Virtual Gourmet

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IN THIS ISSUE
DINING OUT IN GALWAY
By John Mariani

NEW YORK CORNER
L'AVENUE AT SAKS
By John Mariani

ANOTHER VERMEER
CHAPTER 28
By John Mariani

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On this week's episode of my WVOX Radio Show "Almost Golden," on Wed. July 20 at 11AM EDT,I will be interviewing Yale professor

Paul Freedman on his book TEN RESTAURANTS THAT CHANGED AMERICA. Go to: WVOX.com. The episode will also be archived at: almostgolden.

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DINING OUT IN GALWAY
By John Mariani

Ard Bia

      One of the most sentimental songs in the Irish repertoire, made famous by Bing Crosby, is “Galway Bay,” which, though written in 1947, paints a pretty, if wholly rural, picture of a town where there are “women in the meadow makin' hay” or “in the uplands diggin' praties.” You won’t see any of those activities going on these days in Galway City (though the county of Galway is still quite rural), which has been a trading port for centuries and is now the fourth most populous city in the Republic of Ireland.
      In 2020 it was named a European Capital of Culture and in 2018 a European Region of Gastronomy. This latter distinction is to be found in the city’s food culture, which may best be appreciated by joining up with Galway Food Tours, which offers six programs ranging from €65 to €130 that include daytime and nighttime food tours, a cycling tour, a whiskey tour and others. (https://galwayfoodtours.com/corporate-tours/)
         There is a good number of attractions in this seaside city, which has more of the feel of a town, centered by Eyre Square in front of the railroad station and the setting for a seated statue of poet Patrick O’Connor, looking a good deal like either Tony Bennett or Chico Marx. Galway Cathedral, beautifully situated on the river, is a fine example of Renaissance Revival architecture. Also adjacent to the train station is the hotel called the Hardiman, built in 1845, still Galway’s finest, now wholly modernized with every amenity.
     It’s a quiet city and the Hardiman is a quiet hotel, with 103 rooms and 19 luxury suites, all recently renovated—with a splendid lobby— but keeping some traditional design elements. Breakfast—a substantial one including the full Irish version of eggs, sausage, black and white pudding, grilled tomato and hash browns, and pancakes with a berry compote—is included in the room rates. At the moment the hotel is running a special for two nights in a double room and one dinner for two for €588.
      There are two dining venues, the main Gaslight Brasserie with a fine bar and counter, excellent lines of mirrored walls with tall windows, glowing chandeliers, flowers on each table and scattered palms. At dinner, options include warm duck salad with chard figs and feta cheese (€14.50); a seafood chowder with Pernod and coriander cream (€9.50); and a duo of lamb with a mini shepherd’s pie and a confit of garlic (€26).
    The smaller dining area is the very convivial Oyster Bar, where after a morning’s train ride, I slouched down onto a comfortably stuffed fabric-covered chair with sunlight (something of a rarity in Galway) streaming through the windows, and very much enjoyed a leisurely lunch of golden, hot beer-battered cod fish and chips with wasabi-laced peas, lemon and tartar sauce (€18.50), and a mildly spiced, terracotta colored chicken curry with fragrant basmati rice, pappadum cracker and mustard chutney (€19.50). There’s also a farmhouse cheese selection (€12).

      Ard Bia (“high food” in Gaelic), near the city’s quaint but modest Spanish Arch, overlooks the Claddagh Basin from a two-story stone house dating back to at least 1651, and it was long a place local sailors and merchants would hie to from the nearby docks. Various owners in the 20th century used it for various shops until taken over in 1991by Harriet Leander, then owner Aoibheann MacNamara with chef Ronan Reynolds for the past twelve years.
      Among the sillier things the Michelin Guide has ever printed is that Ard Bia has a “shabby-chic, bohemian style,” which is far from the truth about this absolutely beguiling, rustic space with great bones, vibrant colors and a comfort level akin to dining at one’s very tasteful Irish relatives’ home. The Tweed Project’s Triona Lillis designed the interior with a “moodboard” of images, chestnut high bar tables, Donegal tweed cushions by Giusy Degano and handmade pottery lampshades by Spiddal potter Martha Williamson, with painted white walls, simple wooden furniture, wine bottles on shelves, a shamrock filigree on the door windows, country flowers in coffee pots and rough wooden tables set with stoneware. It all looks just as it should.
         Menus change all the time at Ard Bia. You might start off with a Kraken rum with chilli-infused ginger beer (€10), and there’s a short but well-chosen wine list, though no liquor. I enjoyed the Galway Bay Brewery’s Lost at Sea Stout.
      The night I dined at Ard Bia, the meal began with fabulous breads and butter, and an appetizer of pork belly balls with dates, bok choy, and an apple fennel slaw with beautifully reduced pork jus (€13) and Connemara crab with pickled kohlrabi, radish, burnt apple and a squid ink cracker (€14.) Killary mussels are highly spiked with hot harissa, ‘nduja, sesame seeds and orange (€12.5). Succulent, fleshy hake fillet came with mussels in a purple potato broth, with fennel, broad beans and a lovely salsa verde (€29), while a good and rare Morgan’s ribeye came with hasselback potato, oyster mushrooms and chimichurri (€33).
         You can always tell when a restaurateur has made her own desserts. Our meal’s sweet endings (all €9) involved bittersweet chocolate mousse with luscious roasted plums and a dollop of mascarpone; vanilla and buttermilk panna cotta with a tangy lemon-almond crumble, rhubarb and pistachios; and banoffee buns with chocolate ganache and vanilla ice cream.
         The rain came and went, and our walk back to the center of town smelled of the sea and the ozone, which it very likely will when you visit this town where a spell or two of rain is likely, even if the locals never pack an umbrella.

    Now eleven years strong, Kāi (22 Sea Road) takes its name from a Maori word for food, which is not something one expects in a city like Galway. But New Zealand-born chef-owner Jess Murphy is as staunchly Kiwi as she is now Galwegian, and Kāi is down among the winding streets of the city’s West End, which now bustles with eateries, bakeries and pubs.
       The management proudly announces, “What’s in season is what will be on the menu,” listing the sources for their provender, and its décor is as inviting as you could wish, with wonderful big hanging lamps that warm the atmosphere over wooden tables, stone walls, flagstone floors, baskets of apples, an old iron-faced fireplace and strong local black and white photography.
     There is a very fair fixed price menu, that may, on any given evening, include cured meats or a carrot crudo. Of course there’s local crab, theirs is from Clare, with celeriac and pumpkin seeds (€14). Silken, rosy Serrano ham is enhanced with fior de latte mozzarella and translucent slices of apples (€12.50). Here hake is served simply with borlotti beans and romesco sauce (€27). Socca, the weekend snack of Nice, is made with nettles, minted beans and almonds (€25.50), and the pork chop was superb, with harissa-spiced beets and chimichurri (€27). In season there will be venison.
      Desserts are a delectable reward for finishing your supper, with malt ice cream topped with ripe strawberries and milk crumble (€10); crispy Pavlova meringue with rhubarb and lemon (€9); almond pudding with burnt butter ice cream (€9) and a blueberry and basil sorbet with Viennese Florentine cookie (€8.50).
      The very decently priced wine list runs to about 40 labels, with plenty of choices under €50.

      Like everywhere else these days, Galway is rife with casual Italian restaurants, and Trattoria Magnetti, on Quay Street, is a bright storefront with clean, modern lines. Owned and run by brothers Sean and Marco Magnetti, it was originally opened in 1989 by their parents, Sergio and Mary, and all of the excellent fresh pastas are made on the premises. So well known is their pasta that they sell it to other shops around town.
      I found the ravioli stuffed with Irish beef, mortadella, Parma ham in a pea-studded white wine sauce (€11.50) truly sumptuous, and the tagliatelle with pancetta, mushrooms scented with thyme and a white wine cream sauce (€10) just as richly rewarding.
      When you sit down you get some bruschetta topped with sweet chunks of olive-oil moistened tomato. There are eight pizzas and calzones as good as any I’ve had in most major cities, including a diavola with sausage, salami and chili (€11.50), and veneta with creamy Gorgonzola, sweet sliced pear and Parma ham (€11.50).
         There are 30 wines from unusual Italian producers and poured in three sizes, with whole bottles averaging under €30.

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NEW YORK CORNER

L'AVENUE AT SAKS

80 East 50th Street

212-940-4099

By John Mariani
Photos by L'Avenue at Saks

        Eating places in large department stores have a long history, not least in Europe, where Harrod’s in London, Printemps in Paris and KaDeWe in Berlin are both stylish and exhaustive. In the States, every major store once had a restaurant, some of them quite spectacular, some of them elegant tea rooms for the ladies who lunch. Outside of New York, Marshall Fields, J.L. Hudson, Neiman Marcus, Bullock’s and others were all very different, and New York led the pack with highly individualized restaurants in Macy’s, Lord & Taylor, Bloomingdale’s, B. Altman, Best and Co. and others that defined their own particular style and clientele they catered to. And there was always attention paid to patrons’ children. I recall fondly one that had a milk bar with Graham Crackers.
         Such places lost their popularity as of the 1970s, owing to changing tastes and the slow demise of department stores themselves. Happily, many of those that survived the 20th century have given the store restaurants a true renaissance, none more so than Saks Fifth Avenue, which opened in 1924.
      What previously had been a modest eatery on the eighth floor is now a swank Le Chalet café and terrace (left)—Rock Center is across the street—and on the ninth floor is L’Avenue, which in league with the Costes Group restaurant of the same name in Paris has given New York one of the most beautiful and elegant spaces of the recent past, designed by Philippe Starck.
        You enter on East 50th Street, opposite St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and ascend in a private elevator to a dimly lighted tunnel that leads around corners to a dining room where you are graciously received by a handful of stunning hostesses and shown to a table, past glass cases of objets d’art in a French moderne dining room done in tones of taupe and caramel, with carefully modulated lighting that is ideal for seeing who’s coming and going, while glowing table lamps do the same for the lovely food and chinaware. There is also an alfresco terrace for parties (below).
      Such elegance I did not expect; indeed, I didn’t know what to expect, believing L’Avenue might be an upgraded version of a traditional department store restaurant. I also wondered who would want to eat there, especially after six o’clock, when Saks closes. Opened in 2019, then hit with the Covid closings, L’Avenue had had little publicity or reviews. (God forbid the New York Times or New York magazine should cover a place so refined!) Yet it has clearly drawn a crowd, mostly young and many quite fashionable. It’s a place where women really dress up, perhaps with the day’s purchases downstairs (there’s a Loubutin boutique adjacent to Le Chalet); male patrons show their own feeble fashion sense by wearing a lot of black t-shirts and dark jeans.
      You’d expect Executive Chef Cedric Domenech’s menu to be more-or-less modern French, but there is a good deal of Asian items on it, as well as the ubiquitous burrata. Some dishes, called “classics,” are original to the Paris venue, including vapeurs de crevettes “Lily Wang” ($23), referring to the chef at Hôtel Costes in Paris who first created the dish for L’Avenue. It is a variant of har gow Chinese steamed shrimp dumplings (left) with crispy shallots and scallions served with chili dipping sauce and a sweet black mushroom soy sauce.
     Crispy chicken spring rolls ($23) derive from Thai cookery, served with lettuce/mint wraps and a sparkling ginger-chili dipping sauce. On the French side is wonderfully creamy fresh duck foie gras terrine that needs nothing more than toasted country bread and fine butter. A carpaccio of yellowtail ($38) is a refreshing spark as an appetizer (right), and Thailand comes back into the picture as a main course with plump marinated shrimp with a pineapple-chili chutney and velvety peanut-coconut sauce ($42). (A little more spice wouldn’t hurt the Asian dishes.)
                                                                                        Photo by John Mariani

The classic French masterpiece of simplicity—which takes a lot of know-how to get just right—is Dover sole “belle meunière,” lightly floured and seared in plenty of butter, then deboned and served with a tangy lemon beurre blanc ($90). I can never turn down a dish with fresh morels, and Domenech lavishes them on a bowl of cream-rich macaroni ($34). Blanc de poulet bio ($28) didn’t sound very interesting, but what came was a succulent poached chicken breast enhanced with curry seasonings and sided with sweet chutney (right).

Photo by John Mariani

     Pastry Chef Stephanie Oliveira has worked over the “Costes crackers cheesecake” of Paris, using slightly salty French LU Tuc butter crackers, first made in 1846, in place of the usual Graham Cracker in the crust, then finishes it with a fromage blanc ice cream. Also recommended are her vanilla tart ($16) with poached rhubarb, strawberries and crème fraîche ice cream, and a raspberry panna cotta ($16) with coconut crumble, raspberries and olive oil sorbet (which is tagged as vegan). Banoffee—a portmanteau of “banana” and “toffee”—($18) is a gloppy British sweet abundant with banana ice cream, smoked caramel ice cream, rum caramel sauce and caramelized banana. The only distasteful oddity was an over-the-top take on Girls Scout s'mores ($19) with chocolate mousse, toasted marshmallow and Graham Cracker ice cream that came under a glass cloche filled with acrid smoke.
      The wine list is solidly selected, not huge, with a good selection of wines by the glass ($15-$34) and an extensive cocktail menu. Wine bottle prices can be stiff, however, with some at a 300% mark-up. Good to see a New York State Riesling on there.
      L’Avenue has seen a soigné success that has obviously been built on word of mouth and subtle marketing, and if it stays at the occupancy and standard of tastefulness it now enjoys, it should be a template for modernity and chic, in contrast to the tired faux-clubbiness of a place like Ralph Lauren’s Polo Grill. L’Avenue feels like a true night out, with an aerie’s view and a welcome nonchalance not easily encountered these days with such a high level of cuisine.

Opened seven days a week from 11:30 AM to 10 PM.

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ANOTHER VERMEER

By John Mariani

To read previous chapters of ANOTHER VERMEER, go to the archive

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

         It was not until Thursday that Katie was able to get hold of Coleman at his office. The Wednesday issue of Art Today had a profile of Danielides, who was said to have been more than once investigated by Interpol over smuggling art and antiquities, including some robbed during the Gulf War. Nothing, however, was ever proven and Danielides was never indicted.
         The article also alluded to the Greek tycoon’s reputation for what it called “kinky sex” and rumors of orgies on his private yachts and residences throughout the Greek islands. Katie thought Coleman was going over the line with these unsubstantiated reports, tilting towards tabloid journalism, but the editor said he put it in “just to spice things up a little,” insisting “A little sex never hurts an otherwise solid story.”
         “So what was this mysterious trip you took, after telling me you were staying in bed with a cold all weekend?” Katie asked Coleman.
         “I felt a little better the next morning,” said Coleman. “Do I have to tell you everywhere I’m going?”
         “No, but I am kind of curious why you’d suddenly get out of a sickbed and fly to China on the spur of the moment.”
         “First of all, it was Taiwan, and second, I couldn’t refuse a trip to interview Hai Shui.”
         “What? Hai Shui invited you to Taiwan?”
         “Yes, he knew I was going to profile him sooner or later and he wanted me to ‘get my facts straight’.”
         “Hold on, John. You’re telling me Art Today paid your ticket to Taiwan?”
         Coleman laughed. “That’ll be the day! They wouldn’t pay for my train ticket to Philadelphia.”
         “Then who did?”
         “C’mon, Katie, stop playing naïve. Maybe McClure’s has the backing to send you around the world on an unlimited expense account, but most journalists have to depend on the kindness of strangers.”
         “Since when did you become Blanche DuBois?”
         “Katie, don’t play so high and mighty with me. We’ve known each other a long time, when we were writing for the Village Voice for $150 an article. You know damn well every industry runs press junkets to bring journalists in for an article.”
         “Yea, and they expect a very favorable article out of it, as a result.”
         “That doesn’t mean a good journalist is going to sell his soul for a first-class ticket to Taiwan.”
         “You flew . . . first class?”
         “Yeah,” said Coleman, “but I didn’t eat the mixed nuts. Shit, Katie, I only wish some of the other guys I profiled asked me to fly to Rio or the Greek Isles.”
         Katie sighed and began to think she shouldn’t be sharing any more information with her old friend, at least on this story. Coleman sensed that in her tone and said, “Well, if it makes you feel any better, Shui turned out to be a complete bore. I think he wanted to size me up, find out what I might write, and, yes, turn it in his direction.”
         “And you agreed to nothing?”
         “I agreed only to give his side of his story. The fact is, Katie, Shui has a long history of screwing with the Communist Chinese, and, although he’d say his family were patriots for saving China’s cultural heritage, the fact is that they kept the best stuff for themselves. He’s no angel, but he’s not K.G.B and he never worked with the Nazis and he never was involved with the Vegas or Macau mobs.”
         “Did you ask him if the Vermeer might actually belong to his family?”
         “Honestly, I didn’t have enough information to pursue such a line of inquiry. I did mention that the painting had the word ‘sui’ in it, and he just said it is a very common name in China and could mean anything.”
         Katie said nothing for a few seconds, then, “Okay, John. I have to think about us working together on this from here on in. You shouldn’t have done it, John.
          “Goddamn it, Katie, the day you prove to me that ever since the day you became a journalist you never accepted a donut is the day I’ll get out of the game entirely. And you know it’s a game, Katie, and no one has ever gotten rich playing it.”
         Katie knew she couldn’t assure Coleman of her never taking a swag bag, or, when she was just starting out and covering an entertainment story that she hadn’t been on a press junket. The movie studios ran them all the time, and journalists who covered the electronics or tech industries were always being wined and dined in New York, Miami, Vegas and Silicon Valley convention halls.
        But on a story like this—one with possible criminal activity involved—she had to play it straight, and with fewer newspapers and magazines willing to bankroll investigative journalism any more, she felt extremely lucky that McClure’s still believed that a reporter had to go where the story was.
         She knew, of course, her editor Alan Dobell would balk if she asked to fly to Rio, Amsterdam, Moscow, or any of the other cities where the billionaire bidders lived. But, after Coleman’s admission, she began to think that it really would be worthwhile to ask for a trip to Taiwan. After all, Hai Shui was the only would-be bidder whose family once owned the Vermeer and lost it.

* * *

         “You like Indian food, David?”
         “Hell, yeah. Learned to love it when I was at a precinct in Queens. They have a big Indian community there and terrific restaurants.”
         “Okay, how about meeting me at Baluchi’s in Curry Hill?” Katie said, referring to an East Side Manhattan neighborhood with a slew of Indian restaurants. “Seven o’clock?”
         “Save me a kabob,” David said, knowing he sounded like a jerk.
         They met and dined lavishly, starting with appetizers and then spooning food from six or seven main course dishes, augmented by saffron rice, chutneys and steaming puffy breads. They drank Kingfisher beer to cool down the spiciness of the food.
         Katie needed to speak to David about Coleman’s trip to Taiwan, but David failed to see what the big deal was.
         “It’s not like he’s the first reporter ever to accept a free meal. He didn’t get any cash, did he?”
         “I really, really doubt it. John’s not totally corrupt and hardly the first to accept a trip from a company he’s covering.”
         “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I knew a lot of reporters who were on the take, mostly entertainment writers, to get a press agent’s client into print. Gossip column shit.”
         “I’m not naïve, but I’ve known John for so long and he got where he is by being a damn good reporter. Used to work for U.S. News & World Report, and he got the job at Art Today after doing an exposé in The Atlantic Monthly on price fixing among art galleries. But I’m also disappointed that by trying to get more exposure for Art Today he’s publishing some pretty sleazy, unsubstantiated stuff.”
         “You mean his profiles of these billionaires showing them up for what they really are? Sounds to me like a service to the readers.”
         “Up to a point, yes,” said Katie, “But did you see this week’s issue, with the Danielides profile, saying the guy’s into kinky sex orgies with gallery owners and contemporary artists?”
         “Can’t say such stuff surprises me about a young playboy billionaire with his own yacht.”
         “Granted, but just reporting what you just said should have been enough. John was really exposing the guy’s private life.”
         “Now, that sounds like deliberate leaking by the K.G.B. The Russians are notorious for using sex to compromise their enemies.”
         “C’mon, David, you’re saying John Coleman gets phone calls from the K.G.B. about Greek shipping tycoons? To what purpose?”
         “If you get a leak from the K.G.B, you’ll never know it was from the K.G.B, which, by the way, is now called the F.S.B., but it’s the same guys. They use intermediaries. But I wasn’t even thinking of a true K.G.B. plot; I was thinking that our ex-K.G.B. friend Stepanossky might be behind the leak.”
         “But John’s profile of Stepanossky wasn’t at all flattering.”
        “Tit for tat, maybe. It seems possible to me.”

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