Hot Stuff in Nashville.

Nashville is hot stuff right now - it's quite the culinary darling, actually. In addition to our hefty list of restaurants to visit, one of my closest friends from LA, Chris, is from Nashville, and his family all live there. His brother-in-law runs a restaurant that I had been hearing about for some time.

Unfortunately for me, somewhere between New Orleans and Nashville I acquired one super nasty cold (that fortunately – and bizarrely – only lasted twenty-four hours). But we had reservations at Rolf & Daughters, and by gum, we were sticking to it. Even through a super hero dosage of cold medicines, I was able to appreciate the atmosphere, service, food and wine. As per usual, I ordered the chicken. But alas, we were not long for the world that night, and right after dinner, hurried back to the hotel to rest up for the next few days in town. And our next stop was going to be Chris' brother-in-law's restaurant; Fido.

In 1993, way before local, sustainable, organic, farm to table took root (think Pearl Jam-era), Fido was launched as part of the unofficial Bongo World and consists of a wholesale coffee roasting company and four cafes – each having a unique identity and menu. Their coffee is 100% organic and bought directly from Fair Trade small-farm co-ops. Fido is both coffee shop and restaurant, nestled in Nashville’s Hillsboro neighborhood. Well known for their fish tacos, the Local Burger and their sweet potato fries, and with dishes like a grilled Tennessee cheddar and country ham sandwich and baked cheese grits, Chef John Stephenson offers a fresh, local menu which simultaneously breaks away from, and pays homage to, traditional southern fare.

Fido got its name from the pet store that previously occupied their space and is, no surprise here, dog-friendly. This was a huge plus for us traveling with two of our canine boys, Eduardo and Byron. Right around lunchtime on a recent weekday, the four of us laid claim to one of the precious tables outside before we went in to peruse the menu and place our order. And out popped Chris' brother-in-law, Chef John himself – lucky for us he was manning all of the food coming out of the kitchen that day. So we ordered a lot: the Local Burger with sweet potato fries, the last of the season heirloom tomato salad with fresh figs and blue cheese, tomato-basil soup with focaccia, grilled salmon with polenta, mache, berries and feta, the special plate of the day which had a sampling of a couple Southern staples: green bean casserole, succotash, and finally a hefty slice of pumpkin cheesecake.

Their most popular dish is the Local burger with sweet potato fries, is fantastic. It's made with Tennessee beef and local lamb, Swiss cheese, pickles, onion strips and a zesty sauce. The meat was seasoned with a beautiful blend of spices. The bread was an ideal texture and there wasn't too much of it to eclipse the meat. The sweet potato fries were grilled, made from sweet potatoes on site, were tender, soft and delicious.

We saw John and his family quite a bit during our three nights in Nashville. We hit the hotspots and the nightspots and the old tried and true spots. We heard rad, live music, went to a farmers' market and I even bought a beautiful, new handbag from a local designer that Chris' sister, Katherine, turned me on to. But culinarily, two things in Nashville really stood out to me; Fido and another joint Katherine and John sent us to: Hattie B's Hot Chicken. It was my first Hot Chicken experience and it was memorable. We sat outside (again with the pups) and stared down at our massive platters of Nashville-style fried chicken: marinated in buttermilk, breaded, sauced using a paste that had been heavily spiced with cayenne pepper, then pan-fried and coated in 'damn hot' sauce. It is served atop slices of white bread with pickle chips with traditional Southern sides like collards, black-eyed pea salad, fried okra, pimiento mac n cheese, and tea so sweet it hurts your teeth. Fred, of course, ordered his hot chicken as hot as he could and was on fire after two bites in. But we loved it. We felt so Nashville.

The food we experienced in Nashville – all of it – was solid, satisfying and fresh. We appreciated that we were also able to experience the new school and the old school. None were necessarily bells and whistles places. More, I'd say, salt of the earth, with just the right amount of salt.

We use this salsa for many things at Fido, but mainly it is the star ingredient in our Huevos Cubano.  Add it to soft scrambled eggs, with some nice sharp cheese and you have a wonderful breakfast item. Place in a blender with some of your favorite hot sauce and you have a tangy green hot sauce. Serve on pork loin, tacos, or just eat with chips! 

~ Chef John Stephenson

Fido Roasted Tomatillo Salsa

Ingredients

1 red onions finely diced

1 poblano finely diced

1diced jalapeño

1 lemons juice and zest

1 tablespoon garlic minced

½ cup chopped cilantro

¼ cup chopped parsley

2 teaspoons cumin

1 teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground coriander

½ cup olive oil

¼ cup rice wine vinegar

2 teaspoons brown sugar

salt & pepper to taste

4 quarts tomatillos

Directions

Preheat oven to 400F.  In a large bowl filled with water, place a few tomatillos at a time in and remove stems and paper husk from tomatillos. Place on large sheet pan. Place the sheet pan with all tomatillos, a little olive oil, and a pinch of salt in the oven and roast for 15-20 minutes until soft. Remove and cool for 10 minutes.

Place the tomatillos in a blender and pulse until chunky. Pour into large mixing bowl.

Put all other ingredients in bowl with tomatillos and mix together until combined. Taste for salt and pepper.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: This Bud's For You.

Two years ago: Short Rib Stew with Mushroom & Parsley Dumplings

Three years ago: SugarFISH

Four years ago: Scallops with Wild Mushroom Risotto & Rosé Fonduta

Deep in the heart of Texas.

We arrived at our next stop after a long day on the road. We had driven all day and only been in one state – so you know we must have been in Texas. I was extra excited because A) I was meeting an old friend I hadn't seen since college, and B) I had never, ever been to Texas before. One thing for sure; there would be BBQ.

Now, I'm from the East Coast and that's usually the Carolina style BBQ camp. This means the meat (usually pork) is served pulled, shredded, or chopped. The predominant flavor is that vinegar-based sauce - it's tart. And cole slaw is invariably on top of it. Texas BBQ sauce is darker, thicker, tomato-ier, it's sweet. And this Q is slaw-free (or, at least, on the side).

After a fury of back and forth texting from the road with my friend, we agreed to meet at the landmark Texas BBQ joint, The Salt Lick. It worked out beautifully as we rolled into town in the middle of a beautiful sunset. The restaurant wasn't too far from their house – a little ways out of Austin, on the side of a long, lonesome, bucolic road in Driftwood, Texas. They call it Hill Country.

Opened in 1969 by Augustus 'Texas Boy' Roberts, Sr. and his wife, The Salt Lick grew quickly in popularity and went from being open only a few times a year to being open seven days a week. Upon walking into the large, ye olde wagon wheel, lodge-like space, I was greeted immediately by the massive open BBQ pit filled with MEAT.

Between the four of us we ordered everything – brisket, pork ribs, beef ribs, sausage, turkey and a half of a chicken. All of which came with sides of potato salad, cole slaw, beans, bread, pickles and onions. 'Thurman's Plate' was put in front of me (because that's the dish that 'Poppa always ate'); brisket, pork ribs and sausage. We did get some sweet tea, but as for the adult beverages, BYO. Thankfully our friends brought a mobile cooler filled with local beers and a box of wine (!).

About mid-way and 32596 bites of that sweet, Texas barbeque'd meat through the meal my friend asked me, “So, do you think it's GOOOD or do you think it's good?” Fred and I looked at one another and then back to her and replied in unison, “I think it's good.” And that kind of says it all. It's a really wonderful experience. The space is fun and authentic. The BBQ pit is fantastic. The food comes out at a clip, is inexpensive (the entire meal for four was around $60) and there is a ton of it. The service is friendly and approachable. We had a box of wine. Maybe it's those Carolina BBQ roots, and though I thoroughly enjoyed my foray into Texas BBQ, it was good. Really good. And really fun.

Missing were the wheelbarrows to transport us back to our cars.

And after that day of driving and that meal, we slept a sound sleep deep in the heart of Texas.

Well, since it took two days to drive through Texas, you get to hear about two restaurants....

The next day's lunch was all mapped out. And it was all Fred. He has been an avid fan of Top Chef, along with me, for many seasons, and had been reading all about the former Cheftestant, Paul Qui, and his flourishing career in Austin. More interestingly to Fred, Qui's brick and mortar iteration of his East Side King food trucks.

We found it hiding in the back of a divy dive bar aptly called Hole In The Wall, across the street from UT. The ultimate college bar; dark, dingy, old school rock music blaring from the speakers, with pool tables, pinball machines, murals on the walls and band stickers on everything else. Qui uses this iconic space to flex his tasty, funky fusion street food riffs on Japanese, Thai and Filipino cuisines. Using the ubiquitous cilantro, mint, onion, jalapeño combination in many of the dishes, Qui throws a little shout out to Texas to boot. Boot. Texas. Get it? Hello?

Fred ordered the Thai Chicken Kara-age, Liberty Rice, Poor Qui’s Buns, Brussels Sprouts Salad, and the uber melting pot of a dish; Chicken Tortilla Ramen (bacon dashi, chicken-tortilla-Tom-Yum paste, chicken thigh, avocado, corn, corn tortilla, pickled yellow onion, jalapeño, cilantro, garlic, lime).

The food was audaciously impressive. The dishes were heartfelt, inspired and esoteric. Everything was bright and fresh and colorful. The Liberty Rice; simply steamed jasmine rice, ginger, garlic oil, basil, cilantro, mint, onion and jalapeño – yet, so bold and herbaceous. The ramen was the perfect Winter comfort soup - so complex, layered and delicious, we couldn't stop eating it in even the arid ninety degree heat. All of this beauty confidently served up in little paper dishes with little plastic utensils. And putting a mere $40 dent in the wallet.

We ate a lot of food – and fairly big food - but did not feel weighed down at all. I'd even say we left with a spring in our step and a long forgotten Clash song in our heads.

Paul Qui's Chicken Kara-age over Liberty Rice

Serves 4

Ingredients

Brine

1 cup water

1 cup sugar

1 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup fish sauce

1/4 cup chopped garlic

1/4 cup chopped thai chilies

Chicken

24 oz chicken thighs

1.5 fl oz of Chicken Brine

Sauce

1 cup water

1 cup sugar

1 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup fish sauce

1/4 cup chopped garlic

1/4 cup chopped thai chilies

1  1/2 cup Mae Ploy chili sauce

Liberty Rice

1 quart jasmine rice

1 quart water

1 tablespoon julienne ginger

1/2 cup garlic oil (heat chopped garlic in oil)

Veggies & Herbs

10 jalapeños

2 large yellow onions

1/4 bunch basil

1/4 bunch mint

1 bunch cilantro

Directions

Make the Brine

Place water, sugar, fish sauce and vinegar in bowl. Whisk until sugar is completely dissolved. Add garlic and thai chilies and whisk until both are well dispersed throughout the liquid.

Brine the Chicken

Take the chicken thighs and cut into 3/4-inch cubes, making sure to remove fat and tendons from the thighs. Place in bowl. Whisk previously prepared brine to redistribute garlic and chilies evenly. Ladle 1.5oz of brine into the bowl with the chicken and toss. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and let marinate for 8 hours before use.

Prepare the Sauce

Place water, sugar, fish sauce and vinegar in bowl. Whisk until sugar is completely dissolved. Add garlic and thai chilies to the mixture and whisk until both are well dispersed. Add mae ploy and whisk until combined with mixture.

Make the Liberty Rice

Wash rice in bowl until water runs relatively clear. Place rice in cooker and add 1 quart water. You want a 1:1 ratio of rice to water. Add ginger. Close lid and set the rice cooker to cook. Once the rice is done mix in garlic oil. Keep warm until ready to serve.

Meanwhile, Slice Jalapeños & Onions

Cut the ends and tips off of 10 large jalapeños. Using a mandolin slice the jalapeños into 1/8-inch slices. Cut the tops off of 2 large yellow onions. Peel onion halves making sure that the root of the onions remain. Slice the halved pieces of onion in half, so that the onions are now quartered. Using a mandolin slice the onion width wise into 1/8-inch slices. Place sliced jalapeños and onions in the fridge and hold until time to serve.

Prepare the Herb Mixture

Pick herbs, making sure that only the nicest green pieces are saved. Places herb mixture in bowl and toss herbs gently making sure that herbs are well mixed in the bowl. Place herbs in fridge and hold until time to serve.

Cooking and Serving

Place 1.5 pounds of brined chicken in a bowl. Pour cornstarch into the bowl and toss chicken, until well coated. Place coated chicken into sieve. Place sieve into empty metal bowl and shake chicken in the sieve until excess cornstarch falls into bowl underneath. Place chicken into fryer basket and drop into oil. Fryer should be at 375 degrees F. Cook chicken until crispy and golden brown. While chicken is cooking make sure to shake the basket so that the pieces are able to evenly cooked. Separate pieces using tongs if needed.

While the chicken is cooking take medium metal bowl and place small handful of onions and jalapeños in bowl. Set bowl aside until chicken is finished cooking.

When chicken is finished pull from oil and allowing excess oil to drain and the chicken to rest. Place chicken in the medium metal bowl that contains all the vegetables. Season chicken with 1/2 tablespoon of salt. Pour 1/4 cup chicken sauce over chicken. Toss chicken and vegetables in the sauce until all is evenly coated. The chicken and vegetables should have a nice glean to them but chicken should still be very crisp.

Place 3/4 cup cooking rice into individual bowls. Place chicken and vegetables on top of rice. Top with small handful herb mixture and your dish is ready to serve.

Serve the chicken piping hot with sliced onions and jalapeños. Top with mint, basil and cilantro.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Ham Hock & Lima Beans
Two years ago: Cousin Flonnie's Spoon Bread
Three years ago: Spaghetti & Meatballs
Four years ago: Calbi BBQ (Food Truck)

California, Here We Go.

We've been plotting and planning for close to eight months. We've been roommates with boxes and bubble wrap for about as many weeks. Address changes, car selling, new banks, lists and lists and lists, goodbye breakfasts, lunches and dinners, goodbye glasses (that turned into bottles) of wine – all of this, leading up to a moment. The moment we drive away from the City of Angels towards our new home, three thousand miles away in Richmond, Virginia. And that moment happened last Thursday.

It was so hurried and frenetic, nary a moment for goodbye tears or nostalgia. Which suited me just fine. Fred, Eduardo, Byron and I all loaded up in our little car, loaded with our life for the next few weeks - not without grandma Janie's cast-iron skillet and my bacon drippings. Ahead warp zillion! Ahead first to Phoenix, Arizona, where we were set to meet up with the legendary Chris Bianco, creator of what is purported to be the greatest pizza on Earth outside of Italy. And then what next? We were not certain. And that is the beauty. We are like Hansel and Gretel, eating those breadcrumbs all along the trail across this great country to find our way home.

After experiencing a wonderful dinner at Chris' newest iteration of Pizzeria Bianco (which you will be able to read and see all about on TasteSpotting soon!), we popped up bright and early to meet up with him at his cafe and 'test kitchen' of sorts, Pane Bianco. This is where his brother, Marco, bakes the loaves of bread and also where the mill lives. Yes, they grow their own wheat, have their own mill, and bake their own bread with their very own flour.

After a tour of the kitchen, dining room and mill, with tastes of biscotti here, and gelato there, Chris sat with us and talked about love and the beauty in everything, and what inspires him (of which food is but a slice). He talked about rectangles, triangles and circles (everything in Pane Bianco is on wheels). He then sent us on our way with hugs, a bottle of chilled rosé from his restaurant (the label is from a painting his father gave his mother ages ago, of a rose) and told us to pick out one of the loaves that had just come out of the oven – to pick the one 'that spoke to us.'

And on the road we went. To infinity: The Grand Canyon. Where we went to watch the sunset, crack open the bottle of rosé, and eat that beautiful fresh bread with some Italian cheeses we picked up in Flagstaff. And yes, the bread was remarkable – mouth-injuringly crusty on the outside, yet moist, airy and filled with beautiful air pockets on the inside – fundamentally satisfying in every way. I suppose Marco was right, it 'spoke to us.' All this while watching the sun disappear into the canyon. How remarkable was it? So much so that I have goose bumps even writing this.

The next morning we were up bright and early to get on the road again. We needed to make it to Albuquerque, at least. Which shouldn't have been too much of a challenge, but Fred wanted to amble. So we stopped at Meteor Crater, walked the dogs, looked around, took pictures. And then we were off again. Well, for about thirty minutes. When I noticed the car slowing considerably, I looked up and found that Fred had pulled off into a small town. And we were driving down the main drag: Route 66.

Fred turned to me and flatly explained (as though it was quite obvious), “I want to be standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona."

Oh, of course. Clearly.

We pulled over, leashed up the pups and went to find The Corner. It wasn't hard to find. After Fred posed for his obligatory picture, we began to wander and stumbled across none other than the 15th Annual Standin' on a Corner Festival. What are the chances?!

So we found a vendor selling Navajo Tacos on Fry Bread, wandered back to the car and had our lunch. As we sat in the sun, noshing this new kind of taco, I looked around and thought about Chris' words from earlier. I ruminated on unexpected beauty, I looked down at my pizza-shaped taco loaded with meat, cheese, tomatoes, green onion, lettuce and salsa with the fry bread confidently glistening with hot oil, I relished the love of Fred and our dogs on this singular adventure. I then looked up and saw a bird fly over (how amazing would it have been if it was an eagle?).

Take it easy? No problem.

And just think, only fort-eight hours prior we were watching the City of Angels disappear in our rear view mirror.

Navajo Fry Bread
(recipe adapted from The Pioneer Woman)

Makes 6 breads

Ingredients

3 cups All-purpose Flour

1/2 teaspoon Salt

3 teaspoons Baking Powder (slightly Rounded Teaspoons)

3/4 cups Milk

 Water As Needed To Get Dough To Come Together

 Vegetable Shortening Or Lard For Frying

Directions

Stir together flour, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Stir with a fork as you pour in the milk; keep stirring for a bit to get it to come together as much as possible. Add just enough water (about 1/4 to 1/2 cup) to get it to come together. Cover the bowl with a dish towel and let it sit for 35 to 45 minutes to rest.

When you're ready to make the fry bread, heat about 1 to 2 inches shortening/lard in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Grab a plum-sized piece of dough (or larger if you want larger fry bread) and press it into a circle with your fingers: place it on a clean surface and begin pressing in the center and work your way out, stretching it as you go.

When the circle is about 4 to 7 inches (however big you want it) carefully drape it into the skillet. Allow it to fry on one side until golden brown, about 1 minute, then carefully flip it to the other side using tongs. Fry it for another 30 to 45 seconds.

Remove the fry bread to a paper towel-lined plate and allow it to drain while you fry the other pieces.

Serve warm!

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Ham Hock & Lima Beans

Two years ago: Chocolate Sea-Salt Pie

Three years ago: Chicks with Knives at Test Kitchen, 2010

Four years ago: The Marked 5 Truck

Check One-Two.

Fred and I just returned from our final trip to San Francisco before we embark on our Eastward adventure. Our last trip, period, before we head East. So, of course, I had a few restaurants, two in particular, to cross off my never ending list. One was Mission Chinese Food. I have been trying forever to find the perfect Chinese food spot. One that's not trying to keep up with the healthy Jones' (I want some of that MSG, umami, and some greasiness, dammit), one that's not too far off the beaten path (no molecular gastronomy here, please), but one that is trying to insert a modicum of creativity into the food. I have been coming up empty. To the universe's credit, I haven't been making any backbreaking attempts either. It would certainly not fall into 'my life mission' category. But, whenever I crave Chinese food I am reminded of the whole issue.

Well, now I'm even more irritated about this since I found EXACTLY what I was looking for in a city where I do not reside and in the very state I am leaving permanently in a few short weeks.

Within a couple of hours of waking up on our first morning, we grabbed coffee, picked up my Dad and his girlfriend, Dale, checked out the Diebenkorn exhibit at the de Young Museum, and found ourselves standing face to face with the wonky, old-school, hole-in-the-wall-Chinese-eatery, pop-up turned restaurant-within-a-restaurant, hipster-hot Mission Chinese Food.

Inside it was still, it was dark and it was hot. If you want ice in your drink, too bad. No ice.

I skipped breakfast for this so I could order as many different items as possible. So we did. Beers for the boys, soda for Dale and a grüner for me. Then we went for it: Beijing Vinegar Peanuts with smoked garlic, anise, fennel seeds, rock sugar ($5), Fresh Rice Noodle with peanut sauce, tofu skin, pickled mustard greens ($8), Stir-Fried Pork Jowl and Radishes with fermented black bean, shiso, mint ($12), Grandma's Spicy Lamb Dumplings with peanuts, dill pickles, chili oil ($9), Squid Ink Noodles with cumin, fennel and chick peas, lamb dipping broth (I can't recall the price), and finally Braised Pea Leaves with pumpkin, pressed tofu, salted chili broth ($12).

All of the flavors were bright, fresh, creative and surprising – think dill, smoked garlic, fennel, pumpkin, all mixed in with the tofu, pork jowl, dumplings, and rice noodles. And somehow, amidst all of this intrigue we were completely sated in the Chinese-food-craving department. This vibrant and intelligent food still had enough of the classic flavors and textures, even the oil, and the unctuous quality we know and love (within reason) about traditional Chinese food. And, no joke, I will be making those vinegar peanuts at home very soon. I could eat those forevers.

I will happily remember that meal for a very, very long time. I'm pretty sure we all will.

Check one.

The second place I knew I had to visit on our short trip was Tartine Bakery. I don't eat a ton of pastries, nor do I crave them very often. However, I have been really exploring the world of baking of late and am extremely interested in everything that goes into the science of it. More importantly, I am a sucker for an incredible butter croissant – and it's almost shocking how few I come across.

And so, on our last morning in San Francisco, while Fred was brunching and bonding with his Aunt and cousins, and Dad and Dale were wrapping things up and checking out of their their hotel, I knew exactly what I would be doing. I knew I had to go at it alone, and really, I wanted to. My dad would never in 2759870 million years have tolerated that line for a pastry, or anything really. Actually, I'm guessing no one involved in this trip would have wanted to endure that line unless it was to pick up their winning Powerball check.

So I hopped into Fred's car (a stick shift), clocked my destination on my smartypants phone and headed out, lurching and jerking along the way (it had been quite a while since I had driven a stick – and this was possibly the worst city to test that time lapse). After spending twenty minutes finding parking, which was about two blocks away, I walked up to the bakery and settled in back of the infernal eternal line, halfway down the block – and yes, it was formidable. And, no, there were no available seats inside or out by the time I received my order: a ham and cheese croissant, a plain butter croissant, a loaf of their sourdough bread and a latte (totaled around $20). So I walked back to the area where the car was and plopped right down on the curb.

I don't know. To most people none of this may sound appealing in the least: driving strange car in strange city to wait in seemingly endless line to get 'breakfast' only to find there is nowhere to sit and then sit on the side of the road in mid-August to drink hot coffee and eat a pastry. All alone. Not even a book to read.

Well, I'm not certain exactly what it was. The journey, the anticipation, or even the little spot in the shade all by myself, but that croissant and that latte and that moment were... perfect. I mean, perfect. It was one of those – and I've talked about them before – Cosmic Muffin moments. Those Nowhere-I'd-Rather-Be moments.

The latte was warm, rich, smooth and comforting. The croissant was flaky, crunchy, light and yet somehow strapping, with heft... and buttery, oh so buttery, like a delivery system of cultured French butter, buttery. After two bites in, it looked like there had been a flash snowfall of flaky crumbs around my toes on the sidewalk.

Nirvana, pure bliss; I was truly happy.

Check two.

And then I was ready. Ready to get back into the car and brave the drive to pick up the grow ups, then Fred, to head up for the bucolic segment of the trip: Inverness.


One year ago: Heirloom Melon & Tomato Gazpacho
Two years ago: Beer Braised BBQ Pork Butt
Three years ago: Classic Southern Deviled Eggs
Four years ago: Nebulous Misadventures (AKA The Lost Weekend)

Back to the Future

Prohibition Era Vibe Meets Post Modern Cuisine at Belmont Food Shop

I was back in my old stomping grounds last week. Spring in Richmond is breathtaking. Dogwoods, daffodils, azaleas, and zillions of tiny inchworms falling from the sky onto everything. Falling onto everything. That was a new one for me. I thought they were sort of cute and endearing and the whole thing seemed very biblical, or like the end of Magnolia, but with inchworms not frogs. Then I Googled 'inchworm' and changed my tune. Take a macro look at one of those bad boys and then see how cute one is inching its way up your sleeve. But still, Fred was way girlier about it than I was.

On our first night in town, my dad booked reservations (for three, of course) at the Belmont Food Shop. From my research in the world of social media, and hungrily reading everything food and drink related coming out of Richmond Magazine and Style Weekly, and whatever else I could get my eyeballs on months in advance, this was the restaurant I was most anticipating. Plus it is smack dab in my old neighborhood, literally one block from Dad's house. And since our flight had just arrived a few hours prior, it seemed perfect to be able to walk to and from dinner on a beautiful, warm evening.

Well, first off, this place is precious. Richmond has and always has had the market cornered on charming, intimate bistro environments, but this one takes the cake. A ye olde, prohibition-era looking cake that houses a mere five tables. And a sweet little bar with a handful of seats. At the sweet little bar a sweet little mixologizing is going on – with house made sodas. Just opened this past September; owner-chef Mike Yavorsky has created an enchanting atmosphere.

A few non-palate related things I like a lot about Belmont Food Shop:

They have three seatings each night – five o'clock, seven o'clock and nine o'clock. Simple. Makes sense. Everyone can own their table for two solid hours. And whomever deals with the reservations has a pretty straightforward system to work with.

The seasonal chalkboard menu's pricing is structured very intelligently – appetizers are $8, entrees are $20 and desserts are $6 (there are a few exceptions here and there (like foie gras(!))). And there is also the crowning glory of an option: the prix fixe. $36 will get you all three-courses plus a glass of wine, or one of those house-made sodas, or a beer. This pricing structure forces the diner to select what they really want to eat, not based on the dollar amount. 

As we sipped our bubbles/martini/artisanal cocktail, an amuse bouche, of sorts, appeared: a trio of gougéres. My dad will not put a bite of food into his mouth during martini o'clock. He will not do it. So Fred and I ate ours and his. They were a lovely touch, a beautiful, ephemeral texture, but a skoch under seasoned and/or under cheesed.

They boast a confident selection of Virginia wines that I was very curious to try. Dad wanted a Pinot Noir. The bartender let us taste the Virginia malbec which Dad quite liked, so we ordered a bottle. That's when he realized he thought he was tasting the Pinot Noir. I felt like we pulled the old smell the apple bite the onion trick from science class. And hopefully it opened up my dad's eyes a little about his wine options.

We started with the Crab and Avocado with Orange Gelée and Black Pepper, the Duck Confit with Orange and Fennel and the Foie Gras with Sally Lunn and Rhubarb Chutney. When our server arrived with our starters I was slightly surprised by the plating. And the plates. I was expecting modest, confident, simple, almost rustic looking food, but was presented with the whole small food, big plate thing. With lots of smears, droplets, and tweezer-placed elements. I was expecting far less composed dishes. I guess I'm just a little bit over that food aesthetic.

Coming from California, which now has the foie gras ban, I was elated to look down at that plate of foie. I found it so, so very, very clever that he made it Southern with the Sally Lunn roll, and I also appreciated the play on the varying levels of pedestrian and fancy pants by having them on the plate together. My dad was so pleased with the crab and avocado that Fred and I barely got our tastes in. It was bright, cool, colorful and refreshing. The confit came at us in salad form, and admittedly, we pretty much cherry picked the rich, succulent shreds of duck meat out and left the greens behind. And the dollops. There were dollops artfully dolloped across the plate reminiscent of a Man Ray photograph. Chestnut, perhaps?

Next up came Tuckahoe Veal with Bok Choy and White Beans. This was like a giant veal steak, and it had been thoughtfully braised for some generous amount of time. My dad was very impressed and said, more than once, that he had never had veal prepared in that style before. Fred's order of Seared Scallops with Peas, Mushrooms and Parsnips was simply beautiful. The colors were so saturated and lustrous it hardly looked real. This was an inspired dish with bold flavors and topped with beautifully, carmelizey-browned-to-a-crisp-on-the-outside, scallops. Me, I ordered the Chicken with Mushrooms, Greens & Fingerlings. I almost always order the chicken when dining out. It's my litmus test. Some folks think it's the throwaway dish. I think it can be the star. And my reasoning is, if the chef pays as much attention to the chicken as the more, shall we say, elevated dishes, then you'll end up eating some of the best chicken you've ever had. My chicken tastedgood. The skin was crisp and seasoned well. It was white meat, which is not my favorite, and was a little overcooked. I found myself taking each bite and dredging it through the pan sauce to bring some moisture back into the meat.

The service was attentive and kind, the food came out at a nice, leisurely pace, allowing us to really enjoy and savor those two hours during which the little table by the window was ours, all ours.

Chef Yavorsky clearly has a way with food. It's obvious he is putting forth a great deal of effort and thought into what he is serving. The space is beautiful, the cocktails are solid, the pricing is smart, the food is nice and I dig the wine list. I personally look forward to walking in again, bellying up to the bar, sampling the wines by the glass and having a couple of small plates.

One year ago: Zebra Tomato, Pistou Basil & Burrata Crostini

Two years ago: Classic Tuna Salad

Three years ago: Orzo Salad with Tomatoes, Feta, Spinach & Mint

Comfort Me With Bucatini.

Growing up in Richmond, I recall very little pasta happening in either of my parents' kitchens, except maybe pasta salad. I also don't remember going out for much Italian food back then. I'm sure there was spaghetti and meatballs when I had dinner at my friends' houses, but – and I could be wrong – I don't think I ever saw it on my dining room table(s). That's weird, right? I mean, I don't even think we did lasagna, for crying out loud. It's a miracle I turned out alright.

That being said, there wasn't a ton of Italian food in my life for quite some time. After college, in the early Atlanta years, there were a couple of EYEtalian restaurants where I dined on occasion. By EYEtalian, I mean dimly lit rooms with red checker tablecloths, taper candles in old chianti bottles, dishes like eggplant parmigiana, veal scaloppini, chicken marsala, penne alla vodka (one of my favorite pasta dishes to this day), mostaccioli, linguine with clam sauce, baked ziti, lasagna, and spumoni or cannoli for dessert. Oh, and both kinds of wine: red and white.

Then in the last year or two there, a couple of Italian restaurants popped up that became game changers. For me, at least. Actually, it was really one restaurant that later became two with the same owner. The first born, Sotto Sotto, was the higher end version of its younger sibling, Fritti. It was at Sotto Sotto where a lot of things about Italian fare really evolved in my world. In a little restaurant in Inman Park, Atlanta, my palate got to travel from Southern to Northern Italy for the first time. I remember tasting delicate, handmade pastas of all shapes, sizes and consistencies, flecked with bright and fresh surprising accents like arugula, mint, and lemon or anchored down with braised, local duck with an aged twelve year balsamic. There were fresh truffles, walnut sauce and sage browned butter, which fifteen years ago was not something I saw on menus very often. I remember having the most delicate beef carpaccio I had ever tasted. The beef sliced so carefully, so thinly, that it essentially melted on my tongue. And then when the little sister, Fritti, came along, I was introduced to the lightest, freshest calamari fritti, garnished only with fresh lemon, and their crimini and portobello mushrooms, lightly fried in rice flour batter with white truffle oil. Most importantly, it was the first time I became acquainted with Neapolitan pizza. And burrata.

Best of all, I lived a mere two blocks away. Even bester, two of my girlfriends and my then boyfriend worked there.

And so an Italian food lover was born.

In the eleven years that I have lived here in LA, though, I don't make pasta at home as much as other things, I would say that my go to meal out is easily for Italian food. More often than not, what I crave is the Northern Italian fare; the fine handmade pastas with fresh, seasonal produce, nuanced flavors and elegant sauces, and almost always I will opt for Neapolitan pies to that of any other. That said, I would never turn down a dinner at Dan Tana's. Who wouldn't want a side of spaghetti with their spaghetti?

But here's the thing, a couple of years ago I came across a recipe in The Week for a dish called Cacio e Pepe. Its scant few ingredients and seemingly whimsical and simple process tempted me. The recipe called for a long pasta (in this case, bucatini), Parmesan cheese, extra virgin olive oil, Kosher salt and lots and lots of freshly cracked black pepper. After I tried to make it the first time, and failed, I started to read about the recipe. I realized that this dish exemplifies the complexity of pan sauce precision. Of course! This is one of those less-is-more, minimalist recipes by which cooks are measured – and as I read on, I learned that no two chefs agree on how to do it just right.

And, it's a Roman dish... making it kind of EYEtalian!

After that, my interest was piqued. If I saw it on a menu, I ordered it. And, for the most part, folks were using the bucatini. So, my only occasion, other than my own kitchen defeat, for both the bucatini and the cacio e pepe had been when dining out.

Then I met Fred. And on our third date, he invited me to his place to cook me dinner. I remember thinking, “Uh, oh. He has no idea what he's gotten himself into. Be nice, be nice, be nice.” Beyond all of the bells, whistles (the right kind, not the gaudy kind), and the ts crossed and is dotted, there he was, in his kitchen, with a YouTube video playing on his iPad illustrating how to make cacio e pepe. And before you ask, no, he had no idea. This was all Fred.

I remember thinking it was going to be a disaster. If I couldn't make it right, and it was such a cornerstone for great chefs, how was hegoing to do it?

It was perfect. It is still the best version of cacio e pepe (and with bucatini, mind you) I have had to date. I'm serious!

And so, not only did cacio e pepe become even more pivotal to me, but bucatini, in particular did as well. Unfortunately, I have only stumbled upon it a few times here in LA since I began this obsession. And I look. Once I saw it at the Silverlake Farmers' Market, but it seemed a little pricey. Anyway, on a recent trip to San Francisco, Fred and I poked into our favorite EYEtalian deli and grabbed every kind of bucatini they had. That would be five (5) different brands of bucatini.

And a couple of nights ago I made a dish with the prettiest and fanciest of our bucatinis. It was a type of a cacio e pepe, but I added shaved asparagus stalks, a single clove of garlic, some red pepper flakes, lemon and I topped everything with fresh breadcrumbs. I also used two cheeses; a Grana Padano, for its velvety texture, and Pecorino, for its sharpness. Other than adding the extras, the concept and the technique were no different than the original cacio e pepe.

I'd like to tell you how romantic it was that we made this, our very special dish together. I'd like it to seem like we savored that last strand of bucatini like the Lady and the Tramp. But we were really just so excited and so hungry, that we pretty much inhaled our big bowls of pasta and glasses of chianti. Just-a like-a Mama would-a like-a.

Bucatini with Shaved Asparagus & Fresh Breadcrumbs

Serves 4

Ingredients:

2 thick slices hearty bread, torn into about 1-inch pieces


extra virgin olive oil


1 pound bucatini


red pepper flakes


1 clove garlic, minced


2 bundles asparagus, shaved


The juice of 1 lemon


1/4 cup mixed grated Grana Padano & Pecorino cheeses

Kosher salt, and freshly cracked black pepper

Directions:

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Pulse bread in food processor to make bread crumbs.  Spread the crumbs on a small baking tray.  Drizzle with olive oil and a pinch of salt; toss.  Toast for 15 minutes, or until golden brown.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.  Cook bucatini until al dente.  Reserve a bit of the cooking water.

Just before the pasta finishes cooking, heat about a tablespoon of olive oil in a skillet.  Add garlic and a pinch or two of red pepper flakes and cook until fragrant, about a minute.  Add asparagus and a pinch of salt; cook until the asparagus until slightly softened.  Add juice of the lemon.  Toss.

Add the cooked bucatini and parmesan to the skillet with the asparagus; toss to coat.  Add reserved cooking water a tablespoon at a time, if necessary, to achieve your desired consistency.  Serve, topped with toasted breadcrumbs.


Printable recipe.

One year ago: Grilled Oysters with Garlicky, Lemony, Buttery Sauce
Two years ago: I Left My Heart in San Fran-cheesy; Part 3, The Final Chapter
Three years ago: Chili with Beef & Bacon
Five years ago: Angelini Osteria

I Am the Ostrich, Coo Coo Ca Choo.

When I was in college, a group of us in Victor Garcia’s Spanish class went on a trip to Mexico – ostensibly to study the language while immersed in its culture. Fortunately for me, a lot of my closest friends, and my boyfriend, Paul, were in that group. I also had a pretty big crush on Victor Garcia. Not the kind where I wanted to get in his pantalones, but more the kind that I just wanted to be part of his life, his family. He was just so great. And his wife and son were great, too. Very happy. And, he was so attractive.

The program took place in Cuernavaca. We were all assigned and lived with ‘host’ families during the stretch of this program. There were four of us in my house. I shared a room with Carl, who, on that trip, became Ray Ray (he bought a pair of Ray Ban’s from a street vendor and later discovered that on the lens read Ray Ray’s in lieu of Ray Ban’s. The die was cast. He was forever Ray Ray.)  Ray Ray was a short, bald, black, flamboyantly gay young man. At the time I had cut my hair off (myself) into, what I thought would be, a pixie cut, and dyed it canary yellow (myself). And so, in traditional, machismo-infested Mexico, the six-foot tall girl with the cut-off jean shorts, Pac-Man tee shirt and canary yellow hair and the short bald, flamboyantly gay black man roamed the streets. We most definitely got rocks thrown at us from passengers on buses.

I will say, however, that my Spanish was great during this time - though more from hanging out and drinking beer and tequila in the bars with the locals than as a result of the program. Or maybe that was the program…

After the ‘school’ part of the trip, a core group of my friends and I split off and went rogue, exploring Mexico the way we wanted: backpacks, hostels in cities, hammocks on the beach, café con leche, homemade mescal, and a lot of bouts of Gin Rummy. Very late one night, I believe we were in Oaxaca; Amy, Paul, Mike, Ray Ray and I were sitting in our hotel room, drinking tequila, smoking and playing round after round of Gin Rummy. At some point during this evening, at some ungodly hour, we all decided to figure out our animal. We became fixated on getting them just right and spent hours doing so. Here’s what we settled on: Amy was an owl, Mike was a walrus, Paul was a koala bear, Ray Ray was a jaguar, and me – I was an ostrich. What a gyp! I couldn’t even get to be a flamingo? Nope, I was an ostrich.

It made sense, I suppose. I was very tall, awkwardly skinny, had that whole hair situation and I was certainly not the most graceful bird in the land. To be fair, I don’t think Paul was feeling very masculine about being a koala bear. But it really did fit.

Wondering how I’m going to wrap this one back around, aren’t you…

About seven or so years ago, I started going to Santa Barbara County for little trips, long days, short weekends, etc. for wine tastings and micro-getaways. I have been with a few people, and I’ve been by myself. I love the tasting rooms, the wineries, the landscape, the food, the people, the drive up and the drive back. It’s very dear to me. There is a pretty cool place in between The Hitching Post, in Buellton and the little, Danish Colony in Solvang. It’s called Ostrichland. Yes, it is. Ostrichland!

Used to be you could roll right up and see, touch, feed, and be bitten by, the birds (they have emu and ostriches). Now you have to pay. But a measly $4.95 is more than worth all that one experiences in Ostrichland. Did you know that ostriches have the ability to run at maximum speeds of 43 mph, the fastest land speed of any bird? And, the Ostrich is the largest living species of bird and lays the largest egg of any living bird!

The largest egg in all the land? I clearly had to have one. So, at about $30 a pop, I bought one ostrich egg that is the equivalent to approximately twenty chicken eggs.

Other than turning the shell of the egg into a lamp base or some such thing, what was I going to do with an egg that big? This question plagued me for quite some time. So much time, in fact, that I realized I had better do something with the egg or it would simply go to waste, and all I would have is the shell with which to make a lamp base or some such thing. I needed to move fast as y’all all know how much I loathe to waste food.

While I really did like the idea of one, ginormous deviled egg, I realized I would have to make scramble-ness with the egg if I wanted to keep the shell intact for my lamp base (or some such thing). I looked around and saw my rainbow of heirloom tomatoes and it hit me: frittata.
  
And so Fred and I went about making the most enormous frittata of all time. For the two of us. It was a really interesting process, getting the eggy insides out without compromising the shell. The dish took the better part of the morning to cook through as it was a LOT of egg. It filled an entire, large, cast-iron skillet almost to the top. I guess you could say it was really more of a crustless quiche. And it was very tasty. While I couldn’t decipher a real difference in the taste of the egg from that of a chicken egg, I will say that it was much fluffier and lighter than a chicken egg. 

And now I have the shell. I can’t imagine what on earth I’ll do with it. But I like it.

So here’s the deal; after my multiple visits to Ostrichland and bonding with its residents, I guess my animal being the ostrich is not so bad. I’m not really that gawky and lanky any more, but I’m still pretty tall. My hair is not hacked off my head in my personal attempt to resemble Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby, nor is it canary yellow. I can’t run all that fast, nor do I really try. But, like the ostrich, I’m kind of goofy, kind of awkward, not very graceful, love to eat, and have my own brand of cuteness and allure. I have also been known to bite.
 

For the recipe below I am providing you with the recipe with the standard measurements rather than the ginormous ostrich egg version. If you would like to try this with an ostrich egg, multiply everything by four...

Heirloom Tomato & Fresh Basil Frittata

Serves 6

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons butter, cubed
6 large eggs
¼ pound ground sausage

6-8 slices of red onion, very thinly sliced 3 tablespoons finely grated Parmesan cheese
3 tablespoons grated gruyere cheese
1 garlic clove, minced
1 tablespoon chopped pistou basil
Handful of green and purple basil, mixed
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 1/2 pounds ripe heirloom tomatoes (mixed colors & sizes), cut crosswise into 1/4" slices

Directions

Preheat oven to 350°.

Brown sausage in a 10-inch (2-inch-deep) ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat, stirring often, 7 to 8 minutes or until meat crumbles and is no longer pink; remove from skillet, and drain. Wipe skillet clean.

Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Lightly beat eggs in a medium bowl. Stir in sausage, cheese, pistou basil and garlic, cubes of butter and season with salt and pepper. When oil is shimmering, pour egg mixture into pan and cook until eggs begin to turn golden brown around the edges. Arrange tomato slices, red onion cirlces and basil leaves on top of egg mixture. (Some tomato slices may sink.)

Transfer skillet to oven and bake frittata until eggs are just set in the center, 10-12 minutes. Using a heatproof spatula, loosen frittata from pan and slide onto a warm plate. Slice and serve warm or at room temperature.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Yerp: Part 6. Barthelona (Part 2), THE HAMOVER.

Two years ago: Grilled Salmon with Market Relish over Jasmine Rice

Three years ago: Vichyssoise