MARIANI’S

Virtual Gourmet


  May 24, 2020                                                                                            NEWSLETTER



Founded in 1996 

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VE Day, Brighton, England May 8, 1945

REMEMBER MEMORIAL DAY

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IN THIS ISSUE
WHAT I'M MISSING
Part Two
By John Mariani

NEW YORK CORNER
LOVE AND PIZZA
Chapter Nine

By John Mariani


NOTES FROM THE WINE CELLAR
WHAT I'M DRINKING NOW
By John Mariani




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WHAT I'M MISSING
Part Two


By John Mariani


Charlie Vergos' Rendezvous, Memphis, Tennessee


    Whenever I'm on the road for more than five days I long for a home-cooked meal, not least because my wife is an extraordinary cook and I'm capable of burning a few things myself. Still, after two months in quarantine, it would be a nice change of pace to sit down at some of my favorite places and eat my favorite dishes not easily found made better anywhere else.



A Pastrami sandwich at Katz’s New York Deli
—I once referred to Katz’s as a “Jewish deli,” and my Jewish friend replied, “Is there any other kind?” There’s certainly none like Katz’s, opened in 1888, especially since so many of the old time delis have disappeared in New York. Katz’s pastrami is nonpareil, as well as the brisket, the corned beef and the tongue; the bread is nice and fresh, the mustard strong, washed down with either cream soda or an oddity called Dr Brown’s Cel-Ray tonic.

 





Thin slices of jamon Iberico in Madrid
—I have to say I prefer really fine Spanish ham to really fine Italian prosciutto. Sliced paper-thin from the leg by master carvers, the little strips are not as salty as country ham and go well with Spanish breads all on their own, accompanied by a glass of cider or sparkling txakoli wine.

 



Espresso at Gambrinus in Naples—Gambrinus, which is a splendid-looking 1860 emporium right off Naples’s vast Piazza del Plebescito,  didn’t invent espresso but they have perfected it, issuing forth from big, clanking, whooshing machines manned by men who seem born to their discipline. Order some biscotti, perhaps a Negroni while you’re waiting, and you will be in Neapolitan heaven.

 





 

The pastéis de nata at Fábrica de Pastéis de Belém in Lisbon—Catholic nuns created these irresistible little cups of custard from egg whites left over from the process of whitening laundry sheets; they sold the recipe to Fábrica de Pastéis de Belém in 1837. And the pasteis are still made the same way by the thousands every day in a warren of pretty, blue-and-white tiled rooms. You can now find versions all over the city—and the locals argue which has the best—but none come with the atmosphere of the original.

 





Guinness and Dublin Bay prawns at Roly’s Bistro
—Dublin is the home of Guinness and pub owners know all the minutiae of making a perfect, creamy-headed pint. But at the beautiful Roly’s Bistro, now 25 years old, you find more than the dark stout—refined Irish cuisine, including roast beef, cider-braised duck and bread pudding, as well as those Dublin Bay prawns.

 






Al Fassia tagine and couscous in Marrakesh
—Run by Moroccan women, Al Fassia (right) is renowned for the authenticity of its cooking and both its tagines, which come in special ceramic ware and steaming, aromatic couscous are brought to the table with a ta-dah! spirit to be enjoyed along with warm pita breads. It is set within a beautiful arched dining room open to the garden. The side dishes alone are worth the trip.

 


Bellinis and carpaccio at Harry’s Bar in Venice
—This is the one and only Harry’s Bar (despite others around the world adopting the name), which Hemingway made famous in his novel Across the River and Through the Trees.  Harry’s opened in 1931 as an “American bar” and became a watering hole for international society and celebrity. It created the bellini cocktail of prosecco and white peach juice and carpaccio of raw beef with mayonnaise that became staples of international menus. People argue over where the best tables are, but they all look alike, and you never know who’s coming up the stairs or down the stairs at Harry’s.

 

A daiquiri at the Hemingway Bar at The Ritz Paris—Colin Field may be the most famous barkeep in the world because he tends one of the most famous bars, named after the American author who loved staying and drinking at The Ritz Paris. Field is a walking and, I suppose, shaking encyclopedia of cocktail history and he takes enormous care to make every drink with a surgeon’s precision, including a perfect daiquiri. The memorabilia in the small room are wonderful, too.




 

 

An English breakfast at The Wolsely in London —Somerset Maugham once said that, “to eat well in London you must have breakfast three times a day.” That hasn’t been true in a long time, but an English breakfast of eggs, banger sausages, mushrooms and tomatoes is a fine way to begin the day, and The Wolsely is the best place to do so in London. Once a luxury car showroom and afterwards a Barclay’s Bank, it is one of the finest public interiors on Piccadilly.

 



Frites
with vinegar on a street in Brussels—Whoever thought up the idea of dousing frites with vinegar should be given a statue in the center of Brussels, for it’s a capital idea, and Belgium—which actually has a Frites Museum in Bruges—takes this national snack very, very seriously. So the vendors in Brussels, Antwerp, Ghent and other Belgian cities keep them coming fresh minute by minute.

 

Risotto alla Milanese at Al Materel in Milan—The chubby rice used to make risotto may be arborio, or viallone, which absorb the chicken broth ladled onto it;  combined with saffron and Parmigiano it becomes a wavy, creamy masterpiece to be eaten on its own, not as a side dish, and at Al Matarel, which has been around for decades, much care is taken with every portion made from scratch.

 

 

Choucroute at Le Coccinelle in Strasbourg, France—Choucroute (right) is a bountiful Alsatian platter of sausages, called wursts, with steaming, wine-rich sauerkraut to be enjoyed as much with Alsatian beers as with Alsatian wines. Le Coccinelle in beautiful Strasbourg serves it up with gusto, and no one has ever left hungry.

 

Pancakes at Eat-Rite diner in St. Louis, Missouri—Diner pancakes are always the best, always based on recipes that date back to the oldest cook in the place. Eat-Rite in St. Louis is a thick block of a building that is spanking clean and looks like it opened yesterday. The grill cooks work with eye to both detail and the clock, and the pancakes are light, fluffy and browned impeccably.

 

Red beans and rice at Willie Mae’s in New Orleans—New Orleans has many iconic dishes—jambalaya, oysters Rockefeller, gumbo and lots more—but red beans and rice, traditionally served on Mondays—made with the ham bone left from Sunday dinner—is as sumptuous as any, and Willie Mae’s is a beloved source of the Real McCoy.

 

Barbecue at Charlie Vergos’ Rendezvous in Memphis.—I could name any number of favorite barbecue places of varying styles, from North Carolina and Kentucky to Texas and New Mexico. So the dry-rubbed ribs at The Rendezvous is only one among many I’d kill to eat tonight. But I have to say that Charlie Vergos’s are unique because they are not soaked in sauce, and I like the Rendezvous’s atmosphere itself, which dates back to 1958 and still sits in an alley. It just looks, and certainly smells, right, including the business cards stapled on the wall. You walk in, you get hit with that hardwood smoke smell, and you’ll do anything to get your order in fast and served with dispatch by the friendly, veteran waiters who know you came hungry.


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NEW YORK CORNER
By John Mariani
                                                           

LOVE AND PIZZA

    Since, for the time being, I am unable to write about or review New York City restaurants, I have decided instead to print a serialized version of my (unpublished) novel Love and Pizza, which takes place in New York and Italy and  involves a young, beautiful Bronx woman named Nicola Santini from an Italian family impassioned about food.  As the story goes on, Nicola, who is a student at Columbia University, struggles to maintain her roots while seeing a future that could lead her far from them—a future that involves a career and a love affair that would change her life forever. So, while New York’s restaurants remain closed, I will run a chapter of the Love and Pizza each week until the crisis is over. Afterwards I shall be offering the entire book digitally.    I hope you like the idea and even more that you will love Nicola, her family and her friends. I’d love to know what you think. Contact me at loveandpizza123@gmail.com
—John Mariani


To read previous chapters go to archive (beginning with March 29, 2020, issue.

LOVE AND PIZZA
 
 

By John Mariani

Cover Art By Galina Dargery




© John Mariani, 2020

CHAPTER NINE


   The Galleria and Duomo of Milan

    It is hardly necessary to say that there were tears at JFK airport when Nicola’s family—mother and father, Natalie and Tommy—saw her off at the Alitalia gates.  Teresa, who had not been feeling well, could not come but had advised Nicola on the fine points of Italian manners, telling her, “Never drink cappuccino after breakfast” and “Start eating the pasta as soon as you’re served, because it’s an insult to the chef to eat it cold.” 
    Anna wept the most tears, balanced between happiness for her daughter and sadness that she was leaving for so long. Natalie and Tommy kept kidding their sister about how she was going to come back looking different and putting on airs.  Natalie also winked at Nicola about her promise to tell her—by airmail!—“if something, y’know, happens.”
    Anthony snuck his daughter an envelope with cash in it, “in case you want to buy yourself or your mother something,” and asked. “Now, you have that list of the best clothing stores in Milan, right?”
    “Papa, I don't think I’ll have time for a lot of shopping or buying new clothes. I’m there to study.  And eat a lot. I’ll come back looking the way you always wanted me to look, like this—“ she said, puffing out her cheeks.
    “You just come back yourself,” he said.
    Nicola waved to her family, blew them big kisses and moved towards the departure gate, where she found several of the Milan-bound students waiting to leave, including Catherine, who was the only one with no carry-on baggage, aside from her handbag.  Everything else—five suitcases—had been checked.  Nicola had checked two and carried a large, crushable bag of essentials, having been told that Alitalia had a reputation for losing bags upon arrival.
    “So,” said Catherine, in fitted jeans and a very soft leather bomber jacket.  “You all ready for this?”
    “I guess so,” said Nicola, who was in black jeans, a burgundy wool turtleneck and a black blazer. “Hard to leave everyone behind.”
    “Not me.  I really need a break from my family.  Hey, by the way, did Professor Saint John tell you he was going to be in Milan this semester?”
    “Oh yeah, made it very plain at orientation that he’d like to spend some quality time with me.”
    “The little shit! He put the same moves on me.  And he’s such a herb. What’d you tell him?”
    “I said he was a gavone.”
    “What’s a gavone?”
    “It’s Italian for a low life. I hinted I’d tell his wife.”   
    “Jeez, well, he couldn't have taken the threat too seriously. He tried the same thing with me right afterwards.”
    “So what did you tell him?”
    “Oh, I just said I’d probably be spending time with my Italian boyfriend in Milan.”
    “That true?” asked Nicola.
    “Course not. The only time I ever set foot in Italy was when I was nine, dragged around by my family.”
    “What’d he say?”
    “Something like, duh!”
    And from that moment Nicola knew that she could be closer to Catherine than she had anticipated, and that the divide between their class and lifestyle would be eased by experiencing everything for the first time together. 
    On the plane, they sat together and talked, but almost as soon as the A300’s door closed, Catherine turned her head to the wing wall, said, “See you in Milan,” and dropped off into a deep, undisturbed sleep.
    Nicola sensed that Catherine’s ease was due to her having flown all her life, whereas Nicola’s experience in the air was confined to two family vacations to Florida.  Despite the size of the plane, people were packed in tight enough to give her a degree of claustrophobia, so she forced herself to think about the details of the arrival procedures, transport to the dormitory,  and reporting to class—her textbooks were prepaid and would be in her room—until a dreadful Italian dinner was served.  Looking down at the anemic ravioli glued to the plastic plate and the tiny wedge of Bel Paese cheese, she hoped that this must be the only place on earth where Italian food could possibly be so poor.

    A little after six a.m. a flight attendant brought around a traditional Italian breakfast of brioche roll and coffee, and an hour later announced that the plane was in its initial descent. Nicola and Catherine had eaten the breakfast with relish and now went off to the lavatory to freshen up before landing.
    The plane descended into thick, dark gray clouds, through which it continued for some time before dropping below them at less than 2,000 feet.  Even then the landscape below was hidden in patches of fog—the notorious nebbia that blankets Milan much of the winter and early spring.  Rain spattered on the plane’s windows, and, just before the A300 touched down, Nicola and Catherine clasped hands, while the attendant over the speaker, said, “Benvenuti al bella Italia. Welcome to beautiful Italy.”
    Catherine looked out the window and asked, “Is it always this overcast?”
    Nicola shrugged and said, “That’s what I read.  We’re in the north, not in sunny southern Italy.”
    “Now you tell me,” said Catherine, wondering if she’d packed enough rain gear.
    “Don’t worry, springtime should be beautiful, and we can take weekend trips to the lakes. Did you know Columbia has a grand old villa up there where students can stay?”
    “St. John told you about that, right?”
    “Oh, yeah, that was going to be part of our romantic adventure this semester.”
    “Gee, if we had both gotten involved with the little shit we’d find ourselves coming and going to the lake.”
    “We could gang up and drown him in Lake Como.”
    “And he’d sink like a stone in one of those ugly tweed jackets he wears.”
    Jet lag had affected Nicola more than Catherine, who had slept for at least six hours, and just getting off the plane took nearly half an hour, only to have the passengers loaded onto buses rather than have access to walkways attached to jetliners as in the States.  The rain had stopped and there was a threat of sunshine peeking through the fast-moving clouds.
    Oddly enough, the bus seemed to travel no more than twenty yards to deposit its passengers into the terminal, where, after stairways and conveyor belts, Nicola, Catherine and some of the other exchange students faced multiple lines for Residents and Non-Residents, although both queues seemed to move at more or less the same speed.  When Nicola came to the yellow line in front of the immigration officer, she said to herself, “This is going to be one big step.”
    The officer, who looked as tired as she did, gestured for her to come forward, looked at her brand new, unmarked passport, then at her, smiled warmly—Che bellezza!—stamped the passport, and said, “Welcome to Italy, Signorina Santini.” Nicole looked down at the stamp and stood there, just for a second or two, before surrendering that momentous little space to the next traveler, who was impatiently standing behind the yellow line.
    The wait for the baggage was long but, in staggered stages, all of the girls’ luggage finally came out.  Catherine hailed a handler, gestured as to which five bags were hers and which were Nicola’s, saying “I’ve got this,” and exited into a drab airport lobby where drivers were lined up with signs, one of which read “CATHERINE NEWCOMBE.”  Nicola looked at Catherine and said, “You were expecting this?”
    Catherine, feigning innocence, replied, “Well, what do you know about that?”
    The driver, who was a handsome young Italian in a good black suit, white shirt and black knit tie, said, “Benvenuti, signorine, this way, please,” and they were followed by the handler to a Mercedes-Benz glistening with raindrops. Nicola’s jaw dropped.  She’d never ridden in such a beautiful car, nor had she ever driven so fast in a car as the driver pulled onto the A8 autostrada that would take them to Milan.
    The driver, in a lilting Lombardian accent, apologized for the rain, but the day was brightening slightly as they raced towards the city’s outskirts, all highly industrial and brutishly ugly. Nicola and Catherine looked at each other and made faces, as if to say, “This is where we’re going to spend the next four months?”
    They hit traffic as they got closer to the city, down Via Varesina to the Corso Sempione, but it was good to slow down and to see how the scenery changed, with stately buildings on broad avenues. Now nine-thirty, shopkeepers were opening and caffés were still busy with  people grabbing breakfast and newspapers.
    “Do you wish to drive through the Parco Sempione?” asked the driver, “Is very beautiful and leads to the Castello Sforzesco.”  
                                                            Castello Sforza


    Even jetlagged and anxious to get to their dormitory, Nicola and Catherine told the driver they’d love to, and soon they were driving through a large 15th century park where the streets were named after great litterateurs—Shakespeare, Schiller, Goethe, Racine, Cervantes and others. They passed the Palazzo dell’Arte, then rounded the three-towered Castello Sforzesco before entering Via Pontaccio beside the great Brera Museum, where Nicola planned to spend so much of her time in Milan.
    Then it was just another block before coming into the Piazza Cavour and up Via Manin, where the Museo del Cinema was located.  Just a little beyond, the driver turned onto a small street off the Via Moscova (below)and came to a stop. “Arriviamo, Signorine,” he said. “This man will take you bags,” he said as he opened the door for his passengers. Then, after bowing slightly, he was back in the Mercedes and on his way.
    “I don’t suppose we could keep him for the next four months?” asked Nicola.
    “Knowing my parents, they’d probably love the idea, but, no, Nicola, it’s time I start slumming.  I’m going to walk my ass off and when I can’t walk anymore, I’ll take a taxi back.”
    “That’s your idea of slumming?”
    “Well, for the time being, it’s as slummy as I get.”
    The elderly porter carried the girls’ luggage through a unprepossessing front entrance, hung with both American and Italian flags, but once inside, the building opened up, with a small cage elevator, marble stairway and a courtyard surrounded by arches to the rear.  Having looked at their name tags, the porter said in a thick Milanese accent, “Signorine, prego,  take this elevator to three floors, room five,  prego.”
    “Do we tip this guy?” whispered Nicola as they ascended alone in the elevator.
    “I don’t know. I just tip everybody,” said Catherine.  “It’s easier that way. But you’re going to have to help me with the money here.  All the denominations on the liras look enormous. Even the bills themselves are enormous.”
    Nicola had checked the exchange rate before leaving and said, “Well, it takes some getting used to, but the dollar is worth about 2,000 lire, so divide by two and hack off the three zeroes.”
    Catherine moaned and said, “I swear I’m going to screw that up every time I want to pay anything.”
    “Well, if it’s any consolation, my father told me a coffee here, like espresso, costs about fifty cents, so that would be a thousand lire. You’ll get used to it.”
    The elevator clanked and descended and soon the porter arrived with the bags as the girls were looking around their room.  It was not large, though the ceilings were high, but it was remarkably decorated with what seemed to be good quality antiques, including two armoires, two single beds, a dressing table and a small bathroom, with a bidet.  Fortunately, the room opened onto the courtyard so there was sunshine—when there was sunshine—during the day and a good view of the sky at night. 
    Catherine switched on a lamp next to the bed. “This is all the wattage this lamp has?  I can't even read by that light.  It’s ridiculous.”
    “Dante wrote the Divine Comedy without electric lights,” said Nicola, trying to put a positive spin on it, “and he did it by candlelight.”
    “Maybe he just went to bed early,” said Catherine.
    “Well, I don't know about you, but that seems like a very good idea. I didn’t get much sleep last night and the jetlag has really started to hit me.  I’m just going to unpack and hit the sack for an hour or two.”
    “Okay, go ahead.  I think I’m going to try my luck buying a coffee.  They seem to have a caffé on every street. See you later.”
    Nicola yawned, shook her head and began unpacking her suitcases—Catherine’s five were stacked up against one wall—and whenever she picked up one of the tailored items—slacks, jacket or the winter coat she’d brought—it made her think of home and how very far away this gray city of Milan seemed.  But she had plenty of time to feel homesick.  Right now she just wanted to collapse into bed and sleep forever.
    When she woke up it was almost four o’clock in the afternoon, and the room showed no signs of Catherine having returned. Nicola had quickly realized that, despite her life of privilege, Catherine had a very independent streak in her, perhaps more than Nicola did.  For if Nicola thought of herself as strong-willed, Catherine seemed far more carefree, perhaps realizing that if push came to shove, she always had her parents’ resources and connections to fall back on.  If she got into trouble, her father would probably just ring up the U.S. Ambassador and send a bulletproof limo to pick her up wherever she was.  Nicola, of course, could always depend on her parents if she needed to, and they knew a few people in the Milan fashion industry, if that helped. 
    At that moment Catherine came through the door carrying a cardboard box. “You should have come with me,” she announced. “I met up with two of the other Columbia students and we had lunch together.  I even paid the bill all by myself, although I think I left way too much of a tip.”
    “Uh, Catherine,” interrupted Nicola, “you don't have to tip in restaurants in Italy; service is always included, so you just kind of round off the bill.”
    Catherine looked amused, saying, “Hm, well, I did a helluva lot more than just round off the bill. But, hey, the bill was so cheap—the three of us ate for, like, thirty dollars—I didn’t mind leaving another ten.”
    Nicola, herself an innocent abroad, thought better of trying to educate her friend about customs in Italy, so she let it drop and said, “Now, I’m getting hungry. I’m not sure I can last until dinner.”
    “And that,” said Catherine, bringing a box from behind her, “is why I bought you a pizza and bottle of water. Ta-dah!”
    “That is so sweet,” said Nicola, thinking that Catherine would be a real friend as well as a dorm mate.  Nicola ate the plate-sized pizza—the whole thing—which was thinner than the ones back home, but very tasty, with leeks and Gorgonzola cheese—ingredients rarely encountered on pizzas even in New York.  “This is excellent pizza, Catherine, where’d it come from?”
    “A place called Paper Moon (right)."
    “Luna di Carta?”
    “No, Paper Moon. In English.  It's on this cool street, Via Bagutta, near”—she hesitated—“I’m gonna screw this up: Montee-nah-pol-ee-oh-nee?”
    “Via Montenapoleone. I read it’s the main fashion street in Milan.”
    “It must be. The street’s just lined with all the new Italian designers.  That’s why I got back so late.”
    “You bought something already?”
    “No, just checking out what’s there, and there is a lot there.”
    Paper Moon was in fact a new thing in Milan—a Lombardian city not known for Neapolitan pizza.  The curious name Paper Moon had been adopted by the pizzeria’s owner, Pio Galligani Magini and his Tuscan wife, Enrica, after seeing the 1973 American movie of the same name, and the walls were decorated with photos of  Hollywood movie stars photos like Clark Gable and Rita Hayworth, the way Joe Bastone did with Robert DeNiro and Ben Gazzara.   Except that Joe’s movie stars really did show up at his place.
     The restaurant partook of Milan’s emergence as an international fashion destination in the early 1980s because its location on Via Bagutta drew the fashion models and photographers, who stopped by for the lightweight, thin-crusted pizzas and probable sightings of those glamorous habitués who made Paper Moon one of the casually chic new places to eat  in Milan, where most restaurants served little else but traditional Lombardian  cuisine—osso buco, vitello tonnato and costoletta alla milanese.

 


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NOTES FROM THE WINE CELLAR


7 WONDERFUL WINES
FOR TOASTING MEMORIAL DAY

By John Mariani


 

    No matter how restrictive the current pandemic, I hope that many of us will acknowledge the sacrifices made in other times by Americans this Memorial Day and celebrate, with social distancing, by drinking a good wine with which to toast our ancestors. 

TABLAS CREEK VINEYARDS ESPRIT DE TABLAS 2016 ($60)—This is Tablas Creek’s flagship wine, a Rhone-style blend of 46% Mourvèdre, 31% Syrah, 18% Grenache and the more unusual 5% Counoise. It turns out to be a very good mix, layered, with all the grapes adding nuance, and there was even a faint fizz.  Tablas’s website says, “We recommend that you drink either 2018-2023 or again starting in 2026 any time over the subsequent two decade,” which is fine if you happen to be about 25 years old; otherwise it’s ready right now for real pleasure.  

CHÂTEAU DE NERVERS BROUILLY 2018 ($20)—a very good price for a very good example of what a little aging will do for a Beaujolais. The body is full and shows what Brouilly is known for as a Southern-most of the nine crus. The estate dates back to the early 19th century and is now 47 hectares worked by five different winemakers.  

POLIZIANO VINO NOBILE DE MONTEPULCIANO 2015 ($63)—Aged for 18 months in oak, this has settled into a wine that right now is showing fine potential and how Vino Nobiles rank with the best, better known,  high-end Tuscans. The vines are 45 years old and production is limited. It is predominantly Prugnolo Gentile (65%) with 15% Colorino, Canaiolo and Merlot to smooth things out.  

CASTELLO DI BROLIO CHIANTI CLASSICO GRAN SELEZIONE 2015 ($70)—Very much a classic yet in a modern, velvety, fruit forward style for a Chianti Classico in the Gaiole district. Brolio’s Ricasoli Family  been at this a very long time, so you get complexity throughout from a mix of 90% Sangiovese, and 5% each of Cabernet Sauvignon and Petit Verdot. A very good wine for grilled pork or beef ribs. 

ROUTAS CÔTEAUX VAROIS EN PROVENCE 2019 ($15)—It’s getting about time I write a summer’s rosé article, but for now I highly recommend this charmer. Light in color, with a rose-like aroma and very refreshing finish. It comes from a small estate with the highest elevation between the Aix-en-Provence and Gulf de Saint Tropez. It has been owned since 2005 by Sir David Murray and his family. A lovely pairing would be with chicken salad Niçoise.  


CLINE ANCIENT VINE ZINFANDEL 2016
($16)—California viticulture has, in fact, been going on for centuries, and some of the vines in this Zin are a hundred years old whose roots go deep in the sandy soil of Contra Costa County in Sonoma. Like a lot of Zins, the burst upon first sip is impressive, and I won’t hesitate to call this a fruit bomb. But there are delectable notes of cinnamon and pepper, with a long finish. It’s 15% alcohol, but sometimes there’s a place at the table for such a powerhouse, and the summer barbecue grill seems made for this kind of match-up.  All at a remarkably low price.  

THE WOLFTRAP 2018 ($9-$10)—For ten bucks this is a unique wine with a bold, unusual taste that comes from a blend of 91% Syrah, 8% Mourvèdre and 1% Viognier, made by Bockenhoutskloof, South Africa (dating to 1776 as the “ravine of the Boekenhout”). Although it’s not super high in alcohol (14.5%) it hits the palate like a sea wave and fills the mouth with a tangy undercurrent. It’s not a wine I’d drink on its own, and it’s a rare wine I’d put up against any highly spiced food, including Sichuan and Indian fare.

 


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Sponsored by







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 Any of John Mariani's books below may be ordered from amazon.com.



   The Hound in Heaven (21st Century Lion Books) is a  novella, and for anyone who loves dogs, Christmas, romance, inspiration, even the supernatural, I hope you'll find this to be a treasured  favorite. The  story concerns how, after a New England teacher, his wife and their two daughters adopt a stray puppy found in their barn in northern Maine, their lives seem full of promise. But when tragedy strikes, their wonderful dog Lazarus and the spirit of Christmas are the only things that may bring his master back from the edge of despair. 

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“What a huge surprise turn this story took! I was completely stunned! I truly enjoyed this book and its message.” – Actress Ali MacGraw

“He had me at Page One. The amount of heart, human insight, soul searching, and deft literary strength that John Mariani pours into this airtight novella is vertigo-inducing. Perhaps ‘wow’ would be the best comment.” – James Dalessandro, author of Bohemian Heart and 1906.


“John Mariani’s Hound in Heaven starts with a well-painted portrayal of an American family, along with the requisite dog. A surprise event flips the action of the novel and captures us for a voyage leading to a hopeful and heart-warming message. A page turning, one sitting read, it’s the perfect antidote for the winter and promotion of holiday celebration.” – Ann Pearlman, author of The Christmas Cookie Club and A Gift for my Sister.

“John Mariani’s concise, achingly beautiful novella pulls a literary rabbit out of a hat – a mash-up of the cosmic and the intimate, the tragic and the heart-warming – a Christmas tale for all ages, and all faiths. Read it to your children, read it to yourself… but read it. Early and often. Highly recommended.” – Jay Bonansinga, New York Times bestselling author of Pinkerton’s War, The Sinking of The Eastland, and The Walking Dead: The Road To Woodbury.

“Amazing things happen when you open your heart to an animal. The Hound in Heaven delivers a powerful story of healing that is forged in the spiritual relationship between a man and his best friend. The book brings a message of hope that can enrich our images of family, love, and loss.” – Dr. Barbara Royal, author of The Royal Treatment.




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The Encyclopedia of American Food and Drink by John F. Mariani (Bloomsbury USA, $35)

Modesty forbids me to praise my own new book, but let me proudly say that it is an extensive revision of the 4th edition that appeared more than a decade ago, before locavores, molecular cuisine, modernist cuisine, the Food Network and so much more, now included. Word origins have been completely updated, as have per capita consumption and production stats. Most important, for the first time since publication in the 1980s, the book includes more than 100 biographies of Americans who have changed the way we cook, eat and drink -- from Fannie Farmer and Julia Child to Robert Mondavi and Thomas Keller.


"This book is amazing! It has entries for everything from `abalone' to `zwieback,' plus more than 500 recipes for classic American dishes and drinks."--Devra First, The Boston Globe.

"Much needed in any kitchen library."--Bon Appetit.




Now in Paperback, too--How Italian Food Conquered the World (Palgrave Macmillan)  has won top prize  from the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards.  It is a rollicking history of the food culture of Italy and its ravenous embrace in the 21st century by the entire world. From ancient Rome to la dolce vita of post-war Italy, from Italian immigrant cooks to celebrity chefs, from pizzerias to high-class ristoranti, this chronicle of a culinary diaspora is as much about the world's changing tastes, prejudices,  and dietary fads as about our obsessions with culinary fashion and style.--John Mariani

"Eating Italian will never be the same after reading John Mariani's entertaining and savory gastronomical history of the cuisine of Italy and how it won over appetites worldwide. . . . This book is such a tasteful narrative that it will literally make you hungry for Italian food and arouse your appetite for gastronomical history."--Don Oldenburg, USA Today. 

"Italian restaurants--some good, some glitzy--far outnumber their French rivals.  Many of these establishments are zestfully described in How Italian Food Conquered the World, an entertaining and fact-filled chronicle by food-and-wine correspondent John F. Mariani."--Aram Bakshian Jr., Wall Street Journal.


"Mariani admirably dishes out the story of Italy’s remarkable global ascent to virtual culinary hegemony....Like a chef gladly divulging a cherished family recipe, Mariani’s book reveals the secret sauce about how Italy’s cuisine put gusto in gusto!"--David Lincoln Ross, thedailybeast.com

"Equal parts history, sociology, gastronomy, and just plain fun, How Italian Food Conquered the World tells the captivating and delicious story of the (let's face it) everybody's favorite cuisine with clarity, verve and more than one surprise."--Colman Andrews, editorial director of The Daily Meal.com.

"A fantastic and fascinating read, covering everything from the influence of Venice's spice trade to the impact of Italian immigrants in America and the evolution of alta cucina. This book will serve as a terrific resource to anyone interested in the real story of Italian food."--Mary Ann Esposito, host of PBS-TV's Ciao Italia.

"John Mariani has written the definitive history of how Italians won their way into our hearts, minds, and stomachs.  It's a story of pleasure over pomp and taste over technique."--Danny Meyer, owner of NYC restaurants Union Square Cafe,  The Modern, and Maialino.

                                                                             





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FEATURED LINKS: I am happy to  report that the Virtual Gourmet is  linked to four excellent travel sites:

Everett Potter's Travel  Report

I consider this the best and savviest blog of its kind on the  web. Potter is a columnist for USA Weekend, Diversion, Laptop and Luxury  Spa Finder, a contributing editor for Ski and  a frequent contributor to National  Geographic Traveler, ForbesTraveler.com  and Elle Decor. "I’ve designed this site is for people who take their  travel seriously," says Potter. "For travelers who want to learn about special  places but don’t necessarily want to pay through the nose for the privilege of  staying there. Because at the end of the day, it’s not so much about five-star  places as five-star experiences."  THIS WEEK:






Eating Las Vegas JOHN CURTAS has been covering the Las Vegas food and restaurant scene since 1995. He is the co-author of EATING LAS VEGAS – The 50 Essential Restaurants (as well as the author of the Eating Las Vegas web site: www.eatinglasvegas. He can also be seen every Friday morning as the “resident foodie” for Wake Up With the Wagners on KSNV TV (NBC) Channel 3  in Las Vegas.



              



MARIANI'S VIRTUAL GOURMET NEWSLETTER is published weekly.  Publisher: John Mariani. Editor: Walter Bagley. Contributing Writers: Christopher Mariani, Robert Mariani,  Misha Mariani, John A. Curtas, Gerry Dawes, Geoff Kalish, and Brian Freedman. Contributing Photographer: Galina Dargery. Technical Advisor: Gerry McLoughlin.

 

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