April 29

London Calling: Part 2

A few more thoughts about London.  It's ridiculously expensive.  Minimum ride on the Tube: $8.  Breakfast of coffee, orange juice and croque madam sandwich: $30.  Free V.I.P.  lunch at St. John for all of the "50 Best" judges: priceless.  That big savory pie up on the left side contains pigeon and pig trotter (feet), and is housed in the flakiest, richest crust; a thick piece of bone (with marrow intact) serves as a flagpole of sorts, reminding everyone where they are.  The lunch on our last day was for the winning chefs from this year's "50 Best Restaurants in the World" competition, as well as the 23 regional judge coordinators.  St. John (and chef-owner Fergus Henderson) is known for the "nose-to-tail-eating" philosophy that has started to sweep America.  The fact that there were trotters in the pie made me smile, since the first time I ever met Henderson, he was being feted at a private lunch at Charlie Trotter's, for his book, Nose To Tail Eating.  It was at that lunch when Trotter reamed me for interrupting the proceedings, pulling Henderson aside before dessert was served, so I could interview him for WBEZ-FM (this despite the fact we were entering hour #3 for the lunch, and some of us had to get back to work that afternoon).  Regardless, it was the last time I ever spoke to Trotter.  Henderson's restaurant is about pure simplicity.  His lunch of pigeon and trotter pie, local greens and mashed potatoes was just perfect; a salad of local greens and shredded skate wing with a green, herbal sauce was similarly simple yet sublime.  How's this for a simple dessert: a giant, round, flat piece of sugar-dusted shortbread and a small glass of Lagavulin malt whiskey.

Any trip to London should include a spot of tea, of course, and taking in afternoon tea is a local ritual.  Even though the Ritz was born here, skip it. When you see them shuttling in tourists in funny hats at 11:30 a.m., you know there's something wrong here.  Instead, head over to the Lanesborough Hotel, directly across the street from Hyde Park.  Even though tea service runs about $61 per person, it's a splurge that's worth it. Tea Sommelier Karl Kessab recently won "Best Afternoon Tea Service in the U.K." from the U.K.'s Tea Guild.  His selection of 40-plus teas is just the start.  His gentle guidance and assured selection of custom-blended teas is exquisite. The assortment of sweets and savories is also astounding, and you'll be hard-pressed to eat anything once you've finished off the delicate egg salad, curried chicken salad and refined cucumber sandwiches.  Tea cakes and French macaroons round out the offerings.  After the three-tiered service, the perfect scones and tea cakes arrive with the usual tea triumvirate: clotted cream, lemon curd and strawberry preserves.
I did have a chance to pop into Hakkasan, which was also garnered a spot in the "50 Best" list, but since I got there late on a Sunday night, just 10 minutes before the kitchen was closing, I could tell they wanted to get the hell out of there and head home.  The food and service reflected this: limp duck and mango stir-fry, sad-looking greens, and many items conveniently "not available."  The room is cool as hell though - I felt like I was in a James Bond flick - but I wouldn't rush back.  When you're spending upwards of $60 per person for Chinese food, it needs to be better than this.   The next night, I got to check out The Wolseley, which I hear is the place to go for breakfast.  I ended up there late, after the "50 Best" event was over.  I will say, this former car dealership has a drop-dead gorgeous rehab, and you do feel as if you're in the most important place on earth with the most important people in London.  Our food was just so-so (herring with pumpernickel; a tough filet that was sent back due to overcooking; although we did love the great minty peas) but the room and the service make you feel like you're on a movie set and the menu is pure London. 

April 26

London Calling

Its taken me two days to recover from my trip to London earlier this week - I flew directly there from New Orleans, so not a lot of time to gather my thoughts.  I was there as the North American Judge Coordinator for the U.K. Restaurant Magazine's "50 Best Restaurants In The World" event.  I had to find 30 judges from North America who could vote for five restaurants, two of which had to be from North America, and they had to have eaten in these restaurants sometime in the past 18 months.  Also, the judges were comprised equally of chefs, restaurateurs and writers.  Granted, it was a very brief stay in London, but I did manage to find some very tasty morsels.

In the two pictures on the right side, above, you'll notice a remarkable display of French macaroons, one of my all-time favorite sweets.  This store, Laduree, is based in Paris, but has two locations in London, including this one, on the ground floor of Harrods, a breathtaking food shop.  You can sit at a cozy espresso counter while you nibble on French pastries - not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

                                Stepping into Harrods, is like walking into the most decadent, food-obsessed, fantasyland.  The sheer number of displays is both overwhelming and tempting: sushi, Thai, Indian and French take up one side of the food emporium; imagine a Macy's deli counter, but instead of tarragon chicken salad, there's duck or pheasant terrines, or dozens of jars of foie or pate; tropical produce from Southeast Asia is just a few feet from a massive collection of imported teas and chocolates.  I could easily have spent an entire day here, just browsing.  The only caveat: there is no where to sit inside to eat your bounty, so I went outside, sat on someone's front stoop, and just began munching.

Some other highlights from my brief, three-day visit, included a very authentic Southern Indian lunch at Quilon, a Kerala-style restaurant (and the only Michelin-starred one in London) where the masala dosas and bracing chutneys immediately took me back to the spice fields of India.  Filets of tilapia steamed in banana leaves are also doused in a magnificent garam masala; a chicken and mango curry is spiced to the point where you know the kitchen doesn't really care if there are tourists on hand, they're cooking for fellow countrymen and expats and those adventurous caucasians who want the real deal.

Another memorable South Asian meal took place at Nahm.  David Thompson is an Australian, and his cookbook, Thai Food, is notable for its committment to using authentic ingredients, and not taking any shortcuts.  The restaurant is housed in the exclusive Halkin Hotel, and the thing you notice immediately upon entering the dining room, is the overwhelming scent of lemongrass, kaffir lime and galanga.  A little bit like Arun's in Chicago, the format here is designed for maximum tasting.  While the menu does allow for a la carte ordering, it's best to get the tasting menu, which runs about $110.  You'll start with two or three small courses, little tastes of coconut curry cups flecked with dried shrimp and palm sugar, or sweet-sour amuse bouches of pineapple and tamarind; after your light bites, you'll be served at least five or six savory dishes, that, like Quilon, will transport you to the point of origin.  In this case, Bangkok street food.  There is no holding back on the spice here, which sneaks up and reminds you that you're not sitting in just any pad thai joint.  The fish green curry is studded with tiny, crunchy Thai eggplants, and a shrimp red curry was more paste than liquid/coconut based.  Jammed with kaffir lime and young ginger, it reminded me how nuanced a total Thai dining experience should be.

April 19

Big Eating in the Big Easy: Part 2

My day begins rather humbly, in America's oldest coffeeshop, Cafe Du Monde.  Sure, there are lots of tourists snapping pictures of musicians and planning their voodoo tours for the day, but there's something very honest and reassuring in a few fluffy, powdered sugar-dusted beignets and a bracing cup of cafe au lait.

Lunch today was actually in two parts: first, we headed over to Willie Mae's Scotch House (2401 St. Anne St., 504-822-9503).  Known for their platters of fried chicken, this legendary joint in a not-so-good neighborhood was recently restored to its pre-Katrina condition thanks to John T. Edge and his Mississippi-based Southern Foodways Alliance. 

The fried chicken was incomparable: thick, crispy and hot outside, while beneath the crunchy exterior, a wealth of moist, flavorful breast, leg and wing meat.  Red beans and rice seemed just o.k., but the circular "slice" of sweet potato pie and homemade lemonade reminded me that Chicago fried chicken joints still have a ways to go to get it right like this.  By the way, the funny thing about eating in a city during IACP is the number of culinary V.I.P.s you see everywhere: at Willie Mae's, for example, I said hello to Ari Rosensweig, co-founder of Zingerman's in Ann Arbor; at dinner the night before, Nina Simonds broke bread (and pork) with Bruce Aidells, sausage king.  And at our second lunch stop today, I said hello to Washington Post Food Editor Joe Yonan, as he made his way out of Parkway Bakery and Tavern, the best Po' Boy shop I've experienced since Uglesich's lamentably closed its doors a few years ago.  

The Parkway is known for their hot roast beef po' boys with gravy.  They kind of reminded me of a Chicago Italian beef, except these are served on that irresistable Leidenheimer bread (as every self-respecting joint in town does) and you need to decide if you want them "dressed" (lettuce, tomato) or not.  There's also fried oyster, catfish, hot sausage, Italian sausage link and meatball - even alligator sausage link - but I opted to go with the shrimp, and believe me, it will not disappoint: tender gulf shrimp, barely fried but still crisp, nestled into that beautiful bread that is simultaneously crisp on the exterior, but soft and dense within.  Dressed with tomato, lettuce and mayo, this sandwich alone is worth the 10 minute drive from downtown.  I would also recommend the stewed turkey and alligator sausage gumbo - it's deep brown roux was perfectly thick, appropriately seasoned, and arrived with two butter-slathered halved of toasted po' boy bread.  Sweet potato fries were dynamite, as was the banana pudding, chock full of banana slice and vanilla wafers, held together in a remarkably addictive vanilla custard.

Went back to the Swizzle Stick to see Lu Brow again, and continued to be amazed at her creative drink concoctions on the first floor of the Loews Hotel.  It's a must-stop no matter where you are headed for dinner; as I mentioned yesterday in Part 1, I headed back to Cochon to try the other half of the menu: fried boudin balls, loaded with rice and bits of sausage arrived with tart, pickled peppers.  Hot sausage with grits and creole cream cheese balanced creamy and spicy so well I liked the plate clean; an oyster and bacon sandwich had "traif" all over it, but it was remarkable.  From the sides category, the twice-baked stuffed potato took me back 20 years, but without the teenage angst - this version will render all other imitators obsolete.  Never thought I'd say it, but the head cheese also rocked from the boucherie plate, along with the five other dried and cured sausages.  I guess if the Exec. Chef's last name is Link, he's not messing around.

April 18

Big Eating in the Big Easy: Part 1

I feel like a croquette.  Wait, no I feel like I've been dredged in flour and eggs and flour and then deep-fried in 375 degree canola oil.  After just one day in New Orleans - here for the annual International Association of Culinary Professionals (IACP) conference - I've been consuming more deep-fried goodies than most people ingest in a year.  It all started as soon as I landed; I checked into my hotel, then hustled over to Galatoire's, the legendary dining establishment that has hugged the curb on Bourbon Street for 103 years.  The thing that always strikes me about Galatoire's is that you have this complete scum outside - the XXX strip clubs, the Hurricane stands, the peep shows - and then as soon as you press the door to enter, all of the noise of Bourbon Street melts away, and you're instantly transported back to another time, another century.  The tiled floors, the mirrored walls, the waiters in black tie and coat.  Men here wear jackets, not golf shirts, and everyone seems to be digging into shrimp remoulade or oysters Rockefeller or crab de maison.  My lunch companion and I decided to play it safe: shrimp remoulade, some of those shrimp-coated baked oysters, and for our main course, some fresh Louisiana fried soft shell crabs and some sauteed red fish, with a side of asparagus (hollandaise on the side).  

 For dessert, it's always cafe brulot, a silver tureen is filled first with brandy, cinnamon, allspice and orange peels, ignited to burn off some of the alcohol, then the deepest, darkest hot coffee is poured in and your individual serving is ladled into tiny white porcelain cups.  The only possible companion to this decadent ending is the best banana bread pudding this side of the world, doused in warm caramel sauce.  After two hours of eating and drinking, it's time for a well-deserved nap back at the hotel.

In the afternoon, I always try to make a trip down St. Charles Street on the historic streetcars, to the Columns Hotel. 

Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, this porch offers incredible views of St. Charles, as the streetcars roam lazily down the road; you feel as if Tennessee Williams might just stop by for a sazerac or a mint julep.  Live music typically starts after 8 p.m., and if it's a warm evening, be prepared to wait for a table. 

Dinner ended at Cochon, where I planned on trying the entire menu over two days.  This relative newcomer, from chef Donald Link, is his second effort, after Herbsaint.  Think Avec-meets-Southern-comfort: crawfish pie, fried rabbit livers with pepper jelly toast, hot sausage with grits, peppers and creole cream cheese, even pork cheeks with cornbread bean cake and mustard cream.  This is the kind of food Link grew up with, and we're all the better for having a chance to sample and taste his love of local ingredients and plenty of pork.   Some of the other highlights: catfish courtbouillon, Louisiana roasted cochon (pig) with turnips, cabbage and cracklins, smothered greens, creamy grits and fried boudin with pickled peppers.  I could eat this food all day!  I particularly loved his rabbit and dumplings (pictured below) which is sort of an 

homage to a great Southern pot pie or stew.  Jammed with carrots, potatoes and coated in a rich gravy, this is the sort of dinner I want to eat on a cold Midwestern afternoon. 

That's the end of Day 1.  In my next posting, I'll visit the best Po' Boy shop in New Orleans (since Uglesich's closed), a legendary fried chicken joint reopens to great fanfare, and a local mixologist who is both reinventing, and also reviving the lost art of the classic cocktail.  Oh yeah, I almost forgot, round 2 at Cochon, where I get to try the other half of the menu.

April 8

Sushi, Steak & Cupcakes                                                       in Beverly Hills

I had a quick two-night stay in Beverly Hills this week, and while I really have no interest in window shopping at such swanky spots as Bebe, Gucci and Prada, I was excited to stumble across Sprinkles, a locally beloved cupcake joint with lines seemingly running out the door at all hours.  On Sunday afternoon, as tourists were strolling along Santa Monica Blvd., I noticed a dozen or so people all patiently waiting to get in.  Flavors rotate daily, and they claim to use top-notch ingredients.  Decisions proved difficult: red velvet, black and white, milk chocolate...hmmm.  

I opted for the chocolate coconut and the peanut butter chocolate chip.  As you can see above, the chocolate coconut has a nice cap of rich frosting - not too sweet - embedded with lots of flaky coconut; the peanut butter version was just sublime: little bitty chips are hidden throughout the cakey peanut buttery lower tier, while the cap offers chocolate sprinkles jammed into a rich peanut butter frosting that again, proved not too sweet, but just right.  I would certainly go out of my way to have these beauties again.

 That night, I walked over to Canon Drive, and just a block or two from where the magnificent new Montage Hotel is going up, I met a friend at LuckyFish, the latest sushi concept from the Innovative Dining Group (Boa Steak and Sushi Roku).  The concept is kaiten sushi, that is, sushi prepared fresh, then popped onto a conveyor belt for easy access and quick decisions.  You don't have to wait that long before something enticing makes its way around to your table, and believe me, every table, bar stool, etc. has easy access to grab something off of the conveyor.  When you're done, they just add up the colored plates, which each have a different dollar value.  The quality was surprising: nicely seared tuna tataki, elegant hamachi nigiri wrapped in shiso leaves, and compact rainbow rolls.  The manager told us they do a brisk lunch business, with lots of young execs from William Morris popping in to grab a quick and inexpensive lunch.  You can literally be in and out of there in under half and hour, and not feel rushed.

On my last night in town, I tried to get into Cut, the new steakhouse inside the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.  This is Wolfgang Puck's latest local glamour spot (his original Spago is just two blocks away) and even though I was a guest at the hotel, the place was crazy packed.  They did seat my table in the adjacent bar, which was fine.  I found out later one of the reasons they were so jammed was because there were a lot of culinary V.I.P.s in town, cooking for one of Puck's charities.  I saw Bobby Flay at the bar, and he told me not only him, but also Jacques Torres, Alain Ducasse and Eric Ripert were all there to cook for this event.  The menu is loaded with luscious protein, but there are also some surprises: a bone marrow flan is buried within the bones, served with a mushroom marmalade and a bright parsley salad; pork belly is maple-glazed, rubbed with Asian spices and dressed in a sesame-orange citrus, but balanced with a tart rhubarb compote.  Steaks range from Prime, Illinois corn-fed, aged 21 days, to Prime Nebraska corn-fed, aged 35 days (my preference).  You could do the American Wagyu for $75 (8 oz. sirloin) or even the true Japanese kobe, where an 8 oz. rib eye will set you back $160, but honestly, that's just too rich to digest - stick with the 35-day aged.  Sides are also beyond ordinary: maitake mushrooms were adorned with sweet peas and spring garlic, while our polenta arrived creamy and cheesy laced with parmesan.  Everything in L.A. seems steep, but do they really have to charge $2 extra for sauces?  C'mon Wolf, cut us some slack.

Sherry Yard's desserts are, as always, simple, yet elegant.  A strawberry & cream baked alaska (pictured) was surrounded by warm strawberries, but nestled above a tender buttermilk cake, while a dark chocolate souffle was intense - and had that great balance of cakey and moist.  It's served with tiny pitchers of creme fraiche, additional chocolate sauce and some gianduja (hazelnut) ice cream.  I wish I would have had at least one more night in town, to maybe walk over to Crustacean and try the crab with the garlic noodles; maybe even go over to Spago, where chef Lee Hefter still does an amazing job night after night.  But if I end up staying at the Beverly Wilshire again, I'll most likely call ahead early, to try to get that table inside the restaurant next time.  There is so much more on that Cut menu I want to dig into.

April 3

Washington D.C. Dining: Part 2

One of the recurring themes from last week's trip to the nation's capital is sushi.  In part, we really didn't have much choice when it came to dinner - our kids are ridiculous sushi eaters, and now that my seven-year-old son, Max is discovering the pleasures of toro and hamachi nigiri, I will surely need to get a second job to satisfy his cravings.  Our concierge at The Palomar did a splendid job of recommending a few places near our hotel in DuPont Circle, and I would easily recommend either of them to anyone traveling there.

The first place was in the funky Adams Morgan neighborhood, about a 15 minute walk from DuPont Circle.  Along a street lined with Ethiopian restaurants, African gift shops and falafel joints, the serene Perry's is a pleasant diversion.  Located on the second floor of an unassuming building, it is part American bistro, part sushi bar.  Usually these hybrids don't work, but in Perry's case, the casual couches along the windows and the cool sushi bar on the opposite end of the dining room serve as lively bookends to a more upscale dining room than the neighborhood is used to.  Sushi options are standard here - no Godzilla/Bagel/Crazy makis - just some pleasant nigiri, sashimi and maki.  The kids devoured the Dragon and Rainbow rolls, while I leaned more toward the cider-braised pork belly and seafood chowder.

 The next night, we met my sister at Sushi Taro, a lively room (again, on the second floor) just East of DuPont Circle. They don't take reservations, and when we arrived at 6:30 p.m. they were already busy.  Our friendly hostess offered us a table on the floor, sans shoes, which the kids loved.  Sushi was incredibly fresh, and some hot items, like miso black cod, were exceptional.  They also serve a lot of yakitori skewers at Taro, of which the octopus, chicken and beef were good enough to order a second round.  If you only have time for one sushi experience in D.C., this should be it.

One night, my wife and I had a chance to grab dinner with Tom Sietsema, the Food Critic at The Washington Post.  Since Tom is always out doing "research" for his job, he took us to a new Indian/American hybrid restaurant/lounge in Chinatown, across the street from the National Portrait Gallery.  Indebleu is manned by a former Citronelle chef, and while Tom has panned the restaurant in his previous visits under different chefs, this was his first visit there since the new chef took over.  The restaurant shares space with an uber-cool lounge on the first floor, and as you ascend the stairs to the restaurant, you're warmly greeted by the hostess.  A small bar offers some eclectic cocktails, but it's the food that is the star here.  Mushroom dosa is true to form: crisp on the outside, it holds warm, wild mushrooms bathed in garlic, butter and Indian spice; An ahi tuna starter isn't nearly as stellar as the Thai basil-crusted lamb chops with glazed Chinese eggplant.  Small plates, such as foie with chocolate,figs and a star anise port reduction don't exactly scream "Indian," but a coconut milk poached halibut reminds you you're definitely in the realm of Asia.  Not sure what kind of review Tom will give the place, but if you want to hear my interview with him about what it's like to be a professional restaurant critic, check out my audio podcast on April 3rd.

While we were in town, we had dinner one night at Jose Andres' house.  The local celeb chef oversees seven properties, including Jaleo (tapas), Oyamel (Mexican), Zaytinya (Mediterranean) and Cafe Atlantico, which houses Minibar (gastro porn meets molecular reinvention).  Even though his friend Silvestro cooked dinner, he managed to slip in a few slices of jamon Iberico (pictured, above right), and show us some clips from his new PBS series, "Made In Spain" (check local listings).  

Since we missed out on Jose's food, we met our friends Mary and Joseph (no joke) the next night at the Jaleo in Bethesda.  It's a far cry from the neighborhood tapas joint.  Not only were the small bites of ham, cheese and pork tasty, but salads of brussels sprouts leaves with bacon and fried chorizo skewers memorable, but the paella was perhaps the best we've had in this country.  Mary is an avid lover of all things Spanish, and even with several trips there under her belt, agreed that the paella was stellar.  As full as we were, our server wisely convinced us to try the flan: feather-light, deftly balancing sugar, eggs and caramel, it made us rethink every flan we've ever had, rendering them obsolete.

On our final day, after waiting a half-hour to get into the National Archives to see the Bill of Rights and the Declaration of Independence (both sadly fading), we had lunch at Oyamel in Penn Quarter, just a few blocks away.  This is Andres' paen to all things regional Mexican.  Rick Bayless would most likely feel right at home: smokey cochinita en pibil, exquisite duck, tongue and fish tacos, some accented with huitlacoche (corn fungus) and a pretty good rendition of the classic Mexican Independence dish of chiles en nogada: a roasted poblano stuffed with dried fruits, shredded pork and topped with creamy walnut sauce, flecked with crunchy pomegranates (pictured above).  The problem here is there are too many choices: an expansive ceviche bar, enticing cocktails (the house margarita is crowned with a salt foam, evenly distributing the salinity in ways I never imagined) and some terrific tableside guac-making as well (kudos to the friendly manager who let Max make his own guac).  If the crowds here prove to be too much, you could always walk a block North to Jaleo, for some inspired tapas - don't forget to order the paella!