ITALIAN WINES FOR EARLY AUTUMN

                                                                                          By John Mariani

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FOUR NEW EPISODES: "See the USA"; "Tailgating"; "How Italian Food Conquered the World"; "Detroit Bounces Back."

                                       BOSTON'S WOODS HILL
                                         PIER 4 BOUNCEBACK

         As is typical of all bureaucracies, the state of Massachusetts has laid out its guidelines for Phase III Mandatory Safety Standards for re-opening restaurants by releasing a 4,500-word directive whose implementation gets down—I kid you not—to pretzels and potato chips, plexi-glass dividers, pool tables, chalkboards and salt and pepper. Tough as such standards will be to adhere to on a case-by-case basis, Boston’s restaurants are doing everything they can do save their businesses.
         One large operation that I visited last winter, before the pandemic hit, had little time to resurrect its flagship, of three establishments they own, and re-hire sufficient personnel to enforce the flurry of regulations, but, as I’ve noted before, there is no more resilient and determined industry in America than the restaurant sector.
         Woods Hill Pier 4 (300 Pier Four Boulevard; 617-981-4577), located on the repurposed Boston Harbor piers where the famous (and creaky) Anthony’s Pier 4 used to sit, is part of a development, like New York’s Hudson Yards, that has razed whatever historic atmosphere the area once had, now a warren of hi-rise glass and steel buildings indistinguishable from their mirror images in Asia.  Ironically, then, Woods Hill Pier 4 is a restaurant with a very clear link to the traditions of New England bounty and provender.
         Owner Kristin Canty and partner-chef Charlie Foster (previously at Boston’s Toro and Clio) work with their own Farm at Woods Hill in Concord and other small purveyors to utilize “the whole animal” approach via “grass fed proteins, sustainably caught fish, raw milk cheeses, locally grown and soaked organic grains, raw fermented foods, and organic produce to deliver nutrient dense dishes that employ the best ecologically viable ingredients available.”
         Seeking to maximize all possible means of producing profits during the epidemic, they are currently open for dinner 7 days a week, with lunch on Friday, brunch on Saturday and Sunday. They are doing “contactless” take-out, including cocktails, and the outdoor patio season will extend into fall and winter with heaters.
         It’s a good-looking modern dining room, though hardly farm-like, with a rippling wave-like ceiling, sea blue armchairs, and a large window wall. (At full capacity it gets very loud, but these days that’s not a problem with reduced seating.) When I visited in February, the menu was more or less winter-based, which meant cold water halibut with a luscious green peppercorn beurre monté Swiss chard, rutabaga and candied lemon ($27), and a lovely parsnip tartine with buckwheat crust, maple-glazed carrots, frisée and the tang of grapefruit ($15). Shaved Rhode Island whelk was a delight, bathed in lobster broth with green apple and lime ($17). The housemade pastas included a well-wrought bucatini all’amatriciana with guanciale bacon from their farm ($28) and another with lamb bacon, eggplant caponata, pine nuts and a mint gremolata ($29). Both are still on the menu. There’s also a lavish shellfish platter for four to six people at $130.
     

    I’m not a fan of grass-fed beef, but the lean steak tartare took on fine flavors of rosemary and tallow aïoli, crispy shallots for textural interest, a quail egg and warm, chewy baguette ($16).  I was happier with the nicely fatted, crispy lamb ribs with urfa pepper and a red wine glaze ($19), and a full-flavored glazed pork butt with winter squash ($23). Incidentally, all menu items have code letters to indicate if they are gluten-free, dairy-free, vegetarian and nut-free. It’s come to that.
         Now, at the end of summer, menu items (I have not tried) include whelk with melon, cucumber, sesame, torn herbs, Thai chili vinaigrette ($18); pork belly confit with peach ponzu, Maine kelp salad, jalapeño (($17); a watermelon and fried clam salad with shaved sweet peppers, mint and habanero yogurt dressing ($17); and now, with tomatoes at their best in New England, heirloom tomato salad with crispy feta- stuffed squash blossom, basil and purslane aïoli and espelette pepper ($19). And this would hardly be Boston if they didn’t include a mound of lobster, celery, red onion and creme fraiche inside a warm popover.
        For dessert there are hot beignets with rhubarb aïoli butter and chocolate  ($12) and daily ice creams.

NEW YORK CORNER
By John Mariani

 
         When Nicola and Giancarlo arrived at his hotel a few minutes later, Nicola was not in the least surprised that it was the city’s finest, the five-star Principe di Savoia (left), known for its glamorous international clientele as well as being the requisite hotel for business meetings.  She was, however, more than a little surprised when the concierge simply handed Giancarlo the key to a suite that his father maintained year-round at the hotel.     
    “Do you wish to freshen up, Nicola?” Giancarlo asked.    
    “Maybe I will,” she replied.  And with that, Giancarlo brought her up to his suite, clicked open the heavy door and showed her into a series of rooms that seemed to sprawl over the entire floor.         “My mother did some of the furnishings here,” he said, “since we often stay at the hotel when we’re in Milan.”         Nicola started to speak, then bit her lip, thinking better than to ask something so stupid as, “I suppose you bring many women here, Giancarlo?” Instead, she said only, “She has very good taste,” looking around at the mix of the hotel’s antiques and more modern motifs Signora Cavallacci had brought in.  “Where’s the bathroom?”
         “Ah, there’s one here and another one through there.”        
    Nicola went for the one farther away, wanting to see the bedroom.  She closed the door behind her, looked at the gold fixtures, golden ropes holding the curtains, and the expanse of beautiful red marble throughout.  She looked in the mirror, shook her hair, then combed it.  From her purse she brought out a small bottle of mouthwash.  Then she took a deep breath and exited across the bedroom carpet to the living room, where Giancarlo had removed his blazer.
         “I thought—if you want—instead of going downstairs to the bar, we might order a digestiva up to the room,” he said, not taking his eyes off her.
         Nicola thought for only a moment, feeling remarkably sure of herself and of what would happen next.  “I think I would prefer that, si.”             Then Giancarlo smacked his forehead and said, “Ah, imbecilo! We have a little bar here in the suite,” then proceeded over to a mahogany cabinet that opened to reveal at least a dozen bottles of brandies, liquors and after-dinner drinks.  “What do you prefer?”
         “Oh, you choose.”      
        “Well, come here and look.  Maybe there’s something you have never tried before.”
         Nicola thought to herself, he doesn't know how right he is.
         She crossed the thick carpet to where he stood. He waved his hand and said, “Whatever you like.”
Nicola didn’t bother looking at the bottles.  She looked at Giancarlo and, as if on cue, he slowly put his arms around her waist.  “Bellisima,” he said. “You are a very, very beautiful woman, Nicolina.”  Then he kissed her very lightly on the lips, then again, then gave her the slightest little bites on her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
         Within seconds Giancarlo had danced Nicola to the middle of the room, kissing her in a tempo of passion softened with lingering kisses to her cheeks and forehead.  He turned her around and kissed the nape of her beautiful long neck and Nicola swooned, turning her head back and forth.
         Then, taking her hand, Giancarlo said very quietly, “Come, Nicolina,” leading her to the huge, ornate master bedroom with an enormous bed.  Neither said anything but each other’s names, repeated as if they were the loveliest sounds in the world.  Then, very slowly, Giancarlo began removing each article of Nicola’s clothing, first her leather jacket, tossing it on the floor, then lifting her turtleneck over her head, seeing her body’s flesh for the first time, the broad shoulders and her wondrous breasts beneath black lace lingerie.
         Nicola, a little hesitant, unbuttoned Giancarlo’s soft shirt, revealing his slender chest, highlighted with tiny golden hairs.  The ritual of undressing—practiced millions upon millions of times over thousands and thousands of years—took its natural course, with Nicola soon standing in all her radiant beauty before Giancarlo.  Any feelings of embarrassment were at once banished by the thrill of her enticing and exciting her first lover.
         It was she who pulled back the heavy satin bedspread and lay down, her legs together, but, with the gentlest nudge of his knee, Giancarlo parted them and lowered himself on her body, both of them sighing softly at the touch.  Then, after many more kisses and caresses, he entered her very slowly—even though he did not know she was a virgin--and began a soft rhythm that Nicola wished never to stop.  She closed her eyes and let the pleasure run through her, and when they had finished making love, she took his head in her hands and ran them through his beautiful hair, saying his name over and over again.
         They made love again not long afterwards, and then, lying next to her with his arm around her waist, Giancarlo fell into a deep sleep as Nicola watched his chest rise and fall with each contented breath.

 

                                                            *                                 *                                  *

         Nicola was awakened by the pealing of the huge bells in the Duomo, which bellowed by comparison to the lone clanging bell in Our Lady on Mount Carmel church back home.  Giancarlo, dressed but still without socks and shoes, had risen a little before her, and when he saw her stir, came over and kissed her neck.  “Buon giorno, bella, how are you this morning?”
         Nicola turned over and smiled at him, putting her arms around his neck. “I have never felt better, Giancarlo, never.”
         “Good!” he exclaimed. “I have ordered some breakfast, so take your time.” He walked out of the bedroom, smiling over his shoulder at her.
        It then occurred to Nicola that her first intercourse might well have bloodied the sheets, but she pulled back the bedspread and saw only very little spotting, so she flopped backwards and said out loud, “Thank God for that.” She found a new cellophane-wrapped toothbrush on the sink, then she showered.        
        Not putting on any make-up at all, she donned a very soft bathrobe hanging in the spacious dressing room, pushed up the sleeves and walked into the living room, where Giancarlo was reading La Stampa, the newspaper of Turin.  He looked at her, rose to his feet, and said, “My God, Nicola, you are as beautiful without make-up as with it!”
         Nicola, who was not a woman given to blushing, did so at that moment.  They embraced, and the doorbell rang; it was a continental breakfast of croissants, brioche, and orange juice.  The room had its own espresso machine, which Giancarlo was already attending to. “I didn’t know if you wanted eggs, Nicola. I know Americans like eggs.”
         “No, no, this will be fine, grazie.”  She had quite an appetite, which she credited to their lovemaking, and she wondered if they would make love again that morning.
         “Cara,” said Giancarlo.  “It kills me but I have to leave in an hour.  Sunday dinner with the family is more sacrosanct than going to Mass.”
         Nicola’s face fell, hoping that Giancarlo was not lying.  “Oh, it’s pretty much the case in my family, too, Giancarlo,” she said.   “Believe me, I understand.”   The thought then occurred to her that he might invite her—not today but someday in the future—to his villa and that in her wilder dreams he might someday come to dinner at her house in Belmont. She was at least sure that he would not be disappointed in the food.
         She walked out onto the terrace and looked out over the city, then turned and saw Gianfranco  buttoning his shirt.
“So, you are ready to go?” she asked.
         “Not unless you kick me out of my own suite,” he answered, putting his arm around her waist and lifting her into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom and untying the belt of her bathrobe.
         Nicola pulled him down upon her, then rolled him over on his back, tearing at his barely buttoned shirt and moving her warm breasts across his torso. 
         The hour went by much too fast, and Giancarlo frowned, saying, “I have to go, cara.”
         “I know you do, Giancarlo,” then, after a moment, “So when do I see you again?”
         “Is next weekend too soon?”
         His answer forced a deep breath into her chest. “No, no, no, no! Sooner, sooner, sooner!” she screamed, play acting like a small child.  Then she suddenly realized that she was flying to New York in a couple of days. “Oh, Giancarlo! I forgot! I’m flying to America on April first!  That means I won’t see you for two weeks.”
         Giancarlo looked truly crestfallen but resigned.  “Ah, cara, I forgot too.  But you need to go—the magazine, see your family for Easter.  I will be with my family for the holiday weekend, so it is beyond our control.  But then you will be back, and we will get together as soon as possible.”
         “Promise?”
         Giancarlo crossed his heart, put his hands together and said, “Promise.”  He kissed her, looked at his watch and said, “I hope there won’t be traffic on the A4. Okay, I speak to you this week. Just drop the key off at the front desk.” It suddenly occurred to Nicola that she was not the first woman to do so.
         Nicola grabbed him for one last hug and kiss, said “Ciao,” and he hurried to catch an elevator that was just opening.  Nicola, still standing nude in the doorway but unseen by the people in the elevator, went back in the room, lay down on the bed, and wondered how she was going to tell her sister Natalie about all this.
         On the other hand, Nicola had been giddy to tell her friends in the dorm about the evening at Savini but swore to herself that she would share with them only the barest of details about her night at the Principe di Savoia. This was not that “fling” Catherine had encouraged her to have.  Although, curiously enough, Nicola’s head had never been clearer.
 

© John Mariani, 2020

NOTES FROM THE WINE CELLAR

ITALIAN WINES FOR EARLY AUTUMN

By John Mariani

 

         Anyone with a lot of time on their hands who might do a search of my wine columns will find the largest percentage, though by no means the majority, of wines I recommend are Italian. My reasons for this have little to do with my own Italian-American background, for in my house when I was growing up wine was a sometimes thing at the dinner table and it never went beyond a bottle of straw-covered Chianti.
         But later, when I began traveling to Italy, I fell in love with the remarkable regionality of Italian wines, from Piedmont to Calabria, and, as more and better quality Italian wines came into the market, I came to believe that, overall, the best of them have the flavors typical of their terroir and varietal character at a time when so many other countries’ wineries are trying to create wines to meet some idea of what the global market would like.
         By the same token, Italy’s white wines do not often rise above the likeable level, and very few are truly distinguished. And oceans of mediocre Prosecco have put that sparkling wine into a category as “good-for-mixing.”
         That said, while you can happily drink Italian wines year-round, I think that autumn brings foods into play with Italian red wines that are superb matches in a way that, say, a massive California Zinfandel or one-dimensional Bordeaux Bourgeois Cru do not.  Here are  some examples of Italian reds that will be as wonderful with tomato- or mushrooms-based sauces as with game and white truffles.
        Worth noting, the 2016 vintage is showing as stellar. With ideal growing conditions, it is shaping up to be one of the most highly regarded in recent memory. The wines are supple, rich and approachable, with extraordinary elegance, complexity and character. 

Pio Cesare Barbaresco DOCG 2016 ($82)—This is from Pio Cesare’s well-regarded “Il Bricco” estate and, even more specifically, the favored hill of San Stefanetto, both located in Treiso. The vintage was a very good, very promising one, allowing for a knitting of all the elements that make Barbaresco the “Queen of Piedmont Wines.” The somewhat bolder Barolo ($82) from the same vintage shows an intensity that can take some age, but drinking it now with mushroom- or cheese-based dishes is more than acceptable.

 

Forte Masso Langhe 2018 ($30)—Forte Masso also makes excellent  Barolos, but for something a little lighter and less expensive, this 100% Nebbiolo from the Castelletto region is, at 13.5% alcohol, just right for easy drinking throughout a Piemontese meal that might begin with an egg-based agnolotti followed by a hearty bollito misto of simmered meats in their own broth.

 

Ca’Marcanda Magari 2016 ($70)—Here’s another of Gaja’s Bordeaux blends, this time 60% Cabernet Franc, 30% Cabernet Sauvignon and 10% Petit Verdot, emitting a flourishing bouquet and voluptuous body whose Cab Sauvignon is kept in good check by the dominating Franc. “Magari” is Piemontese slang for “what if,” meaning Angelo Gaja took a chance on this blend, which has turned out to be a best seller for the estate. The 2016, at 14% alcohol, is lighter than the 2017’s 14.5%. Both go well with braised meats and polenta.

 

Marchesi di Barolo Maraia Barbera del Monferrato 2018 ($14-$18)—“Maraia” is another Piemontese word meaning a group of “little rascals,” referring to the wine’s “liveliness.” The Barbera grape is lovable for just that reason, because it has good acid and is very easy to drink, especially when it comes from fruit from Monferrato. Very good with pizza or tomato sauces.

 

Frescobaldi Tenuta Perano Riserva 2016 Chianti Classico 2016 ($27)—The DOCG designation was once controversial for Chianti Classico, but the best producers have proven their quality year after year, as does Frescobaldi with this Riserva (24 months of aging), with formidable body. It’s a tad higher, at 14.5%, in alcohol than Chiantis have traditionally been, but the extra age softens the wine. Very good match-up with game dishes like venison or quail.

 

Quercia al Poggio Chianti Classico 2017 ($28, but available for less)—Very well priced for a Classico these days, and owners Michela and Vittorio Rossi are traditionalists, who blend Sangiovese with other Tuscan varietals to produce silky, complex wines that still have the kind of simple honesty one hopes for in a Chianti. Drink it with risotto with white truffles, especially since the price of the bottle will help blunt the price of the truffles.