Magical Mangos

April 25

There are certain foods that instantly transport you.  Sometimes, when a kao soi has just the right balance of coconut milk, chile and pickled mustard greens, I'm whisked off to that night market in Chiang Mai.  Similarly, a warm, puffy homemade pita that's slathered in a crunchy, herbal, sesame-flecked za'tar takes me back to a brief visit in Israel many years ago.  The same is true of the Alphonso mango from India, which I had on a trip to the subcontinent seven years ago;  the floral, fruity aroma and mind-bendingly sweet, juicy flesh has haunted me to this day.  Fortunately, the good folks at Patel Brothers have once again tapped their connections in India, and have imported these beauties for a second year in a row.

The Devon Avenue grocery store is always a must-visit for any kind of Indian spices.  But the family also owns the Swad brand of frozen and shelf-stable foods, which always surprise me with their bold flavors and reasonable prices.  The coveted Alphonsos are not exactly reasonably priced - about $25 for a case of 12 - but that's still far less than the $35 they charged last year.  They've apparently figured out the shipping details and distribution, and have made these fruity gems available for a limited time.

How good are they?  When you consider that most of the mangos we see in Chicago are the popular Julies - often sold unripe and even when they're at their peak - their interiors have the texture of stringy jicama or daikon radish.  A lot of Mexican markets will carry the smaller, oblong, yellow-colored Manila mangos, but even those are unreliably tart and often under or too overripe.  The Alphonsos are small - about half the size of the gargantuan Whole Foods variety - and yet they pack a whollop: just cut down the sides of the middle seed, score each half with a knife into cubes, and then pull the sweet flesh off with your teeth.  A small squirt of fresh lime juice might help, but these wonders of nature need little help.  The aroma will entice you, and then the sweet, juicy flesh will suck you in like a crack addict.  One case for the family?  Hell, you'll be running back to Devon Avenue before you know it.

Chatting With Grant

April 21 

The Day After "50 Best..."

The farewell/thank you lunch is always held at the seminal St. John, run by chef Fergus Henderson, hero to the “whole hog” fraternity of chefs who waste nothing.  The restaurant is beautifully simple, with zero prentension, and a bread bakery that grabs you as soon as you walk in the main entrance.  Just slathering fresh butter onto those thick slabs of bread could have sustained us for an hour.  But then they brought out giant platters of shredded beets (which they refer to as “beet root” here) hiding large chunks of cooked ox heart and fresh watercress.  I have to say, never having tried cooked ox heart, I was dubious, but found that their texture added something intriguing, albeit with a mild, almost subtle beefy echo.  For the main course, savory pie, naturally.  Last year, it was beef marrow and offal, this time around, pig’s head and potato pie.  The exterior crust could have held cardboard and plaster and it still would have been tasty; but it was the slow-cooked pig’s head pieces, laced with the thinly-sliced potatoes, which had of course absorbed all of that luscious, unctuous piggy fat and odd bits, that really sung.  The side of simple green salad with fresh mint provided just the right amount of crunch on the side.  Dessert was even simpler: little ice cream sandwiches that had been laced with two types of liquor, sandwiched between thin sheets of sugar cookie.  It was a proper British lunch to cap off a terrific tour of this majestic, culturally rich and culinarily diverse city. 

From Bombay to "50 Best"

April 20

 I walked through the Marylebone neighborhood this morning, amazed at all of the tiny boulangeries and patisseries.  Everywhere you look, there are incredible food shops, cafes with people sipping espresso out on the sidewalk and quaint shops.  Every now and then, you’ll walk by a business that claims proudly on its front window that its been in business since 1879, selling shoes, making shirts and the like; then in the next instant, you’re walking past a cool, modern, glass-walled building that might have gone up two years ago, and houses an über-hip restaurant or architectural firm.  That’s what I love about London. So I’m walking here because someone told me to hit Moxon Street, and visit two businesses, side-by-side, which both have very special elements.

The first, La Fromagerie, is a cheese-lover’s paradise that would have consumed my friend Ava for at least the better part of an afternoon.  You have to ask permission if it’s alright to enter their “Cheese Room,” since apparently too many people might alter the ambient temperature.  As you slide open the glass door, you’re hit in the face with the pungent, assertive and yet delicate aromas of aging milk curds.  There is something here for everyone, and literally, from everywhere.  When the Cheesemonger asked me if there was anything I was interested in, I simply replied, “give me anything with raw milk that’s less than 60 days old.”  He smiled, acknowledging the fact that as an American, I’m deprived of ever tasting something so fresh, so complex (thanks to the USDA guidelines).  He assembled a little sampler of goat’s cheese from France, Sheep’s milk cheese from Spain and a little triple cream cow’s milk from the U.K.  A side of quince paste was implied, and I was pleasantly surprised to see some plump raisins on the plate, bathed in a few teaspoons of thick sugar syrup.  Slabs of fresh farmhouse bread and butter only made the half-hour or so even more pleasurable.

I paid up, walked outside, then took an immediate right into the next door, home of the Ginger Pig, a local butcher shop that has farms and farm relationships all over the U.K. Stacks of fresh, brown eggs were on offer, as were a host of savory pies.  I opted for a sausage roll, which, at just a couple of pounds, could have been lunch.  A mound of hot, juicy, garlic-laden sausage, the size of a baseball, is wrapped inside of a fatty, flaky pastry that had to have been made with lard.  I savored it as I walked down Bond Street, but had to toss it after about four bites, since I knew that I would be having lunch soon.

My Indian colleague, Rashmi Uday Singh, writes for a few publications in India, and whenever I see her in London, she always has a few great Indian places to recommend.  On this trip, she had been promising the owner of the legendary Bombay Brasserie, that she would be stopping by, since the restaurant had recently undergone a renovation.  The décor is, quite simply, not what you would ever expect to find in an Indian restaurant (at least in America).  The sparkling chandelier was probably the first indication, but the atrium and the magnificent photos and paintings on the walls also showed that the owners were proud of their culture, and wanted diners to feel that you could have a fine-dining experience with Indian food you couldn’t get elsewhere.

I guess the sight of waiters serving our naan, parathas and kulcha French style, was probably a giveaway; the plush chairs, fantastic wine list (from Alsatian gewurtz to Indian sauvignon blanc) and subtle heat from the food also showed a deep respect for the cuisine.  There would be no bottles of Kingfisher or Taj here.  The restaurant is part of the Taj group of hotels, and while I expected to have watered-down, tourist-friendly food, it was quite the contrary: cucumber and mint-flecked raita, deep, smoky roasted eggplant with shards of fresh ginger and a dal that was as good as anything I’ve eaten in Mumbai. Sensing our group’s excitement, the owner sent out a Goan fish curry, which has a sauce made from coconut and chilies and garlic, and is cooked for several hours to make it smooth and powerful.

Needless to say, our giant meal made us feel a little guilty about taking a cab, so we walked back to our hotel, through majestic Kensington Gardens, through serene Hyde Park, and got back just in time to shower and change for our night’s activities.

The “50 Best Restaurants in the World” list always inspires debate among our peers.  I’m not sure it’s perfect, but I’m not sure any list is ever perfect.  I think it’s a great conversation starter.  The fact that Charlie Trotter and Gordon Ramsay were not among the top 50 this year (and yet David Chang’s Momofuku Ssam Bar was) shows that change is coming, and perhaps not every name, every restaurant is a shoe-in each year.  If they were, no one would vote and the process would be pretty boring anyway.  Chicago’s Alinea was number 10 this year, a significant jump, and I think with the U.S. now in a position to have 93 voters (instead of the 31 we’ve had the past few years) we’ll continue to see more newcomers on the Top 50 – although I think due to New York’s influence, many of those top tables will still be on the East Coast.  Afterall, when food writers come to the States for a visit, they tend to eat in New York first, Chicago second.

After the awards, a few of us went over to Soho, to check out a new restaurant, Bocca di Lupo.  We got to sit at the lively counter, talking with the chefs about ingredients.  This was a fun experience, since one colleague was from Greece, the other, Finland.  We noshed on tripe in tomato sauce, sheep’s milk gnudi, lamb prosciutto and a fritto misto plate that contained sweet polenta and apples, rather than the usual veggies and squid.  The oddest dish – what we would call “critic bait” – came at the end, for dessert.  Called sanguinacio, it was described as a “sweet terrine of pig’s blood with chocolate and sourdough bread.” Served in a small cazuela, the blood/terrine/chocolate had a slightly bitter, intense flavor, with bits of pine nut on top for textural contrast.  It was pretty good, frankly; not as good as the brioche sandwich with pistachio, hazelnut and a beguiling chestnut gelati that I’m still thinking about. 

London Calling

April 19

I’m in London for just two days, serving as one of the Regional Judges for the “50 Best Restaurants in the World” list that comes out at approximately 2 p.m. CST on April 20.  Like any list, there will certainly be a little controversy, but the organizers have done a pretty good job of trying to at least do a fair job of collecting the information.

They have broken up the world into about 26 regions, with the U.S. now in three of them (West, Central/Canada and East), after there was some grumbling last year about no restaurants from Japan and very few from S. East Asia.

Each Regional Judge is a food writer, critic or other industry expert who covers food and wine specific to that part of the world.  I’m in charge of the Central/Canada Region.  Then each of these Regional Chairs picks 30 judges – all of whom live in or cover their particular region – and have to be equally divided into chefs, restaurateurs and journalists.  We instruct these 30 judges to go to a secure site, and vote for five restaurants (three from their own region, two from anywhere else).  They must have eaten in these restaurants at some point in the last 18 months to qualify.

In the past, this list – organized by Restaurant Magazine in the U.K. – has been criticized as being too Euro-centric, but I think they’re gradually proving that by having representation and judges from around the world, they are beginning to make them more reflective of the entire globe.  I will attempt to Twitter as the names are announced.  Stay tuned.

While I was wandering around London today, I went over to the Islington neighborhood, to interview Yotam Ottolenghi, the co-owner of the local favorite, Ottolenghi.  It sounds like an Italian scooter company, but Yotam and his business partner, Sami Tamimi, have a very unique company.  They have four locations throughout London, but only the one in Islington is a full-service, three-meals-a-day restaurant as well.  The concept started out as  high-end take-out.  When you walk into the store, you are overwhelmed by the sight (more like a kaleidescope) of enormous salad platters featuring the freshest vegetables, herbs and ingredients.  This is where you see the two owners’ connection to the Middle East: Sami was born on the Palestinian side of Jerusalem, while Yotam is from the Jewish side of the city.  Funny how they didn’t meet until they got to London, but they have a strong sense of ethnic ingredients and dishes, and this salad display reminds you of a Middle Eastern souk somewhere in a bustling market, assuming Alice Waters was in charge of the food.

On the other side of the room, a mirror-image to the savory spread, is the largest, most tempting display of sweets I think I’ve ever seen.  This from a guy who is not necessarily a sweets person.  I think it was the softball-sized meringues that had me.  The killer hazelnut-cinnamon versions were incredibly crispy on the outside, but revealed a soft, moist, (dare I say sensual) interior that was impossible to put down.  Over-loaded plates of chocolate Bailey’s brownies, fig tarts, lemon polenta cakes, passion fruit muffins, pain au chocolat and apple galette literally made my mouth water, and it was one of those “oh, shit.. I have to make a decision” moments that we foodies dread when faced with so much delicious-looking food.  If you'd like to see more pictures from the store, I've put them up on the Hungry Hound Facebook page (which you need to join, if you haven't already).

Eric Partaker is a Chicago native, but he had an unpleasant discovery a few years ago:

He got to London and realized – unlike Chicago, where there are millions of Mexican immigrants and thus, many great Mexican restaurants – there was nothing here.  He hasn’t exactly created another Frontera, but rather, a London version of Chipotle.  The hot line looks very similar, and the ingredients are awfully close to the ones we have in America, except for iceberg in place of the romaine I prefer. Pulled pork, chopped steak and grilled chicken are all solid, as is the chunky, freshly-made guac.  One peculiar highlight, the local apple-elderflower drinks he offers in the refrigerated case.  They have two locations in London as of now, but have many more planned down the road.

That’s all for now, gotta go to bed.  I’ll be hitting some Indian places tomorrow, as well as a famous cheese shop, so will report on that when I get back, since I don’t think they have wireless connections at 35,000 feet.  Here's a video from Chilango I shot out front.

Glorious Farmer's Market Down Under

Melbourne's World-Class Market 

April 12

I got up early this morning to make my way up to Melbourne for its world-class Queen Victoria Market.  This public market takes up several acres of space near the center of the city, and by 9:30 a.m., was already bustling with activity.  The market is divided into a few main areas: the chotchkes, or clothing section, where you can buy anything from electronics to toys to Australian Uggs; then there’s the fresh produce area, covered by large, tin-roofed shelters; finally, a restored building housing at least a dozen high-quality butcher shops and fish mongers, all with immaculate displays of sausages, ground beef, whole chickens and other proteins.  I was really struck by the availability of just about every part of the animal: ox tails, whole lamb heads, even tails and tripe.  Next to the butcher section, there are quite a few deli counters, just heaped with beautiful displays of olives, local cheeses, aged and cured meats and some truly magical blends, dips and sauces.  Since Melbourne has the largest Greek population outside of Athens, you’ll be pleasantly surprised to find four or five kinds of feta here, along with more than a dozen olive types, prepared seafood salads with baby octopus and calamari, plus crazy-good, fresh pita and savory dips for dunking them into later.  Once again, it made me realize how vital a market is to a city’s culinary identity, and why Chicago needs to have a market of this caliber, if it is ever going to be taken seriously as a food town. 

While I was in Melbourne, I also checked out a unique concept called “Lord of the Fries,” which proclaims is the best vegetarian fast food in the country.  Set up like a burger and fry joint, you pick out how many burgers (regular or mini) you want, which toppings you prefer, and then if you want the hand-cut, homemade fries, you get to choose from about a dozen custom-made sauces to go with them, either in a cone or box.  I chose a Vietnamese sauce that was more like a chili-mayo, while a traditional Belgian struck us as a fairly typical garlic aioli.  Unfortunately, they were out of the Texas sauce, which included melted cheese.  The veggie burgers were pretty good – I tend to like all of the toppings like lettuce, tomato, mayo and crisp pickles – but the fries were the real stars: crisp, thick and hot, they could have been enjoyed all by themselves. 

Finally, since it was Sunday, we hit a little dim sum restaurant; in Australia, they refer to dim sum houses as "yum cha," which makes more sense, since they are essentially tea houses with small snacks.  We tried the Oriental Tea House, on busy Chapel Street, which had an immense tea selection up front, with brigades of servers offering up dozens of little dumplings and fried treats during the hectic dim sum service.  All of the usual suspects were there: steamed har gao (shrimp dumplings), fried taro, stir-fried beef with lychee, even lightly-fried octopus and a terrific scallop shiu mai that I couldn't stop eating.  The great thing about eating there was the walking around afterwards.  Chapel Street has a great mix of both the casual, 20-something clothing stores, as well as the high-end boutiques and designer stores.  Tons of great cafes and coffeeshops line the street, and it's easily accessible by public transportation.  If you want to see a brief vodcast from the yum cha house, check it out here.

Biscuits.. Scones.. Say What?

April 11

A light breakfast today in the seaside town of Barwon Heads.  This mini fishing village reminded me of Martha’s Vineyard or some other bucolic East Coast seasonal mecca.  The “heads” denote the area where the water runs from Port Phillip Bay out into the Pacific Ocean.  You’ll see a lot of container ships and freighters, as they navigate the bouys to enter the Bay, making their way to and from Melbourne’s shipping ports.  At the appropriately-named restaurant, At The Heads, we loved all of the light spilling through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows, and appreciated a simple breakfast of thick sourdough toast, topped with a gently-poached egg, plus sides of roasted tomatoes, a giant grilled mushroom and some fatty bacon.  I did have a few “lost in translation” moments, however.  When I spotted what appeared to be biscuits up on the front counter, I asked our server if I could have one with some jam. She brought me over a chocolate chip cookie.  Huh?  Apparently, those biscuits are referred to as scones here, while what we call a cookie is really a biscuit.  Then I asked for an iced coffee.  Naively thinking I would get a glass of ice in which to bathe my coffee, instead, I got a tall glass of coffee syrup, diluted with some milk; on top of it all, a large scoop of vanilla ice cream.  Yum, nonetheless, but not exactly what I was thinking.

For dessert though, there was no mistaking a large slice of hummingbird cake (which, oddly enough, I’ve seen at Art Smith’s restaurant Table 52).  This hummingbird spoke a little different tune: layers of banana cake with cream cheese frosting, studded with bits of pineapple, rolled in a healthy layer of coconut.  Finished off with a “skinny coffee long” (that’s a coffee with a  little bit of skim milk), I was ready to hit the stores and plan my next meal.

In the afternoon, I encountered my first meat pie.  I had seen these before in London, and even noticed that The Publican in Chicago is offering them on occasion.  Essentially a flaky pastry dough filled with all sorts of savory goodies, the meat pies you tend to see in Australia range from curried beef or chicken, to plain ‘ol mincemeat or cubed beef, seasoned with some salt, pepper, bacon and perhaps a little potato.  

At Ramsay’s Patisserie in Geelong, I tried both the curry and the Ned Kelly pie.  Named for a famous outlaw who stole cattle and pigs from the British railroad, the Ned Kelly is loaded with bits of beef, bacon and egg, stuffed within a flaky, slightly greasy pie shell; apparently the way to eat them is with a squirt of tomato sauce (ketchup).  The curried beef was more like a sloppy joe sprinkled with some store-bought curry powder, while the Ned Kelly reminded me of a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich minus the flaky biscuit.  Not exactly culinary nirvana, but a fine mid-afternoon treat.

For dinner, we drove down the coast, near the Great Ocean Road, and through the town of Torquay (tore-KEY), one of the most popular surfing towns in the world.  Names like Quicksilver, Billabong and RipCurl are as popular as fast food joints might be in other towns.  Nearly everyone comes here for the surf and the weather, and the views along the Great Ocean Road tend to be spectacular, on par with anything you’d see along Highway One in California.  But our destination was the town of Anglesea, where there is a country club that has gained a reputation for its popular, yet uninvited guests: kangaroos.  Apparently, the smell and taste of the short-length grass all along the course is a lure for the small animals, and so we planned our dinner there so we could actually see some ‘roos in action, not just at a zoo.  I managed to get a few shots and some video of them, which I will post on the ABC 7 website.  

Let Me See Your Mussels

April 10 

We returned to Barwon Heads today, this time to do a little window shopping and check out the Beach House restaurant on the main drag.  Like so many other great little finds, the Beach House has that wonderful mix of a clean lines, simple décor and am ambitious menu.  You’ll see all sorts of Fish ‘n Chip shacks along the coast here, but every now and then you’ll stumble upon a gem like the Beach House.  Tempted to sit outside on the giant porch, it was a little too chilly, so we opted to go inside and start off with a local sauvignon blanc from the state of Victoria.  It’s truly amazing how many great wines there are, all from a relatively small geographic area on the Bellarine Peninsula.  I passed on the mini-Thai fish burger with chips, and instead chose a bowl full of plump, intensely saline mussels that had the punch of garlic and the aroma of fruity, white wine.  This is a pairing that always satisfies, especially since they provide a giant wedge of sourdough bread for sopping up all of those addictive juices.

The Beachhouse in Barwon Heads                          Mussels and Sauvignon Blanc

Even though I was pretty full, I couldn’t resist a charming little food shop next door, called Annie’s.  A gourmet deli to be sure, but this one also sold unique food products from all over Australia and New Zealand, as well as beautifully-displayed food that they made on premise.  The case of gourmet pasties and savory pies was enough to get me to try a steak and onion version, although I would have been just as happy with a veggie or Thai curry chicken if they hadn’t been sold out.  I did manage to pick up some flavored licorice and a hunk of chocolate-hazelnut nougat, studded with almonds.  Apparently, nougat is big in Australia, and not just in mass-produced sweets, but more often from the pastry kitchens of local chefs.

Aussie Cheeses at Annie's                      Grabbing a Quick Bite at Annie's

The eating adventure continues, and on Good Friday, it’s all about seafood here in the state of Victoria.  Today we went to the Queenscliff Seafood Festival, a family-friendly event that combines music, drinks and lots of fish.  There must have been 12,000 people packed into the tiny main park here; long lines of folks waiting for fish ‘n chips, grilled Tasmanian salmon and some of the best mussels I have ever placed into my gullet.  These particular ones were from the town of Portland, Australia, and arrived with a choice of sauces, including marinara and white wine.

 Some of the best mussels I've ever eaten, at the Queenscliff Seafood Festival

A Vanilla Slice of Heaven

April 9

We took the ferry across the Bay today, to the tiny town of Sorrento.  A vacation destination for sure, the main road is lined with the cutest shops and coolest cafes.  We had heard the one thing to try for sure was the vanilla slice from the Just Fine Foods store.  I hate place like this, because I can never decide what to buy – it all looks so good!   Even though I had just had lunch, I was more than tempted by their apricot-hazelnut bread crisps, and the positively Gourmet cover-worthy tarts and savory pies.  But the signs, reviews and press clips all pointed to the vanilla slice (as evidenced by every customer digging into one at their table); these “slices” are more like blocks.  Think vanilla custard – and not just any custard mind you, but a thick, not-too-sweet, vanilla bean-flecked one – jammed in between flaky pastry and then topped off with powdered sugar.  Sounds simple, but when you combine the thick custard with the delicate pastry and the hit of sweet confectioner’s sugar, it’s a dessert you’ll all be fighting for at your table.  You can see me eating one at the ABC 7 website.

Dinner was in the seaside town of Point Lonsdale, where they are getting ready to host their annual seafood festival on Good Friday, we tried a little place called Kelp.  I was going in thinking either Japanese salads or some kind of new age, macrobiotic eating emporium.  Once again, my preconceived notions were debunked, as I discovered instantly, when glancing at the specials board, I spied a minted pea soup with feta, as well as – you guessed it – pan-roasted barramundi over a seasonal ratatouille.  One of the things you need to be aware of in Australia is that "entree" means appetizer, while "main" means main dish.  Two of the entrees caught my eye: a rabbit rillet with grilled scampi, as well as some sliced salmon that had been marinated in a local sauvignon blanc with apple and fennel.  My sister-in-law got the classic bouillabaisse, which not only contained fish fillets, local mussels and other seaworthy treats, but also Moreton Bay bugs, which looked like a cross between a giant lobster tail and a creature from another world.  The meat was firm and toothsome, and the sweet delicacy was just bathed in wine and garlic.  I thought the real highlights came from the wine and dessert lists.  For dinner, we tried a local sauvignon blanc – and I should point out that wine service in Australia is so incredibly informal, since every bottle from both here and New Zealand now has screwtops – and at $30 a bottle average, they’re all steals.  For some reason, drinking a sauv blanc with my pan-roasted barramundi was as good as any pairing I've had - anywhere.  Then at dessert, I spotted an iced riesling from Tasmania, which at $7 a glass was another steal: unlike many ice wines that are too syrupy and overly-sweet, this late harvest beauty was refined and structured, with hints of apricot and melon; it paired wonderfully with nibbles of banana-galliano cheesecake as well as a crazy-good vanilla bean ice cream that was laced with some butterscotch schnapps.

Munching in Melbourne

April 8

We were exploring Melbourne today, and once again, my preconceived notions of this place were altered.  I had always thought of Sydney as Australia’s “big dog,” with the swagger of the iconic Opera House and that glorious harbor bridge, not to mention the cultural sophistication that is so often aligned with this world-class city.  It was host to the summer Olympics, afterall.  But Melbourne is just as cool.  We walked around Collins Street, an avenue of both the posh (think Michigan Avenue) as well as the funky and offbeat.  In a few unexpected places, you’ll run into arcades that meander down narrow corridors, lined with boutique clothing stores and amazing food stalls.  I munched on curried laksa from a sushi/noodle kiosk, where I had to choose from among five kinds of noodles.  One of the sweets we encountered here was the lamington.  I had seen these in Chicago before, at Tipsycake, a cool little bakery in Humboldt Park owned by an Australian.  So the sight of these square pastries was no surprise.  People had described them to me as Australian donuts, but these were nothing like that.  Instead, it was more like a soft sponge cake or angel food cake, that had a thin, outer layer of chocolate; the entire block is rolled in finely-shredded coconut., which also gives it some texture.  There is some video of me eating oneat the ABC 7 website.

We had lunch at Donovans, in the St. Kilda area of Melbourne, directly on Port Phillip Bay.  Even though everything here is in Australian dollars, I’m used to multiplying prices here by .7, which means they aren’t quite as expensive as they seem at first.  But Donovan’s is more in-line with a Naha or Blackbird-level of eating, both in price and food quality, despite its obvious tourist location on the water.

Donovans Upper Dining Room

We started off with unctuous Jerusalem artichoke soup with crostini, a harbinger of the cool autumn weather that is about to come.  My brother’s seafood risotto tasted as if they had just wrangled up the delicate squid and mussels from the Bay, while my barramundi over mashed potato had all of that lovely texture and meatiness I have come to expect from this great-eating fish.  The restaurant itself is a beauty.  A former boathouse, it has been lovingly restored to resemble a crash pad for the Martha Stewart set; neutral tones with earthenware vases, colorful plates and glassware, and a set design straight out of a Metropolitan Home Beachfront spread.
 
Pan-roasted barramundi with mushrooms                         Seafood risotto

Aussie Licorice?

April 7

Discovered Australian licorice today.  I’m not talking about the long, twisted red and black types we typically see in the States, (they have those too), but rather, a short, stubby, smooth-sided “soft eating liquorice” that is sold primarily by candy stores such as Darrel Lea, a popular chain here.  They come in flavors such as mango, green apple, strawberry and black currant, and they have none of the anise flavor that is so typical of the licorice eat at home. Instead, these soft pieces are infused with natural flavors – just stick your head into a bag and whiff - and they rarely stick to your teeth.

I also noticed that in general, Aussies love their sweets.  Even though it was the week leading up to Easter, the stores were just jammed with folks buying, tasting and hoarding chocolates and other goodies.  It reminded me of a pre-Christmas binge.  There are some other good "liquorice" producers in Australia, but I found the Darrel Lea brand to be as good as anything out there.  Click here to see me talk more about this dynamite "liquorice."  I also just found out that the Darrell Lea flavored liquorice is now being carried by World Market stores around the country (I just called their Lincoln Park store to confirm this), and they have about five flavors on hand, so head out there and try some for yourself!

Victoria Wine Country

April 6

I’ve been “down under” this week, visiting family, but I couldn’t resist trying to find a few Australian specialties, especially things I can’t find at home.  We’ve been staying near the city of Geelong, a quaint town on the Bellarine Peninsula, about an hour Southwest of Melbourne.  The towns around here are suited to tourists on holiday, since we’re close to the beach.  My first shock was the number of wineries nearby. 

I have always heard of the Yarra river valley and the Barossa wine regions, but I’ve never heard of the Geelong Region or the Bellarine Peninsula as a place growing world-class wines.  That has certainly changed. Here in the state of Victoria, in just a 10-mile radius, there are several dozen great wineries, all of them producing crisp sauvignon blanc, and quite a few producing the country’s best-known grape: shiraz.

One of the reasons sauvignon blanc grows so well here – as it does in nearby New Zealand – is the cool climate, and mineral-packed soil.  There is limestone here, as well as volcanic soil, and those vines are able to soak up so much of that, which gives the grapes a seriously defined terroir.  Unfortunately, what I’m finding out is that many of these producers are so small, they are unable to find distributors and importers beyond their borders.  Take, for example, the excellent Lethbridge Winery, about 20 miles outside of Geelong.  I met with the owner/winemaker, Ray Nadeson this week, who has his own unique story: born in Malaysia, raised in London and educated in Australia, he spent years trying to find just the right place to grow his grapes.  A scientist by trade, he and his wife have established a boutique winery here, producing about 3,500 cases a year, growing not only delicate sauvignon blanc and chardonnay, but also some powerful pinot noir, shiraz and even a few rieslings that rival anything I’ve had from Germany or Austria.

Worker During the Harvest/Crush           Lunch at Lethbridge

Ray Nadeson, Winemaker

I’ve also been spotting a lot of barramundi on local menus.  This fish is to Australia what ramps are to Chicago: a local ingredient that any decent restaurant offers on its menu this time of year.   The fish is meaty, toothsome and nearly always pan-roasted and served with some seasonal veggies.  Speaking of which, I was stunned that not only is early April their fall here, but they’re in the middle of the wine harvest, and all of the restaurants are beginning to put mushrooms, pumpkin and squash on their menus!