I love to cook. I actually have aspirations of being a great cook, and have been creating my own recipes since my early 20s. In fact, cooking is what helped me learn to enjoy winter. Once the cooler weather hit, I'd start buying magazines like Gourmet and Bon Appétit, and then proceed to make nearly every dish in each issue. Some were really good while others...well, not so much. But cooking away at the stove was, and still is, one of my favorite ways to spend a cold, snowy Sunday.
Last Friday night, I took a cooking class in handmade pasta at the International Culinary Center in NYC. As many of my friends know, I loooove pasta (I'm guessin' 'cause it's in my DNA). Anyway, I thought that since I’ve had this major love affair going on with the stuff, why not learn how to make it fresh? Turns out that, with the exception of ravioli, miza no likey fresh pasta! How the heck did that happen? At first I thought that it was just MY fresh pasta that was a bust…that perhaps I didn't make it correctly since it turned out heavier than a wet wool sweater. So I asked our teacher/chef if I could sample hers. It tasted the same as mine! It was way too dense, and felt like mortar sitting in my tummy.
On the plus side, the sauces were bellissime. We made a tagliatelle with funghi (which was my favorite), orecchiette with sausage and broccoli rabe (love simple peasant dishes, and this is certainly one of the best), and squash-filled tortelli (ravioli) with a butter and sage sauce. (As you can imagine, the tortelli is a very rich dish, and would be great for a fall dinner party as a starter since only three per serving would suffice.)
I thought it would be fun to have some vino after our five hours of hard labor. Wanting to reaffirm my fondness for Fontodi, and especially for Flaccianello , I brought along a 1998 magnum to share with my fellow classmates and chefs. Here is a wine that maintains all of its Italian charm: earthy and rustic, but still quite dignified. That got me thinking; if Flaccianello were a man, what would he be like? Picture this: a sexy, 6’ 1” Italian (yes, there are tall Italians) just finished working the vineyard. As he dismounts his steed, he runs his masculine hands through his jet black hair, and struts into his villa to shower off the terroir. After drying off, he puts on his size 42 long Armani suit, and then drives his shiny black – not red! – Ferrari into town to rendezvous with his lover.
That's Flaccianello: always elegant and totally masculine.
Unfortunately, the lovely Garden State has had a reputation for being filled with nothing but smoke stacks and Mafiosos. The former I can confidently deny. As for the latter? Well, I'd tell you, but then...
Before I defend the state that I've called home since 1991, I have a confession to make: I’ve only recently admitted to living here. (Come on, can you blame me? I grew up with SNL’s "I’m from Jersey, You’re from Jersey, Which exit?” routine!) But as time went on, I really came to appreciate it. I've even talked about my fondness for the Garden State in an earlier blog. It is quite picturesque here – after all, it's not called the Garden State for nothing!
Side note: I love trivia, so here are a couple of fun facts for you about New Jersey. First, it was recently ranked the 16th healthiest state in the country (Vermont was Number One). It also placed second among the wealthiest states, as measured by median household income, according to the latest stats from the Census Bureau (Maryland currently holds the title). Not bad!
Sunday was the perfect day for me and Yaniv (my BF) to drive the convertible – top down, of course – to a Jersey town called Lambertville. The sky was blue, the air was crisp and leaves were displaying their loss of chlorophyll. (Yes, Mr. Laurie, I paid attention during Earth Science class…) There is no better word to describe Lambertville than quaint (okay, charming works, too, but they're sorta synonymous). There are loads of antique shops, a variety of small boutiques, some really nice restaurants and the oldest winery in the state.
Tomasello Winery has a wine shop in Lambertville called The Tasting Room. (A winery in New Jersey? Yes, wine in New Jersey! As a matter of fact, there are more than 40 wineries in the state. And did you also know that wine is grown in all 50 states? As of 2002, wine has been – and continues to be – produced all across America…but more on that in an upcoming blog).
So with open minds, we entered The Tasting Room and laid out our $5, excited to experience Jersey's juice. (Twenty different wines for five bucks per person – talk about a deal!) Emily, our salesperson, was delightful and very well-informed about the wines. Before we actually began tasting, she asked us our preferences. Since Yaniv is more of a white wine drinker and I a red, it worked out in both our favors. (And, for the price, pleeeeze! Our tasting cost less than a drive though the Holland tunnel.)
Another side note: the bottles were lined up along the counter, each with a rubber stopper to prevent air from harming the wine. That got me thinking: how long had the wines been sitting? When were they first opened? All I can say is, when you’re faced with these questions, ASK. You're not being a snob; you're doing both your palate and the wine a huge favor. Besides, you might not get a fair representation of the wine, especially if it had been opened two days ago. (Btw, you should ask the same question when dining out. Don't just request a glass of Chardonnay without asking when was it opened, and don't be afraid to have them open a new bottle if necessary. If they give you a hard time – which they shouldn't – tell them that Grae said it was perfectly acceptable and that they shouldn’t feel threatened; if they still balk, feel free to mention that she's originally a Staten Island girl, sooooo, they probably wouldn’t want to mess with her… )
Most of the wines were surprisingly drinkable, starting with the dry Riesling that would make a great Thanksgiving wine. (Trust me: at $13 a bottle, you'll be happier pouring this for your brother-in-law on Turkey Day instead of your coveted Leflaive Chevalier-Montrachet Grand Cru.) I purchased the following: the Riesling, Petit Verdot (which, at a whopping $28, is the most expensive of the Tomasello wines), Cabernet Franc, Chambourcin, Port and Rkatsiteli. (Here's some trivia about the Rkatsiteli grape varietal: it is believed to be the oldest varietal around, as seeds dating back to 3000 BC were found inside clay pots in Georgia. So the oldest grape varietal is sold at the oldest winery in New Jersey. Cool, no?)
We had a great time tasting with Emily and Wilhem Vandusen, another salesperson at Tomasello. (Wilhem ’s much more serious then Em, but very pleasant nonetheless. He’s also a men's fashion designer, so be on the lookout for his label. He's got the great name; now all he needs is the "line.") After we finished, we headed off to have an early dinner at Hamilton’s Grill Room, a nearby BYOB restaurant. Another perk to dining in Lambertville? Lots of BYOBs! (For the record, we brought a 2002 Louis Jadot Chapelle-Chambertin from my cellar.)
Hamilton’s Grill Room is a romantic restaurant located on the canal. It's been around for over 23 years, and the owner, Jim Hamilton, is an award-winning set designer. Needless to say, the atmosphere is unique, and like Lambertville itself, charming. The food, on the other hand, is not so good. Actually, it's less than okay, which is sad since the restaurant has so much going for it – great location, great atmosphere, friendly service….everything except the most important thing that makes a dining experience memorable: the cuisine! It's like meeting someone that has the perfect body, height and smile, but then they open their mouth to speak and they have really bad breath! Try as you may, you just can't get past it, right? Unfortunately, Hamilton’s Grill Room has a case of halitosis that a boatload of Altoids couldn’t cure. My suggestion? Stop off and see Emily and Wilhem at The Tasting Room, purchase your favorite from the tasting, take your Jersey vino around the corner to Hamilton’s Grill Room, enjoy Jim’s cheese plate as your appetizer, and then have dinner at the beautiful Inn at Phillips Mill across the bridge in New Hope, PA. (FYI, they're a BYOB, too!)
Spanish wines, for the most part, can be toooo spicy, toooo over the top, just plain too much...sorta like Charo! Not that over the top is a bad thing, it's just not my thing...
On the other hand, there are some that are smooth, silky and sexy, just like Penelpe Cruz.
The 1996 El cuvee Campanario is such a wine, and once you taste it, trust me: you'll want to roll all your r's!
(Btw this song reminds me of Monsieur La Tache /Murph)
As much as I was enjoying Burgundy, it was time to bid the vineyards adieu and head back to Paris. Btw, forget April in Paris, (sorry, Murph…). The best time to walk these romantic streets is in early autumn. It's all so ooh-la-la, especially with everyone wearing the latest fall fashions! And if possible, you want to stay in an apartment – not a hotel – for a couple of really good reasons. First, you get a true sense of the lifestyle (and will soon find yourself strolling back to your flat with a baguette tucked under your arm). Second, it seems that almost all the restaurants forget to include veggies on the menu, which means if you want ‘em, you have to get ‘em yourself. They’ll use them for garnishing, but that’s about it. Weird, right? After almost eight days of no greens, I found myself craving a tossed salad!
Thankfully, the market down the street from where we were staying had almost everything an omnivore, and especially an herbivore, would want. I must admit, it was fun going from shop to shop gathering what later that evening would become dinner for my son and me. That's the thing about Paris: it's actually a joy to food shop there! Another benefit was that all of these shops were either inches away from each other or at most a block or two. The best way to describe our adopted neighborhood in the 6th district (or, if you want to be authentic, the 6th arrondissement!) was a combination of Soho and the West Village minus the interesting mix of people. Hey, you can't have everything, but rue Mazarine, our beautiful Parisian street, came pretty close.
For me, the best way to shop in Paris was to start at the open air market for fruits and veggies, then next to the bakery for bread and pastry. After that it was off to the butcher for rotisserie chicken, and then perhaps the chocolatier for a bit of chocolate. Last and most important, had to hit the cave for a bottle of burgundy. Ah, this is how food shopping should always be! (That reminds me: if you'd like a simple but tasty salad dressing to make either while in France or here at home, visit my website and click on “Recipes” in the Wine-ing Monthly section. You’ll find it in the Appetizers/Salads section, under the Summer Salad with Grilled Chicken recipe. It's the one made with agave.)
(Btw, the sales person working in this wine shop happened to be a friendly east coast girl!)
Another really wonderful aspect of having your own space is, quite simply, having your own actual space as opposed to just a room. Plus, if you're on a tight budget, apartments can be a much better deal than a hotel, a fact which surprises a lot of people. But think about it: in an apartment you have a fridge to store all sorts of items that can cost a small fortune when staying in a hotel such as drinks, snacks, bottled water, etc. And by having your own kitchen, you can make some of your own meals, which is nice. Breakfast alone can cost $40-50 USD in Paris! (At the end of the blog, I'll tell you about a great agency that my neighbor Melissa here in NJ introduced me to.)
Still, dining out in Paris is a must, despite the lack of greens. After all, it’s Paris! Actually, there are two absolute musts and one to avoid at all costs. (Since I want to end on a positive note, I’ll give you the bad news first…)
Le Grand Vefour ain’t as grand as it use to be. It's nothing like it was when my hubby took me there in 2002. I mean yes, the decor is still very Louis XIV, with lots and lots of gold everywhere you look (it's obvious they didn't need to design on a dime), but that's all that remains the same. (Being the pack rat that I am, I still have the receipt and the list of wines we drank. We started with a bottle of 1999 Henri Boillot Meursault, followed by a 1997 Domaine de la Fontainerie, and ended the night with a bottle of 1982 Calon-Ségur. Not a bad lot to spend an evening with!)
Le Grand Vefour has become quite the tourist trap and is terribly overpriced. Most of the dishes were inedible. To add insult to injury, the service is now way below par – even my teenage son pointed out how long it took us to get bread, have our water glasses filled, etc. This is one restaurant to avoid at all costs. Thankfully, we managed to take some lovely photos while we were there, and the wine was good, so it wasn’t a total loss. Love Taittinger Rosé as a start to anything. This was followed by 2006 Chassagne Montrachet Dom Colin, and we finished with a bottle of 2002 Beaune Clos de Mouches.
If you're in the mood for an elegant lunch or dinner and don't mind reaching deep into your pockets, then Apicius is the spot to dine. My suggestion: have an aperitif outside (weather permitting), enjoy lunch in the beautiful dining area, and then go back outside for a digestif and dessert. And if you are as lucky as I to have a wine and food friend like Murph, you might also be lucky enough to have him enhance what was already a heavenly meal by adding La Tache to the experience. (In my book, Murph is synonymous with La Tache, so he should be known as Mr. La Tache. Or maybe Monsieur La Tache, now that I think about it. Mind you, it’s not that I don't like Murph as his pet moniker, but Monsieur La Tache…now that's a nickname!)
I always ask a seasoned traveler with a similar palate to mine one question: If I can dine at only one restaurant in (name the location), which should it be? Well, in Paris, Apicius is The One! That being said, I must add that it is also falls under my One and Done dining category – the same way the restaurant Alinea is a One and Done. If you go, I recommend you try the Foie Gras de Canard. It's a dish that my late husband introduced me to at Le Perigord here in NYC 23 years ago. (In a later blog, I’ll recount that evening, as it was beyond memorable!)
On the night before my WFF Murph, a.k.a. Monsieur La Tache, left for the States, we spent the evening dining at Le Relais d'Auteuil, a fabulous neighborhood restaurant in the16th district. We were graciously greeted by the hostess/owner as if we were regulars ...such a warm and lovely welcome, I couldn’t help but take note.
Our reservations were for four, but my son no longer had the muscles to endure another four hour dinner. He opted to hang at a local Internet café instead, happy to catch up with his buddies back home via Facebook. When we arrived, the inconvenience of resetting the table wasn’t an issue, nor was our lack of notifying the staff that we'd no longer be four for dinner. I wish life ran as pleasantly and smoothly as dining at Le Relais d'Auteuil!
We enjoyed an evening to remember. The festivities began with Monsieur La Tache ordering and pouring a bottle of wine for the staff. Then came our meal, with each course more scrumptious than the one preceding it. (We were even treated to extra shavings of truffles on our plates. Talk about special treatment…) Le Relais d'Auteuil also served Mimolette, one of the most memorable cheeses I've had to date (and considering how great a fan I am of fromage, that’s saying a lot- btw, Murray's Cheese sells it). It was first made in France when Louis XIV requested a French cheese to replace the popular Dutch Edam…it tastes like chocolate!
Afterwards, the chef and owner came out of the kitchen to meet and thank us. To end this Meal of Meals, fellow patrons joined us for a friendly round of nightcaps and cigars. In the words of Monsieur La Tache, the dinner was “superb in every way." All I can say is that this is a restaurant that I would not only revisit, but would do so in a heartbeat. Vive le France! Vive Relais d'Auteuil! And Vive le Monsieur La Tache!
Do you recall my saying in my last blog that a particular restaurant we visited while in France really stood out, but that I’d explain in a later blog? Well, here’s the explanation…
One of our days in the Côte-d'Or was a real double hitter: a three hour lunch, a four hour dinner, and a wine tasting thrown in between the two for good measure! That night, Romain, our tour guide and FOM (Friend of Murph), was celebrating his 30th birthday and we were his guests. He made reservations at Le Charlemagne, a one star Michelin restaurant that is very difficult to get into. Supposedly, people wait months and months for a reservation. It is located in the beautiful village of Pernand-Vergelesses, which is only a few miles from Beaune. As we entered through the automatic glass doors, I immediately thought to myself, "Hmmm. This atmosphere reminds me a lot of Alinea.” (Remember that over-the-top restaurant in Chicago where we dined back in December?) I turned to my WWF, a.k.a. Murph, to share the thought, but before I could even utter the word “knock-off,” he said aloud, "Alinea!" Now far be it from me to say that Grant Achatz and his dining concepts aren’t original. I'm simply suggesting that quite possibly (okay, very possibly), he might have spent some time South of Paris. Alinea opened in 2005, while Le Charlemagne opened ten years ago, and with a much better view.
Seriously, it was just too much of a coincidence! Starting with the sleek dining room filled with beautifully polished, dark walnut tables (just like Alinea), courses that transform (just like Alinea), the unique serving pieces (just like Alinea), the distinctive presentation of each course (you guessed it: just like Alinea), and then ending with an entire menu that changes seasonally, just like...NEXT, Grant’s newest restaurant.
(Can you tell the difference? Or is it just me and Murph that can't?)
Did I mention that Le Charlemagne has this great visual at its dining room entrance? A digital koi pond, with little animated fish that scatter each time someone steps into the dining room, sound effects and all. It’s unbelievably realistic. Wouldn't it be funny if some of those goldfish swim their way to the Windy City?
P.S.: The only thing missing at this meal was Denzel...
Wine is like a lover whom one day you fall in love with. It starts off innocently and without much thought. All you know is that you enjoyed the experience. The next thing you know, you start to question why you need to understand this romance. Does the mind want to understand the passion or does the passion inspire your mind to understanding. Who can say? All you know is that you are in love.
My wish for you is that you will fall in love... And if not in love, at the very least infatuated, excited and eager to know more… about wine.
tions of being a great cook, and have been creating my own recipes since my early 20s. In fact, cooking is what helped me learn to enjoy winter. Once the cooler weather hit, I'd start buying magazines like Gourmet and Bon Appétit, and then proceed to make nearly every dish in each issue. Some were really good while others...well, not so much. But cooking away at the stove was, and still is, one of my favorite ways to spend a cold, snowy Sunday.
ternational Culinary Center in NYC. As many of my friends know, I loooove pasta (I'm guessin' 'cause it's in my DNA). Anyway, I thought that since I’ve had this major love affair going on with the stuff, why not learn how to make it fresh? Turns out that, with the exception of ravioli, miza no likey fresh pasta! How the heck did that happen? At first I thought that it was just MY fresh pasta that was a bust…that perhaps I didn't make it correctly since it turned out heavier than a wet wool sweater. So I asked our teacher/chef if I could sample hers. It tasted the same as mine! It was way too dense, and felt like mortar sitting in my tummy.
ndness for Fontodi, and especially for Flaccianello , I brought along a 1998 magnum to share with my fellow classmates and chefs. Here is a wine that maintains all of its Italian charm: earthy and rustic, but still quite dignified.
size 42 long Armani suit, and then drives his shiny black – not red! – Ferrari into town to rendezvous with his lover.
