine makes for a lighter aperitif with no bite); and injecting a bit of the USA in the Italian drink with a splash of Buffalo Trace Straight Kentucky Bourbon. 

I'm also intrigued by Basil Hayden's minty bourbon; Blanton's "Original Single-Barrel Bourbon;" and Elmer T. Lee, the guy who makes Buffalo Trace. I now know that most sweet vermouths sold in the U.S. are Torino-style, and that there are a whole lot of new ones, such as Cocchi and Carpano, that I need to try.

And, I'm about to jump on the bitters bandwagon. There's been a surge if interest in these alcoholic sidekicks that are flavored with herbal essences and have a bitter or bittersweet flavor.  Today, homemade or small-batch orange, cherry, rhubarb and Aztec chocolate bitters are giving the old-fashioned Angostura a run for its money.   

Oh, yeah. FIG’s food. Fabulous.

The tomato tarte tatin (left),  “salted” with tapenade and smoothed with fromage blanc, managed to taste like mid-summer even though the season is just about over. The escabeche featured plump, tender fresh white Carolina fresh shrimp with the usual marinated vegetables and the unusual addition of grated ginger. 

We also flipped over the cloud-like ricotta gnocchi with Bolognese sauce; the local triggerfish with roasted cauliflower and caper; and the Coddled Sea Island Farm Egg that, when pierced, quickly swirled itself into the accompanying red wine-braised mushrooms and celeriac cream. On the side was a dish of chewy, pea- and prosciutto-dotted farro from Anson Mills that was so good I ordered packages of the grain on-line as soon as I got back to San Diego.

Dinner and drinks at FIG was a perfect introduction to Charleston, a town with only 300,000 people but a whole lotta knock-your-socks-off restaurants.

 

Bin 941 in Vancouver, B.C. --- Worth A (Bike) Journey

As you may know from my earlier posts, flank steak pizza and bumbleberry pie kept me going on the two-day, 200-mile RSVP bike tour (Ride Seattle to Vancouver & Party). But the biggest treat of all was the dinner awaiting me on the other side of the finish line.

After celebrating with fellow riders in the garden courtyard of Coast Plaza Hotel in downtown Vancouver –- the “Party” included live music and icy Molson Canadian draft (no beer has ever tasted better!) ---my son Nicholas and I got back on our trusty steeds and biked to the Fairmont Hotel. I had stayed at this grande dame during a food writers’ conference about a decade ago and really liked it. This time, after being in the saddle for 2 days and overnighting in a stuffy subterranean room at a Bellingham Best Western, I LOVED it ---the spacious room, the huge window overlooking bustling Georgia Street, the elegant bathroom, enveloping bathrobe, and comfy bed.

After a long shower and a short nap, I was ready to meet Bin 941, a restaurant my kids have been raving about for years.

It lived up to all the hype…and then some.

Since Bin 941, officially dubbed a “Tapas Parlour” doesn’t take reservations, we settled in at the eatery’s bar and celebrated our accomplishment with gin and tonics and the Goat Cheese House-Dried Tomato Salsa appetizer. One taste of the tangy spread, scooped up with outtasite Navajo Fry Bread, and I knew this meal would end up on my Best of 2011 list. (Photo by Bonny Makarewicz for The New York Times.)

Once seated at our Lilliputian, bare wood table, we opted for  “British Columbia Coastal Mussels, Fresh Daily” that were swimming in a sea of spectacularly flavorful coconut milk, lemon zest and garam masala. (Just thinking about this dish again right now is making me crazy.) The mussels were succulent; the hunks of dunked grilled focaccia were lip-smacking good. Forget Seattle, hell, I’d bike from San Diego to Vancouver to eat this dish again.(Photo from ShermansFoodAdventures.com.)

Equally impressive were the “Original Tijuana Caesar” with luscious grilled crouton; and the Angus   Beef Short Rib that was so tender I thought it might fall apart even before I prodded it with my fork. Served with parsnip puree, mushroom-studded spinach salad and a smooth but spunky peppercorn Cabernet jus, this was a unique take on a ubiquitous dish.

Bin 941 is a weensy place, with no more than 7 or 8 tables along with a dozen or so bar stools. The “décor” is funky; the attitude friendly and no-fuss; the food, fabulous.  (Salad & Such average $8; all main Tapatisers are $17.) It’s best to visit with a small group…that way you can order a greater variety of dishes. It's also wise to visit with a fun-loving bunch since this place turns into party-central later in the evening.

We wanted to order more --- fresh Pacific halibut with wild mushroom risotto; crab cakes with burnt orange chipotle sauce; olive-crusted lamb sirloin with potato latke; golden beets with truffled honey glaze. But the portions were large, the flavors intense, so we called it quits, leaving a lot of reasons to visit Bin 941 again.

 

Bike and Bumbleberries --- A Winning Combination

Bumbling idiots, I know all about. But bumbleberries?

It was a new one on me when I came upon Bumbleberry Pie on a breakfast stop during the RSVP Bike Tour from Seattle to Vancouver. If you read my earlier post you’ll know how much I loved the strawberry-rhubarb pie at Snohomish Pie Company, a delicious milepost on the 112-mile first day of RSVP Bike (Ride Seattle to Vancouver & Party) that I did with my son last month. Seems that fruit pies are one of the top tourist attractions in this area.

After overnighting with the other 1,198 bikers at motels in the town of Bellingham, we headed out under bluebird skies to complete the nearly-200-mile ride to Vancouver.

Nicholas and I opted to skip the lame “continental breakfast” offered by our motel, setting our sights instead on the town of Lynden, some 20 miles away, where the highly touted Lynden Dutch Bakery awaited.

For about an hour and a half we pedaled through a broad valley dotted with dairy, raspberry, strawberry and blueberry farms. I was more than ready for breakfast by the time we rolled, uphill, into Lynden, a charming hamlet whose claim to fame is its Dutch-American community – one of the largest in the U.S.

Front Street, the main drag, was dotted with a few cheering residents and an official RSVP stop featuring snacks and drinks.  But the riders-in-the-know headed to the Lynden Dutch Bakery, where friendly women in traditional garb manned the overflowing pastry counter and seated guests for the all-you-can-eat buffet brunch that draws tourists from all over.

Having no desire to A. spend a lot of time indoors on a glorious day or B. schlepp extra pounds of bacon and scrambled eggs along on the ride, Nicholas and I bought slabs of pie in to-go containers, tucked them precariously into the pockets of our bike shirts and biked a mile further to the inviting Woods Coffee shop where we got excellent lattes to accompany our pie. (Photo of the Bakery's Bumbleberry Pie is from Yelp.)

I had opted for Bumbleberry Pie, largely because I had never heard of such a thing. Must be some special berry grown only in the Pacific Northwest I speculated as I gobbled the luscious blend of flaky pastry and fat, juicy berries swimming in shiny, lightly thickened juices.

Only when I sat down to write this post did I learn that bumbleberry is a Canadian term, widely used in the Pacific Northwest, meaning a mixture of fresh berries, usually blackberry, raspberry and strawberry, but sometimes blueberry and boysenberry too.  It’s the most popular pie at the Dutch Bakery, which I guess means that it’s the best…made from whatever’s really, really good out there in the fields and woods.

 

 

My, My, Pizza Pie

Before I did the 200-mile RSVP bike tour from Seattle to Vancouver, I thought of Bellingham, Washington as an old-time shipping port whose greatest claim to fame today is its proximity to Mount Baker (a ski resort that holds the world record for snowfall in a single season).

Now I think of it as a pretty waterfront community, a welcome sight for sore butts, and the home of some of the best pizza I’ve ever eaten.

OK, so maybe there’s a little bit of hyberbole there. In all honesty, Pizza Hut would have tasted damn good after 112 miles, with non-stop uphill from mile 91.6 to mile 101.9.  But, in fact, the pizza at La Fiamma Wood Fire Pizza in downtown Bellingham is really, really good.

We arrived at the homey, family-oriented eatery at about 7:30 pm and found all the tables, inside and out, packed, with a wait of about 40 minutes. My son, who had eaten there before (on the way home from Mount Baker!), said it was worth the wait, so we strolled the downtown streets and arrived back just as they were calling our name.

The folks at La Fiamma aren’t content to offer superlative crust cooked in a wood-fired oven. They also aim to please with a staggering 40 or so toppings, including some very inventive numbers. My half of our large pie was the Grecian Formula, with an “herbed white sauce,” fresh spinach, red bell peppers, tomatoes, Kalamata olives, feta and mozzarella, and “marinated and grilled flank steak.” It was delicious, a perfect combo of chunky veggies and satiny cheese, with the steak adding a subtle heft.

Nicholas’ half of the pie was piled with fragrant rosemary-roasted red potatoes, caramelized onions, sensational homemade fennel sausage, gorgonzola and mozzarella cheeses and a fancy squiggle of balsamic glaze. It wasn't the most beautiful pizza in the world (nor was it photographed by the most competent photographer), but it was a supremely satisfying pie that I'm still thinking about 2 weeks later.

 

 

 

Pie On The Fly

Two weeks ago today, I was rolling through the countryside of northern Washington and into the dazzling B.C. city of Vancouver along with 1,200 other cycling aficionados. We were part of the annual phenomenon known as “RSVP” -- Ride from Seattle to Vancouver & Party.

Sponsored by the Cascade Bicycle Club, the event sells out in the first few hours of on-line registration each January. Last Christmas my son gave me a membership to the Club and suggested we do the ride together this year. Oh, yeah. Did I mention that it’s a 200-mile route? Covered in two days? Or that the most I’ve ever ridden a bike in one day was 80 miles, and that one-and-only experience was a few weeks ago?

On August 5^th we joined a highly enthusiastic group in the University of Washington’s parking lot at 6 a.m. under a threatening, heavily overcast sky. Riding across the Start line was indescribably thrilling. In spite of some cold drizzle and a last-minute route detour that necessitated a one-mile climb smack at the beginning of the ride, the first couple hours were a piece of cake.

Then came the piece of pie. 

I had heard about the great bakeries along the route, and we encountered the first batch in the picturesque little town of Snohomish, 28.7 miles from the starting gate. Now, I don’t normally go for big slabs of pie before 9 in the morning, but the bumpy, well burnished pies lined up on counters and racks at the Snohomish Pie Company were too tempting to resist. The selection was awesome – fresh rhubarb and strawberry-rhubarb, peach, blueberry, and a lot of other berries native to this part of the world. I opted for strawberry-rhubarb and was blown away by the oodles of sweet tender fruit and the flaky, crisp-edged crust. We also appreciated the comfie seating in the spacious café, and the pleasant servers who seemed unfazed by dozens of wet bikers lined up for a sugar or caffeine jolt.

There’s no Website for Snohomish Pie Co. (though they do have a Facebook page). But you can check out Yelp.com (where I found these mouth-watering photos) or SnohomishCountyBlogGirl to read more about this detour-worthy spot.  You can learn more about the totally fabulous RSVP ride at Cascade.org.

By the way, I grew up hating rhubarb. During rhubarb season, my maternal grandparents, born and raised  in Nova Scotia, turned out handsome homemade rhubarb pies for every Sunday  dinner. Though I loved most of the veggies my Grandpa pulled from his little garden, I wouldn’t touch the rhubarb, or parsnips. Then, in 1981, my adored Nana died, and my cousin Wendy brought her own homemade strawberry-rhubarb pies to the house following the funeral service. Maybe it was out of respect to my grandmother…maybe it was being polite to my cousin….for some reason, I had a piece of that delicious pie and I’ve been a huge rhubarb fan ever since.

For the record, I still don’t like parsnips.

 

Having It My Way...In Vienna

Don’t you just hate it when you’re served a dish in a restaurant that you KNOW could be a lot better with a little effort? Last night we dined at Witwe Bolte (The Widow Bolte), a charming restaurant in the equally charming neighborhood of cobblestone lanes and Biedermeier houses called Spittelberg.

The setting was magical – candlelit tables under three graceful linden trees behind the centuries-old inn, a starry sky above, and a quiet buzz of contented conversation from the nearly-full house.

The food was good, too. Especially the paper-thin wisps of cooked beets dressed in a perfectly seasoned vinaigrette, and my husband’s Faschiertes Kalbsbutterschnitzel (yes, that’s one word!) which translates into a handsome sauteed patty of coarsely ground veal…one of the most elegant “hamburgers” you’ll ever see.

But my entree was disappointing, even though I was drooling over the name: Red Onion Risotto with Gorgonzola Cheese.

Served as a picture-perfect “puck” in the center of a white plate dressed up with ribbons of shiny  balsamic reduction, it was topped with shavings of a spunky gorgonzola. (Sorry about the photo's lighting...candlelit gardens are the best studio.)

Unfortunately, the key to the picture-perfect puck was undercooked rice that I found overly chewy and unpleasantly chalky.

In some settings I might have sent it back, but, trust me, that’s not an option in a traditional Austrian gasthaus with a cranky head waiter. At home, I would have simply dumped the risotto in a shallow bowl and added a bit of boiling water and stirred ‘til the rice absorbed it.

Determined to make the best of the dining experience, I ordered a bowl of rindsuppe  (beef broth) and attempted to “cook” the rice further myself. It was a valiant effort and pretty tasty. But I can’t wait to get home and try doing a red onion and gorgonzola risotto “my way.”

 

 

Worth Waiting For: My First Trip to The Little Owl

For Elton John it was love. For me, it was dinner at the weensy West Village restaurant that has only about 30 seats and fills them promptly when reservations open a month in advance of a given night.

For years I’ve listened to  my colleagues rave about The Little Owl's meatball sliders, the exquisite fresh fish, the pork that tastes like pork did before it became “the other white meat,” the homey desserts, and, in chef-co-owner Joey Campanaro’s words, “the love” that goes into all the food.

During my recent trip to New York for the James Beard Awards, I was finally able to snag a table and add my voice to those singing The Little Owl’s praises. (By the way, I did book the table a month ahead of time. And the restaurant does set aside a couple of two-tops for walk-ins every night.)

The Little Owl may not be for everyone – I know plenty of folks who’d whine about the tight space and high noise level – but my son and I reveled in the quaint coziness of the space, the sunny disposition of the servers, the contagious joy and animated conversation of our fellow diners. This is one happy happening place.

We also oohed, aahed and smacked our lips through a good-size chunk of the menu.  A salad of bibb lettuce and beets, dressed up with frilly frisee, toasted pumpkin seeds and parmesan, was remarkable for its elegance and the perfect balance of the sherry vinaigrette. A smooth, spring-green broccoli soup featured two luscious bacon cheddar crouton “rafts.”

My son marveled over his savory lamb shank that arrived on a pillow of creamy goat cheese-fluffed potatoes. But, by that time, I only had eyes for my own Tautog. Not familiar with the beast? Neither was I. But thanks to Campanaro, I now know that the tautog swims along the Eastern seaboard, always near the bottom, among rocks. Its high-fat diet translates into a sweet flavor. Campanaro pan-sauteed the filet and crowned it with an aromatic “salad” of perfect cherry tomatoes, cucumber, avocado, garlic, lemon zest and fresh thyme. It was, in a word, brilliant…and it’s already on my Best of 2011 list.

By the way, we didn’t succumb to the meatball mania for which Little Owl is known. The darlings,  pictured here in a Bon Appetit photo by Noel Barnhurst, are fashioned from beef, pork and veal, simmered with tomatoes, onion, basil, garlic and fennel seeds, and dusted with pecorino before being perched precariously on a tiny shiny garlic bun. Next time….

The Owl's desserts are noteworthy, too. A lovely rhubarb crisp was topped with mascarpone gelato, and the ricotta cheesecake, fluffed up with egg whites and mascarpone, was ethereal.

The wine list is limited, but interesting. Our server suggested two wines that I was happy to make the acquaintance of: a crisp Verdejo from Spain, with pleasing tropical notes but enough minerality to let it do aperitif duty (no hard alcohol at Little Owl); and a Blaufränkisch (from Judith Beck of Austria’s Burgenland region) that I liked for its elegant structure and spicy, dark berry flavors. 

Appetizers at The Little Owl average about $9; entrees hover around the $26 mark. The restaurant, at 90 Bedford Street,  is open for dinner nightly. Little Owl – The Venue, billed as an event space and culinary showroom, recently opened a few blocks away.