so... Nice. in happier times.

A couple of years ago we found ourselves in Nice, somewhere on the blog there are pictures from that trip, I'm sure, and unsurprisingly one of my most vivid memories of that trip is one of the silliest. And of course, one related to food.

While we were planning the trip I came across a magazine article by a well-known food journalist. It was the annoying kind of travel article, elitist, smug, "you'll never be worthy of the kinds of experiences I can have" but the writer did mention some discoveries in or near Nice. One of these mentions in particular, as my mom would say, got my Irish up.

we know who you are and why noone reads your stuff any more

It seems that with the help of an admiring local contact, our hero made his way through narrow, confusing and possibly even dangerous streets in the old town to a tiny restaurant known only to a few. The restaurant had no phone and didn't take reservations, and when asked, staff were quite "shirty" about it. Travelers found the place by accident or were led there by local friends, with whom they stood in the street until a place or places opened up. The food was the purest and most authentic of local specialties, etc etc. You, O lowly reader, will never find it, never achieve admission, never live as I have lived.

Huh.

So we got to Nice and the first night it was pouring and we ate at the hotel and the next morning the sky was blue and the sun was shining and we decided to try to find the mysterious tiny restaurant by  daylight. We walked from our hotel in the direction of the Cours Saleya (where the markets are). As in many cities smaller streets "T" into the pedestrian-only zone, and we decided to walk up and down a few of these.

Did I mention that I travel with a man who can find food anywhere? I'm not so bad at that myself, but my ability is instinctive and hasn't changed since I was a kid (as in, follow that man, he looks like he likes a good meal - and yes, that really was Orson Welles), while Himself's talent has been carefully and lovingly honed over years of practice.

We walked right to the restaurant. Far from dangerous-looking, the street had some little shops of the "cute" variety and a small branch of Sonia Rykiel. Merchandise - well, not the Rykiel sweaters, but a lot of everything else - was out in barrels to be picked over by strollers. You don't see this in dangerous areas. In dangerous areas, you see bars on windows. Hey, I'm from New York. I know stuff like this. So anyway, I bought my sister a set of ceramic house numbers, and I bought some lavender to freshen my carry-on, and we looked around.

A door was open, we peeked, saw a long bar with stools, a few tables with benches. Marvelous aromas - garlic, spices (cardamom? toasted coriander seed? garlic garlic garlic) dive-bombed our noses. I stepped inside, greeted the nice young man behind the bar, and asked if they were open for lunch. "We start lunch service at noon," he said. "If you don't mind leaving your name, I'll be happy to hold a table for you." I nodded, then remembered I was in France, and said 'Yes please, that's very kind of you." After I was introduced to his wife and to a lady in the kitchen who looked like she enjoyed food, he gave me a card with his mobile number on it and asked that we call if we changed our minds about lunch. Thank-yous and handshakes all around, and I rejoined Himself outside.

"We have a reservation for lunch, it starts at 12, and they'll hold a table for us. We just have to call if we change our minds."

"I thought they don't take reservations."

I shrugged. "We can call if we're not going to make it back for lunch."

"Call? I thought they don't have a phone."

I flashed the little card at him. "He gave me his mobile number."

We walked around, came back for a very good and filling lunch, everyone seemed to know everyone else, local merchants and politicians are the same the whole world over....

And as we left, I asked Himself how he knew the direction to start our explorations.

"Oh, the place is listed in the Michelin."

On the Top Secret--Eyes Only page, no doubt, because otherwise a responsible journalist (or at least a sober one) would have done some basic fact-checking, no?

"Now I have a question for you. How did you get the phone number?"

I smiled as mysteriously as one can when Food Coma is about to set in. "Your tax dollars at work," I murmured.

So the restaurant is called La Merenda, it's still there, I checked, and above I've included some pictures from its website.  The food is local specialities, and if they have zucchini blossoms when you're there, you should beg for them.

family dinner at Daniel

Of course we don't do this all the time. Alas, we don't even do it often. But every once in a while, when we want something really special...

Daniel Boulud has a number of restaurants in New York (and more in places like Palm Beach and Las Vegas but we're talking walk-to, not fly-to), and this is the Bijou in his Couronne. It's located in the building that housed Le Cirque years ago, in fact when Daniel was a chef at Le Cirque. Now, he's back, as King of the Castle, and achieving perfection on a regular basis.

The dining room is large and formal, and cozy at the same time.
We looked at the tasting menu, but  since everyone wanted something different - did I mention that this was a family dinner? - we each ordered separate dishes. So, except for the amuse-bouche consisting of three tiny dishes on the theme of The Turnip, which we all received, there will be pics of some of the lovely dishes that the slower eaters ordered. I note that some people like turnips and some are just as happy not to see them, but this kitchen produced some seriously good turnip stuff, like the little purée.

I started with a warm creamy watercress velouté garnished with chicken wings filled with morels, crayfish, cockscombs, and a small salad of cardamine which is apparently a non-supermarket variety of watercress. The different flavors all worked perfectly together.

Another appetizer, more elaborate in concept, was frogs' legs.  The frogs' legs were cooked "lollipop" style, the meat scraped back and cooked with shallots. This is often done with chicken wings, the frogs' legs are a much better ideal.





My main course was a tasting of rabbit: the tiny rack of "roasted" chops with hedgehog mushrooms, tortellini filled with braised shoulder of rabbit, a few fava beans, and the last component, stuffed saddle of rabbit with asparagus fricassée. I fell on this and caused it to disappear so fast that people were making remarks about bank commercials with Visigoths. I will shamelessly admit that they were probably right.

Also at our table were: cedar-wrapped red king salmon with stuffed morels and a little salad of a delicate lettuce called lambs' quarters. The cedar plank is shaved into thin sheets which are wrapped around the salmon for the cooking and the presentation. The dish is then taken away, the cedar wrapping is carefully removed, and the happy eater falls to. No picture.

And a tasting of pork, which included a tiny roasted chop, some pork belly, and some shredded pork shoulder wrapped in ketaife, the Greek dough that looks like shredded wheat. This made for great happiness as well.

Two of the desserts: Kenyan coffee ganache, lovely dark chocolate mousse on a chocolate sablé biscuit, accompanied by house-made coffee ice cream, and raspberry almond sablé with a crème fraiche parfait and yuzu sorbet.

Jazzfest closes, we keep eating

We sat down to dinner Sunday night at Mother's on Tchopitoulas Street, after a long hot closing day at Jazzfest. There's nothing fancy about Mother's, but the food is local and good, the staff is friendly and efficient, the lines move fast, and there are tables. Who dat said I'm fussy? I'd been jonesing for jambalaya all weekend. Usually the jambalaya stand is my first destination when the gates to Jazzfest open, but the purveyor whose jambalaya I loved didn't return after the storm, and his replacement has been serving something that tastes like Rice-A-Roni. Dry Rice-A-Roni. I gave him one last try this year, yuk, and promised myself to finish the weekend with jambalaya at Mother's. Excellent. That will be the plan in future. There will be no unattended children.

Does your town go in for decorated hearts/bears/ cows/apples/whatevers ?

It's going on now in New Orleans, the beautified creatures are Mardi Gras Bead Dogs, 

and will be auctioned later this year

 for the benefit of the local ASPCA.

This guy is part of a coordinated set of pups at the Lee Circle. He looks hopeful, in the way pups do when they're looking for food. We could relate.




And of course, there were a few hungry lookin Who Dat dogs. Well, we Giant fans know why they're hungry.

The other dogs for which New Orleans is known are Lucky Dogs, which are average hot dogs sold from above-average looking carts. My recommendation: take a picture of the cart, leave the dog.

hearts and flowers

At a board meeting yesterday, it came time to set the date of the next meeting and someone proposed February 15th. I automatically blurted out, "Oh, don't! Everyone will be in an awful mood!" and guess what? A few of the men looked puzzled, but all the others present nodded in agreement and we set a different date.


It's early to think about Valentine's Day, unless you're booking a trip to Paris, but in my opinion, most of the time V-day is not a day that ends good. It can't live up to expectations. Restaurants push a dumbed-down, over-priced set menu, knowing that (a) most of the people in the dining room will be people who don't eat in restaurants a lot, and (b) there will be a bad scene at at least one table. I've seen kids come home from school in tears, disappointed girls opening packages that are, um, not small enough - probably the only day in the year when one might think that! You could cut the atmosphere with a knife at concerts (why are we here? Why are we listening to this noise instead of joyfully embracing one another at the top of a building or mountain or something and calling our folks?). I don't even like to shop on or the day before V-day - too many men looking uncomfortable in at least one of its many ways, harried, puzzled, guilty, furtive. Annoyed women trudge through the market: cute dinner for two, my eye, we should be going out. Sitters will not admit to being available. A year's worth of resentments can bubble to the surface in a blink. And as for the way red roses suddenly triple in price, well, it's worse than the way clothing prices bounce up and down on websites.

And yet, as Mr. Webster said of Dartmouth, there are those who love it, who have tender memories, who will smile as they help their kids glue hearts on doilies, who leave the table early for a good reason. So if you're making plans, be careful: it's my heart. And if you think your plans might involve champagne, buy it now and tuck it away, before the price - well, you know.

beloved local institution, Paris style

Christian Constant is the owner of Le Violon d'Ingres and, it seems, of just about every other establishment in the neighborhood, as well as of some serious real estate on a TV screen near you. We'd had dinner at the Violon years ago, and had loved the food, so we thought we'd check out its current incarnation. Summary: lively spot, the decor has been lightened and simplified, and the waitstaff giggles a lot. Food: yes and no. The menu reads like the chapter headings of everyone's first French cookbook, with a nod to seasonal availability. My first course was clear consommé of game: beautifully clear, a slight whiff of gaminess, no flavor. Himself ordered the pressé of tongue and foie gras, and reported that he'd had better.

However, I loved my main course, which was a Parmentier of lobster. Lobster - well, we get such wonderful lobster on the East Coast that I rarely order it while travelling. So, ok, OK, I was inspired, and this was inventive: delicate potato slices interleaved with slices of lobster tail, on a bed of mashed potatoes with chunks of lobster, topped with chives and salmon caviar. The potato was popularised in 18th century France by Dr. Parmentier, an early student of what was not yet known as Nutrition ("Filling! Not poisonous! Can be cut up and fried! Will not cause leprosy!"). Dr. Parmentier finally  convinced  the Paris Faculty of Medicine to declare potatoes edible in 1772. Potato dishes are named after him to this day. Well, that lobster owes Dr. P. a lot. Great dish. Want more.



Himself ordered the cassoulet, after a discussion with the captain to make sure that everything he wanted had gone into the preparation (he insists lamb is key, besides the goose, duck confit, pork belly, etc. No argument here.) We've had a number of cassoulets in the southwest, of varying negative degrees of appeal, I think this dish is something that's offered because the regional restauranteurs feel obliged and tourists will try it because they're in the region. Obviously while it's not regional to Paris, M. Constant's cassoulet got an A+ (19/20).  Moving on, dessert - mine: the house millefeuille, his: cheese, Vacherin de Mont d'Or. 


Interesting note: unusually for a French restaurant of this caliber, the tables turned over twice and there were quite a few walk-ins.

dinner at Passage 53, Paris

Some of the passages in Paris are lovely jewel boxes of exquisite merchandise, some are a mixed bag of the trendy and the tacky, and the portion of the Passage des Panoramas in which Passage 53 is found holds a few quirky little shops and a collection of tiny restaurants, of which the 53 is the star. Like all stars, this one makes its own rules.

The restaurant is tiny, white and cream, reverent in feeling without being gothic. If it's 16 feet wide, that's a lot. To my thinking, the prohibition on indoor smoking is what makes it possible for places like this to survive. No merry closing dinners, no bus tours, no shouting drinkers comparing exchange rates! thank you, juddering Euro.

We sat back and smiled while staff explained that there's one menu, many courses, tiny to small portions. OK, I'm in. After a glass of champagne, some tiny drinky nibbles, and a small cup of creamy pumpkin velouté that actually tasted like pumpkin but also tasted good (the expresso foam on top helped, I'm sure), things got serious: a single perfect oyster on very light smoked haddock mousseline, airy almond foam topped with caviar. Would I have thought of this? No. Did I love it? Mmm-hmm.

Up next: a seared sea scallop, a flavorful beurre blanc, slices of deep-fried baby artichoke, and me suddenly realizing that all these courses, all this food, were prepared upstairs and carried down a charming elderly iron circular staircase on trays that looked wider across than the diameter of the staircase. Dirty dishes disappear into the back of the restaurant where they are dealt with - you see nothing going upstairs. We learned later that the staircase dates back to 1798, and is classified as a historical monument!

Then what everyone calls "the white course:" tiny seared calamari on a bed of almond and cauliflower cream with seared baby calamari and shaved flakes of raw cauliflower. It's subtle, in fact, I've heard that some people haven't been able to taste anything of this dish, but we loved it. These may have been the best calamari of a lifetime, including those served by friends of ours in New Jersey. Another fish course: a small filet of baby cod in a frothy broth with radishes.

OK, here's where my notes start to get blurry and the order of things gets a little scrambled - did I forget to say there was a lot of lovely wine on the table as well? again, the foie gras of a lifetime, cold but not too cold, served with a touch of quince coulis, like eating silk; two meat courses: a seriously excellent breast of pigeon, cooked sous vide and now I think this is how pigeon should be cooked forever, because it was done to a ("rosée") turn but still tender. Then noisettes of venison - look, I'm running out of adjectives, how many times can I say "perfect" and "excellent?" Right, I could say "sublime", and I will. Remember, late October is game season in France, one of the reasons we chose this time to go.

Desserts - yes, that's a plural. I was immobilized. My best love was a "deconstructed" Mont Blanc, airy chestnut mousse with a touch of - cinnamon? ginger? too subtle, plus chunks of meringue, served in a verrine (double old-fashioned glass).


I'm sure that wasn't me making slurpy noises, the place is not so small that you hear what's being said at other tables but we all know how the sound of slurps travels. I'm sure I've left out some of the small stuff like palate cleansers, refreshers and pre- and post desserts.

Dinner at La Plage, Wading River

La Plage is a tiny restaurant right on Long Island Sound. The Sound is a generally placid body of water that opens out into the Atlantic, with Long Island's north shore and north fork on its south side, Connecticut on its north. The restaurant started as a fried fish shack, was bought by energetic new owners who hired a cook from Le Bernardin. Wonderful place, wrong location, rave reviews, didn't make money. The owners  have "tuned it up" regularly over the years, the guy from Le Bernadin is no longer around, and the restaurant has become more and more simplified each time.


The menu now is not challenging, same 2 meats, 3 fish, 5 pastas, 1 poultry as a lot of others, but the place is friendly and relaxing. This is what it looked like as we were leaving. You can tell by the full moon that we were there mid-August, but I'm only getting around to posting now.


This is La Plage's version of beef carpaccio. The ingredients are top quality, but each summer there's less and less beef and more and more arugula and decorative elements.

But the sunsets are glorious. Just glorious. And the wine list is nice and varied. I don't remember what our main courses were, too much time toasting the sunset. Himself had dessert, not original, but we were in no mood for an anise-and-lavender challenge with flower petals of dubious origin. Flourless chocolate cake was just fine, thanks.

follow the money: dinner at East Hampton Grill

After a long day of coaxing the Iphone (it won), we drove out to the East Hampton Grill for dinner. New restaurant, worth a try, what can I say, we loved it! First of all, even though its predecessor at this site, Della Femmina, was a Beloved Local Institution, we were never made to feel beloved there. This new establishment is beloved already, and with reason. You walk in, and even if there's a wait, there's a drink, there's a lawn chair, there's a nice staffer bringing you bulletins about your table, so you don't feel forgotten. Your other choice for a brief wait is the bar, but that's where they keep the thirsty fratboys. Can't have a summer resort without 'em. Anyway, then you get to sit down. On comfortable chairs. With a reading light shining onto the table! Who thought that up? It's so simple! Why doesn't everyone do it? I'm too old to go out with Eagle Scouts anymore, so I'm rarely with anyone who carries matches.

So, food.  They cook what they like, trusting that their clientele will like it too. Very sensible attitude. Himself and I both had Oysters St. Charles, 6 perfectly fried oysters sitting in their shells atop warm spinach and artichoke dip, a dollop of rémoulade sauce and a drop of Crystal (hot sauce) on each oyster, bottle of Crystal on the table. He then had what looked like a slice of dinosaur, but was really roast prime rib of beef, with mashed potatoes, horseradish cream, and natural jus. I had found a French Dip sandwich on the menu, haven't had a real unprocessed one since I was really really little, so I indulged. Fortunately I was wearing the Little Sweater That Grows and Grows (the J.Crew Seacomb Sweater), so that no matter how I stuffed myself, it just hung on without clinging. Wish I could say the same for my waist and the pants I was wearing. We simply could not deal with dessert, although they did look good.

As to service, the staff get your orders right and they smile at you. Astounding.

The East Hampton Grill is owned by the same people who own the Palm Beach Grill in, oh, yes, Palm Beach, Florida, which presumably is where they learned to feed people who go to restaurants to eat. We will go back and I will report on what happens as the summer stretches on.

Brussels: dinner at Restaurant Bruneau

Very discreet, quiet and respectable location. Inside, Brazilian diplomats with blondes, Asian bankers with waiting security, prosperous local businessmen and of course, perpetually hungry food tourists. The last time we were here, thinner, edgier, more hopeful, it was also spring, but the garden was open, the place was full of flowers, and people were talking about forced bilingualism.

Tonight it's cold and rainy, politicians are behaving badly in public, and just as I'm about to get maudlin, champagne arrives, with little yummies, including an exquisite "mini-gazpacho."

Delicate sauteed goose foie gras follows

and then I dig into veal sweetbreads with a mélange of new peas and baby fava beans,


and he succumbs to a nice piece of roast veal topped with morels.

Oh, and there was dessert - almost forgot, sommelier got chatty, but remembered in time,


Fresh strawberries around strawberry mousse with strawberry coulis


And for me a modest serving of a "mojito" (lime, mint, a little rum) sorbet with mulberry sirop. Seems to be a lot of lime around this spring.


Coffee, candies, cookies, truffles, and good night. Tomorrow: TGV to Lyon.

London: dinner at Gordon Ramsey, Royal Hospital Road

Lesser folk might have been put off by this sign at the corner of Tite Street and Royal Hospital Road,

but we were on our way to dinner and would not be deterred. Gordon Ramsay is, of course, all over London, and owns, has an interest in, or consults for more restaurants and related businesses than I have tee shirts, but the restaurant on Royal Hospital Road is his first and, so I'm told, the one he'll hold on to wherever life takes him. And, leaving aside all the tv and the hoopla, this place is very well run and the food is pretty close to perfect. This was our first meal of the trip and we usually try for a little self-control at the kick-off, so I blame our total lack of restraint on the still vivid memory of the frozen bread-like lumps dealt out by the flight attendant shortly before we landed.

Seated and inhaling champagne, we did our best not to drool as we read the menu, and we agreed that we deserved the tasting menu. The adorable teeny amuse-bouche was inhaled before I could take a picture, as was the exquisite lobster salad with baby vegetables and (blushes) the risotto with morels, asparagus and sweetbreads almost disappeared too.

I regained enough control to get the next course

which was unbelievably good eggplant filled with seasoned whipped ricotta. Note lovely topping of perky baby veggies.

This was followed by the rabbit main course, tender, flavorful


and then the parade of desserts began:

sorbet

dark chocolate cylinder filled with ginger mousse


white chocolate truffles


strawberry ice cream bubbles in white chocolate shells.
So this was Friday night; tomorrow, we'll do a lot of walking to be in shape for dinner.