WHEN IN ROME OR
ANYWHERE ELSE,
EAT AS THE LOCALS DO By John Mariani NEW YORK CORNER
15 EAST @ TOCQUEVILLE
By John Mariani
GOING AFTER HARRY LIME
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
By John Mariani
NOTES FROM THE WINE CELLAR
FAMILY MATTERS By John Mariani
❖❖❖
On this week's episode of my WVOX
Radio Show "Almost Golden," on Wed. May
3, at 11AM EDT,I will be showcasing
the great British
female singers, from Dusty Springfield to
Joss Stone. Go to: WVOX.com.
The episode will also be archived at: almostgolden.
❖❖❖
WHEN IN
ROME OR ANYWHERE ELSE,
EAT AS THE LOCALS DO By John
Mariani
Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn in "Roman
Holiday"
(1953)
After a
week eating around Normandy and Brittany last
year, feasting on rich French food, from the
buttery croissants in the morning to the pâté de
campagne at lunch and riz de veau
in cream sauce at dinner and ending off with
cheeses and tarte Tatin
(below), I needed a break. Finding myself
in the charming old city of Rennes, I spotted a
pizzeria—there are lots of them in town!—and my
desire for that ubiquitous Italian comfort food
kicked in. The place looked like a thousand other
pizzerias, and the smell of tomato and melting
cheese was in the air. I sat down at one of the
Formica tables, ordered an individual pizza. Big
mistake! For while there might well be some decent
pizzerias in France, or Rennes, this was not one
of them. One bite and I realized, not for the
first time, that eating one country’s food in
another country can be risky. I left the other
slices on the tray. The lesson learned was that eating the food
of a country where you have only a limited amount
of time, that is, on vacation or business, is
always the smartest move, not least because the
cooks of a particular region—it could be Provence,
Tuscany, Sichuan or Goa—have had centuries during
which they learned from each other to create
culinary traditions that are far more likely than
ordering pizza in Rennes. Of course, internationalism has shrunken
the world’s gastronomy so that you can get
Cantonese soup dumplings in Stockholm just as you
can get enchiladas in Dublin. And some may be very
good facsimiles (with the exception of bagels,
which never rise to the level of the best, though
dwindling, bagels in New York). The point is, if
the best food in a country or city is likely to be
indigenous to that city, why, unless you live
there for a year, would you want to
eat other kinds of foods from across the globe? It is particularly perplexing why travel
articles in magazines, newspaper and on-line
concoct lists of the “best” or the “essential”
restaurants in a city that include half a dozen or
more “foreign” eateries in a list of ten. I can’t
imagine spending five days in, say, Prague and be
persuaded to go for sushi, or a week in Oslo and
hankering for tapas. To be sure, there are very big cities with
large ethnic populations, like New York, Berlin,
Tokyo and London, where some remarkably good
restaurants of every kind exist. (London in
particular has terrific Indian restaurants, like
Veeraswamey [above] and Paris some fine
North African spots, like Chez Omar .) But it
makes little sense for an American to go to London
to eat at the Hard Rock Café, or to Bangkok for a
wagyu burger. Italians are notorious as travelers
for their insistence that there are no good
Italian restaurants elsewhere, yet within a day in
a foreign city they are dying for a plate of
spaghetti alla
marinara and are almost always disappointed.
I shall leave it to those few well-heeled
gastronomes who book tables months in advance at
places like Noma in Copenhagen or Eleven Madison
Park in New York to spend $1,000 per person over
four hours to eat food that bears no resemblance
to what normal people eat. In a recent listicle in Eater.com
of the 18 “Essential Restaurants in Bologna,
Italy,” a place named Ahimè is mannedby a
team of young chefs who produce
“fermentation-forward, casually creative dining in
a city known for heavy traditional fare, breathing
life into Bologna’s nonexistent modernist dining
scene.” I haven’t noticed that Bologna’s food is
suffocating from a lack of antic modernist food.
But with dishes like cauliflower with white
chocolate, “squash ravioli accented by apricot
vinegar, turnips with lardo, gnocchi in dashi and
parsley oil, and roasted brassicas with miso
and various fruit-ferment... and
gummy bear-inspired spaghetti with wild licorice
or chitarra tossed in duck liver and lemon,” I can
imagine why “the restaurant is generally
underappreciated.” If one can enjoy the most sumptuous
tortellini cuddled in a Parmigiano sauce or lasagne verde
(left) in the city that invented it, why
would anyone want to eat the weird food at Ahimè?
(Which, no surprise, has one Michelin star.) One
can
be a so-called adventurous eater in any city,
without drinking cobra’s blood, à la Anthony
Bourdain in Bangkok, merely by sampling what the
locals do eat every day. Not everything may be to
your liking, but at least it will give you a
better appreciation for what goes into the local
culture, as well as into the people.
❖❖❖
NEW YORK CORNER
15
EAST @ TOCQUEVILLE
By John Mariani
No chef-restaurateur knows better about
the ups and downs of thebusiness
than Marco Moreira, who suffered through the Covid
epidemic and a fire set by an arsonist in 2021.
What’s a guy to do? Rise like a phoenix,
rebuilding and re-naming his restaurant, now 15
EAST@Tocqueville, with a bold new redesign meant
to resemble a Parisian
townhouse. The building already had a
fine 1906 Beaux Arts entrance, which now opens onto a small cocktail bar, then into a
spacious 66-seat dining room, once in colors of
lemon and gold, now done in shades of aubergine and
chocolate accented by rose accents. A lovely
fireplace warms the room, tall mirrors seem to
double the space, table lamps and chandeliersthrow a
glowing light on fine napery; an art deco carpet and
Venetian plastered ceilings complete the look, which
puts me in mind of Restaurant Guy Savoy in Paris,
though far less formal. Moreira (left), born in São
Paulo, trained as a sushi chef, and after stints in
New York at Regine’s, The Mark, Bouley and Quilted
Giraffe, opened a sushi bar at Dean & DeLuca.
After opening the original Tocqueville in 2000 with
his wife, Jo-Ann Makovitsky, he was behind the
stove, but in recent years has taken over more as an
overseer. The
executive chef at the new restaurant is Paris-born Julien Wargnies (above),
who worked at Le Cygnein in that city, L’Orangerie
in Los Angeles and Le Cirque in New York before
joining Tocqueville seven years ago. He offers three
tasting menus: three, five and seven courses($125/$175/$225)—and
a wine pairing option with the latter two. (At these
prices there shouldn’t be so many supplements on the
menus.) There is also an Omakase Room
offering a 20-course sushi and sashimi experience,
with sevenseats
at the counter and eight at tables. You may also opt
for sushi items from the dining room menu (with
tastings at $95 and $155). The wine list is very
extensive, built up over two decades, and very
expensive. Given Moreira’s heritage,
experience and wide travel, his menus reflect where
he’s been and what he’s learned over thirty years,
though he keeps some signature items on his
menu—like the sea urchin and angel’s hair pasta alla
carbonara, a marvelous dish that is rich and
flavorful; grilled Mediterranean octopus with a
chickpea emulsion, trout tartare and lobster "Duo"
cassoule (right);and cured
and lightly smoked duck breast with a pithivier. We were a party of four, so we ordered as
many different dishes as possible under the
three-course menu option, to which were added three
amuses—a
foie gras donut that was an immediate alert as to
how good the meal would be; beet and goat’s cheese
cannelloni; and a latke with crème fraîche and
sevruga caviar. We
also gobbled up some wonderful Brazilian cassava and
parmesan bread with our cocktails. An assortment of
sushi followed containing bluefin tuna and salmon. The
white asparagus season has begun, and the plump
spears were teamed with a poached egg and dotted
with golden osietra caviar ($25 supplement). Though
the portion of fresh duck foie gras was small, it
was served in a delectable chawanmushi
golden egg custard. There was also a gorgeous spring
pea soup with the surprise of a Comte cheese
souffle. Among
the entrees, the most applause was for carnaroli
risotto with wild mushrooms and suffused with
rosemary and well-aged Parmigiano. The highly
regarded duck breast came rare, with mandarin
orange, a lovely endive marmalade and the bird’s
natural juices to make an ideal coalescence of
sweet, bitter, salty and meaty flavors (left).
It was one of the finest duck dishes I’ve ever had.
Black sea bass was impeccably cooked and
fleshy, served simply with sautéed baby spinach and
a citrusy caper-flecked classicgrenobloise.
Poached Maine lobster came with forbidden black
rice, Napa cabbage, lemon grass and a Thai red curry
reduction. There is a cheese course available ($30
supplement), then beautifully
composed desserts like caramelized banana laced with
rum on a sable crust and milk chocolate Chantilly
cream (right); poached pineapple with kaffir
lime, vanilla bean, coconut lime sorbet; and a
flourless Tuscan Amadei bittersweet chocolate cake
for two. Despite those in the food media
who contend that fine dining establishments like
Tocqueville are fading fast, in fact, Moreira has a
tremendous amount of stiff competition, from Le
CouCou and Essential by Christophe to L’Abeille
and
Luthun, among many others. It is the kind of
competition, forged in difficult circumstances,that
causes them all to operate at a very high level of
gastronomy and hospitality while maintaining their
own individuality. Amazing as it seems, you’ll never
have the same dish at one that you’d have at
another. And in no other city in America is that
still the case.
Open
Tues.-Sat. 5:15-9:30 p.m.
❖❖❖
GOING AFTER
HARRY LIME
By John
Mariani
To read previous
chapters of GOING AFTER HARRY LIME go
to thearchive
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“The great advantage
of being a writer is that you can spy on people.
You're there, listening to every word, but part
of you is observing. Everything is useful to a
writer, you see — every scrap, even the longest
and most boring of luncheon parties.”—Graham Greene
Now
the
only problem was getting a visa to enter
Russia, then to make travel plans.Katie
called the Consular Section of the Embassy of
the Russian Federation (left) in London
for an appointment to obtain visas and was
able to get a Monday morning slot, two days
away.The
Embassy was on Kensington Palace
Gardens,
one of London’s most expensive
streets--nicknamed “Billionaires’ Row”—and
lined with other embassies, including Finland,
Lebanon, Israel and the Czech Republic.
Russia’s was at Number 5, a large white
Neo-Renaissance building flying the red, white
and blue flag and behind black iron gates. Katie and David arrived promptly and were
efficiently shown how to apply for visas by a
young woman in a bureaucratic navy blue suit who
was straight faced but helpful in filling out
the forms for a business visa. The Americans
wrote down the purpose of their
visit—researching an article on the city of
Moscow for McClure’s
magazine—handed over their passports to be
photocopied, and were told the visas would be
ready in about four to five days. “Is there any way to expedite our
request?” asked Katie. “Is there perhaps a
one-day service?” The woman looked at the Americans’
passports, then told them it would depend on how
busy the consulate staff was that week and that
it would cost 140 pounds Sterling, plus 45 more
as a service charge.Each. “Is there a reason you need to be in
Russia this week?” she asked. Katie responded that she was on a
deadline for her story and that she only had a
few days to spend in Moscow on her research. The woman
nodded and told them to wait.Fifteen
minutes went by before she returned to say,
“Yes, you can get the visas on Wednesday, if you
can bring cash here to the Embassy by noon
today.” Katie said that shouldn’t be a problem
and asked if there were an ATM machine near the
Embassy. “By the way,” Kate asked David on their
way to the ATM, “how’s your Russian? “Limited to about six curse words used by
Russian mobsters in New York,” he said. “And
those, I’m sure, are highly colloquial.” “Guess we’ll need a translation book,”
said Katie, who’d spotted a bookstore on the
opposite side of the street.“How
about you go buy one and I’ll get the money for
the visas?” “Okay, but like everybody else, I tend to
linger in bookstores. Meet you there in a few
minutes.” When Katie got to the bookstore minutes
later, David had a paperback Russian translation
dictionary under his arm and was in the cinema
section of the store, looking at a book on
British crime films. “Who
knew the Brits made so many crime movies?” he
said. “Thick book.” He thumbed through it,
reeling off titles, including some early
Hitchcock films made in England like the serial
killer movie called The Lodger
and another called Blackmail. “It has about six Carol Reed films
besides The
Third Man,” he noted. “Night
Train to Munich in 1940, Odd ManOut
in 1947, The
Key in 1958, Our Man in
Havana in ’59, The Running
Man in ’63.I guess I’ve seen most of them, have
you?” Katie said, “I don’t think so. Maybe The Running
Man on TV.” “Pretty good movie,” said David.
“Laurence Harvey fakes his own death to collect
insurance money, then gets tracked down by an
insurance investigator, played by Alan Bates.” Katie saw the irony right away: “Another
Carol Reed movie where the bad guy fakes his own
death, just like in The Third
Man.” “Interesting, ain’t it? Well, it’s not
the most unique idea in the world.” David bought both the dictionary and the
crime film book with his own money. They
returned to the embassy with the cash from the
bank, handed it to a bureaucrat who counted it
twice and put it in an envelope along with their
applications. “The visas should be ready after 3 p.m.
on Wednesday,” she said. “Have a nice trip.” “How do you say that in Russian?” asked
David. “Zhelayu
khoroshey poyezdki.” David wasn’t even going to attempt
repeating it, and Katie didn’t bother because she
knew they’d never need to use the
phrase. The
two Americans spent the next two days being
typical tourists, visiting the requisite sights,
the British Museum and Victoria & Albert
Museum, and walking all the way, never taking the
tube.They’d
stop for a bite to eat and build up an appetite
for dinner.Katie
would ask what kind of food David wanted to try
and David would always answer, “Whatever you
like.” Having had pub fare, Indian curry and
Italian food, Katie suggested Chinese or sushi—a
branch of the high-end Nobu Japanese restaurant (left)
had opened on Park Lane, where they went for a
chef-chosen omakase
dinner of exotica David mostly enjoyed, and if he
didn’t he’d just shrug and say, “It’s okay.” During
the day their project never came up in
conversation, but at night over dinner they spoke
mostly about their strategy for getting to see
Philby. David advised against calling the number
Lentov had given them, assuming that the phone was
tapped. “I think we should just go to Philby’s
neighborhood,” he said, “look around, maybe ask
some neighbors about him, and see what we can find
out before knocking on his door.” “How much do you think we’re going to find
out from Russians who probably don’t speak any
English?” asked Katie. “You’ve got a point. From what Lentov said,
Philby doesn’t live right in the center of
modern-day Moscow. Christ, I wish we had a contact
over there. Do you think we should call Southey,
just tell him we’re going over for background
material.” “Southey’s too smart to swallow that,” said
Katie. “It would get his antennas up.” David wondered if that would be such a bad
thing, saying, “I assume Southey would have been
in touch with Lentov after our meeting in
Southall, wanting to know what occurred and what
we talked about.” “I don’t know,” said Katie. “Remember
Southey called Lentov scum.” “I forgot that. But then maybe that was a
dodge on Southey’s part. After all, why send us to
someone he considers scum? What I’m thinking is
that Southey might very well know Philby’s alive
but didn’t want to tell us himself because he’s
still old school MI6.So he
passed us off to Lentov, who no longer gives a
rat’s ass what MI6 thinks.” “So, you’re saying we should tell Southey
what we learned from Lentov?” “I don’t know,” said David. “I can’t make
up my mind.” Katie sipped on a cup of sake while David
finished his second beer. “How about if we asked Southey if he
thought there was any chance Philby is still alive
and go from there?” she said. “If he says yes, or
even maybe, we can make a case for Southey helping
us out with a contact in Moscow. If he says no,
then we’re right back where we are now.” David rubbed his chin then said, “I suppose
it’s worth a try. If Southey and Lentov both know
Philby’s alive, and we hint that we know, too, he
may open up a bit. Let’s call him first thing in
the morning on the pretext of his taking a look at
my archive list of names.” Katie and David were smiling now, looking a
bit smug, but after a few minutes Katie’s demeanor
changed. “What’s wrong?” asked David. Katie drank the last of her sake and said,
“It just occurred to me—well, for about the
hundredth time, actually—that we’ve been too
intent upon nailing Philby as Harry Lime, when it
may very well be someone else.” David
shook his head and said, “But what does it really
matter any more? The bigger story is finding
Philby alive. Connecting him to Harry Lime would
just be icing on the cake. You’d be killing two
birds with one stone, but Philby is Big Bird in
this story.” “I know, you’re right,” she said. “Maybe
I’ve just been so involved from the beginning with
finding Harry Lime—this completely fictitious
character from a 1949 movie—that the bigger
picture hasn’t yet emerged. And God forbid we
don’t find or contact Kim Philby in Moscow. That will
not go down well with Dobell.” David had long ago learned that Katie’s
world was different from his in many ways, not
least in their careers. While he was a detective
David had seen so many cases go nowhere, so many
leads evaporate, and not a few persons of interest
dead before he had a chance to interview them.And,although
he’d earned the respect of his colleagues and
superiors, he’d hear from the chief of police when
he thought David had squandered resources, money
and time on an investigation that just didn’t pan
out. David had worked under
Rudy Giuliani when he was U.S. Attorney for the
Southern District of New York. As a prosecutor
Giuliani always sought out high profile cases like
Wall Street crooks Ivan Boesky and Michael Milken,
along with drug lords and the heads of organized
crime. Giuliani loved the spotlight and invented
the “perp walk” as a way to get his arrests on TV.
Then Giuliani became Mayor, soon proclaiming that
he hadpersonally
reduced crime in New York, at a time when crime
was dropping in many major cities in America. David had been more than content to be on
the streets getting the dirty work done on all his
superiors’ behalf. And he knew Giuliani would come
down hard on him if he botched a case the mayor
had a special interest in.When
David saw he could rise no higher and the streets
took their toll, he retired after 25 years on the
force. In Katie’s world, where the resources for
investigative reporting were not unlimited, even
at TheNew York
Times and Washington
Post, a story that did not work out would
be costly. The irony was that at a union paper
like the Times
or Daily
News, Katie’s job would be secure for as
long as she wanted it; at a privately owned
magazine like McClure’s,
she could get demoted or her contract might not be
renewed. Only her sterling reputation and solid
reporting in the past, including the two cases
David was involved with her on, gave her a longer
leash than most magazine reporters. It also didn’t
hurt that she’d almost gotten killed on her two
most famous stories. So, if the Philby
story didn’t work out, Katie’s editor would
probably rant and rave and put her in what he
enjoyed calling the dog house for a while. Worse
come to worst, she could always go back to the
Harry Lime story on her own, if Dobell didn’t want
any part of it.
FAMILY MATTERS The Best
California Wines Come
from Family-Owned Vineyards
Gerrit and Tatiana Bouchaine
By John Mariani
It should
seem obvious that the people who live on their own
vineyards are going to be intensely interested in
every aspect of a product that has their name on
the label. Estates owned and run by families,
often generational, have a reputation to protect
as well as a way of life that corporate wineries
simply don’t share to the same degree. Here, of
many, are some California wineries whose family
members are evident in every aspect of growing,
picking, crushing, fermenting, aging and bottling
wines they are very proud of.
Cline
Eight Spur Zinfandel 2020
($36)—Fred and Nancy Cline planted Zinfandel in
Oakley in 1982 (along with Rhône varietals like
Carignane, Syrah and Mourvèdre), moving the winery
to Sonoma-Carneros in 1989, where this strikingly
delicious Zin is made from vines 40-100 years old atSchool
House Creek Vineyard, owned by the Petersens, one of
the oldest grape growing families in the region.
Usually Zins are recommended with spicy, garlicky
dishes, including pizza, but this is a big, bold
example of how complex the varietal can be.I would
happily match it to game dishes and hearty stews.
Three
Sticks Origin Durell Vineyard Chardonnay 2021($70
)—Sonoma-based Three Sticks estate, founded in 2002
by Bill Price,produces small lots, and this is one of the
most impressive Chardonnays I’ve tasted in some
time. Not heavy, but not one-dimensional, it shows
off good body at 14% alcohol. Winemaker Ryan Prichard has
a talent for bringing out the essence of Chardonnay,
which can be a fairly neutral grape, and takes
advantage of California sun to imbue it with a
natural sweetness in tandem
with acidic tang. It’s a lot to pay, but I think
it’s worth it for a Chardonnay so splendidly matched
to all seafood and to a wide variety of mild
cheeses.
Kenwood
Vineyards Six Ridges Russian River ValleyChardonnay
2019 ($26)
—For a far less pricey Chardonnay, this Kenwood
delivers a good deal of pleasure on its various
fruit notes, a touch of citrus and a richness of
texture that is superb with shellfish. The harvest
that year came early, so the wine spent an extended
time on the lees to allow for concentration that
comes into play with its 14.1% alcohol.
Bouchaine Estate Pinot Noir 2019 ($37)—Bouchaine's Hyde
Vineyard produces elegant Syrahs, along with this
refined Pinot Noir with pronounced fruit, in the
California cool-climate style. It was an ideal
growing season, so the ripeness and phenolics were
excellent. Fermentation for 18 months yielded a
wine of finesse and a balance of acid not always
the case in California. It’s a delightful wine
withveal
or lamb, even grilled salmon this summer.
Peju
Cabernet Sauvignon 2019
($70)—Tony Peju has been dubbed the “Father of
Custom Crush and Direct to Consumer Wine Marketing,”
an awkward but apt title for its savvy. His wife
Herta, known as HB, was born in Austria and grew up
in Venezuela. In 1983, HB and Tony purchased a
30-acre property in Rutherford that became their
winery. Lisa Peju became the welcoming face of the
winery, as well as the one to represent it outside
of California. Ariana Peju has overseen the
installation of 720 solar panels spread over 10,000
square feet of the winery roof to provide 35% of the
winery’s energy. So, the family name is on the line,
and this elegantly crafted Cabernet Sauvignon shows
breeding, as suitable for a fine French dinner as
for an outdoor barbecue.
❖❖❖
WHY THERE'LL ALWAYS BE AN ENGLAND
"Most important advice to remember on
a nudist beach is to slather factor 50 sunscreen on
everything; otherwise you'll soon have a hotter arse
than Kim Kardashian. (I know it's Easter but nobody
wants that kind of hot cross bun.) It's also best
not to call out, 'I'll have a large one,' even if
quite near a beach bar. And under no circumstances
do yoga. Just picture the squat pose. Need I say
anything more?"--Kathy Lette, "Midlife naked holiday
in Australia was exhilarating and freeing," London
Sunday Times (4/7/23)
❖❖❖
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.
“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.
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.
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.