Two Intrepid Travelers and One Pizzeria Bianco

It isn’t about the pizza, here. 
Well, it is. 
But see if you can follow me here…it…isn’t.

Last weekend, beginning Saturday morning, in a span of 36 hours, about 14 of which were spent in the car, I clocked over 800 miles, crossed state borders, and sat on countless truck stop toilet seats (yes, with the covers!) before crawling into my bed on Sunday night. For what, you ask, dear readers? For food, of course.

My tolerant and curious friend, Heather (whom I have known for 20 years), and I went on this kamikaze mission for... pizza. To be specific, we traveled from LA to Phoenix to experience The Pizza; Pizzeria Bianco. Well, Heather probably went more for the spirit of adventure and BFF times, but so what – at least she went with me. Hard to believe, but it’s not easy to get someone geeked about driving six hours merely to arrive at dinner. Let’s not even go into the awareness that we would, more than likely, have a multiple hour wait. But it’s all about the excitement, the journey! Right? 

Hello, is this thing on?

Heather is great with travel escapades as she excels in departments that I don’t even consider. Directions, hotel accommodations, reservations, hotel and restaurant proximity (directions), car stuff, and directions (although we almost had a situation en route to Bianco’s from our hotel. See more below.). She doesn’t care as much about the meals as long as they exist and that she have a nice place to stay and a cocktail upon arrival. Me, I would have driven my car, which would have broken down (no dinner for me), gotten lost (no dinner for me), and stayed in the scariest hotel ever (think Norman Bates) no dinner for me)). I mean, we were already in the car and on the way before I asked if she had dealt with maps and directions. It had not even occurred to me. Don’t worry, she had it covered.

After a Chick-Fil-A stop (who knew they had any SoCal locations?!), a couple of gas ups, some curious signage and driver switcharoos, we arrived at our hotel around 4pm. I had called the restaurant to inquire as to the ideal time to show up to ensure a seating. They do not take reservations, you see. I was told that it would be best if I showed up after 9pm. Good news. This meant Heather and I could lounge by the pool and enjoy a few libations and explore the hotel before heading to dinner. Everything was smooth like butter.

Our hotel was in Scottsdale, “15 minutes from our restaurant in Phoenix”. Maybe it was the tired factor, maybe it was the booze, let’s blame it the iPhone’s GPS, but - bless her heart - Heather was having a time finding our restaurant in this new landscape. I did get to see Chase Stadium; home of the Diamondbacks, though. Twice. I would have been having a small anxiety attack but we stumbled across the most amazing, old school, hip hop, radio station that saved the day and distracted me from acting like a ball of neurosis in front of poor Heather (they played Lords of the Underground's "Chief Rocka", for Christ's sake!). Hindsight being 20/20, we were fine all along and could have gotten even more lost, if we wanted.

And then there it was, beautifully illuminated with a cluster of happy-wine-glass-holding-people outside, on a bewitchingly, temperate evening. For me, it was like seeing one of the great wonders of the world because I had TRAVELED and RESEARCHED and PLANNED for this. The hostess told us we’d have about an hour wait – no problem. We just sauntered over to Bar Bianco next door to have a glass or two of wine during our dally. The bar shares a lot with the Pizzeria and was established for the extreme wait that most of the pizzeria’s loyal customers endure. There are benches outside where we sat, enjoyed our wine and watched the goings on. It was a beautiful environment, and I could have sat there for a few hours and sipped my wine before dinner. I actually had a glass of Muscato that that blew my mind which I need to call and inquire about. Come to think of it, I also had a glass of Zinfandel I wanted to find again. I believe it was from the Green & Red Vineyards.

It was right about an hour when the hostess asked if we would like the two available seats at the bar or if we wanted to wait a hair longer for a table. Well you guys know I usually prefer to dine at the bar. Heather wasn’t as thrilled about it but she conceded knowing this was my special time. At the bar I feel closer to the energy of the restaurant, I can interact with the people that work there, the people around me, things seem paced more leisurely, and it’s all a bit less formal. It’s about the recreation of the food, the wine, and the atmosphere.

The menu is tiny, and we ordered about half of the things on it, on the suggestions of the staff. We also ordered a bottle of the Titus Old Vine Zinfandel, 2006 (Napa Valley) ($36). Food wise, here we go:

Small Plates:

Antipasto – Wood Roasted Vegetables, Soppressata, Bite of Cheese … $13

Spiedini – Italian Fontina wrapped in Prosciutto di Parma, served warm … $9

Pizza:

Margherita – Tomato Sauce, Fresh Mozzarella, Basil … $12

Sonny Boy – Tomato Sauce, Fresh Mozzarella, Salami, Gaeta Olives … $14.00

Biancoverde – Fresh Mozzarella, Parmigiano Reggiano, Ricotta, Arugula … $15

Wiseguy – Wood Roasted Onion, House Smoked Mozzarella, Fennel Sausage … $15

Even the staff thought this was a bit of an obscene amount of food for us to order. But-I-drove-six-hours-for-it-and-planned-it-for-weeks-so-lay-off!! I will add that as perfect and delicious as it was (actually BECAUSE of that), I really over ate. Think two Thanksgivings in one day. My stomach is still a little distended.

Seriously, this food was celestial – down to the baby arugula upon which the Spiedini rested. Without giving a bite by bite play of the meal (or you will have computer butt), I will just say that upon tasting that first bite (and every bite following) of that margherita pie, every mile driven, every hour in the car, every minute waiting outside, and every second anticipating was more than worth it. I can say essentially the same for everything I tasted, but I think it’s all very clear at this point.

Brooklyn-born Chris Bianco hand makes every pizza that comes out of his kitchen. Maybe I should repeat that. Chris Bianco makes every pizza that comes out of his kitchen. Once that has sunk in, also know that he makes his own mozzarella cheese and grows his basil and other herbs on the grounds surrounding the restaurant. They do not take reservations and they do not offer delivery or carry out service. This is all to preserve the integrity of each pie. I suppose when you are the namesake behind the establishment and responsible for each and every pizza being produced, you had better make sure you don’t let any external element affect your product. Maybe that’s why the New York Times and Vogue (to name a few) have named his pizza “among the world’s best”. Respect.

For the last 30-45 minutes of the meal, Heather found herself so much in the throes of a food coma (read, "over-served") that she went to “get some air” (read, sleep in the car). This was perfectly fine with me as I was able to sip my Zin, finish off the margherita, and chat with the staff as they closed down the front of the house. In fact, the woman I spoke with on the phone remembered me (I was “that girl on her way in from LA for pizza”), and gave me a great brunch recommendation for the next day.

The next morning, Heather and I sipped mimosas and watched the Food Network in our room. We giggled with Paula Deen, y’all. We also had a blast cooking with The Neely’s. That Pat is always gettin’ at Gina’s sugar! Anyway, from there we took the Pizzeria Bianco folk’s advice and had brunch at The Orange Table before we hit the road leading back home. Brunch was great, by the way. Good Bloodys, really nice, thick sourdough toast and impressive corned beef hash. Our server was the sweeter than the sun inviting the moon over for tea. Sweet tea, of course.

With our bellies full of food and the appropriate, pre-noon, libations, Heather and I hopped back in our little car and headed back to the City of Angels. I was fecund with food, love and happiness. We even got to stop in Quartzsite, AZ for some super fresh jerky to aid us in our salt requisite for the remainder of the way home.

Around 8pm last night, I walked through my front door to find my roommate, Chris, standing in the kitchen. “I have something for you”, I chirped. He looked at me inquisitively. That’s when I handed him a pizza box, clearly labeled “Pizzeria Bianco”. “What the…” he responded. “I told you I was bringing back pizza”, I told him. He replied, “Well, yeah, but I didn’t really think you were going to bring pizza back from Arizona!” To which I smugly replied, “Told you so.” I was probably responding more to the fact that most of the people who heard tale told of this adventure, just stared at me, blinking their eyes; either thinking I was a bit nutty or simply stupid obsessed. Perhaps I am a little of both. But I tasted and experienced something amazing and I will never forget it. And, as most things, the journey was half the fun. Fete accompli!

And you know what? It's fun to get away from the camp, even if it's just for 36 hours.

P.S. I have Chris Bianco’s recipe and will be trying it out soon (jealous much?!). I will certainly keep you posted. And here are some fun tips from Chris on Jimmy Kimmel.

Who They Think They Best They Was.

My friend Ryan came over for dinner last night. He has only been to my house a couple of times, and I haven’t really cooked much for him, and never in my own kitchen. Of course this meant I had to flex.

I actually toiled over the menu for a good 24 hours. It has been all rainy and blustery for the past few days, so this meal had to be chock full of seasonal, snuggly, comfort food. It had to go with the fire in the fireplace.

I ransacked my binder of food ideas and inspirato, rooted through my current food magazines, poked around on the interwebs and considered favorites of fall pasts (lest you forget, dear readers, this is fun for me). I suddenly remembered a sweet potato dish with caramelized onions that I made for friends, when I lived in Atlanta, in October, 2001. Now I just had to figure out how to build around that. But, much like getting that pesky first sentence out of the way, the menu ball was rolling. From here, I knew it would all start to come together. And it did.

These sweet potatoes that I recall so vividly were only prepared the one time in 2001. The reason I have such a strong remembrance of this recipe, and the date which it was prepared, is the same reason it had not yet been revisited. Don’t get me wrong - this is an absolutely delicious dish. As it happened, that October night, while I was caramelizing the onions to top the potatoes, I received a call informing me of the passing of my very, very dear friend, Sam.

It’s taken a long time to be able to revisit certain things that remind me of him: songs, movies, letters, places, pictures, foods, smells, and even types of clothes (he had a very specific, and colorful, way of dressing). But I now realize that all of these things celebrate his life and his memory, and that it’s time to embrace them. I need to remember Sam and not allow him to fade with each year. But some things, like these sweet potatoes, need to be able create their own, new, memories, and inhabit their own realm in my consciousness.

Fun fact: Sam ran the entire Honolulu Marathon, yes all 26 miles of it, backwards. He also rode his bicycle from Virginia to California, one summer. Pretty amazing. I remember he referred to his dad (affectionately) as Duck Butter, slapped his chest when he danced, made a bong in our high school ceramics class, absolutely adored the river, seemed perpetually tanned, and almost always "appeared" at my house, right at dinner time.

So last night I prepared the meal: oyster stew, fennel, apple and sage stuffed pork chops with a fig reduction (recipe coming soon!), sautéed rainbow chard, from my garden, and baked sweet potatoes with caramelized onions, shaved Parmesan and sautéed sage leaves. In my opinion, this was an ideal menu for the brisk, rainy night, the fireplace and, of course, to impress Ryan (and myself). In case you were wondering, he cleaned his plate.

Today, eight years later, I lovingly, and vividly, remember Sam. And now, I know when I embark on preparing, eating and sharing this dish, in the future, I will also think of the rainy night in the canyon, my garden, a roaring fire, good music, a great bottle of Cotes du Rhone, and the magical company of my friends.

Baked Sweet Potatoes with Caramelized Onions, Shaved Parmesan and Sautéed Sage

 Serves 4

Ingredients:

4 medium sweet potatoes

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

1 large, sweet onion, sliced

1 tablespoon sugar

1 teaspoon coarse salt, divided

1/8 teaspoon freshly cracked pepper

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

4-6 fresh sage leaves

1 ounce shaved Parmesan cheese

Directions:

Preheat oven to 450°. Rub sweet potatoes with oil and salt, poke 2-3 times with a fork, and place on baking sheet in oven. Bake until tender, about 45 minutes.

Melt butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Add onions, cook until soft, about 15 minutes. Sprinkle sugar, sage, salt and pepper; toss to coat.

Continue to cook, stirring occasionally until onions are caramelized; about 30 minutes. Stir in vinegar and cook an additional 10 minutes.

In a separate pan, sauté whole sage leaves in oil and salt until they are crisp.

Split sweet potatoes open, and top with onions, shaved Parmesan, and crumbled sage leaves.

10. LA BBQ Guy

You gotta blame it on something...

I was about to say something to the effect that – considering I hit truck #10 today in the rain – I am unstoppable. I am like the Post Office (except THEY didn’t deliver my mail on this recent, most absurd “holiday” we call Columbus Day). But, as Murphy’s Law does what it will, the power in my house just went out. I can still type as long as my laptop maintains battery power, but at some point I must concede to Mother Nature. Perhaps I can use that as an excuse to go and have a glass of wine out in the world, away from my canyon.

So there I was today, roaming the rain-slicked streets of our fair city, looking for lunch. I knew it would either be the LA FuXion truck or LA BBQ Guy (Spring Street Smokehouse). I am a little bit over the multi-cultural, food fusion thing at the moment and really wanted something hearty for my tummy on this über-autumnal day. And since I didn’t ever even SEE the fusion truck, the choice was made for me (which I always appreciate).

The young, chipper woman in the truck recommended that I order the brisket sandwich, which comes with slaw (on the sandwich), cornbread and a pickle ($7). She said the brisket had been smoked for over 18 hours and it was her favorite. She also suggested I tack on some baked beans to the whole affair ($1). I was feeling like $8 was a lot for a sandwich-lunch-from-a-truck, but when I saw the amount of food (not that I could even eat that much) it seemed to make more sense. Plus anything that requires an average of 20 hours to prepare is allowed to be a couple of bones more. So I trotted back to my car to avoid the rain, listened to Left, Right and Center and ate my lunch.

First of all, this was a majorly shambolic affair. And this reminds me; I really think it would be wise for all of the good people of the food truck-sphere, across the board, to provide its patrons with moist towelettes. But I suppose I should have known about this particular one. I mean it is bbq.

I realize that there are a few disparate bbq camps, and I seriously don’t want to alienate those who are not of mine. I was born and raised in the south and my bbq tastes remain there. I prefer the Carolina style: thin, tangy and vinegary, with a kick. Today’s sandwich was not only the opposite of that – sweet and brown sugary and very thick – but it was drowning in the stuff, to the level at which I have no idea what the actual meat was like. And that meat worked for so many hours to get itself into my hands! The slaw was actually just shredded cabbage, witch gave it little slawitude. The cornbread tasted as though it was from a mix and had been sitting under plastic wrap for the better part of a (moist) day. Actually, both the cornbread and the pickle were mostly inedible to me as they were also wading in the sauce that – more than – coated the bottom of the paper tray. The beans were also too sweet for my taste and, while not bad, were just uninspired.

I’m really sorry to have to report negatively on LA BBQ Guy. I have been really excited to try them and was even more anticipatory after I had such a yummy time at Barbie’s Q. They made me want to get my Q on this fall! I am perfectly comfortable with using the “I like a different style of bbq” line, and leaving it at that. However, the fact remains that there was far, far too much sauce, and the cornbread and beans really seemed to be treated as afterthoughts.

Perhaps we can simply blame it on the rain. We seem to do a lot of that here in LA anyway. Heck, I’ve never lived anywhere else where my power goes out each time there’s more than a hint of mist in the air and newscasters are reporting, LIVE! to deliver us the breaking news that it is in fact, raining.

9. The Border Grill Truck

October 11, 2009

The Melrose Trading Post is a lot of fun. It’s nowhere near as vast as the swap meet at the Rose Bowl, but it’s close to home and most definitely has it’s own charm. There is one stand that always has wonderful, vintage kitchen things – specifically 60s-70s Pyrex bake-ware. I also love to shop for vintage cookbooks there.

I was elated to receive a Tweet informing me that celebrity chefs, Mary Sue Milliken and Susan Feniger's, Border Grill Truck would be there this Sunday, and they almost never leave the West side of town. It seemed so fortuitous that I would be able to spend my Sunday both shopping for fun kitcheny stuffs and try out the extrasolar Border Grill Truck. And even more exciting, my roommate, Chris, met me there! This way I can try more items on the menu (and enjoy his delightful company).

The woman taking my order – upon being asked for suggestions – listed about a dozen menu items that were extraordinary. And as usual, this was not really that helpful. There was a chilequiles special that looked dynamite (and was one of the woman’s suggestions), but it seemed messy and a bit ambitious for food truck fare, so I passed. I ended up ordering the Green Corn Tamal ($4), the Carne Asada Quesadilla ($5), and the Crispy Baja Fish Taco ($3). There were a lot more things I would have liked to try on the, very sharp looking, menu. But as I appear more zaftig with each passing food truck day, I stopped myself.

The food is a modern (and successful)  twist on traditional Mexican and Latin American cuisine. The tamal was served in a snow cone cup, with a fork, which I find to be an extremely clever solution to, otherwise, sloppy eatables. The sweet corn was topped with crema and salsa fresca, and it was delectable and fun to eat. 

The fish taco was the opposite of the tamal in the tidy department, but was so effing good, that it mattered not. Both Chris and I found that this myriad of flavors provided a perfect piquancy. It’s chipotle honey and creamy salsa fresca granted us with both sweetness and spice, and the pickled cabbage was a wonderful surprise. All elements worked brilliantly with the hot and crispy, fried fish. 

The carne asada quesadilla was my least favorite item, but was, by no means sub par. I found the meat could have been a bit more tender and I would have liked its marinade to stand out more. I enjoyed the carmelized onion and guajillo salsa, adding a nice essence and adornment to the carne asada. While the tortilla was cooked perfectly in its crispness, the actual quesadilla was not hot.

With thoughtful presentation and solid food, and all for $13 for two people to find themselves entirely sated, the Border Grill Truck has got it going on. I will have to say that these  “Too Hot Tamales” just can’t seem to go wrong.

8. Calbi BBQ

October 9, 2009

I had to go to Highland Park to feed some cats, yesterday. So I used that as an excuse to go as far as Korea Town for my food trucky lunch. I do realize I will soon have to venture out to the west side for my mission, but I am still trying to keep it local, and happenstance-esque, for as long as I am able.

I was Tweeted from Calbi BBQ that they were in K-Town, and I had heard from my roommate, Chris, that they were quite good. I was feeling adventurous. They were on my list. Done.

I got a parking place directly in front of the truck, parked on Serrano, right off of Wilshire, and sidled up to the order window. Zero line – score! I asked the woman taking my order for suggestions – as always – and she asked me if I like spicy. I do. So upon her suggestion, I ordered both pork and a beef taco ($2 each). I added some Sriracha, in my very decorative way (see photo), and plopped down to try everything out.

Honestly, I don’t have a world of words for this experience. Maybe I shouldn't have had Kogi first, because it has really tainted things for me. I will begin by saying that this was, by far, the messiest food truck experience to date. You know when a sandwich, or whatever, is just so messy and impossible to eat that you get kind of flabbergasted and just want to give up and walk away? Maybe it's just me, but that’s how I felt about these tacos.

Moving right along… Calbi is another Kogi wannabe, and still doesn’t rival its mentor. It’s not bad, but it’s trying so hard to be “the same” and it’s, simply, not. The tacos both had romaine, cabbage, celery, red radish, cilantro, white and green onion, cheddar and Monterey Jack cheeses, egg, sesame seeds, and their respective meats in a flour tortilla. The pork was actually very good - tangy, sweet and spicy, but overshadowed by the volume everything else involved. The beef was, simply, not very interesting. And that’s pretty much, it.

I am so happy that there are so many Korean-Mexican food trucks in the world, and that this new food trend is exploding so beautifully, but I have yet to taste anything in this realm (being the Korean/Mexican fusion category) to rival Kogi.

Yet.