Slow Cooked

Paris, in Brief

The single greatest thing I ate in Paris was a pistachio macaroon from a teeny boulangerie around the corner from my hotel that the internet tells me is called Boulangerie Malineau, and may I just say that I adore the internet, because I Googled "rue st paul paris boulangerie" and PRESTO, I found my lovely little bakery, which happened to be next to this precious English-language bookstore called - adorably, because everything on Rue St Paul is adorable - The Red Wheelbarrow.  I love many parts of Paris but have such fondness for the 4e and for its teeny little streets with little shops and cafes.  J'adore.

On my first night in Paris, I walked and walked and walked and walked and then walked some more, and wound up somewhat lost, not very near my hotel at all.  I got on the Metro and found my way back to the St Paul station and - hungry and jetlagged - walked into L'enoteca, which happened to be just down the block from my hotel.  As you all probably know by now, rustic little spots with casual fare and lots of nibbly things and good wine are my favorite type of restaurant, and I more or less stumbled into this one.  It was nearing midnight, so the waiter who greeted me told me that unfortunately the kitchen was closed, but "we do have leftover one thing we can serve you, the lasagna..." and I eagerly accepted and found myself quickly tucked into a corner table with a hearty red blend from Puglia and a browned and bubbling gratin dish of lasagna - lasagna which turned out to be layers and layers of veal, cream sauce and mushrooms, topped with more shaved black truffle than I've ever seen on one dish.  This was the second greatest thing I ate in Paris.

The third greatest thing I ate in Paris is really an assortment of things, and it's somewhat embarrassing to admit just how much chocolate I was able to eat, but I ate an entire 1/4 lb box of truly delicious chocolate from the lovely Maiffret chocolate shop.  My favorite bites were the caramels and the pistachio chocolates, although there was a dark, rich espresso one that was divine.  Oh, and the nougat - I looooove nougat.  And I should also mention that I had one of their pistachio-cerise financiers.  Because I was on vacation and I was in Paris, and really, why not?

Boston: The Butcher Shop

In hindsight it seems kind of crazy that I went to Boston and didn't eat a single oyster or clam, but at least I managed to get a little lobster in me via an appetizer at the wedding I attended.  (Lobster, I don't love.  Crab I would eat by the bushel, but lobster is one of those foods I usually have to act excited about while secretly not seeing the big whoop.)

We were in Boston for all of 36 hours, so I didn't get that many opportunities to sample local fare, but I did manage to haul Kevin with me to the South End for dinner at The Butcher Shop.  I don't know squat about Boston, except that the North End is where you go for Italian food.  I'd heard that the South End was sort of an up and coming foodie area, and all of the restaurants owned by the No. 9 group looked really, really good -- I pushed for B&G but Kevin really liked the idea of a wine bar/charcuterie combo, especially one with a house hot dog (which we saw on neighboring tables but did not order for reasons unknown).  B&G is, incidentally, across the street from The Butcher Shop, and looked adorable.  Also, packed.

The Butcher Shop is on the corner of Waltham and Tremont, and has a bar, a few little high bar tables, and a brilliant large open butcher block table where guests can have a glass of wine or browse the deli case and preserves, chutneys and honey for sale.  There is a wall covered in chalkboard paint with wine specials scrawled on it, there are lots of cheeses and cured meats to pick and choose from, there are also some tasty options on the dinner menu, all reasonably priced and all easy to share.

Between the two of us, we had baby back ribs (falling off the bone good, although a little too sweet and heavy on the sauce for me), chick pea fritters with mint-yogurt sauce (meh), arugula salad with burrata cheese drizzled with lemon juice and house-made honey (DIVINE), house-cured olives (briny and citrusy and good!), and a charcuterie plate, which, along with the fresh-baked Irish soda bread that comes with sea salt-sprinkled butter and more of the house-made honey, was the perfect amount of food for the two of us.  I had a glass of an Italian white wine, and then a Cotes Du Provence rose; Kevin had a glass of Bordeaux.  The vibe was friendly and casual, and the close dining quarters felt fun and intimate, not crowded.  A lot of other diners (and drinkers) were starting off their nights with cheese and wine, and I have to say that the idea of a restaurant geared towards charcuterie plates and wine is really quite brilliant.

Our entire bill was under $100, and I'd definitely go back to The Butcher Shop if I were in Boston again.  I'm even more eager to try B&G, but I'd go back to The Butcher Shop in a heartbeat, for sure!  The Butcher Shop (617.423.4800) is located at 552 Tremont Street and accepts all major credit cards.

Hook: Washington D.C.

I really wanted to write a review of Hook, the new(ish) seafood restaurant in Georgetown.

Unfortunately, we (and most of M street) were evacuated last night, just after being served delicate and delicious crudo, right as the bread basket arrived, moments after our bottle of wine was opened, and long before any actual food of substance was in sight.

This was especially disappointing because chefs Barton Seaver and Joshua Whigham were both in the kitchen, cooking.  I was very excited for my Tobago Snapper, and the entire (sustainable!) menu looked delicious.  Boo to evacuations mid-meal.

I can report, however, that the decor is elegant and comfortable at the same time, the servers are passionate about food, the stemware was lovely and the Cava was tasty.  I look forward to returning, the next time I'm in D.C., and hopefully no one will leave any suspicious packages in H&M to thwart my plans.

Hook is located on M Street at 32nd, accepts all major credit cards, and handles police evacuations with grace and aplomb.

Paris Restaurant Review: Benoit

Benoit was both pricey and comforting, so I suppose it nicely rounds out the trio of dinners we had in Paris.  Our friend Jake was the first to recommend Benoit, but once I started Googling and reading about it, it seemed like nearly every list or guide I encountered mentioned the restaurant.  Benoit opened in 1912 and every Paris mayor since then has dined there.  What I didn't realized until we got back to New York is that Benoit was bought, in 2005, by Alan Ducasse's restaurant group, meaning I can now sort of say that I've eaten at one of his restaurants.  (It is also the only Parisian bistro to receive a Michelin star.)

Benoit is not especially chic but it did seem oh-so-very French, in an old fashioned way.  We were seated in the small downstairs dining room with a nice view of the tiny bar and dapper, efficient maitre d' greeting guests.  Kevin and I started our meal, as became our holiday habit, with a glass of champagne...and while I don't know much about sparkling wine, this was the best of all the champagne we sampled in Paris.  It was extremely crisp and dry (which makes it a Brut, I think?) and very, very good. 

What we both liked about Benoit was how traditional everything seemed, from the monogrammed china to the old fashioned script on the menu to the logo-ed paper band around the napkins.  Although Benoit seems to have become a destination for out-of-towners more than Parisians, it felt as if we were probably experiencing it much as diners had for years before us.

Kevin and I split the pate en croute to start (served with iceberg lettuce, again sort of a very un-chic touch that emphasized how unfussy and unaltered the menu was) and ordered a bottle of Saint Emilion from the sommelier - a woman, which I was impressed to see at such a traditional restaurant.

I ordered the cassoulet, which had been highly recommended by basically every reviewer who'd eaten at Benoit, and I only wish I had been hungrier when we sat down for dinner.  The cassoulet was delicious, but I barely made a dent.  A small, black Le Crueset oven was brought table side, but I couldn't even finish the first helping of the cassoulet, which was rich and delicious and full of falling-apart pork goodness.  Kevin had beef, served very rare, with a baked pasta au gratin side dish.  He may have been on beef overload by this point; he said the meat was good, but seemed more interested in the side dish.

We had cheese (is it any wonder that my pants are tight?) and coffee and then I attempted to ask our waiter if I could have the label from our wine bottle.  He said some things in French back to me that I didn't understand but nodded excitedly at, and then he returned - not with the label, but with another round of drinks, which we, of course, drank anyway.  C'est la vie.

Paris Restaurant Review: Ambassade d'Auvergne

If Hiramatsu was our expense account dinner, Ambassade d'Auvergne was our comfort food meal.  Of all the meals we ate in Paris, this might have been my favorite, as much for the manner in which we found it (wandering, hungry and tired, with nary a reservation and thunderstorms breaking over our heads) as for the food.

Ambassade d'Auvergne is unassuming from the exterior and cozy and quaint inside.  Exposed brick, heavy beams, rustic country décor and a small mirrored bar in the back of the main dining room were all welcome sights as we were seated by the warm and gracious maitre d'.

As became our habit on this vacation, Kevin and I had aperitifs – he had a glass of scotch and I had a glass of champagne while we looked over the menu.  The menu is unfussy, featuring dishes from the Auvergne region (which, in all honesty, I don't know much about).

We ordered a bottle of Bordeaux (St. Emilion or Pomerol, I  can't remember) and started light:  I had a chilled asparagus soup and Kevin had a DELICIOUS cabbage salad with stuffed duck neck.  The savoy cabbage was dressed in a tangy, citrus-vinegar-herb-y dressing and was served out of a larger bowl, which the server then left at the table for both of us (mainly me) to continue eating.   

Our entrees were strictly bloody; I had roast lamb with root vegetables, and Kevin had pan-seared beef served with a giant marrow bone (which I dipped into, briefly, spreading the goo on some bread).  Nothing about the entrees were unusual or noteworthy, except that everything tasted so very, very good.

While we lingered over wine, we noticed a table near us being served what looked like grits, almost, straight out of a hammered copper saucepan.  The host noticed us watching and sent the server to our table as well, scooping out huge globs of what turned out to be aligot – basically cheese, garlic and mashed potatoes.   Aligot is good.  It is scary good.  It is also stretchy with cheese, which might be why it is so very, very good.

Still, we decided to order dessert, summoning the appetite from deep inside!  I had a gorgeous strawberry "gazpacho"  with basil sorbet, and Kevin had the chocolate mousse, which turned out to mean, Two Huge Dollops, plus the bowl, left on the table yet again, for me to share.  Now, I'm not one to gravitate towards the chocolate option on a dessert menu, and chocolate mousse in particular is not something I ever order (I've had so much good homemade stuff that restaurant versions never seem bittersweet enough and are too sugary and fluffy, and yes I realize that mousse should be fluffy, but I like mine rich and creamy), but this stuff was seriously GOOD.  Rich, bittersweet, chocolate-y, creamy and GOOD.  So good I could only have a few bites, but probably the best chocolate mousse I've had outside of my parent's kitchen.

When our bill came, it was accompanied by a cluster of truffles -- chocolate filled with - I think - a lemon almond candy center.  I asked the maitre d' if their pastry chef made them, and he asked me if I liked them.  I nodded vigorously, and he disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a bag full of them for me. 

Our final bill was somewhere around 200 Euro, I think - the wine alone was about 60 Euro, and we had three courses plus the aperitif, so it's certainly possible to eat for less at Ambassade d'Auvergne, but I have to say that I don't regret a cent of it, nor do I regret a calorie.  And there were many.

Paris Restaurant Review: Hiramatsu

We called Hiramatsu our Expense Account Meal, which might be tacky to say, but in every way the restaurant and our meal exuded elegance.  It exuded it so much that Kevin wished he had worn a tie.  It exuded it so much that he ate the frog appetizer, even though he ordered it by accident.

Hiramatsu recently moved to a new location, and I can't speak to the old space, but the new room is quiet, not especially large, and decorated with a sleek, neutral Asian aesthetic - the splashes of color came from the jewel-toned Baccarat tumblers on the tables, and the architectural floral arrangements in heavy Baccarat vases.  There was heavy, thick carpeting and an opaque automatic sliding glass door that led to the wait station and kitchen which was like something from Star Trek (it made that satisfying sswwsh sound when opening and closing).

The wait staff was accommodating but not as stiff or formal as I'd feared - I felt comfortable asking them questions about the menu and chatting about the wine.  The menu featured two tasting menus (5 and 7 courses) and a la carte selections, which we chose.

The amuse-bouche was maybe my favorite thing of the entire meal -- vivid spring pea soup into which the waiter scooped a dollop of lavender ice cream.  It was so intensely flavored and so creamy and bright with herbal flavor that I wished my heavy Cristofle soup spoon was smaller, so that I could get every last drop out of the elegant soup bowl.

Kevin trusted me with the wine list, and I chose a Sancerre -- from which the maitre d' removed the label and pressed it into a brilliant label-keeper page.  It was Cuvee Edmond, 1996, Domaine La Moussiere, and it was one of the most unusual wines I've ever had...it was really exotic and floral and rich, and it changed every time I tried it.  I picked it hoping for a white that would be good with food, and I got lucky, because it was sensational, especially with our entrees (to come!).

I started with a light (well, as light as anything dressed with butter can be) salad of spring vegetables and raised an eyebrow when Kevin ordered the frog appetizer.  It turned out that he just pointed, and I failed to mention to him that grenouille = frog, but no matter, he liked the fried frog's legs a lot, and I can vouch for the second part of the appetizer - a martini glass with morel mushrooms in cream with what I can only describe as "frog Jello" on top (gelee is probably a better word) - and tell you that it was incredibly rich and that despite the somewhat slimy texture, it was good.  I probably won't order frog on my own, but I don't ever want to be accused of any food-phobia.  The gelee/cream/frog/mushroom dish reminded me a little of eating bone marrow - the flavor is so strong that you get why people like it, but the texture ultimately turns me off.

Our entrees were safer territory; Kevin had (I think, as my French is not that great) snapper with vegetables - lots of bright green asparagus and peas, and I had DELICIOUS sea bass served in a saffron broth with ample thread of saffron floating in it, along with little fingerling potato medallions.  It was divine, and the exotic Sancerre really complimented the saffron broth; I'm not sure many other wines could have paired as nicely.

We had a cheese course; I picked for both of us and selected a chevre, a hard cheese (compte?) and my favorite, a brin d'amour.  We couldn't finish them.  They were lovely, but we were so, so, so (SO) full.

We were so full that when the dainty tray of petit fours and truffles and pistachio mousse and whatnot arrived, we could barely eat them.  We did eat, however, the first thing handed to us, which was a long, thin spoon holding a tiny square of tomato aspic with basil sorbet.  It was unbelievable.

I won't even tell you the final bill except to say it was one of the top 3 most expensive dinners I've ever had (maybe #1, when the exchange rate comes into play) but there are some experiences that you can't put a price to, and I am going with the story that this was one!

Where We Ate: Paris

Reviews to come...

Enoteca Vin: Raleigh, NC

Wine lovers in the Raleigh area should head directly to Enoteca Vin, stopping only to make sure they have arranged a designated driver.  I first read about Enoteca Vin in Food & Wine two years ago, and was charmed by the description of the space, and of the menu, and excited to see a young, female chef at the helm of the restaurant.  When I found myself with plans to spend Thanksgiving in Raleigh, I immediately booked a reservation at Vin, as it is known by locals.

Ashley Christensen's menu is simple, concise and focused, which is all the better to place the emphasis on the main event - the wine.  An extensive wine list is available for tasting in 1.5, 3.0, 5.0 oz glasses, or by the bottle; by-the-glass wines are "poured" from the restaurant's 32-tap Cruvinet , which line the back area of the expansive bar.

I would have been happy just sitting at the bar, tasting wine and cheese indefinitely, but our reservations were for dinner, and our party of five featured a diverse assortment of eating habits and preferences.  It is worth noting that the vegetarian in our party had a limited selection of entrees; all but one dish was meat-based (she had the halibut, topped with roasted plum tomatoes and served over broccoli rabe.)

While we contemplated our dinner menus, I started with 3 oz glasses of the 2004 Pouilly-Fuissé (Frédéric Trouillet) and the 2004 Falanghina Mastroberardino.  Both were crisp and dry, the falanghina being slightly more mineral-y and a little richer and meatier.  The wine list is noteworthy for its breadth -- many lesser-known grapes are represented, old and new world wines peacefully co-exist, and no one region is highlighted over others.  Something for everyone, in other words. 

My dinner party skipped appetizers, but there were a few items on the 'starter' menu that caught my eye, so in lieu of an entree, I ordered the tuna tartare and the PEI mussels - the tuna came with two slices of sashimi and tangy, crisp pickled fennel (always a favorite garnish), and the plump mussels were in a rich white wine and mustard broth.  If the mussels were available in an entree-sized portion, I would absolutely order them as a main dish again and again.  My husband had the braised short ribs, which were stewed in red wine with root vegetables and apples; the short rib meat was falling-apart tender, and the apples were a subtle addition to the dish. 

As the rest of the table finished their entrees (the halibut, the appetizer portion mussels, and the roasted chicken with brussel sprouts) I asked our knowledgeable server for help in selecting a Pinot Noir from the wine list - she recommended the Russian River 2001 Eric Ross "Saralee's", which ended up being a favorite of the entire table.  It was smoky and delicate, and utterly delicious.  Another favorite of the table was the 2003 Châteauneuf du Pape (Domaine La Barroche); we sampled a riesling, syrah and cabernet but the Saralee and the Châteauneuf du Pape were the most popular.  (The table was too full for dessert, a shame as I had my eye on the cheese selection, but I will have to wait until my next visit to dive into that project.)

Enoteca Vin is definitely worth a visit; it manages to be comfortable and welcoming while providing a top-notch tasting atmosphere for novices and aficionados alike.  Chef Christensen's menu is unfussy, influenced by green-market, new American style cooking -- I'd say the restaurant is more "Vin" than "Enoteca."  But it's charming, and the comfortable menu is nicely balanced by the sophisticated wine bar. 

Enoteca Vin accepts all major credit cards, and is open for dinner Tuesday through Saturday (brunch is served on Sunday).  The restaurant is located in the old Pine State Creamery building at 410 Glenwood Avenue South, Suite 350.

Washington DC: Hank's Oyster Bar

I was in Washington D.C. this weekend for a baby shower, and promptly informed my friend Emilie that I would be staying with her, and that we would be going out for a lovely meal, no excuses.

Because I am a fiend for oysters, we decided to try Hank's Oyster Bar, in Dupont -- an adorable, airy little spot on Q Street known for its lobster roll.  We arrived a little before 8:00 p.m. on Saturday night and were promptly seated, lucky because Hank's doesn't accept reservations and the restaurant soon filled up with local hipsters.

I started with six oysters and a glass of Viognier -- I wish I could remember the three varieties of oyster I tasted, but all I can recall is that there were 2 west coast varieties and one Massachusetts variety -- I think one of the west coast was Emerald Cove but I can't remember the others.  My favorites were the small, briny Washington state oysters, but all were delicious.  Emilie started with the lobster bisque, which was extremely rich, with judicious chunks of lobster meat in it.

I couldn't resist trying the lobster roll (although the soft shell crabs were calling my name) for my entree -- the lobster itself was excellent.  The meat was tender, and the lobster salad was tangy with onion and celery, and not at all laden with mayo (it might have had some vinegar in it, actually - I liked the 'bite' it had very much).  The roll, though, was a little bland and bready, barely toasted, and the fries served with it were wilted and soggy.  I have no complaints about the lobster, which is certainly the main feature, but the entire dish was not particularly impressive.  I noted on Hanks' website that the lobster roll is paired with coleslaw for the brunch menu, and I would have much preferred coleslaw to soggy fries.  I accompanied the entree with a glass of South African Sauvignon Blanc, which was lovely but perhaps a little too light for the rich lobster -- I preferred the Viognier.

Emilie had the scallop entree -- 5 seared sea scallops over a corn and bacon relish.  She said it was very good, but that she would probably order differently if she were to return -- I think we both felt like we might have missed out on some of the more enjoyable dishes ( i.e., the fried stuff!).

We both said it was a restaurant to which we'd return, but we also both felt that the pace of the meal was off -- our server was friendly, but Emilie's bisque arrived immediately after we ordered (before my wine, even), and well before my raw bar appetizer was served.  Our entrees immediately followed the appetizers -- and while I've had issues with lags in service before, this felt a little too quick.  We weren't rushed, exactly, but the pace made the overall experience feel a little too cafeteria-like for me.  The room itself is cute -- casual, but fun and boisterous.  We were given a little dish of goldfish crackers upon being seated, which was an adorable touch, and (strangely) our bill came with a bowl of chocolate -- literally chunks of dark chocolate.

I liked Hank's quite a bit, but I wouldn't necessarily go out of my way to return.

Hanks is located at 1624 Q St. NW, near 17th Street.  Hanks accepts all major credit cards.

Wilmington: Post House

I've been called a food snob more than once, and it's a label that always makes me prickle.  I don't think my food preferences are snobby so much as skewed towards local and artisinal products.  Wherever I am, I want to eat locally and sample food that is specific to that place and season.

Which is partially how I ended up at the Post House, in Wilmington, Delaware.  I have an ongoing fantasy of taking a road trip and stumbling into a hidden treasure of a restaurant, a roadside shack serving the best fried oysters in the world, a dive with amazing chili, the perfect donut from the perfect coffee shop, and so on.  When I'm at home, I like to eat seasonal and reasonably healthy food but when I'm traveling I like to eat whatever is good, and by good I mean restaurants packed with locals, and food that is unavailable anywhere else.

The food at the Post House was certainly not anything I'd never encountered before -- it's a tiny diner with a classic diner menu -- but sitting at its counter felt as if we were privy to a reality TV show (Fry Cooks! or Short Order, now on Bravo, check your listings!).  The Post House is tiny -- no tables, just one long counter, manned by 2 women in their late 50's or early 60's, both of whom had probably been taking orders since long before my breakfast companions and I were born.  There were two short-order cooks, and the cook staff squeezed past each other and maneuvered around the griddle with familiarity and expertise that was completely engrossing.  I had a BLT for $3.95, and it came on plain white bread toast, served on a little paper plate.  The end.  Other diners ordered scrapple with egg and cheese on toast, heaping omelets, or chipped beef.  A mountain of home fries - diced potato with a light dusting of paprika - came with everything.  Juice and sodas were served in Styrofoam cups and coffee came with little single-serve tubs of Half-n-Half.

If I had been less hung-over and less bacon-oriented, I might have tried the grilled Cinnamon bun -- a giant Cinnamon roll fried on the griddle.  If I had been more adventurous, I might have sampled the chipped beef, but as it was, I happily ate my BLT and listened to the woman behind the counter explain that she writes "Wheat" when a customer wants wheat toast, because while some people indicate wheat bread with a WW for "whole wheat," it can be easily confused with a single W for white bread.  As my friend Emilie said, Our waitress was a perfect example of someone who takes legitimate pride in her job no matter what the work is.

The Post House first opened its doors in 1948 and I'd venture that not a lot has changed since then, nor should it.  In an era of faux-dives and contrived retro styling, it was eye-opening and entertaining to visit the real thing.  The fry cooks asked about customer's kids and grandkids, toast fell out of the revolving toaster in front of me at a steady rate, and egg after egg after egg was cracked and expertly fried or scrambled on the ancient griddle.  The butcher block counter below the griddle dipped deeply in the middle, worn down from generations of toast being cut into triangles, and dented fry pans were wrapped in duct tape in place of long-lost handles. 

My only regret, aside from the grilled Cinnamon roll, was that I didn't take a picture, because the Post House is the kind of place that seems to exist only in memories, movies, and derivative diners build recently but meant to evoke the authentic coffee shops of the past.

The Post House is located at 105 N Union St in Wilmington, Delaware and is cash only.