I used to dream about San Marzano tomatoes, gladly shelling out three times the cost of a can of “regular” plum tomatoes for 28 ounces of pure Italian summer joy.  The low acid San Marzano variety is less sweet than other tomatoes, yielding an absolute superior flavor when used as the base for sauce.  They grow only in the small town of San Marzano, near Naples, and they are subject to the strict regulations of Denominazione di origine controllata that are used to certify authenticity of origin.

With all of this in mind, I was excited to be able to order San Marzano tomato plants for the garden this year.  They’ve provided a steady crop of plump roma fruit throughout the summer, and last weekend I harvested the last of the ripe tomatoes from the plants, along with a handful of basil.  The tomatoes sat on the kitchen island for a few days while I devised a proper way to say goodbye to summer.

As it turns out, the best use of San Marzano tomatoes will always be as the primary ingredient in sauce.  Since they are less sweet, and carry less moisture than other tomatoes, they’re not really the best thing to slice and eat like their larger beefsteak cousins.

I started by peeling the tomatoes (cut an ‘X’ into the base of each, place into boiling water for about 30-45 seconds, then hold under cold running water and strip the skin), slicing them in half to let the seeds drop into the sink.  I placed a generous mound of chopped garlic into a puddle of olive oil in a saucepan, letting that heat gently as I roughly chopped the tomatoes, tossing them into the pan once the garlic turned golden and aromatic.  A splash of white wine to the pan, then I let the whole thing cook slowly, breaking the tomatoes up with a spoon.

When we were ready to eat, I adjusted the seasoning of the sauce with sea salt, then added about a 1/4 cup of half and half.  It’s amazing to see and taste the differences between a plain tomato sauce and one that’s had a little dairy added to it.  Slivers of basil, stirred into the sauce at the very last minute, provided the perfect herbal companion.

And, at the time of this writing, it’s only three months before I can place my order for next summer’s tomato plants.  Until then, I’ll have to make do with what we’ve canned.

The weather has taken a definitive turn towards autumn in our neck of the woods.  Even though there are still a few tomatoes on the vine, and the basil plants have not yet succumbed to the first frost, the chill in the air makes me crave something that would usher in the change of season – but gently, gradually, not like those garish displays of animated Christmas decorations in the supermarket.

It’s hard to believe, but I’ve never posted anything about cookies here.  It’s not that I don’t like cookies (really, quite the opposite), but more because our house has always pledged allegiance to the chocolate chip cookie, with the occasional nod to a bittersweet chocolate drop cookie.  A couple of weeks ago, we found ourselves in a bakery/cafe for brunch, and I had the most wonderful ginger cookie which left such an impression, evoked such a timely feeling of seasonality, that it sent me on a quest to find a way to enjoy that same feeling at home.

There are a lot of ginger cookie recipes out there, and I ultimately decided on this one, from Epicurious.  If you do the research, you’ll find that ginger cookie recipes all have some basic ingredients in common, and already I am feeling confident enough to start experimenting with variations on this recipe.  In fact, I’m looking to translate the core flavors of this cookie, along with some special modifications, to a cake or loaf pan recipe.

A proper ginger cookie recipe is loaded to bear with all manner of fall weather spices – besides the obvious ginger, there’s clove and cinnamon.  To have the cookies turn out as chewy as possible, the primary sweetener is dark brown sugar, along with the addition of molasses to add another depth of flavor.  My favorite thing about this particular recipe, though, is the inclusion of chopped candied ginger.  If you’ve never worked with candied ginger before, let me warn you that it is an addictive ingredient – you can eat the chunks like candy, and each bite is a tiny explosion of intense ginger flavor, offset by the sweet coating of sugar.  It’s no wonder that candied ginger works so well in baking.  Whatever remains after you’ve assembled the cookies will probably be gone by the time they’re done baking.

Besides the brown sugar, the balls of dough are rolled in white sugar right before baking.  As they cook, the cookies will spread out and crack, but remain soft.  I actually should have abided by the recipe’s instructions to the letter – at 12 minutes, the cookies still seemed a bit underdone, so I let them go for another three or four minutes, which turned out to be a mistake.  That quality that I perceived to be underdone was actually the star attribute of a ginger cookie, since it will remain soft and chewy for several days if you keep them in an airtight container.

As you may have read earlier, we are expecting our first child soon.  Seizing the opportunity to expand the blog empire, and wanting to spare you all the discomfort of reading blog entries that have absolutely nothing to do with food, today I am announcing the launch of The Best Parenting Blog Ever.

While I may occasionally mention the Sprout in these pages, mostly when the worlds of parenting and cooking collide, for the most part all of the news and updates of our new status as parents will be found on the other site.

As with this site, there’s a variety of ways to stay connected with The Best Parenting Blog Ever.  You can follow me on Twitter as @BestParentBlog.  As always, you can add the new site to your RSS reader.  Or you can just drop me an email at ddl[at]bestparentingblogever.com.

Thanks again,

DDL

Here’s an ugly confession: I’m very bad with keeping up with our garden.  I always begin the summer filled with great expectations of abundant crop yields, but by the end of July find myself with a box of bolted lettuce, cilantro that has since gone to seed, various weeds, and an eternal, neverending supply of mint.

With this firmly in mind, this year I built a second square foot garden exclusively for tomatoes and peppers.  I ordered a variety of tomatoes, some of which were cherry tomatoes for a deck box, from chileplants.com, which were shipped to me in the first week of June.  Overall, I planted four tomato plants in the 4-foot square box – two San Marzano plants, one Ramapo Hybrid (which was a substitute for the very popular Rutgers VFA) and one Mortgage Lifter, which produces particularly impressive beefsteak specimens.

As it turns out, I’m glad that I only planted four plants.  Given the rain that we’ve had (so much so that I never had to break out the sprinklers this year), the tomato plants thrived, growing outward in all directions.  They were relatively quiet during the first half of the summer, but a few weeks ago I noticed clusters of San Marzanos, and a fairly plentiful supply of Ramapo and Mortgage Lifter types.  Then, about a week later, the tomato plants really start to peak, yielding a bounty of robust red fruit at an alarming rate.  This required much discipline to remind myself to check the garden every afternoon to make sure we didn’t lose any to gravity.

On Sunday, we picked a particularly ripe Ramapo and let it sit on our kitchen island until yesterday, when we finally cut into it.  It turned out to be the most perfect summer tomato we’ve ever had.

Here’s the thing about tomatoes – so long as the skin remains intact, without any bruising or blemishes, a tomato will continue to ripen on your kitchen counter for several days without rotting.  As each day passes, the tomato will continue to concentrate its flavor, becoming a pure distillation of summer, barely contained by the thin layer of protection provided by its skin.  If you can time it just right, if you can abstain from eating it until the very last moment, when the essence of the tomato threatens to burst through its fragile shell, you will have one of the most memorable tomato experiences of your lifetime.

We decided to turn this perfect summer tomato into a simple meal of tomato sandwiches.  The preparation is as easy as can be, just layer freshly sliced tomatoes onto bread that’s been spread with mayonnaise, and top with some sea salt, black pepper, and sliced onion.  The sweetness of an ultra-ripe tomato plays nicely with the sharpness and crunch of the raw onion, and the sea salt just brings the whole thing together.  The result is an instant summer memory, one so strong that it will sustain you even through the darkest, coldest days of winter.

At the time that I posted my review of Maia, in June of 2008, the sprawling addition to Villanova’s dining scene was on the upswing.  While I had some issues with the confusing layout of the takeout space on the first floor, the food was well-prepared, the bar and cold case had an admirable selection of craft beer, and I was looking forward to experiencing the upstairs dining room, where the considerable talents of the Feury brothers yielded, as early reviews recounted, some pretty incredible seafood dishes.

Alas, a second dinner for us at Maia was not to be.  By April of this year, two weeks shy of its first anniversary, Maia closed its doors.  There were certainly some telling signals along the way to the restaurant’s demise – a month earlier, Maia had closed its upstairs dining room and shortened its operating hours for dinner to only three nights a week.  Patrick Feury left to work full time at Nectar.  Terence Feury defected to Fork, in Old City, taking eight cooks with him.  Management declared that they were “reconceptualizing” the upstairs dining room and would reopen in the summer with a new chef and menu, which never happened.  A renovation budget of $8 million dollars, it seems, could not guarantee Maia’s success in this economy.

Maia’s loss, though, turned out to be Azie’s gain.  In July, Win Signature Restaurants, which oversees an empire of Asian restaurants throughout the area, including Teikoku and Azie in Media, unveiled its second Azie location, Azie on Main, where Maia once held court, taking advantage of the former tenant’s improvements to the space.  We had the opportunity to sample the menu prior to Azie’s opening during one of its Friends and Family events.

With the first floor space presently unused, getting into Azie involves parking in the lot at the back of the building and entering the space through an entrance that leads directly to the upstairs dining room.  The layout of the restaurant remains largely unchanged from when it housed Maia, even down to the long table that dominates the center of the room, paralleling the bar.  What Azie has done, though, is implemented its own stylish Asian design aesthetic throughout the space – subtle, yet quietly impressive.

We started with one hot appetizer, the Sauteed Foie Gras with Fuji Apple Confit and Honey Balsamic, and one cold selection, the Sushi and Sashimi Sampler.

There is something about the decadence of foie gras that is unmatched, and Azie does well by pairing the richness of this main component with the apple confit, which held a sweetness that countered the fattiness of the foie gras, and the occasional crunch of fruit that contrasted nicely with its velvety texture.  The balsamic contributed a welcome note of sweet and sour.

The sushi and sashimi sampler was a collection of tuna, salmon, and whitefish sashimi, accompanied by toro, yellowtail, and eel nigirizushi.  Each piece was some of the purest, freshest seafood that I’ve ever had, and it definitely made me want to book a reservation to come back and sit at the sushi bar, just to watch the sushi chefs work their magic.

We also decided to sample one of the signature sushi creations, the Azie Roll.  This was a concoction of spicy tuna, scallion, and avocado, topped with eel sauce, which was then topped off with some crunchy fried tempura flakes.  The flavor combination was incredible, with the spicy notes of the layer of tuna offset by the cool creaminess of the avocado and the crunch of the tempura.

For our entrees, we chose the 14oz New York Strip Steak, along with the Pan Roasted Halibut accompanied by the Lobster and Cheese Risotto, and Miso Beurre Blanc.

The steak arrived crusted with a nice char, perfectly cooked to order.  We had requested the House Steak Sauce, and while we’re normally not impressed with steak sauces, Azie has managed to create a sauce that complements the beef while representing the restaurant beautifully.  A combination of teriyaki sauce, soy, garlic, and mirin, the sauce lent just the right amount of Asian flavor without sacrificing the dish’s ability to showcase the quality of the meat.

Don’t let your eyes fool you.  Those are not fries on top of the halibut, they’re tempura-fried enoki mushrooms, and they were light and crisp.  I find it hard to ever write about a great piece of fish, because when done right, the quality of the seafood shines best when it is prepared with respect and not subject to overly fussy techniques and preparations.  The brick of perfectly prepared halibut was perched on a thick bed of risotto, with the flavor of the fish accented by a light beurre blanc with hits of earthy miso throughout.  Between the steak or the halibut, I envision myself returning to try each of the seafood selections, just to see what other wonders await me.

I have high hopes for Azie’s continued success.  Unlike Maia, which started out of the gate under pressure of an multimillion dollar investment, Azie enters the game with far fewer burdens, and with the benefit of inheriting all of the improvements that Maia instituted.  Plus, Win Signature Restaurants has already proven its ability to maintain five other restaurant properties – with the addition of Azie on Main, Win Somboonsong may very well be the Stephen Starr of the Main Line.

Last month, I had the opportunity to attend the Best of the Main Line party, which celebrated the winners of the Best of the Main Line Awards that were featured in Main Line Today magazine.  The event serves to showcase the winners of each of the categories, and although the awards cover the hottest finds in shopping, dining, and lifestyle, I was there intent on seeing the faces and places behind what Main Line Today deemed to be the best food to be found on the Main Line.

Upon entering Drexelbrook, the immense 25,000 square foot corporate event center that hosted the party, I was inundated with an explosion of sight and sound.  To my left, a Moroccan-inspired seating area featured pork tenderloin served over Jamaican-style spicy rice.  In the opposite corner, shot glasses were filled with a pillowy  rendition of key lime pie.  On the other side of the hall, a chuckwagon served as the cooking and display area for a wide pan of chili, served with all of the appropriate accompaniments.  So many options to pick from, and I had yet to enter entered the main event space.

With the elevated stage and dance floor as centerpieces, the band rocked out over the proceedings, while the throngs of attendees milled up and down the aisles consuming samples and chatting with the winners.  One of the first vendors we encountered was Margaret Kuo’s of Wayne, winner of the Readers’ Choice for Ethnic Cuisine.  It usually takes a lot of skill to carve a Peking Duck tableside and serve it in the traditional accompaniments of pancake, scallion, and hoisin sauce, but these guys made it look easy, even in the confines of a small vendor space.  A little further down the row, chefs from the Blue Pear Bistro were spinning out plates of their award-winning braised short rib with a sweet potato puree.  The short rib was so artfully prepared, I didn’t even mind sampling what would otherwise be a winter dish at the height of summer.

Over the course of the evening, I had the pleasure of trying no less than three different crabcakes.  One, from Patty Mac’s Cafe in Berwyn, was the traditional interpretation – a ball of crab and breadcrumbs, deep fried to a crispy brown crunch.  This contrasted with the other two crabcakes, from Brodeur’s and D’Ignazio’s Towne House, both in Media, which leaned towards more of a pure-crab composition, held loosely together with minimal filler.  For pure decadence, however, the lobster roll on brioche, presented by the Desmond Hotel, was one of the best samples on offer at the party.

Main Line Today did a fine job of recognizing new establishments.  The accolade for New Thai Restaurant went to Jazmine Authentic Thai Cuisine of West Chester, which represented itself well with samples of Pad Thai and a refreshingly cool rice paper roll spiked with a nice hit of fresh cilantro.  Alison Barshak was on the receiving end of best Brand Extension for her second restaurant, the aptly named Alison two in Fort Washington.

For those with a sweet tooth, The Best of the Main Line party offered a treasure trove of finds.  Georges’, having taken the prize for Best Brunch, made a wise decision to forgo on-site omelet prep in favor of  an extensive assortment of its freshly baked tarts, breads, and other goods.  The Sweet Potato Cafe and Bakery, located in Media, had the longest presentation – nearly thirty feet of table space, every square inch weighed down with pies, pastries, and cakes of all sorts.  A request for a sample of cake resulted in a hand-sized slab of creamy, layered goodness that rendered one unable to pick up anything else until you were done with it.  Craving chocolate?  The Painted Truffle offered samples of its handmade chocolate truffles, in such surprising and astounding flavors as Midnight in the Garden of Chocolate (70% single origin dark infused with vanilla) and The Holy Grail (caramel and vanilla, touched with sea salt).

Finally, the worlds of beer, wine, and cocktails were well represented at the party.  Victory Brewing Company was on hand, offering samples of their four top brews, while Iron Hill Brewery enjoyed its own corner of the exhibit hall, offering beer, pulled pork sandwiches, and samples of bisque.  Ron’s Bar and Grille, winner of the Best Beer Selection, lived up to its title by offering at least a half dozen samples of beer, from Stone Levitation Ale to Southern Tier Creme Brulee Imperial Milk Stout.  But perhaps the most enlightening, refreshing cocktail sampler came from James Kennedy, Teikoku barman and the holder of the title of Best Bartender.  His Strawberry Sake Mojito will cool you off and have you seeing stars in no time flat.

Today, August 10, is our thirteenth wedding anniversary.  It also happens to be the last anniversary that we will spend as solely husband and wife because, at some point towards the end of September or the beginning of October, we will be assuming the additional titles of mom and dad.  No, we haven’t decided on a name quite yet.

The prospect of raising our daughter is, at any given moment, exciting, petrifying, thrilling, overwhelming, and a big ball of unknown mystery.  As new parents-to-be, we have spent many hours tracking down information that had been all but foreign to us just a year ago, navigating our way through the books and websites of a world that is completely new to us.  Throughout all of this, we’ve tried to maintain a steady grip on reason so as not to give in to the temptations of rampant alarmism, paranoia, and marketing that plague all expectant couples.  I never knew we needed so many things until the helpful magazines told me so.

One thing that I know for certain is that I want to raise a daughter that appreciates food, and the value that cooking and eating together contributes to family unity, and that doing so is going to take time and consistency.  We have an opportunity to shape the blank template of our child’s palate into one that’s open to trying new things, but I also have to realize that there’s some reliable science out there that explains why most kids aren’t adventurous eaters.  I’m perfectly willing to see how much a person’s taste in food is affected by nature versus nurture.  I won’t be able to know for quite a few years whether my efforts were successful.

Do the children of fussy eaters grow up to be fussy eaters themselves?  If I tempt my daughter with the promise of a toy even BETTER than what’s in the Happy Meal, in exchange for eating a home-cooked meal instead, will it work?  Are we doomed to a period of “nothing but” chicken nuggets, fish sticks, or food of a specific color?  I’m curious to find out.

As much as I am apprehensive about these things, there’s an even bigger part of me that’s looking forward to a whole new set of experiences in the kitchen.  I need to learn how to make food that looks like things, for example.  Research into how to unleash my inner Picasso using food coloring and frosting is an absolute must.

I get to introduce my daughter to the joys of picking blueberries on a warm summer day, of knowing just when to flip a pancake, and how to pick the meat out of a crab.  I want her to grow up knowing what real Chinese food tastes like.  I want to involve her in what happens in the kitchen and the garden, so that the concept of cooking is very real for her, and not something that involves opening a package and microwaving its contents, or an activity that requires some artistic level of unique culinary sorcery that only her parents can muster.  I’m sure that there will be some foods and activities that she just won’t take to, but I’ll be proud of her just for trying them once (even though I will secretly hope that she’ll come back to them again when she’s older).

If I can achieve even half of the things on my ever-growing list, I think I could live with that.  All that I know is this – I can’t wait to get started.

I’m going to need a new category tag.  Any suggestions?

The scene was the same, but nearly everything else was subtly different this time around at Talula’s Table.

We were a group of writers, artists, musicians, and artisans, united for one evening around the heavy wooden table that serves as the centerpiece for this gourmet grocery-turned-private bistro.  The first and last time we were able to reserve this table was in November – given very short notice due to an unexpected cancellation, we were able to cobble together a patchwork of friends, coworkers, and internet acquaintances that cold autumn night, and an extraordinary time was had by all.

If that meal, then, was our unofficial “first” dinner at Talula’s Table, then this one was our “official” debut.  A mere 365 days prior, my wife had placed a telephone call at exactly 7am to place a reservation, and was fortunate enough to be met not with the expected drone of a busy tone, but a live voice, greeting her a good morning and graciously granting her request for the table.  This time around, we were able to give our invitees much more notice, giving our prospective guests more time to consider, to plan, and to anticipate.

Different, too, was the weather.  In November, the cold was unforgiving, and we had to hustle our way through the darkened streets of a mostly-closed downtown Kennett Square to reach our destination.  Today, in the first week of June, we found ourselves strolling along, our spirits buoyed by a near-perfect summer day and the anticipation of experiencing Bryan Sikora’s seasonal menu for the second time in seven months.  We were lucky to be lucky.

This time around, we had a chance to mingle before the start of the meal.  Since our first outing, Talula’s Table has introduced a course consisting of passed hors d’oeuvres, which only improves on an already perfect service experience.  The first was a chilled green pea soup, served in shot glasses, the verdant color perfectly matched to the time of year – it was, for lack of better words, utter freshness in glass.  Next, we were presented with small bits of steak tartare mounded onto crostini, which were so good, I shuffled over and popped a second one into my mouth when the plate was set down.

7:30 came and we found our seats.  How entirely appropriate that, on that day, the sun set at 7:35?  And so it had, and the brightness of the light that was streaming into Talula’s Table slowly gave way to shades of ochre, then deep lavender, then darkness, as if Mother Nature herself were lowering the house lights and readying the stage for Act I, Scene I.

There was, of course, plenty of wine to go around, with each party contributing one, two, and sometimes three bottles to the communal mix.  Only this time, we were all in for a treat, as the wine was not the only libation – our friends Ray and Melissa, of Bathtub Brewery, were kind enough to bring four varieties of their homebrewed beer to share at the table.  Melissa had even spent some time studying the menu in order to craft the most appropriate pairings, and did a fantastic job of coordinating the harmony of flavors.  I will list the beer that was paired with each course, with descriptions provided directly by the brewers themselves.

Our first course was Foie Gras Parfait, Rhubarb Glaze, and Crunchy Nut Granola.  Kudos to the kitchen on the presentation of this dish, which was a cylinder of rhubarb gelee, through which ran a core of creamy foie gras, the meaty, salty aspects of which offset the sweetness of the rhubarb perfectly.  The savory and creamy aspects of the foie gras-rhubarb pipe were offset by the sweet crunch of the bed of housemade pecan granola that lay underneath.

The second course, Crayfish Bisque “a la Sazerac”, Anson Mills Polenta Pudding, and Fava Beans, was an explosion of bold flavors contained in a dish that was meant to recall the flavors of a Sazerac cocktail.  The pudding served as the foundation of the dish, a delicate disk of summery corn flavor surrounded by crayfish tails and fava beans, in a broth finished with Pernot and bourbon.  A slice of the housemade spicy andouille sausage jutted from the ensemble like an tiny Excalibur of pork.  The spicy undertones of the bisque paired beautifully with the sweet and assertive components of the Bee Sting Ale: “The Bee Sting is a hybrid ale built off a pale ale recipe-base, with the focus on honey and spice. Chinook hops,known for their grapefruit flavor, and Amarillo hops, known for their orange flavor, were used to complement the 2 pounds of orange blossom honey. These ingredients represent the “bee” while the “sting” is taken care of with seeds of paradise, also known as alligator pepper. The result is a very clear, pale yellow beer that is both refreshing and complex.”

All Things Asparagus, the third course, presented three interpretations of this harbinger of spring.  Where the roasted asparagus spears presented the vegetable with all of its flavor condensed and concentrated by intense heat, the asparagus flan demonstrated its light, airy, and springlike potential as a souffle.  Tempura-fried spears preserved the freshness of the asparagus in a light, brittle coating of batter that dissolved on the tongue.

As soon as the Wild King Salmon, Smokey New Potato Sauce, and Red Trout Caviar was presented to me, I immediately suspected that Talula’s Table had started to venture into the use of sous vide as a cooking method.  The color of the salmon, uniformly crimson throughout the slice, could only be achieved by cooking over a long period of time at a set temperature.  Until now, I had only read about sous vide cooking, and I was very excited for the opportunity to try it.  In fact, I was so excited, I forgot to take a picture, so it is my sincere hope that my words do justice to this description.

The sous vide preparation exceeded all of my expectations.  The salmon was easily my favorite course of the evening, with a rich, unadulterated wild salmon flavor and an incredibly delicate silkiness that melted away on my palate.  The pure seafood flavor was only further amplified by the oceanic saline explosion supplied by the caviar, and the smokiness of the thin potato puree added an extra layer of depth to the entire preparation, while a cucumber mignonette lent the dish some lightness.  This course was paired with Dry Humour Dry Irish Stout, which was as near-perfect a combination as any that I could imagine: “Think Guinness, but immensely better. A low ABV makes this an excellent session beer, but it’s nothing to sneeze at – this beer is full of roasty, chocolate, coffee flavor. The beer pours black with an excellent black-brown head, and uses a blend of malts such as roasted barley, black patent, English Brown and crystal malts along with British Kent Golding hops.”

It’s funny how I read the menu, saw Natural Chester County Veal Cannelloni, Chanterelle Blanquette, and Ricotta Stuffed Squash Blossoms, and was immediately overcome by waves of anticipation not for the main component, but rather for the squash blossoms.  Squash blossoms are such a fleeting indicator of summer, it’s always a joy to find them on a menu whenever you can.  They’re so delicate, they cannot be shipped to supermarkets, so you either have to grow your own or find a kitchen that works closely with local farms.  Don’t get me wrong, the cannelloni were excellent, full of deep, earthy, meaty flavor, and the chanterelle mushrooms were a lively reminder that we were in the Mushroom Capital of the World.  But the combination of those delicate blossoms, piped full of fresh ricotta and flash-fried, will haunt my memory for some time to come.  This course was paired with Sweetheart Kölsch, “a traditional top-fermenting German ale brewed simply with wheat and pilsen extract and 2 hop additions of Vanguard and Sterling. It’s a very balanced beer with some caramel and fruit sweetness mixed with citrusy hop bitterness, as well as a bit of toastiness.”

The next dish, Crispy Fried Hudson Valley Moulard, Baked Beans, and Molasses, was an interpretation of classic summer picnic fare, and probably my least favorite of the courses because the components of the dish can rarely be made better than their standard counterparts, no matter how talented the kitchen.  Small mounds of coleslaw and baked beans accompanied a slice of roasted duck and a small pile of duck confit.  Both interpretations of the duck were very well prepared, with the richness of the meat playing well against the sweetness of the beans.

The trademark presentation of the cheese course did not disappoint.  In our Collection of Italian Cheeses, we were presented with a soft-ripened goats’ milk Robiola, Foja de Noce, Tallegio, Sottocenere, and a goats’ milk Gorgonzola.  As with every cheese plate devised by Aimee Olexy, each selection was outstanding in its own right, and taken as a whole, with the intensity of each cheese increasing as I made my way down the row, all of the flavors came together as a symphony, especially when paired with the last remnants of the red wine.

Our meal ended with a Summer Napoleon of Strawberry Gelee, Strawberry Rhubarb Mousse and Wine Roasted Berries, which was a straightforward interpretation of classic summer dessert fare and a wonderful contrast in textures.  I was grateful to see a berry-based dessert served, instead of a heavier concoction which would most certainly have interfered with my enjoyment of the peanut butter brownie that Talula’s presents as a parting gift.  Appropriately, the Napoleon was paired with Bathtub Brewery’s Hefe the ORC, which was “brewed with Hefeweizen yeast, which is known for its banana and clove flavors, but take the style of Hefeweizen for a bit of a stretch. The beer pours a nice golden color and is a wonderful mix of flavors.  Amarillo and Chinook hops provide citrus notes that work with the orange blossom honey. After the initial brew day we racked the beer on top of raisins and dried cranberries, followed by a second racking on top of orange peel and coriander. (ORC stands for Orange, Raisin, Cranberry). The end result is a wonderful strong Belgian meets Hefeweizen beer.”

We finished our wine and our beer as the bill was presented.  The end of a meal at Talula’s Table often resembles a high stakes poker game, with each party contributing their share to a growing mound of cash in the center of the table.  After counting it up, someone had the idea to bind it all together with a hairband, and the take, a short and thick plug of cash, looked like it should have been hidden in a mobster’s shoe.  Intoxicated as much with the company and food as with alcohol, we thanked each other for the lovely times and poured ourselves out onto the sidewalk to enjoy the cool summer evening, happy to be fed, once again, in the company of good friends old and new.

When I was in college, in the days before Starbucks had transformed into the behemoth that it is today, I worked for a small coffee chain which was located in a well-trafficked corner of the food court at the mall.  For up to eight hours a day, I pulled hundreds of espresso shots and made hundreds of cappuccinos and lattes, frequently for an audience that didn’t even know that the word ‘espresso’ does not contain an ‘x’.  At that time, people bought espresso-based drinks as status items, and I can’t tell you how many times a customer tried to return a cappuccino because “it wasn’t sweet”.

Truth be told, I never understood what the fuss was about.  I had free reign to sample everything that we sold, and the espresso didn’t really appeal to me.  I found it to be a bitter, acrid concoction that was only improved by the addition of disproportionate amounts of sweetener and milk, and by that point I would have been better off with a regular cup of java.

I could have lived happily ever after never tasting espresso again, but then something happened that served to change my perspective forever.  I got married, and we went to Italy for our honeymoon, just two young kids going out of the country for the first time.

We found ourselves in Venice, and on the first morning after our arrival in the city, we had breakfast on a rooftop hotel cafe overlooking the Grand Canal.  With the morning sun glinting off of the waterway, which was beginning to fill with the early rush hour traffic of water taxis, gondolas, and speedboats, the setting was absolute perfection.  A light breeze tinged with the faint smell of marsh, bright skies, and a stellar buffet of platters of prosciutto crudo, cheeses, and pastries completed the scene.

Feeling adventurous, and determined to sample the local product in the one nation that would definitively know how to make it correctly, I ordered an espresso.  What was presented to me was nothing like what I had produced so many times by my own hand – the espresso was topped with a luxurious cap of crema, and the bouquet of the bean, instead of being acrid, was almost sweet, even without the addition of sugar.  Tipping the cup to my lips, the taste was a revelation – intense, yet not bitter, and smooth on the palate.  I spent the rest of our trip ending each of our meals in Florence, Capri and Rome with a single shot of espresso, accompanied only by a single sliver of lemon rind.  Since then, I’ve often considered buying a machine for our kitchen, but was hesitant to do so, having heard unkind tales of inexpensive, underpowered machines, but also unwilling and unable to spend thousands of dollars for a higher quality one.

I’ve spent the last two weeks testing a demonstration unit of the new CitiZ espresso machine, manufactured by Nespresso and available for purchase in the United States on August 1.  For you espresso geeks, I will certainly revel in all of the details of my experience, but for everyone else, here’s my summary:  The Nespresso CitiZ produces a perfect cup of espresso, one that rivals the depth and quality of the product that is served in European restaurants.

If you’re in the midst of performing research on espresso machines for home or office use, you probably already know that the key to high quality espresso, one that features a thick layer of crema and maximum extraction of flavor, is the amount of pressure produced in the process.  While most consumer-level espresso machines produce 15 bars of pressure, the pump-driven Nespresso CitiZ outputs 19 bars.  The results speak for themselves – each shot of espresso that I have made has consistently been capped with a generous layer of golden foam, and the flavor profile is spot-on for how espresso should taste.  Honestly, I never expected an espresso machine that is designed for home use to deliver results that so closely matched restaurant quality.

From a design perspective, the CitiZ offers an extremely easy user experience, with virtually no learning curve to speak of.  The 1 liter water reservoir detaches easily from the back of the machine, giving you the freedom to carry it to the sink instead of using a receptacle to bring water to the machine.  Once you’ve got the water reservoir filled, just plug the CitiZ into the nearest outlet and hit the power switch – the two buttons on the top of the machine (one for regular 1.5 oz shots, the second for the larger lungo shots) start blinking.  Once they remain steadily lit, about two to three minutes in my experience, the machine is ready to do its thing.  Just lift the lever, drop an espresso capsule into the machine, close the lever, and push a button.  After the machine is finished expelling its golden elixir, a second lift of the level ejects the spent capsule into a holding area cleverly hidden behind frosted plastic.  As the owner of the CitiZ, you’ll know if there are empty capsules to discard – but casual observers will never be the wiser.

With respect to physical dimensions, the CitiZ manages to occupy only 5 inches of horizontal space on your kitchen counter, although it is worth noting that the machine is around 14 inches deep – you may need to store it at an angle to prevent it from jutting out into your workspace.  At nearly 11 inches tall, it easily fits underneath my kitchen cabinets.

I used to be an espresso snob, and wanted a machine that would allow me to measure, tamp, and pull my own shot.  After all, I was a barista for quite a while, and part of me considered using capsule-based espresso systems to be cheating.  The Nespresso CitiZ has changed my mind.  You can tell that a lot of research went into creating a machine that’s calibrated to deliver the perfect shot, time and again.  Plus, there really is a measure of convenience in being able to go from craving to satisfaction without all of the manual fuss.  Granted, there will always be purists who insist on sourcing their own beans, grinding, measuring, and tamping, but when you’re pressed for time, or find yourself making many shots of espresso for a crowd, you’ll be grateful for the push-button ease of this machine.

The other mark in favor of Nespresso’s capsule system is the sheer variety of espresso variants that’s available, which allows you to serve espresso for hardcore enthusiasts as well as newcomers who aren’t sure whether they’ll like it.  For benchmark purposes, I used Nespresso’s Ristretto variety as my definition of a “standard” espresso, which did not disappoint.  Nespresso rates the Ristretto variety as a ‘10′ for intensity – if you were preparing a shot for someone who thought that the Ristretto was too bracing, you could easily opt for a Livanto (rated as a ‘6′) or even go as low as the Cosi (an intensity level of ‘3′, and way too low for my taste).  The intensity of each varietal changes based on the origin of the beans and the depth to which the beans are roasted.  Nespresso even goes as far as to recommend which varietals are appropriate for standard and lungo shots, or as components of cappuccinos and lattes, and offers a handful of varietals specifically designed for lungo shots.  The cost per shot comes in at a reasonable .55 cents.

At a suggested price point of $279, the Nespresso CitiZ should definitely be on your short list of candidates if you’re looking for an espresso machine for use in your home or office.

On a temperate summer day in New York City, the wind turned blustery, the blue sky transformed into a menacing shade of gray, and within moments, the heavens opened up.  The rain was intense, and the streets and sidewalks were mottled for only an instant before they became completely saturated, the gutters failing to keep pace with the rushing waters.  Pedestrians caught unprepared huddled together under the nearest available awning or bus stop shelter, forced to invade each others’ respective personal spaces by an Act of God.

All of this meteorological chaos was perfectly fine by me, because while it was happening, I was sitting in Katz’s Delicatessen, shoving an enormous pastrami sandwich into my gaping maw and tipping back a bottle of Brooklyn Lager.  We did not take an umbrella with us, but if there’s a place to hole up as you wait for a summer rainstorm to pass, you couldn’t ask for better.

In the weeks leading up to our trip to New York City for the 55th Summer Fancy Food Show, we had firmly decided that we wanted to make a return to this classic deli on the Lower East Side.  With our memories of our first experience quite fuzzy (in our defense, it was 2:30am and we had just emerged from a nearby nightclub), we knew that we wanted to experience Katz’s Delicatessen during the daylight hours.

The scene could not have been more different. At 2:30am, we were one of only a handful of occupied tables in the vast wood-paneled dining hall, which is decorated with framed pictures of famous people who’ve eaten there.  I remember reviewing the selection of items that is displayed on the wall above and behind the cutters’ stations, walking up to the lone cutter on duty, ordering our sandwiches, and making small talk as he assembled our meal.  This time, I stood at the end of a substantial line of people that snaked through to the front of the restaurant.  Here’s a helpful hint: each cutter has his own line, but most folks go to the line that is nearest to the entrance – move further into the hall to shorten your wait at a shorter line.  Almost every table was occupied, and when we managed to squeeze ourselves into an empty space, the back of my chair butted up against a neighboring table.  When I reached the counter, I had to raise my voice to call out my order.  I honestly think that it was the same cutter as from our first trip.

I made it through ordering the corned beef and pastrami sandwiches without incident.  I knew that I had a fifty percent chance of getting the next thing right.  “I’ll take one corned beef, one pastrami, and…a…knish.”  I had pronounced it “nish”, in the sincere hope that the ‘k’ served just as useful a function as it does in the word ‘knight’.

“You mean a “KA-nish?” the cutter replied, deadly serious. I was glad to have the counter serve as a barrier between us.

“Um, yeah.  That.”  He motioned me to the other counter to place the knish order.  That’s the quirky thing about Katz’s Delicatessen – if you want a sandwich, you go to one of the many cutters in the center of the counter, if you want a hot dog or knish, you go to the station at the end.  Want a soda?  Go down to the other end.  Want a beer?  Go back to where you ordered the hot dog.  You could skip all of this exercise by asking for table service, but where’s the fun in that?  Plus, if you go to the counter to get your sandwiches, the cutter will always provide you with a sample of the meat for your approval before he begins carving your order.

The sandwiches at Katz’s Delicatessen are immense, heavy with the weight of 121 years of tradition.  They are true deli sandwiches, served with a combination of sweet and tart pickles on the side and a swipe of sharp yellow deli mustard that serves to cut the richness of the fatty meat.  The pastrami sandwich is a full two inches of meat, precariously balanced on a comparatively small and thin platform of rye bread, its beefy edges crusted with spice rub.  The corned beef is similarly endowed, but with a juicier, fattier aspect that is characteristic of a superlative brisket.  As good as the corned beef can be, you can reach for epicurean nirvana by ordering a classic corned beef Reuben, which pairs the meat with a mountain of tangy sauerkraut and a layer of Swiss cheese so thick, you could ski down it.

The knish is a rectangular pillow of dough wrapped around a densely packed filling of potato and onion, fried until golden.  I highly recommend it if you’ve never had one.  You should be aware, though, that there are two varieties of knish.  The Coney Island knish is as I have described; there is also a traditional Jewish knish that is round and baked.  I tried one once and didn’t like it as much as the Coney Island, but you should taste one of each since it’s a matter of personal preference.

The last thing you need to know about Katz’s Delicatessen is this – they work off of a ticket system.  When you come into the deli, you’re handed an orange ticket, and as you order different items from the counter, the countermen take your ticket, mark it with what you’ve ordered, and pass it back to you.  At the end of the meal, you hand your ticket to the cashier, who totals it and takes your money.

Don’t even ask what happens if you lose your ticket.  You, and your wallet, really don’t want to know.