Syrah

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Since I was making a simple turkey and roasted pepper stir-fry for dinner, I wanted a special wine to accompany it. I headed over to ABC Wine to ask the experts. A few recommendations later (after we’d ruled out Chardonnays, even un-oaked ones), we hit upon a Cotes-du-Rhone made entirely of the Syrah grape. The prefect crowd pleaser, I was told–smoky when you want it to be, spicy when you need it to be, fruity for the fruit lovers…

So today, I decided to do a little research into what this grape is all about. Syrah is a dark-skinned grape that is grown all over the world, primarily in France, the US, and Australia (where it is known as Shiraz). It can stand alone, as it often does in the case of wines from the northern Rhone region of France, but it is also used as a varietal as it gives structure to weaker varietals.

But why is it so versatile if it’s such a powerful, full-bodied wine? Its age matters a lot in this regard, as does the climate and soil in which it was grown. Syrah is a wine that can be drunk young or aged–the older wines are a little more mellow and complex, as age tempers the high tannin content. Its characteristics are wide-ranging, from dark berries to chocolate to espresso to black pepper.

And the difference between Syrah and Shiraz? Other than the names, which both come from the grape’s disputed origins (some say France, others say the ancient Persian city of Shirazi, and the Sicilians claim that it comes from their city Siracusa), the wines offer different things. The French Syrah is typically more elegant, tannic, and smoky, with a restrained fruit component. Shiraz tends to refer to the more New World wines of Australia and Chile, amongst others. Made from riper berries, a Shiraz is more fruit-forward and peppery, less tannic, and higher in its alcohol content. So, depending on what you like, Syrah/Shiraz really does seem to have a variety to please.

And by the way, it went perfectly with my meat. Although it might have been a little too drinkable…

In Vino–Italian Winebar

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Want to be transported to an Italian caverna without having to book a flight? Head to In Vino winebar on 4th street at Ave B. With your back to the door, you’ll feel like you’ve been transported to an underground wine cellar in a Renaissance building, with low-arching walls hugging the intimate wood booths. Everything about the ambiance feels rustic and home-made, from the small space to the low lights. This description extends the wine list–their wines, all Italian, have that fresh-from-the-vineyard taste instead of the straight-off-the boat tang that I often experience with imported wines, most notoriously younger Chiantis.

I found out about this place for one simple reason–it’s owned by my wine guys at Alphabet City Wine Co. Therefore, I hadn’t any doubts about the quality of the selection, but they managed to impress me anyway. G and I dropped in on our way home from a movie. We had eaten a light dinner, so we took our seat at the bar. The owner immediately brought us the wine list, or rather, wine book. The first few pages list their mission statement, their desire to introduce quality Italian wines to the New York community, as well as the wines offered by the glass and the quartino (about 3 glasses worth–a better deal if you’re ordering in two!)

The rest of the menu reads like a book… and in fact, it feels like a book in your hands, with its weightiness and soft leather cover. Each page describes one of Italy’s regions and its wine-making history, and then at the bottom, lists the wines available by the bottle that are representative of the region’s best. Here’s a blurb:

Sicily produces more wine that any other region in Italy, which comes as no surprise as it’s also the largest region in the land. However, the island has always been known to emphasize quantity over quality. To this day, less than ten percent of the wine made each year makes it into bottles, with the rest used as blending grapes to boost the alcohol content of low quality wines both in Italy and elsewhere. That said, Sicily does make some fantastic wines and has built a solid reputation for itself as one of the upcoming wine regions in Italy, particularly when it comes to reds. The native Nero d’Avola seems to be the focus these days, though much attention is being given to Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Syrah—which some Sicilians claim as a native grape as well, named after the town of Siracusa. Given the intense heat on the island, whites tend not to fare as well. However, some producers have gotten great results out of grapes such as Grecanico and the native Inzolia. Look to Tasca d’Almerita for a beautifully floral, somewhat sweet, example in their “Regaleali”.

G and I decided to have a quartino of Grillo, a Sicilian white which I had tasted for the first time in Agrigento a year ago (if you find your way to this southern Sicilian town, look for the restaurant Per Bacco and try the shrimp and pistachio risotto with your Grillo… heaven). Ever since, I’ve been hooked. It’s a refreshing white, not too sweet or aromatic, but without the mineral quality I associated with drier whites like a Sauvignon Blanc. Perfect for relaxing after a hot day of walking around New York.

Even more perfect if you pair it with cheese, specifically the sottocenere they offer. G and I had ordered a small tasting to have with our wine. The Robiola a Tre Latte (a soft goat/cow/sheep’s milk cheese) and the Sottocenere (a truffled cow’s milk cheese with an ash rind... the name literally means “under the ash”) were served with thin slices of apple and a small pot of honey. I love Robiola because it’s an interesting cheese that pleases any palate, but the Sottocenere with a spot of honey brought out a tangy-ness to the Grillo that was absolutely delicious… We left an hour later having savored everything, down to the last drops of honey and wine.

Now, my next mission is to have the wine guys at the shop order me a bottle… and tell me who gives them their cheese.

In Vino, 215 E. 4th St at Ave B
Quartino of Grillo $20
Two cheese tasting $13 (let’s add that they are very generous portions)

Looking for Greek food? Try Pylos

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Last night, I took an out-of-town friend to the Greek restaurant Pylos–she’d had a hankering for something different, and I decided it would be a fun place to try. The word “pylos” (pron. pee-los) refers to the clay pots that are common amongst the ruins of ancient Greece, and in fact, the restaurant’s entire ceiling is covered in these little clay jars. It is a small, home-y space that fills up quickly–in the front are several tables for smaller parties, while the back is filled with cozier bench seating and the communal table that also doubles as a bar.
The decorative motif echoes Pylos’s food philosophy of rustic home-cooking. Renowned chef Diane Kochilas, who specializes in Greek cuisine and lives almost full time in Greece, is the primary consultant on the menu, making sure that the food is as authentic as it can be away from the Aegean. The menu is full of traditional dishes: hot and cold appetizers that include dipping sauces and stuffed grape leaves; comfort foods like pastitio, the Greek take on lasagna; as well as lamb, steak, and fish, all dressed in traditional Greek sauces. And of course, there is a Greek salad.

Menu aside, Pylos’s unique selling point is its wine list. They only serve Greek wines (and primarily Greek varietals, although there are some international… and more familiar… grapes on the menu). Before dinner, I checked it out online, and when it all sounded, well, Greek to me, I did a little research. With the Pylos selection as my guide, I focused on 3 varietals. The first was a white, assyritiko, grown primarily on the islands and reminiscent of a Riesling. The second and third grapes that I looked into turned out to be Greece’s most important red grapes–the agiorgitiko (which means St. George) and the xinomavro (acid-black). The St. George produces a lighter-bodied, fruitier wine, with a hint of tannins, while the xinomavro, like the name hints, makes a dark-red wine, deeper and spicier, that is akin to Italy’s Nebbiolo grape.

I arrived a bit early, and as much as I like wine with a lot of kick to it, I decided to go for the agiorgitiko–a change from summer’s whites and roses, not too heavy, and named after G’s patron saint. Two were available by the glass, the Nemea Haggipavlu and the Red on Black; since both were the same price, I went for the one that sounded more Greek. It was served in a glass goblet, and I found it to be very drinkable–light, a little tannic on the tongue–nothing too special, but it kept me company while I waited.

Once my friend arrived, we were seated at the front of the restaurant, in the open window. We immediately took care of ordering so that we could get to talking. We decided to go the route of small plates, so that we could taste and talk more easily. Pita bread came out with some homemade hummus, and then the plates came out as they were ready, slowly filling our small table. First, the poikilia, 3 traditional dipping sauces (the yogurt-based tzatziki, the fish roe taramosalata, and the eggplant melitzanosalata), came out in little cakes on a plate, followed by the heavier anginares moussaka, a small layer-cake of artichoke hearts, caramelized onions, herbs, and three greek cheeses. We balanced it with the lighter Greek salad, a bowl full of fresh tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, capers, kalamata olives, feta, and a simple olive oil and red wine vinegar dressing.

Round two consisted of more pita, grappa-soaked haloumi cheese logs topped with cooked grapes, “light-as-air” meatballs (heavier than advertised), and dolmathes avgolemono, grape leaves stuffed with rice, ground beef and pine nuts, served with a lemony sauce. Every flavor was distinct–the moussaka was creamy but retained the texture of the artichoke hearts; the grape leaves were grassier than I had expected; and the haloumi cheese was a soft white cheese, hardened a little by the grappa. My personal favorites were the tzatziki, the moussaka, and the haloumi, as long as I scooped the grapes up at the same time, for the sweetness cut the strange texture, making it more palatable. Everything was delicious, and we even had leftovers. I can’t wait to go back to try a new combination.

Pylos
128 E. 7th St, near Ave. A
212.473.0220


Pasquale the mozzarella man

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G and I went out to East Hampton for the holiday weekend to visit my aunt and to get away from the city for a bit. Saturday was a rainy day, so we all went to Sag Harbor to see the boats and to grab a bite to eat at a new place called Grappa (excellent portions for a light lunch)—I had a rose’ with my grilled asparagus and poached egg salad, G had a panino made of salami, and my aunt had the arugula salad. We all shared a cheese plate, with Taleggio, Fontina, and Gorgonzola Piccante, all very flavorful and yummy.

On our way home, G and I mentioned that we might like to go bowling. Next thing I knew, my aunt had dropped us off at a bowling alley. We walked in and immediately decided that it was not what we wanted to do at that time. Instead, we decided to cross the very busy street to the “Tutto Italiano” food store across the street–it promised good things, since it even included Sardinia in the map, which no one ever does.

We were in luck. Instead, we witnessed a man making in-house mozzarella. He was squat, about 5’7″, with a big chest, a bigger belly, and huge forearms. We watched him as he labored over his big, metal bowl of milky water. He pulled the mozzarella like taffy over and over again, across the flat part of his long paddle. His left arm bulged as he steadied his movements, while his right hand massaged the cheese. He rolled it over and over again in the water, until he thought it was ready to form.

He began to pull and gather the cheese into fist-sized balls, which he twisted off and dropped into a vat of more milky water to his right. Every now and again, he made bite-sized bocconcini, which made my mouth water just thinking about biting into them. When he finished, he moved around to where we were standing, so we got out of his way. He began to place them in their plastic containers to be weighed, when we heard “where did that couple go?” He saw us and said “Paesano, vien qua,” more or less, get over here peasant.

We scooted back over, and behind his back, he handed G a bocconcino. G turned his back on the crowd, and as he took a bite, a change came over his face. “Let me try” I said, and he offered me a bite. Milky, smooth, nutty, sweet–the homemade mozzarella was all of these things, none of which we had expected. We looked at the man in wonder, and he responded, “It’s all in how you work it… no one takes the time any more to do it like this.”

We found out that Pasquale had moved over from Naples when he was fifteen. His grandmother had chosen him of all of the nipoti to learn the family recipe, and he’s made his living off of the trade–as a nineteen year old, he made $700 a week making mozzarella, the same as his colleagues, some of which were upwards of 60 years old, slightly insulted that some kid from Italy was better at their trade. Now, he owns the food shop in East Hampton and still makes the very special cheese that got him there.

Tutto Italiano by Citarella, 631 324 9500. 74 Montauk Hwy East Hampton, NY 11937.

Going across town for real Italian pizza

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Yesterday, after a long day of work, I took the wrong train home and found myself at Waverly Place in the West Village, completely disoriented. I was so hungry that I could not think to straighten myself out. A $10 cab ride later, I was at my door in Alphabet City. Since there was nothing in the fridge, G and I decided to go out to dinner rather than hit the grocery store. I headed out in the direction of one of the many restaurants I had read about, thinking that on a Wednesday night, it wouldn’t be too full. I was wrong–there was a short line out the door. When we went to ask how long the wait was, G eyed the portions and shook his head. We turned our backs on the hostess as she came toward us and set out in search of something a little more…substantial.

La pizza, he said. Why don’t we go to that pizza place over on Carmine and Bleeker? We’d looked for this place before, but with G’s great sense of direction, we’d spent an hour and a half wandering all around it, never finding it, even though he’d eaten there before with friends. And it was in Tribeca. I wasn’t quite ready to tell him that I’d just been over there, that I’d splurged on a cab to get back to the east side. So I agreed. Plus, once he said the magic words, my brain was hooked on the thought of an (almost) authentic Italian pizza.

This time, we knew exactly where to go–we headed straight for the yellow awning with the big “28” written on it, catty-corner to the new GROM gelateria. After walking across town, we sat ourselves down amongst all of the other Italians in the restaurant. Around us, I only heard one table of English speakers–a good sign! The menu listed a few antipasti, but its main emphasis was pizza, which you can order in 14″, 18″, or 29″ derivations. We debated splitting a 29″ pizza, but I was craving pizza bianca, while G went for the S. Daniele (prosciutto, arugula, and parmigiano). We opted to split two 14″ pizzas–the pricing came out about the same anyway.

The wine selection was also pretty wide–all Italian wines, but a good variety, from Barbera d’Asti to Nero d’Avola. After ordering himself a Moretti beer and me a glass of Falanghina, we turned to the pizza. He ordered the S. Daniele, while I debated the Tartufo (mushroom sautée with truffle oil) and the Bianca con Soppressata (spicy salami). Without hesitation, our waiter recommended the Tartufo, so I followed suit. Ten minutes later, pizzas were on the table, hot out of the brick oven…too bad my wine arrived hot too.

G and I split our pizzas half and half, but one bite of the Tartufo and I was smitten. I had a piece of the S. Daniele, but ended up giving the rest back to him. Instead, I savored the mushroom, ricotta, and truffle dance that played out in my mouth–sound cheesy? It was. Melted cheese-y.

We cleaned our plates like good members of the Clean Plate Club that I have belonged to since I was a child at my mother’s table, but our empty plates sat for too long on the table. I began to pick at the little scraps until I could finally wave down a waiter by ordering a tiramisu–we had to compare to Giano’s, of course. It came a moment later, already prepared and cold from sitting in a refrigerator. The waiter (not ours) sat it down on the table, and we inhaled it the moment he turned his back. Embarrassingly fast. In fact, the busboy cleared it before our original waiter knew we had even ordered it, so the check came sans tiramisu.

Vintage Irving

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Having opened in the past two weeks, I decided to try out the new wine bar on 15th street at Irving Place, near Union Square. I met a friend for a post-work drink outside–it was a little difficult to find, as the name is not well-marked. My friend, who was waiting for me, and I poked our heads inside before committing, and we liked what we saw. To the right of the door is the L-shaped bar, its stock evident against the dark wood of the wall behind it. To the left, several long, elevated tables filled the first room. We wandered past these into the second room, which had another high table in the center; we, however, chose to sit along the walls, with our feet on the ground, next to the paneled wood wall. 

Our waitress brought us menus within a few minutes, pointing to the wines by the glass on the first page, followed by the full wine list, as well as beers and cocktails (which all seemed to have an absinthe base). Small plates, cheeses, and charcuterie followed. She gave us a few minutes to decide. Since the weather in New York is turning, we both decided to skip the white and head straight to red to overcome the slight chill in our bones. When our waitress returned, I asked her about three that appealed–a Garnacha from Spain, a Paso Robles California Zin, and a South African Cab. She immediately pushed the Cab, saying that it was actually a blend of Cabernet, Syrah, and Tempranillo grapes, a little fruit forward but with great body. It was from an area called Paarl, a name which I recognized from my weekend wine-tasting of Sauvignon Blancs from around the world. My wine guy had told me that wines from Paarl, because of the extreme changes in temperature from hot summers to cold winters. I had liked the Sauvignon Blanc, so I thought I’d give this one a try. We both ordered it. 

The wine arrived about five minutes later. It was absolutely one of the best wines I’ve tasted in a long time. Every sip filled my mouth completely and felt full without ever biting. We savored it so long that we forgot to look at the rest of the menu–the waitress came over twice to see if we wanted anything else, but both times we hadn’t gotten around to it. We finally called her over to order the drunken goat cheese, a Spanish blue made of goat’s milk, and the duck prosciutto. 

The plate arrived about ten minutes later. The presentation on the small rectangular plate was lovely: four long pieces of the first cheese were flayed out over an herbed-mayonnaise sauce; the blue cheese, cut into small triangles, was accompanied by a whole-grain mustard mixed with pieces of onion; and the four, glistening pieces of duck prosciutto were layered, one on top of the other, next to a bowl of stewed berries. Both the duck prosciutto and the blue cheese were extraordinarily flavorful. Although the slices were small, the cured duck felt rich on my tongue, and the goat’s milk brought out the strong flavors of the blue cheese. The date for one glass of wine turned into several hours spent talking over the beautifully balanced flavors of our small meal. I can’t wait to go back. 

Vintage Irving (120 E. 15th St. at Irving Place, 212-228-4200)
**the wine was a Glen Carlou Cabernet “Grand Classique” (2004) from Paarl, South Africa.

Sundaes and Cones

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I could live on ice cream. It’s my hands-down favorite thing in this whole world. When my brother and I were little, we would scarf down our dinner in order to get to dessert–a bowl of Breyer’s natural vanilla ice cream with Hershey’s chocolate syrup. Sometimes, with strawberries on top. I would eat my scoops quickly, while they still held their perfect shape, trying to divide my chocolate sauce evenly between the bites of vanilla. My brother, on the other hand, would swirl it round and round, even letting it sit for awhile and warm up until it became soupy. Then, he’d slurp it down with his spoon.

Summer camp brought on the advent of Mayfield ice cream sandwiches. After rest hour, we’d all run to Store to grab our treat for the day, and in the hot heat of Alabama, we always went for something cold—an icey soft drink, frozen skittles, or in my case, most likely the ice cream sandwich. I remember licking it evenly around the edges, gently compressing the chocolate wafers until my fingers left their prints, and then with just a little bit of ice cream left, I would bite into the sandwich. Of course, I’d finish it off by licking the extra chocolate from my fingers.

To this day, ice cream is one of the few things that makes me truly happy–most likely because of these memories. And although I am still a die-hard fan of vanilla ice cream with chocolate, I’ve branched out. In France, nothing beats the combination of 2 boules de glace, two tiny scoops of the famous Berthillon ice cream in Paris; I always go for the combination of rich chocolate and slightly tart raspberry sorbet. Italy’s gelato, however, is obviously the best in the world, especially if you wander away from the tourist sites and into the neighborhoods. G is from Rome, and his family lives in an area well outside of the city, whose main piazza has a gelateria that makes the most wonderful Ferrero Rocher gelato.

However, if you aren’t heading to Europe any time soon, or if you need a quick fix to hold you until you get there, you should try Sundaes and Cones, a Japanese ice cream shop on 10th street between 3rd and 4th avenue. They mix up their creamy goodness in-house, and the selection is amazingly varied. You can pick anything from normal (I use that term loosely because it sure beats Baskin Robbins) mint chocolate chip or strawberry to moka chip, tiramisu, or coconut; and if you really want to get adventurous, there’s sesame, corn, red bean, and green tea. And these are just some of my favorites—there are about 30 flavors to choose from at a time.

Prices are more on par with the European treats than with Blue Bunny, but every bite reminds you that it was worth every penny… especially when it’s really hot outside. You can sit inside or out, and if you need a caffeine boost, they serve Oren’s Coffee (for those of you familiar with the coffee shop on Broadway near Columbia).
1 scoop: $3.18
2 scoops: $4.38
3 scoops: $5.54
**prices are for wafer or sugar cones, without tax, although I prefer the waffle cone. It’s also made in house, and its flavor is melt-in-you-mouth delicate.

To Live by Bread & Cheese Alone

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I used to spend my summers in the south of France—my mother’s childhood friend had moved there to study painting, fell in love with a man, and never left. So, we obviously went to visit. From a very young age, then, I was introduced to the simple lifestyle and eating traditions of Provence. Simple salads. Fresh food that came straight from the market. Baguettes bought that morning. And Roquefort… I have been a bread and cheese lover ever since. In fact, I think there is no better meal if you are looking for something quick and delicious, especially on the go.

Today, G and I prepared a picnic that he brought to Bryant Park at lunch time. It was a perfect day—not hot, not chilly, no rain, a little breeze. We sat under the birch trees and set the table. This morning I had packed up my little cooler with a small cutting board and a paring knife wrapped on a dishcloth that ended up serving as our tablecloth. G added the fresh-bought baguette from the store around the corner, salami, apples, and the cheese—gorgonzola dolce and parmigiano. He sliced the bread and the salami and began to make little open-faced sandwiches, while I ate each separately, savoring their individual flavors. It was a perfect summertime meal: crisp, fresh, simple. When it was time to go, we shook the breadcrumbs from the cloth, rewrapped the knife, and packed the cooler, leaving it much lighter than it had been when he arrived.

Retail Review: Alphabet City Wine Co.

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My street in the East Village is one of the most fabulous places to be in terms of quality food and wine at affordable prices. In the past six months or so, great wine and cheese shops have popped up (as well as new bars, cafes, and restaurants) all along Avenue C. Amongst these is the Alphabet City Wine Co., haven for wine geeks, both confirmed and aspiring, everywhere.

Walking in, you feel like a guest in someone’s private wine cellar: a coffee table surrounded by a few leather chairs is on your right (always with at least one glass sitting on the table); a large wood-plank table is in the center of the room used for display and their twice-weekly free wine tastings; and the walls are lined with bottles. In fact, the wine bottles appear more like art than a product to be sold. There are no signs or explanations–these guys want you to ask questions and to engage them in conversation about every bottle on the shelf. The only writing, other than that on the wine label, is the small price tag…small both in size and scale. The goal of the shop is in fact to prove that good wine can be affordable. The owner Keith and his staff hand-select each of the wines they carry. They know the nuances of every wine, comparisons that can be made, and of course the perfect pairing.

In fact, I like to go in, describe what I am planning on making, and ta da! the perfect wine appears in my hand, chilled if need be and ready for consumption (or if they’re down to their last bottle of white or rose, they have the low-down on the cool-down quick fix–a bucket of ice water and salt). Last night, I had decided to make an asparagus and ricotta tarte and wanted to find the perfect wine to go with it. After discussing the merits of a cava or prosecco versus a gewuerztraminer (a sweeter German white to which my palate has yet to adapt) when paired with the strong taste of asparagus, we settled on the Icardi Cortese. Ever heard of Gavi di Gavi? One of my favorite sipping wines, the Gavi di Gavi is actually a wine produced in the town of, you guessed it, Gavi, and it is made from the Cortese grape. That said, I was sold. As for the pairing? Excellent while cooking, but it had warmed by the time the tarte was ready. Next time, I’ll be sure to keep it on ice.

Restaurant Review: Candela Candela

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*now closed

Last night, G and I went to Candela Candela, a Cuban-Italian fusion restaurant on 2nd avenue between 5th and 6th. Strange mix? I thought so too, so I decided it was worth a try. The interior has a purposefully dated look–old photographs and a mural decorate the walls, and rough-hewn wood tables and countertops characterize the space. It’s sure to have a cozy feel in the wintertime, although we sat halfway between the open window and the patio.

Our waiter, a Franco-Israeli, was extremely attentive and helpful. He brought us the menus immediately, as well as the wine list. The wines, however, were available only by the bottle, so for wine by the glass he resorted to memory. There were three whites, Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, and a Sauvignon Blanc (all to be expected), and five reds. No labels or provenances were mentioned. He helped pair our wine to our meal choices–Cabernet Sauvignon with my red pepper souffle and a Pinot Noir with Giorgio’s chicken.

Despite the extensive selection, the menu left much to be desired–there was no true sense of fusion of the two cuisines. Instead, the Italian dishes were listed alongside the Cuban ones, saltimbocca next to ropa vieja. We decided to go for an appetizer and a main course between the two of us. To me, the Tortino sounded the most appealing–a red pepper souffle baked with walnuts and served over chickpeas and corn puree. For G, I thought the Perugina sounded perfect–chicken breast rolled around baby spinach, prosciutto, and pine nuts, served with a gorgonzola sauce. He typically likes the most heavy-sounding thing on the menu.

Our wine was served, and a few sips later, the food came out, served on country crockware that matched the restaurants rustic feel. The Tortino was about a palm’s size, as I had expected, but I noticed G blanch when he was served–5 tiny little medallions of chicken and spinach rolls. We dug in, however, and both dishes proved to be quite filling. On the other hand, the flavors were unadventurous. His gorgonzola tasted more like a cream sauce, and I couldn’t trace the red peppers anywhere in the cake, which was more of a veggie pattie than a souffle. It lacked any sort of airiness–I can only assume eggs were included for it to have been given that name.

The service was the most exceptional part of the evening. Candela Candela is a great neighborhood joint–you leave full and satisfied–unless you have your own spot that your already love to frequent. Nothing about the food, from the concept to the flavors, is very special, and the Cabernet leaves a bad taste in your mouth.