La Cucina della Memoria

Posted on April 10, 2012 by

I realize I am not quite done with Milan.

Let me describe Ponte Rosso, an old-fashioned trattoria in the Navigli neighborhood, a skinny spot with a cluster of tables and a dense, lengthy menu. A hybrid mash-up of authentic regional cuisine and simple home cooking, it is un-precious and we enjoy every authentic bite.

We start with a slab of homemade truffled liver pate surrounded by jiggly gelatin crystals and orange peel.  S’marvelous. We graze through stockfish and artichokes with candied lemon, another lovely simple dish that I will never forget. Ooh, let’s indulge in lardo with chestnut – but I am so transported by the liver and the stockfish I am in a dead swoon.

Continue with a pasta dish of gorgeous tagliatelle with asparagus, courgettes and peas – like eating a velvety spring garden. Try the Neapolitan rice ”Sartu” from a recipe by Ippolito Cavalcanti in 1837 – I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

The chefs at Ponte Rosso believe that when it comes to cooking, “memory” is a treasure to be mined and discovered … gently.  They are so right.  •

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La Scala II

Posted on April 2, 2012 by

Finally, I am inside La Scala. Had to get a special i.d. – a bit like struggling through homeland security. They still have my driver’s license, I may never see it again. Right now, I don’t care.

Needless to say, it is beautiful, six balconies tall, and a bit spooky since it is completely dark. There is nothing quite as dark as deep inside a theater. It is pre-opening rehearsal and everybody has a massive case of jitters. There’s a lot of arguing and pointing and moving lights and twirling dance moves over and over. I am sitting here with my iPad on its darkest-dark setting and pretty much holding my breath.

Right now a lone dancer perches on a sky-blue loveseat as they tweak the lights around her. The set is minimal, with two giant mirrors, the aforementioned loveseat, and a bed. There is a lot of “Bene grazie, silencio, basta,” coming over the speakers.

A young dancer with long hair begins dancing to “Celia,” a Vosco Rossi ballad that I have not heard before. This piece seems to be about a young woman as she springs out of bed and tries on a few outfits…in a very balletic and beautiful way. It sounds silly but it is gorgeous and sophisticated, even surprising – dare I say, Italian.

The Italians idealize, no, revere young women. There is just enough nudity onstage to make L’altra Meta del Cielo very adult, however.  The gritty music has a roughness that elevates the piece from Sugar Plum Fairies. The director keeps yelling, “Chris? Bob?” in a petulant way that suggests this will be a very long day for everyone.

A faceted mirror ball is rotating onstage that creates an effect of stylized snow. There are thirty or so slim, elegant dancers, the director calls them “ragazzi,” and as they spring into the dance I see why. They flip and snap their bodies in twirly skirts, form-fitting Armani-style suits and leather jackets. One woman has a pair of leather boots. Imagine a slim bird or angel dancing in Uggs.

The costumes are far from cliche – this is the fashion capital of the universe – so no resemblance to Sharks and Jets. They are stylized and bright, with the occasional flash of shiny fabric or long leg. L’altra Meta del Cielo is a balletic piece with elegant physicality, and when the music is rough it adds an interesting undertone of violence.

This short bit is great stuff, and ends with one of the couples having sex in a chair. Perfect. •

For Laura T. and Nancy Z. without whom I wouldn’t have written a word.
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Designing Milan

Posted on March 29, 2012 by


I’m in one of my favorite cities, Milan, Italy, where it’s full-on spring and the fashion billboards are in bloom. The Milanese are still wearing black and gray, but the occasional jolt of yellow gloves or fuchsia shoes signals a warming trend.

Ever heard of a mozzarella tasting? Try Obika, where Italy’s iconic cheese is served in a palate-bending array of flavors and textures. From soft and gooey to smoked and squeaky, Obika is a revelation from start to finish.

Milan’s soaring glass dome, Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, is a great starting point for exploring Italian fashion and yes, cocktail culture. Try a “spritz” at Biffi bar where Aperol or Campari is brightened with bubbly Prosecco and a slice of orange. This red menace is served with plates of hearty bruschette, salume, and the ubiquitous cone of chips. Milan’s upscale effervescence is at its best under the glass of the incomparable Galleria.

Milan is a city of neighborhoods and Brera is one of its sweetest, with galleries, boutiques and antique shops around every corner. We stumble onto an outstanding meal at La Torre di Pisa, an old-fashioned trattoria with rustic anchovies in olive oil with butter, robust steak, and a veal-wrapped mozzarella smothered in roasted artichokes that is simply succulent. La dolce vita reigns with a romantic stroll down Brera’s cobblestone streets.

Another trendy spot is Navigli, a bohemian neighborhood along the canal. We savor a glass of Prosecco at the brand-new Sofa bar surrounded by Italian poetry and verse – nice. Navigli’s legendary flea market offers everything from funky felt dresses to smoking paraphernalia. Canal-side boutiques are the essence of cool, like Mauro Bolognesi’s mid-century Danish-modern teak furniture shop whose vintage “buon fattura” evokes The Ice Storm, straight-up.

"Fashion Victim"

Home to twin fashion icons, Armani and Prada, the discussion here is velvet or metallic, toe caps or ankle straps, chainmail or PVC – fashion first. Not without irreverence, however, the collection and commentary can be deliciously dark as in Victim de la Mode, right.

La Scala is the most famous opera house in the world; the grand marble lobby dates back to the 1700s. Don’t miss the ethereal production of L’altra Meta del Cielo, choreographed to the music of contemporary singer-songwriter Vosco Rossi (through April 13).

With an exploding restaurant scene, astonishing contemporary furniture, lighting and interiors, stunning visual arts, performance and music, and of course, fashion, Milan is a creative mecca. I know I’ll be back to this gritty designing city. Ci vediamo, Milano.  •

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Artisan: You Can Go Home Again

Posted on February 12, 2012 by

Connecticut is a long way to go for dinner, but it’s worth it to spend time with my favorite artist and human being – Veecha.

“At the Art Students League in 1945, Will Barnet held up a mirror and insisted I do self-portrait. I did this lithograph, left. I did the line drawing and the self-portrait, below, a few years later.”

So where do you take a great artist for a memorable evening?

Here’s a suggestion: Artisan restaurant in Southport – a perfect spot for reminiscing, sipping, and sampling. ”Take your time,” is Artisan’s mantra, and chef Frederick Kieffer makes you want to linger. We’re happy grazing and savoring, so it’s a perfect fit.

Roasted beet salad with dandelion and blue cheese is a perfect combination of sweet, salt, and tangy bitterness with a creamy hit. Lobster bisque arrives glowing with New England flavor and color – not an oxymoron, here. Robust gnocchi with lamb is silky and comforting. The roast duck breast “a la plancha” is succulent, drool-worthy delicious.

Another standout is grilled calamari over green tomato and mustard-seed – we’ll be back for more.

A smooth sorbet trio is a beautiful way to end a delicious evening of friendship and flavor, and the chef’s treat of caramel-and-sea-salt crowned cheesecake gets a standing ovation as we put on our coats and head out into the Valentine’s eve chill. Thank goodness, you can go home again.  •

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Epicurious Gratitude

Posted on January 27, 2012 by

The Epicurious Flying Thomases

We Epicurious Travelers would be nothing without our epicurious friends. Without you, we’d be lost!

To the Thomases who introduced us to the charms of Vieques – to lechon, yucca fritters, and Medalla beer.

Andrea Poggi

Hats off to Andrea Poggi who has presided over so many wonderful meals in Italy, we’ve lost track. Grazie, man, and yes, we received the “Zampone,” it’s a very fine trotter.

Andrea organized a wonderful meal for us at Da Fortunato Al Pantheon in Rome. We enjoyed this elegant downtown oasis through two plates of spaghetti vongole and the last drop of vin santo.

And to Chris, with whom we’ve shared the oinky charms of New York City, Cambridge, San Francisco, little old Portland and beyond for what seems like a billion years.

And last but not least, here’s to my original traveling partner – my dad. Our epicurious adventures carried us as far as Paris, Rome, London, Prague, Vienna, and as near as Stony Creek, Connecticut. Thanks, Manny, for your freewheeling spirit and joie de vivre. •

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Vieques: Bohos in Paradise

Posted on January 23, 2012 by

No wonder Hunter S. Thompson adored this place – this is gonzo living. Wild horses, dogs, and roosters rule. Pelicans circle overhead. Colorful street food is sold from rickety roadside containers, and hibiscus flowers grow to the size of dinner plates. A sea turtle paddles by when we arrive which we consider a sure sign of good luck and welcome.

Our first glimpse of the Caribbean is profound. The sea goes from greeny blue to bluey green with a solid line of deep turquoise at the horizon. The shallow tide laps gently at the shore leaving the beach soft and clean. Tiny sand-colored crabs wear their eyes on top of their heads like Ricky Martin wears his sunglasses. Breakfast of Champions, Vieques-style, starts in the airport parking lot with papaya-rum punch and a shot of chicau (pronounced chee-chow) whose anise flavor riffs on Sambuca with hints of bathtub gin. Our potent morning cocktails are as friendly and uncensored as Ricki, our server. Her partner Lyman stands behind the bar grinning like a fox. Ricki says Lyman honed his technique in St. Thomas or was it Paris or maybe San Francisco which we discuss in great depth with a lot of early morning vigor. When we pile back into Bill’s white beater with cups of rum punch we’re ready to begin a fine day of sightseeing and tales of love, honor and tragedy from before any of us were married or even house-trained.

Lali, center, w/ Bill & Becki Thomas

We keep the magic going at the farmer’s market where we sample savory cheese scones from Bayonda’s bakery. We grab some tropical blooms from Lalita, the flower queen of Vieques, which brighten the boot of Bill’s island beater. Lali also gives us prickly island fruits for a special blender drink. The fruit is ugly – really kind of forbidding – but we’re already thinking about the rum.

Tasting the Tropics

Today’s conch fritters are deep fried balls of chewy sea heaven with garlic aoli. “Lechon,” the island’s slow-roasted pork, is tender and falling-off-the-bone succulent. We picked up our pre-ordered lechon at 7:00 a.m. in a warm, heavy foil-wrapped packet. Salads are sort of a bore, okay, but island fruit is a sweet relief and always interesting. We begin planning the night’s meal at midday and decide on street-roasted chicken, with legendary rice and beans from Shaunaa’s. We are determined to avoid Puerto Rico’s ubiquitous “mofongo,” a claggy yucca mash. Try the roadside ceviche, though, sold in plastic cups. Delicious, muy bien. Wash it all down with Medallo beer.

Eat, drink, nap, repeat.

Roosters rule the island and appear in the streets and in your ears and on the walls of Siddhia Hutchinson’s gallery in town. (Those are Siddhia’s roosters at the top.) At Gallery Galleon, Pablo Neruda’s poems are reimagined by artist Richard Giglio as stunning poem-paintings. “May whatever breaks be reconstructed by the sea with the long labor of its tides.” We visit Becki’s friend Min at her beautiful island home, and it starts to dawn on me that a person can have a pretty refined life in this eclectic tropical paradise. We especially love the pool with its ironwork ceiling open like a basket to the sky. Her bed painted with calla lilies and draped in mosquito netting isn’t bad, either. If and when when I grow up, I want to be just like Min.

The Wild Isle

Bill’s natural curiosity and joie de vivre make him an outstanding tourguide. Our rambles include a crumbling sugar plantation with rusty cauldrons, antique brick and stonework, a jungle hike through lush trees with giant termite’s nests the size of Volkswagons, and best of all, a tangled woodland trek where we see a sensitive wild fern that curls like a ticklish child at the touch of a finger. All this local color is followed by a posh lunch at the W Resort (Bill loves contrast), where I have an outstanding octopus salad. The outdoor dining room is posh and breezy. Nice. It’s Dave’s birthday and our celebration includes many Medallo beers and a game of beach bocce. Bill lets Dave win – it’s his birthday.  The word “bromance” leaps to mind as I watch the two of them bobbing amiably in the turquoise surf. A hairy coconut sits next to me and bit of teal fishnet hangs across the view from my “bohio,” or beach shack. Becki finds a spiky little sea urchin and I feel like a happy 21st century Robinson Crusoe.

A Touch of Spice

The mysterious blender drink from Lali’s prickly soursop fruit is cool, milky, and slightly sour. Bill adds vanilla, cinnamon and of course, rum, which makes it more interesting. We sip and admire the graveyard across the way with its jumble of white monuments like sugar crosses in the sun. Beyond, it’s sparkling Caribbean blue all the way to San Juan. With exquisite views and a relaxed, bohemian vibe, the little island of Vieques is perhaps one of the best kept secrets in the Caribbean. We’ll be back.  •

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Broadway & Batali: 48 Hours

Posted on December 23, 2011 by

This weekend we make a lollypop-shaped loop around Manhattan mostly in and around Hell’s Kitchen and the theatre district. Our wild ride includes a spectacular dip down the stick to the Flatiron District to check out Mario Batali’s latest venture.

Our odyssey begins at Firebird, a romantic Russian restaurant that resembles czarist St. Petersburg. Patrons dine on caviar and herring prepared a billion ways while enjoying one of the most extensive vodka lists this side of Kiev. Firebird’s honey vodka is so mind-numbingly sweet I recommend you save the dainty signature sip for dessert. Framed antique ballet costumes preside over plates of gravlax, blinis and caviar to die for. Service is attentive and the tableside preparation is nifty. Firebird feels authentic with old-world charm and flavor to spare, but when you get the check you may feel your tail feathers starting to singe.  Is it worth it? Heck yeah.

A trio of one-acts by Woody Allen, Elaine May, and the Coen Brothers really works up an appetite, so we head for a post-theatre snack at Marseille restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen. Marseille delivers simple, robust French flavors in smooth brasserie style.  The dense duck liver pate provides a nice fatty coating for a palate still smarting from flaming Russian desserts. Marseilles’ signature mussels in white wine and garlic are briny and sweet, perfect after-midnight fare.

High-end food courts like those in Italy are becoming popular in the city that never sleeps. Tucked into the first floor of a block in the Flatiron District, Eataly is the brainchild of Mario Batali and Joe Bastianich. Everyone’s smiling as they snake in and out of busy shops and restaurants, gelateria, espresso bar, vegetable stand, wine bar, Alessi housewares, pastry, breads, cheese, cheese, cheese, and much more.

In the thick of Eataly’s bustle is Manzo, one of few sit-down options in the market. We nail a spot at the bar and cruise the wine list landing on Prosecco, as always. The veal sweetbread and mushroom antipasto is delicious, and the roasted cauliflower dish is a revelation. Sadly, the gratin of cardoons and artichokes is gloopy and bleargh. We move on to linguine with scallops glistening beneath dense meaty prosciutto and a scattering of scallions with an Asian edge. The agnolotti with brown butter and Parmigiano is exquisite – sexy pasta pillows so delicate, rich and flavorful you want to eat them all night. We splurge a little on grappa. His is rough with a faint turpentine whiff; mine is as smooth and compelling as a black-velvet Elvis.

We make an 8:00 curtain with minutes to spare after a terrifying bike-taxi-rickshaw up Broadway whose legendary bright lights zip by like something out of Star Wars. Seminar with Allen Rickman and Lily Rabe is so smart and so funny and so great I am not even going to talk about it.  Just see it. Period.

Tonight’s post-theatre nosh takes us to Balkanikas tapas and wine bar, famous for fabulously creamy and delicious meze spreads. Don’t miss the beet and pinenut puree or their signature taramosalata (carp roe) spread served with pita triangles. Try the refreshing shopsha salad with feta. Their pita is divine and happily soaks up a lot of alcohol.

Morning-after fare is spectacularly abundant at Chelsea Market, where we not only shop ‘til we plotz but fill up on spinach quiche, oat scones, and cupcakes. Yes, cupcakes – breakfast of champions, Chelsea style. I don’t know when New York’s cupcake obsession is going to end, but let’s hope it isn’t soon.

And then back up Broadway in time for the new Porgy and Bess at Richard Rodgers Theatre, astonishingly beautiful. Don’t. Miss. It.

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