First, as several gastronomical historians have noted, French chefs traditionally have done everything in three steps: you take something, do something to it and finish it with something. In its simplist form then, you take a chicken breast, sautee it in butter and finish off the sauce with cream. To some extent that’s the way American cuisine evolved as well.
But sometime ago and someplace else (I tend to attribute it to Las Vegas, where I first experienced it, although I was convinced it was originally a California fad) I noticed a superabundance of stuff. Now one took the chicken breast, marinated it in a complex sauce, cooked it by baking and then grilling and finished it off with a sauce containing 20 exotic spices, herbs and little known berries.
And so it was at Aspen’s newest resto – Dish – where my wife’s cod was supposed to come with artichokes but instead sat in a thick soup so full of “stuff” one surmised the minestrone can spilled into the cod pan. Pizzas at a place like Mezzaluna are masterpieces in overcrowding and even the simplist preparation elsewhere is made more difficult.
Second, as most social historians and obesity experts have noted, in France one is presented with three or four courses, depending on the option of cheese, with portions designed for normal-sized human beings. Here, eg in Aspen, one struggles to finish a main course alone, far less three courses – as an example my “cowboy” ribeye steak, as delicious and as perfectly undercooked as it was at Plato’s, weighed in at a staggering 22 ounces, enough for 4 persons in the developed world and 11 persons elsewhere.
(Ironically, it must be noted that Plato’s is embedded in the Aspen Institute complex where famine, poverty, war and disease in the 3rd world are frequent subjects of conferences.) So one’s only strategy, other than eating monochromatically, is to order two apetizers, hoping they too will not overflow the platter.
Third difference: balance. Remember what Julia taught you; have a little protein, some fat, some carbs and a tad of starch; or as your Mom more earthily said: “eat your damn vegetables!” In France even the fat-filled terrine of “x” sits besides a nicely dressed salad, and every main has some offsetting but not offputting vegetable(s).
At the Denver airport, however, one is confronted with a huge ½ chicken at Wolfgang Puck’s Express enthroned on a mound of mashed potatoes that would make Richard Dreyfuss balk.
I used to kid that one reason I came to France was in order to lose weight, attributing it to the tendency abroad to walk a lot after lunch and not be so automobile-dependant. But given the differences above, I’m not sure it’s also not the food itself; eg - its preparation (simpler), portion size (smaller) and balance (better).
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the complex layered tastes at places like Les Magnolias, the multiple small treats at places like Ze Kitchen Galerie and the humungous portions of cote de boeuf at places like Le Quincy. But day in and day out, I’ll take good product, cooked expertly and finished deliciously rather than all the frou-frou of the West.
My favorities among the above:
Les Magnolias
48 Av de Bry, Le Perreux sur Marne (RER : Nogent Les Perreux)
T : 01 48 72 47 43
Closed Saturday lunch, Sundays and Mondays
Menus = 36, 48, 78 €.
Ze Kitchen Galerie
4, rue des Grands Augustins, 6th (Metro: Saint Michel)
T: 01 44 32 00 32
Closed Sundays.
A la carte 30 €.
Le Bis de Severo
16, rue des Plantes 14th
T: 01.40.44.73.09
Open Tuesday to Saturday night
A la carte 35-70 € (depending on whether you have the beef)
February 2009
February 20, 2009
February 19, 2009
February 17, 2009
February 14, 2009
Grand Tour Day 12
Another day in the Eternal City, such a hard life I have. After my obligatory Congresso breakfast (which give it its due, does have fresh pineapple and kiwis that you can pick out of the Macedonia mess of unripe melon, espresso ristretto and red orange juice [reconstituted I’m sure, but]) and requisite “Ciao’s” I was off to the centro again (4 E all day pass).
I ate lunch at another Slow Food place we’d eaten at last year located near the Coliseum.
The Osteria Il Bocconcino is an unprepossessing place which despite its location is largely frequented by locals. I had the special of the day – spaghetti with clams that were enhanced by two things; teeny, tiny, crunchy bread crumbs and a really spicy sauce – delicious. I ended with a fondente of chocolate which while my daughter does it better, was pretty good. With wine, a correct coffee and no bottled water my bill was 24.50 E.
I walked past thousands of strikers, all wearing red to indicate their politics as if you didn’t know, who are apparently striking to show their displeasure with who else? The government.
Then by the forums/fora and up the Corso to the Museum of the Roman Foundation, for the last day of its show “From Rembrandt to Vermeer,” holdings from the Gemaldeglerie in Berlin. As with all shows from X to Y, there were scant Rembrandts and only one Vermeer and only a scattering of other worthies such as: Van Dyck, Hals, Rubens, ter Borch, etc. But despite that, rotten viewing space and the huge crowd, it was worth it for the gems.
On the way to the subway I inadvertently went by the Fountain of Trevi, hardly visable
and into my last church – the Chiesa Santissimo Sacramento – to light a candle for a friend. Modernity being what it is, the candle was of the incandescent kind and there was no liturgical music playing but rather “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” which, when I last looked, was written by a non-Catholic.
On that note and to end my version of the Grand Tour, I’ll add a Happy Valentine’s Greeting as did this fine soul:
February 13, 2009
Grand Tour Day 11
Free at least! Into Rome! I had a choice of going into town on the Massive Marriott Moto-chariot for 10 Euros RT, which takes 60 minutes in bound, and longer to return in rush hour, or the free, itty-bitty Marriott Courtyard shuttle to the suburban train which costs 2 Euros RT and takes 30 minutes, if the connections are working and 45 minutes if the stars are not so arranged. I took the latter along with all the other common folk.
After some unpleasant business at Termini, which I will spare my gentle readers from, I bused out to the St Lorenzo area, to Tram-Tram, the restaurant Colette and I loved last visit here.
Unless I knew it was the same place, I would never have guessed it, it’s fallen so far. Today, it was never more than ½ full (it had been packed to the rafters a year ago), the three ladies (Mama and her two daughters) who ran it, were disorganized and scatterbrained and the food was not knockout (as it was a year ago).
I started out with the exact same dish (orchiette with clams and pureed broccoli) I had gone gaga over before and it was “so what?” Then I had the Salad Tram-Tram with radicchio, microtomed slices of pear, pecorino and walnuts. I dressed the radicchio with I gotta say good Balsamico and Olive Oil, ate it, then the pear shavings, and finally the cheese and nuts - and therefore was able to have a contorno, dessert and cheese, thanks very much!, instead of my hated dish - a composed salad!
With wine, a coffee correct and no water, my bill was 24 E (which they’d miscalculated [having added in water] but recalculated as 24 E [readjusting it for the Berlusconi Factor], so I gave up on their math skills.) As I left, I re-read the article in English on the wall I’d been impressed with last year, and wouldn’t you know, these three (getting older fast) ladies, who when the place opened 16 years ago, had stark black hair – now are all blondes.
I then went to the Villa Torlonia, which my charming concierge had implied was to hell-and-gone but an art historian friend insisted I visit – and was I happy I did (and it is neither far not hard to get to). Wow, how could I have missed it all these years? It’s huge, has about 20 structures in a big tree-filled park and is as marvelous as say the Parc Monceau in Paris.
Entering I saw the huge Casa Nobile up on a hillock, which had casts of ancient statues and wonderful rooms (and I’m an anti-room guy). Walking past palm trees, green grass, wild flowers already blooming (recall - it hailed and snowed just yesterday),
ancient Roman columns and other things,
I arrived at my true destination – the Owl Pavilion,
built and added to from 1840 to 1930. (“Anglo-Americans,” are blamed for its destruction in WWII).
What I loved most about it were not the quirky occult things mentioned on various websites but the Frank Lloyd Wright-esque wood work detailing and Tiffany-esque stained glass, all over this bizarre place. I took some time to walk through the rest of the park
and then toured a temporary exhibition of Roman art from “between the wars,” the highlight of which was a painting of a guy kneeling, tossing off another guy who was seated. The ladies just ahead of me observing the same scene seemed equally astonished.
Then back to the Marriott Nowheresville and a supper of salami and wine and cheese in my room. But, as opposed to my Ma’s Grand Tour, I’m up here, 20 stories above the autostrada, eating my grub and watching the street theater, which consists today of the Great Fiumicina-Roma collision pileup of the century, oh, maybe the month, well, at least today. 6-9 PM nonstop. So far no bodies, but I coulda missed’em.
(OT observation: the new fashionable pants in Italy, everywhere on everyone, are made out of the same fabric our clunky old ski pants used to be in the 1960’s and their trendy purses, brief-cases and coats are all made from plastic-y-oilclothy-looking shiny fabrics too. Fashion!)
February 12, 2009
Grand Tour Day 9
I husbanded my time today; knowing that the key thing was to turn up for the 3:49 TGV to Rome. I started out walking past my favorite stalls between San Lorenzo and the Mercato Centale, where I’ve bought many a belt and football shirt (Kaka, Materazzi & Rinaldo being the latest.) I was actually looking for sweat pants, since the draw string in mine had broken and the skinny guy who’s our President advised the youth of America on MTV - “Brothers, pull your pants up.” But no such product was there.
So I went to two fabulous art shows, each of which had the same basis; to take a great and venerated work of art, clean it carefully, restore it in the modern fashion (Italian rules please) and set it in context where folk can come in and gawk to their hearts’ delight without fighting those awful lines at the Uffizi or Palazzo Pitti, etc. Smart huh? Why don’t we do it? The first stop was at the Palazzo Medici Riccardi where until March 1st one can see how they restored the Raphael Madonna del Cardelino (Goldfinch) now hung alone but in front of four other works, two by Raphael and one by Della Robbia.) Quite impressive for a work that was shattered in 17 parts after a mudslide.
The second was the pair of Donatello Davids at the Bargello, there until November 2009. I say pair, because the original, warts, chips and all, albeit cleaned up, is on a low base, easily seen at almost eye-level and just a few feet behind it is another (new) casting with the gold leaf and on a high base, just as it was originally. I know they’re the same, but I couldn’t stop looking at them juxtaposed; it may have been the most peaceful 30 or 40 minutes of my life and I almost stayed all day. It helps that there’s a series of videos playing a few feet away with really almost inaudible but terribly soothing music playing.
But food beckoned, specifically a place recommended by three different experts (one American, one French and one Italian) – the Trattoria Cibrèo (not to be confused with the food shop, café or restaurant of the same name, far less, the tripes sandwicherie cart in front – the block is sort of like that, that Zabar’s gradually took over.) The place opens at 12:50 on the dot, there’s a line outside at 12:45, like Mary’s Fish Camp and one almost scrambles for a seat (while I was warned there were only 5-6 tables, actually there are 8, seating 30 covers, and even if you lose out here, the bigger resto will accommodate you).
The front window is bedecked with Slow Food/Osterie stickers with one other from a fish award association. So I ordered the fish soup that came with a bread toast topped with shredded cheese but without the rouille (as in France). It was superb; tasty, dense and spicy. Then I had a most unusual dish; what must have been quenelle-like chicken liver mousse slices that had a really distinctive sharp taste with a sauce the color of mustard that wasn’t. At the side of the plate was a genuine cooked cock’s head with comb and it came with divine potatoes cooked with tomatoes and carrots. I ended with the flourless chocolate tart. With wine, water, a grappa but no coffee the bill was 33 E (no credit cards – sorry.)
I had a little time before my train departed so I ducked into a photography show dedicated to the photography process – I Macchiaoli, which I’d never heard of and was not impressed enough with their bright color patches, to pursue study thereof. The trip was full of hassles, largely in communication, but by 7 PM I was safely at the Congress hotel, located like a modern castle on a hill halfway between the Sacred City and Fiumicino.
One of my hosts put together a dinner at the Teatro del Vino in the 4 story Gambero Rosso Citta del Gusto (Taste Town), which also houses a cooking school (in full swing at 11 PM), a TV stage, bookstore and so forth. We started with different things: I really liked my bucantini (giant spaghetti the Romans favor) with a pancetta/tomato/etc sauce; others liked their gnocchi and tripes. The 5 of us then more or less shared several platters of cured meats, cheeses and smoked fish; all were top-rate products. With wine, lots of water, two delicious desserts and no coffee the bill was 33.70 Euros each.
February 09, 2009
Grand Tour Day 8
Up and at it early; I did my walkies by the Fiera which was hosting a show on modern furnishings and underwear – think I’ll skip it. After an adequate breakfast and my inability to hook onto the free wifi at the hotel, I set out with a defined plan.
But once again, the quirky times of closing days (2nd and 4th Mondays) tripped me up.
Instead of the Bargello show of the restored Donatello’s David, I had to be content with Marino Marini’s stuff in a magnificent space (sadly wasted) at the Museum bearing his name.
Recall that my own state’s Governor, later VP, Spiro T. Agnew, famously said “seen one, seen ‘em all,” about slums/ghettos; well it applies to Marini’s horses, men, etc; not to pun - but this guy was a one-trick-pony. Next stop: Santa Croce.
Largely because of Adam Begley’s superb Nov 30, 2008 NYT article, that said “…..Perhaps the best way to enjoy the capital of Tuscany is to swap your guidebook for a copy of ‘A Room with a View,’” I bought an updated edition and carefully read Chapter 2: “In Santa Croce with No Baedeker” (NB: which my mother had.) “How like a barn!” ”And how very cold!” Couldn’t have said it better E.M. A dear friend had told me that a while back, he had approached San Miniato al Monte from just the right angle and been captivated; well at 10 AM I tried and was confronted with a grey sky and sun into my eyes/camera, leaving me disraptured.
I was not about to hike up; I recall going up when I was 21 but by 2-stroke,
of which there are too many today, and thought I’d save my knees. So onward down the right bank of the Arno, past the Uffizi and Palazzo Vecchio,
Ponte Vecchio
and fancy/schmancy stores to Santa Maria de Carmine, where I lit a candle I’d promised one of my old friends to, in her favorite church here.
For a non-Catholic, the choice of where to light it posed some issues, so I picked the candle-stand in front of the statue of the guy Dono Vasco Meini, because he looked like Jerome Groopman, the sort of expert whose help she needs.
After a pause-café (a nice French expression) I entered the Trattoria Camillo where I’d dined very well six months ago. I started to order the very same things but shifted to fried veal brains instead of chicken, which was probably a mistake, since they needed a jolt of something that August’s chicken did not. The fried green tomatoes (previously marinated in vinegar) and zucchini blossoms (in February mind you; shame on you for breaking the Slow Food pact) were quite good with a bit of salt. The bill with wine, water, grappa and coffee (but no dessert) was 41 E.
On the way back to my hotel (which for future reference was the Domus Florentiae (right near Maria Novella)
and had a most spacious room for Expedia’s el cheapo) I felt like Saul on the Road to Damascus, blinded by the first sun in two weeks after days of snow, sleet, ice, rain and grey. I thus saw the Arno and Ponte Vecchio in sunlight and the column with the statue of Justice standing against a fully clear blue sky.
Dinner was at a place recommended to me by a guy (who lives part-time in Rome) that I’ve eaten with maybe 20 times and with whom I think I always agree. And it was horrid. The “Decima Musa” has been open just two years and was 20% full, almost all with our friends who have the Power of Yen (how do I get their guidebook?) I had the tempura of gambas, whose batter was not burned but had a burned-taste. It came with an accompanying salad whose dressing was tart and after one taste, unapproachable. For my main I had a risotto – OK, admittedly, I wasn’t in Risotto-land – but with seafood that was expensive, it should have been great. Nope! Rice so undercooked it wasn’t al dente but al raw-way. Seafood one had to pick out of the mound of uncooked rice, like one did with a Coney Island grabber claw. Wine OK (with pix of lady on it like Yulia, the PM of Ukraine), water OK; but are wine and water why we come? Bill = 36 Euros (Boy - am I glad Colette doesn’t read my blog).
John Talbott
I was surely born in France of a chef father and food critic mother.
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