Del Posto Lunch Prix Fixe

I would like to tell you about the hands-down, best meal I had during my December visit to New York.

The $29 lunch prix fixe at Del Posto had me so happy that I started bouncing in my seat and clapping my hands.

I could not. Can not. Understand how people act civilized in this restaurant.

The food is too good.

And at $29.

It's bust out of your skin happiness good.

Let's just first start with the bread. It's good. But it gets better.


It comes with this. Butter.

Always good.

And also.

WHIPPED LARDO.

I mean sweet lord talk about melt in your mouth, luciously salty and fatty, roll your eyes in the back of your head with pleasure.

Whipped Lardo is a gift.

A gift to humanity.


Okay, I'm going to calm down for a second here and refer you to Ed Levine's review, which sent us to the restaurant, and which manages to stay relatively calm, so you can actually get a sense of the food. We used it as a guide in ordering.

I'll just let you peruse the pictures.

And think.

About how good your life would be right now if you were eating a bite of steak tartare with truffled salsa and thinly shaved fresh porcini.

And let me assure you.

Your life would be very good indeed.

It would easily qualify for one of the blessed ones on this dear planet we call home.

It boggles my mind sometimes that there are people who don't love food as much as my friend and I do.

Here is something that lets you just luxuriate in the simple fact that we are physical creatures with five senses that allow us to smell the wafting aroma of freshly baked bread, hear the crust crackle, feel the loaf break and yield as we tear off a piece, let our eyes feast upon the different visual textures, and finally, finally, taste the warm, yeasty wonderfulness.

And you get to do it every single day of your life! Several times a day!

People, people, if you have not yet made a New Year's Resolution. I strongly urge you to consider striving for this aspiration: "Please, let me aim to only let goodness touch my lips."

hahaha.

I'm getting a little out of hand here, aren't I?

What can I say? Lunch was fun.

I was with two beloved girlfriends. Talking and eating and laughing.

This pork chop was juicy and bursting with flavor. And if I was the mom on a surburban street block serving this.

All the other moms would hate me. Because it would be better than any pork chop they could even imagine. Better than your dream pork chop.

Oh, and those little white balls with the weird tiny little brown squares: goat cheese balls rolled in tiny salted olive oil bread crumbs!

And look, this dark chocolate coffee tartufo, looks just like a truffle nestled atop the forest floor.

Or at least, how I imagine a truffle would look nestled atop the forest floor, waiting for the sniffing snout of a pig truffle-seeker, waiting to be found, to be auctioned at astronomical prices, to fly across the Atlantic, and finally, to land on the plate of an appreciative food-obsessed diner.

I was a little emotionally exhausted after this lunch.

I whipped myself in a bit of a foodie-frenzy.

To sit on the edge of one's seat in eager anticipation, and to have those expectations exceeded.

Is a rare thing.

A rare wonderful thing.

Thank you Del Posto.

For a wonderful meal.

Which we both know

Is one of the best things in life.

Del Posto, 85 Tenth Avenue, New York, NY

Locanda Verde

My friend has been talking about Locanda Verde for ages, and now that I've finally gone with her, I'm appalled that I let so much of my life go by without visiting this restaurant.

My friend insisted on ordering their Sheep's Milk Ricotta. It comes with a hearty drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and a generous sprinkling of sea salt and fresh herbs. Homemade ricotta is so good. It's smooth and rich and go this sinful mouthfeel.

Remember how I was on a raw meat kick? This steak tartare with walnuts, truffle, and poached quail egg was probably the best of the trip. This ranks up there with the veal steak tartare at Insieme. [Haha, I just involuntarily heaved a huge sigh thinking about how delicious this tartare was.]

The fonduta ravioli: essence of wild mushrooms, salty parmigiano reggiano. Delicate, al dente pasta. I don't know that I could bear to order something else if I went back. I'd almost have to get this dish again.

The Stracci with lamb bolognese with ricotta and mint was less successful than the the ravioli.

One of my goals is to learn how to make homemade pasta this year. How's that for aspirations in life? If I could approach the quality of Locanda Verde, I will have known that in some small, but not insignificant way, I will have done something useful with these days on earth that we have.

Locanda Verde, 377 Greenwich St., New York, NY

Caffe Buon Gusto

Feeling both lazy and hungry, my friend and I headed out to a local Italian spot called Caffe Buon Gusto, which turned out to be a small, darling spot. We started with a spinach salad topped with apples, goat cheese and walnuts and drizzled with an orange dressing.

I craved raw beef like nobody's business during this winter trip. I had steak tartare at least twice, and at Caffe Buon Gusto I went with a beef carpaccio. I actually didn't like this that much because of the weird decision to add mixed greens. I see now upon re-perusing the menu that the presence of mixed greens had been clearly indicated. Nevertheless, in my world, small, tender, bitter arugula leaves are the only greens that belong on a proper beef carpaccio.

The white wine & garlic broth in the restaurant's mussels just begs for some bread-sauce sopping.

Homemade pasta with shrimp in a tomato sauce and a flurry of cheese. Comfort. On a cold slushy day.

The restaurant is small. It's the sort of place locals attend when they want a reliable, tasty meal. It'd be a good place to take your sweetheart when you've reached that point in the relationship where she's permitted you to see what her face looks like in daylight without makeup on. (As a side note, that's sort of a big deal for those of us who believe in the power of makeup.)

Caffe Buon Gusto, 236 E. 77th St., New York, NY

Pizza with Caramalised Onion, Edamame Ricotta, and Prosciutto

The holiday season is upon us, and I am starting to think about cooking again. Back before I started drowning in the overwhelming experience called first quarter of graduate school, I did putter around the kitchen a bit.

Have you ever put together an entire outfit because of a particularly pair of hot stilettos or a very shiny pair of earrings?

Well, I have. And after my mozzarella ball fiasco and resulting mess of edamame ricotta complete with slightly undercooked and crunchy edamame, I knew I wanted to use the ricotta in some sort of preparation that would allow the edamame to cook more.

Somehow, the obvious choice in my mind was to make pizza. Here's my argument for the connection: I was thinking bread because I had just made No-Knead Bread for the Vegetarian Potluck, and ricotta is a cheese, and cheese goes on pizza. Q.E.D. Obviously.

Haha, I'm just finishing up a batch of finals. You think the use of similar logic will manage to get me far in regards to a passing grade in a class?

Convoluted thinking aside, I found this recipe on Smitten Kitchen for Fresh Ricotta and Red Onion Pizza, and suddenly my path to gustatory victory was clear.

Only problem is that I had a lot of edamame ricotta. And I really don't know how to cook for one. So I made two baking sheet-sized pizzas at once. Yes, I have problems.

But you have a bigger one. You didn't know to call me up that day because boy could I have unloaded some deliciousness onto your plate.

My first Chicago dinner invite!

Some Italian students invited a couple of us over for dinner one Sunday. The chef is a jovial man who loves olive oil like no one I've ever met before. He calls it liquid gold, and apparently when he was young, he loved to sniff bottles of olive oil. Some of us huff aerosol cans and some of us inhale extra virgin olive oil.

The penne pasta was topped with a simple sauce of canned tomatoes and tuna. It was simple and delicious. The pasta was the most al dente pasta I've ever had, but it was perfectly cooked. I felt like a welcomed guest, and it drove home for me the idea that one need not pull out all the stops in order to host a party where one's guests feel special.

I still don't know how to do a truly simple dinner party, but I thoroughly enjoyed attending this one.

Oliveto's Truffle Dinners

My parents were complaining to me this past weekend that I never told them about when Oliveto was holding its White Truffle Dinner. Every year, around November, the people behind Oliveto's, a restaurant in Oakland that understands the joy of food, hop on a plane and personally select a batch of white truffles to bring back to California and serve to Oliveto diners.

The Oliveto White Truffle dinner in 2003 was when I lost my tartfufo bianco virginity. One nearly wanted to die of happiness. The experience left such a positive imprint on my mind that when I went to Per Se four years later and watched the servers shave copious amounts of black truffle over a dining companion's plate of pasta, I made a fool out of myself bouncing in my seat and literally clapping my hands with glee. To this day, KM, who organized the dinner, gently mocks me about how I failed to comport myself in a civilized manner.

Well, I had brushed off my mom's admonishments with explanations that I lived a terribly busy life and could not be bothered to look after their gastronomic welfare. Honestly, who is the child and who is the parent in this relationship?

But, in a funny karmic fluke, this very Monday I received an email from Oliveto proclaiming that they had hauled in such a bounteous batch of tartufi that they were extending their truffle dinner until Saturday. In a bit of personal insult to me, turns out somehow in my absence from California shores, Oliveto has extended its White Truffle Dinner into just the simple, but certaintly not plain, Truffle Dinner, aka a gastronomic orgy of white and black truffles. What a kick in the gut. I'm landing in San Francisco next Wednesday night, four days too late to sneak into Oliveto's for their truffle menu.

For once my father listened to my adament instructions that if they wanted to attend this dinner, they better make reservations soon. Lucky bastards (I guess one shouldn't call one's parents bastards), lucky fools (oh that will probably get me in trouble too, won't it?) are going to eat there tomorrow night.

Dad asked for some recommendations, and in a two-part email (initial recommendations based off of choices in the Oliveto email and subsequent "ooo-ooo-oooh, you should eat this too" upon pursing the online menu), and I made the following suggestions:

Appetizers:
(1) Carpaccio of Northern Halibut with bottarga, Cucumber, and Black Truffles
(2) Vol-au-vent of wild snails, wild mushrooms, and leeks
(3) Roast Paine Farm pigeon stuffed with black truffles, dried Knoll Farm figs, and pistachios

Pasta Course:
(1) Tagliatelle al burro
(2) Crespelle of first-of-the-season Dungenesss crab and Porcini mushrooms
(3) Ravioli of celery root and bone marrow

Meat Course:
(1) Sweetbread and Spiny Lobster Sausage with Shoestring Potatoes
(2) Roasted double breast of Liberty duck with pickled sour cherries, sweet potato purée, and fried Chanterelle mushrooms
(3) Spit-roasted porchetta of Cannard Farm young pork stuffed with sweet fennel sausage; black truffle and Fuyu persimmon mostarda

Dessert Course:
(1) Chocolate, burnt orange, and cardamom-espresso ice cream tartufatti
(2) French Butter pear budino with black truffles in Cognac

Don't know what they'll choose, but my parents' bellies are going to be very very full, and their wallets will be corresponding that much lighter.

Oliveto's, 5655 College Ave., Oakland, CA 94618

Il Buco

After Gramercy Tavern, Il Buco has worked its way into my heart, and easily sits near the top of my list when I want to have delicious food in a warm and rustic environment. The only thing that sucks about Il Buco are some of Il Buco's patrons. It seems to attract the beautiful crowd, and normally I love all things fine, but one gets the distinct impression that those of the distinguished bone structure are failing to appreciate the loveliness of their meal. At this very dinner, I cringed upon overhearing some dark hair chap explain to his friends a nonsensical food phobia.

My gripe about people aside, the food was indeed fantastic. They had Kale Caesar Salad on the menu, which is one of my new obsessions. I just tried to replicate this last week, and upon viewing this picture again, it is clear that I sorely deprived my guests of the appropriate blizzard of parmesan.

The food at Il Buco is simple and a study in how technique can easily hold its own against the creamiest, truffle-infused sauce. These squash blossoms were stuffed with a light cheese, ricotta I think, and light, and warm, and soft and crispy all at once.

A lightly cooked egg with a veritable flurry of bottarga. How sad it is that much of the American dining world knows not the wonders of bottarga. Of course, it means more for me, and that at least, is always a good thing.

To fill you in, in case you have not been lucky enough to enjoy a dish with bottarga, it is dried cod or mullet roe, that is then either shaved or grated. Similar to truffles, it works particularly well with runny eggs and fresh pasta. It has a salty, rich taste that evokes the sea.

Fresh, hand-made pasta with summer squash and parmesan. Slippery, silky with the sweetness from the squash and a bit of bite to the pasta.

Panna cotta with an aged balsamic that did not work as well I had hoped, but the texture of the panna cotta was the closest I've had in a long while to that light jiggly ideal I always seek. If I had more experience fondling breasts, I'd explain it in those terms because I'm sure there's an analogy to be drawn there.

The arrival of the panna cotta and this dessert signaled the beginning of disaster. I inexplicably began to get a serious stomach ache around here, and I was utterly torn between my desire to go home and lie down and the conflicting need to savor every bite of my last meal at Il Buco. Or at least, my last meal at Il Buco for a good number of months. I held out as long as I could, but in the end, this poor dessert got the short end of the stick, and I had to call it a night.

Il Buco, 47 Bond St. (b/n Bowery and Lafayette, New York, NY

Going Away Party

In August I decided to hold a going away party for myself, and I cooked up a storm.

I'm always worried that there won't be enough food, and for me, it's the worse thing for someone to leave hungry.

Just looking at all of this food makes me wish I had some of those as leftovers in my fridge right now. Because I have not had much time to cook in the last few days.

My mother's style of Vietnamese spring rolls. They are actually nothing like traditional spring rolls.

I put in fried egg crepe, shrimp, cucumber, bean sprouts (which I painstakingly pulled the ends off of), basil, mint, and vermicelli that I flavored with msg, sugar, salt, and dried Chinese pork.

Roasted fresh corn with feta, roasted tomatoes and cilantro in a simple vinaigrette.

Potato salad with these awesome dill pickles that are so easy to make.

Peach cobbler, this one is mind-numbingly simple. I made it with these white peaches that were a tad juicy. I must say though, I don't understand the addition of warm water to cold butter. I'm with the recipe on the cold butter, just not on the warm water.

Moroccan carrot salad, thank you Mark Bittman. See number 14.

Cool cucumber soup shots. I also had watermelon gazpacho shots.

Caprese skewers. Thank goodness for friends. I called in reinforcements. Both the Bastard Consultant, and someone who I will hereby deem the Dr. Consultant came in to help. They skewered, they peeled, they helped. A lot.

I may have gone a bit overboard on the cream, but I get a little exuberant when making Cajun Shrimp Curry.

All-in-all it was a lot of fun to see people from all the different parts of my life. Stuck out here in the Windy City, I miss all of them dearly.