MARIANI’S Virtual Gourmet
Founded in 1996 ARCHIVE Meryl Streep and Robert Redford in "Out of Africa" (1985)"
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THIS WEEK FRASCATI HAS WONDERFUL FOOD AND ITS OWN WINE By John Mariani GIANFRANCO SORRENTINO HAS PASSED AWAY By John Mariani NEW YORK CORNER LA GRANDE BOUCHERIE By John Mariani THE MAGDALENE LAUNDRIES CHAPTER FORTY-SIX By John Mariani NOTES FROM THE WINE CELLAR WELL-PRICED WINES FOR BIG HOLIDAY GET-TOGETHERS By John Mariani ❖❖❖ FRASCATI HAS WONDERFUL FOOD AND ITS OWN WINE By John Mariani Cathedral
of St. Peter the Apostle
Many
Italian
wineries proudly name their wines after the
towns around which their vineyards are spread
—Barolo, Brunello di Montalcino, Fiano di
Avellino and the lovely small city of
Frascati, less than an hour south of Rome (if
the autostrada is not jammed up) and within
the province of Lazio. The wine named Frascati
itself has not, until recently, been highly
regarded aside from being a good white thirst
quencher, although it was supposedly a
favorite of the ancient Romans and the popes
for whom it was readily available.
The grapes used are Malvasia di Candia,
Malvasia del Lazio, Grecchetto, Bombino Bianco
and Trebbiano, none distinguished on its own.
While Frascati has had a DOC appellation as of
1966, the upgrading in 2011 to DOCG—a government
guarantee of high quality—is another example of
the ranking’s questionable
dependability. Still, as is now true of all
Italian wine regions, modernization, innovation
and investment have
improved the wine measurably among s few
producers. The best labels to look for include
Pallavicini, Conte Zandotti and Le Quinte.
The city of Frascati is not on the usual
tourist route, so it is quieter than Roman and a
good walking city whose center is closed to
vehicular
traffic. It was for centuries a papal
protectorate and frequently sacked by northern
invaders, and in 1809 annexed by Napoleon to
France. In 1837 Frascati, away in the hills, was
the only nearby city that would accept
plague-ridden Romans. In
1943 half of Frascati’s buildings were destroyed
by Allied bombings, but today the city is well
worth visiting, not least for its ten
surrounding villas like Aldobrandini, Parisi and
Mondragone.
My wife and I stayed at one, Villa
Tuscolana (Via Tuscolana 1500), up
a winding mountainside road about
three miles from town (right). Built in
1578 by Renaissance architect Luigi Vanvitelli for
the Jesuit Order on the ruins of a villa once
owned by the Roman orator Cicero, it was long a
residence to Queen Maria Cristina of Bourbon and
King Victor Emanuel II. The subsequent
owner, Elisabetta Aldobrandi Lancellotti,
connected Tuscolana via tunnels to her two other
villas, Villa Aldobrandi and Villa Lancellotti.
After
World War II the building was restored by the
Salesian order that has become a hotel done in
19th century décor and suites, and it
serves as a very popular wedding and events
space. While we were there the hallways ran riot
with scampering fashion models with their hair
still in curlers. The rooms are not
particularly opulent but definitely evocative,
and for the €114 euros we paid for the night,
quite remarkable. The personnel at the front
desk can run hot or cold, depending on the
individual’s mood.
In town the main square’s principal site
is the Cathedral of St. Peter the Apostle,
completed in 1598 with a fine façade but whose
inside has a somber classical formality with
none of the effusions of the Italian baroque.
The most splendid edifice in Frascati is the
vast Bishop’s Palace with its three towers,
flanked by Santa
Maria in Vivario.
Since Frascati is in the region of Rome,
the food is quite similar, and we ate at two
different kinds of restaurants, one, the
well-known Cacciani (Villa Diaz 13),
spread over two floors with a large terrace
overlooking the rolling hills that lead to Rome
(right). The wine list is strong, with
emphasis on the wines of Lazio, though no
vintages are given. Cacciani’s
been here a long time—since 1922— so they
post the dates when specific dishes were
introduced to the menu. The Cacciani family
still runs the place with deft cordiality. Along with some warm focaccia,
my wife and I began with velvety eggplant
ravioli (€14.50) and fettuccine with the new
season’s funghi porcini (€16 ), then for
our main course abbacchio, the very
tender, exceptionally juicy baby lamb fed on the
mint of the Roman hills (€22), with a side of
bitter-salty stewed chicory and a bottle of
Gabrielle Magno Frascati (€25 ). That evening we went
downscale to a wonderful, no-frills trattoria
named Cantina Bucciarelli (Via Regina
Margherita 27) . We came in out of the
rain and it seemed everyone in the place was
very happy when we arrived, for the conviviality
is palpable, and, despite a full house, it was
not in the least boisterous. The front room is
glassed in and the pelting rain and outside
light added to the coziness inside. There is blackboard menu
of specialties, from which we chose rigatoni
alla carbonara (€12), rich with guanciale
bacon and whisked eggs (above, left).
Porchetta di Bernabi (€6) was well-fatted
pig with its crisp skin as a bonus. Alessi
di manzo (€10) was long simmered shredded
beef with vegetables flavors cooked in, and pollo
con pepperoni ( €15) was a generous plate
of stewed chicken with peppers,, onions and
tomatoes. By
the time we finished, the rain had stopped, we
rose from our table and everyone around us said,
“Ciao!” and “Buona notte!”
We felt right at home and sorry to leave the
party.
America
and Italy has lost one of its strongest and
most gentlemanly voices: Gianfranco
Sorrentino, after a long battle with illness,
has died. As a pioneer of upscale Italian
cuisine in NYC, with westside restaurants Il
Gattopardo and The Leopard at des Artistes,
Sorrentino came from
Naples, worked in the restaurant industry in
Europe and came to the US in the 1980s, at
first toe Los Angeles. By 1990 he had garnered
enough attention as a true promoter of fine
Italian cuisine to get the space in New York’s
MOMA for Sette MoMa at a time when Italian
food was being transformed by Tony May, Sirio
Maccioni, Piero Selvaggio, Mauro Vincenti et
al into an elegance previously reserved for
French restaurants.
The minimalist Il Gattopardo, (formerly Aquavit) was across the street from MOMA, and a big draw for people in the arts, including vegetarian Paul McCartney as a regular. Sorrentino took over Cafe des Artistes after the death of owner George Lang and renamed it The Leopard at Des Artistes, retaining all the naughty charm of its murals and drew on a crowd from Lincoln Center. He was the respected and hard-working president of the Gruppo Italiano, a non-profit dedicated to promoting Italian culture and gastronomy, funding scholarships for the Culinary Institute of America and sending journalists to Italy on regional culinary tours. With his executive chef Vito Gnazzo (right), Sorrentino focused on southern Italian cooking with pasta dishes like mezze maniche with spicy hot 'nduja sausage ragù and a mass of sweet onions scented with rosemary ; paccheri lavished with a "Genovese" sauce of melted sweet onions, carrots, celery and pork ribs cooked for hours in white wine ; and the lasagna "di Carnevale" with mini meatballs, ricotta and smoked mozzarella. Gianfranco was every inch the grand seigneur but without the pretense. He had the look of a gentle giant (though he was not tall), his face always shadowed with a three-day's growth of beard, his hair swept back but in disarray, the collar of his shirts always askew, his necktie out of kilter. His formidable rich voice voice always carried the gaiety of a comic opera basso. He would greet you. stick his chin out, frown, then break not a wide smile of welcome and played the genteel host to perfection. The world of la cucina Italiana is much the less in the US for his passing. He leaves behind his wife and partner Paola, and his two children, Sofia and Edoardo.
❖❖❖ NEW YORK
CORNER
LA GRANDE
BOUCHERIE
145 West 53rd Street 212-510-7714 By
John Mariani
“Grand” is certainly the
appropriate word to describe the size and
scope of La Grande Boucherie in midtown
Manhattan. The only restaurant of this size in
Paris that comes close might be La Coupole.
Both have about 400 seats.
Many
of
those seats are outside in the building’s arched
atrium, set with tall potted palms. Inside is a
splendid long bar and beyond that a two-tiered
dining hall that, with its art nouveau
appointments, would fit right in with the
brasseries on Montparnasse like Le Dôme and La
Rotonde, complete with maroon banquettes and
brass railings, tile floors and curved wood.
It’s all quite impressive. But it is also
extremely loud: I clocked 90 decibels on my
iPhone app––the equivalent of a jack hammer in
your midst. People yell to be heard, and even on
the mezzanine level we couldn’t hear each other
speak, thanks to a band of four louts down below
who must have thought they were ringside at a
prize fight. Piped-in music only adds to the
noise.
The antidote to
that cacophony is to sit in the peaceful al
fresco-like tables in the atrium so that you can
enjoy both the good bistro fare and the joy of
conversation. Or perhaps come at five PM or
after 9:30 when things simmer down.
That said, one can have a fine meal here,
heavily dependent on French classics, along with
a slew of grass-fed beef items. They
deliver good French bread and butter, and the
wine list is far more extensive than bistros
ever are, dozens of pages in every category, and
the Aloxe-Corton Domaine Francoise Jeanniard
2018 at $150 is a reasonable price for this very
fine bottling.
The white
crock of rich lobster bisque ($25) set a good
balance of creaminess and true lobster flavor,
chuck full of lobster meat, while the mesclun
salad with croquettes of chèvre ($24) paid
proper homage to this bistro classic. Abundant
mussels with a mustardy Dijonnaise bath ($34)
was a hearty mélange of
complex Mediterranean flavors. Of the appetizers
only the mousse of foie gras was disappointing
for the size of what
was little more than a large thimble of the
liver at $32. Bistros
define
their honest goodness with steak frites ($54)
and La Grande Boucherie’s earns its stripes. It
comes as ten ounces of grass-fed as it would be
in France) sirloin with a dollop of herb butter
and very good pommes frites. (Matter
of fact, good pommes frites have become
ubiquitous in New York restaurants.)
The lamb chops might be worth $63 had
they been from an American farm rather than New
Zealand, and while I would have liked to see the
coq au vin ($42) served in a crock, it
was nevertheless well rendered, cooked for a
long time in red wine so that the meat itself
darkens to a deep maroon suffused with carrots
and vegetables that went into the stock, and the
portion is generous.
So, too, that ideal cold weather dish
cassoulet Toulouse ($46) will feed at least two,
and while it contained duck confit (whose fat
had not been well rendered) and tender white
beans, it did not contain any garlic sausage or
pork, which is the definition of the Toulouse
style, nor was there a crisp crust on top.
For
dessert
I never refuse profiteroles ($18) and these were
lavish and delectable, from the puff pastry to
the ice cream and chocolate sauce. But why would
a chef put some kind of peanut butter sauce into
a Paris-Brest cake ($18) that demands almond
praline? Then I noticed the menu says “comme
un Paris-Brest”—like a
Paris-Brest—but the substitution was not a
success. A bowl of madeleine cookies were dry
and some tasted herbal.
The service staff at La Grande Boucherie
is quick on its feet at the beginning of the
evening but, as at far too many restaurants, by
nine o’clock they seem to drift away somewhere
and, in our case, took fifteen minutes to track
anyone down.
If you opt for the
best dishes at La Grande Boucherie you’ll have a
fine meal fairly authentic to Parisian
tradition. You may also have the sense that,
owing to its size, there is something of a
conveyor belt attitude in the kitchen. But if
you sit in the atrium, sip a cocktail or glass
of Champagne and enjoy your friends over a
delicious bowl of soup, perfect steak frites and
share the coq au vin and profiteroles
you will leave
satisfied. Open daily from 8 AM
till midnight. ❖❖❖
THE MAGDALENE LAUNDRIES By John Mariani CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The
Americans left the office as a damp night fell
over the city.
“Well, I guess we have to believe him
about being out of town,” said David, “and we
sure don’t have the resources to knock on
every doctor’s door who knows how to use a
scalpel.”
“Same goes for the butchers. It would
take several people days to go over Liddy’s
parish logs and match the names of boys in
their thirties and forties who grew up to be
butchers.”
“It’s a long shot anyway. I don’t think
you have to be a doctor or a butcher to lop
someone’s organs off.”
Katie and David had become accustomed
to walking and getting to know the streets of
Dublin.
“It’s a wonderful walking city,” said
Katie, “and it seems to be getting better all
the time.
“The Celtic Tiger is obviously
roaring,” said David, referring to the
economic boom that Ireland and particularly
Dublin had been undergoing since the
mid-1990s.
They were passing through Temple Bar,
which had become the city’s new arts district,
turning at Cope Street, which was dark and
quiet. Only a single figure stood towards the
end of the block, seeming to be talking on his
phone. David said, “Take my arm and stay on
this side of me, away from the building.”
When they were about ten feet away, the
dark figure turned slightly and asked, “”Scuse
me, mate, gotta light?”
David spat a quick “No” and kept
walking, when suddenly the man bolted at
Katie, tearing her from David’s arm and
drawing a switchblade knife next to her right
eye. Katie and David couldn’t be sure, nut he
looked to be the same height and weight as the
man in the alley who’d threatened them.
“Easy, Yank,” said the man, his cap
down over his forehead.
David looked for an opening but
couldn’t risk the knife cutting Katie.
“You always like to rough up women?” he
said.
“I told you the other night, no one
would get hurt if you left Dublin. But you
didn’t, did you? Well, then, maybe sendin’
this pretty American girl home with a memento
on her face to remind her why she came to town
will make you think about leavin’ soon as
possible.”
Katie’s cheek showed a slight
indentation from the point of the knife, but
the man had not drawn blood.
“All right,” said David, “we’ll leave
tomorrow. Just leave the woman alone. You cut
her and I’ll rip your fuckin’ head off.”
“Oh, you have a knife too, mate?
Itchin’ for a knife fight in an alleyway? If I
cut her, I know you’ll just rush over to her
and make sure she’s all right, take her
straight to the hospital. Then maybe you
really will
leave.”
At that, Katie jammed her shoe heel
sharply into the man’s instep and butted him
backwards, sending him crashing to the ground.
David leapt at the man and crunched his knee
hard onto his chest, grabbing his wrist with
the knife in it and smashing him in the face
with his right fist. The man tried to struggle
but David hit him again and again till the man
dropped the knife against the pavement.
“Get the knife, Katie!” David shouted,
then proceeded to pin the man on his chest.
From his jacket David took out a pair of
handcuffs and clicked them on the man, hitting
his forehead to the ground.
“Stay down or I’ll fuckin’ kill you!
Katie, call the cops.”
David turned the man over and said,
“Who the hell are you and who sent you?”
The man spit in David’s face.
“You’re the creep who carved up those
priests, aren’t you? Did you use that
switchblade on them, too?”
The man’s mouth was very bloody but he
again spat in David’s face.
David took of his scarf and stuffed it
in the man’s mouth as forcefully as he
could.
“You okay, Katie?”
“I think so,” she said, feeling the
side of her face. “I don’t think he broke the
skin.”
David looked closely. “He didn’t, but
he came damn close. Where the hell did you
learn to fight back like that, Katie?”
“After the last few times somebody
tried to kill us I thought it a good idea to
take a defensive fighting course. And where
the hell did you
get those handcuffs?”
“At that sex shop the other night.”
“For Play? That’s why
you went in there?”
“Hey, where else can you buy handcuffs
at ten o’clock at night in Dublin? I thought I
might need them after the last time we met
this guy.”
“And you think this is the guy who
attacked the priests?”
“I don’t really know. But he used a
knife. Seems a little too coincidental.”
“But I thought we were going on the
supposition that this guy was a goon for the
priests or the Church.”
“Maybe he is, but “You
know what it seems like?”
“What?” asked Katie.
“Remember in From Russia
with Love, when Bond is cornered in the
Orient Express train car and suddenly realizes
who his captor is really
working for?”
“I forget,” said Katie. “Connery was
Bond and Robert Shaw was the bad guy. That I
remember.”
“Right, and Bond says”—David tried to
do his best Sean Connery voice—“‘Of course!
SPECTRE! This wasn’t a Russian show at all!’”
“Right! SMERSH was the Russian spy
agency and SPECTRE an international crime
syndicate!”
“Yeah, and then Bond fights and kills
the guy.”
“Vicious fight,” said Katie.
“It was pretty realistic for a movie
fight.”
Katie and David heard the distinctive,
two-note wailing of police sirens nearby and
within seconds three Garda squad cars
screeched to s stop, two at one end of Cope
Street, a third at the other. Moments later an
ambulance arrived.
Out of the first car stepped Michael
Horan and Tom Scanlon. Two other officers
picked up the attacker, who seemed unable to
walk on the ankle Katie had crushed. Another
cop put the switchblade in a plastic bag.
“You two all right?” said Horan.
“We’re fine,” said David. “Lost a good
scarf. He doesn’t look too good,” pointing to
the suspect who was being put into the police
car.
“Well, I want you both to go to the
hospital anyway.”
“Suit yourself.”
“So what happened?”
David went into his NYPD mode, strictly
by the book, calling the man who just tried to
disfigure Katie as “the gentleman” and “the
perpetrator.” Scanlon was copying everything
down and asked, “You been carryin’ around
handcuffs while you’ve been here?”
“Came in handy, didn’t they, since I
can’t carry a firearm.”
“Okay,” said Horan, “after they release
you from the hospital, can you come in to make
a formal statement first thing tomorrow
morning?”
David and Katie merely nodded.
“So you think this may be the guy who
attacked the priests?” asked David.
“’Tis a good possibility. Won’t know
for a while, will we? I
just to God there are no more attacks.”
Which
David interpreted as meaning it was a win for
the Garda and a reason not to go further with
an investigation.
The ambulance attendees helped the
Americans into the back of the vehicle and
drove to Mercer Medical Center (left)
on nearby Stephen Street. While
waiting to be checked out by a doctor, Katie
and American were glad to see Max Finger come
through the Emergency Room doors.
“So, you’re okay?” he asked.
“I broke a heel,” said Katie, “but
we’re fine.”
David then proudly told Finger how
Katie had shoved the man to the pavement and
maybe even broke his ankle in the process.
“We could use you on the Garda’s
women’s division. So what happened this time?”
David and Katie went over the details
of the attack again, then asked Finger what he
thought would happen next.
“Horan and Scanlon will grill the man
and find out who he is and try to pin the
attacks on the priests on him.”
“You mean they’ll use force on the
guy?” asked Katie.
Finger looked grimly at her, then at
David, and said, “We’re a little bit more
civilized than that now, Katie. I don’t know
if they’re using rubber hoses at NYPD, but
over here they might start reading him the 900
pages of Finnegan’s
Wake and see how long he can stand it
before telling them everything.”
David looked at Katie, having no idea
what Finnegan’s
Wake was.
“It’s a novel of gibberish written by
James Joyce,” she said. “Nobody but an Irish
lit scholar would ever admit to reading the
whole thing.”
“Sounds like a pretty mean thing to do
to the guy. So you think they’ll try to pin
the attacks on him?”
“No, if he’s not the attacker they’ll
charge him for assaulting the two of
you—twice—and go back out lookin’ for the real
perpetrator. If he does prove to be the
attacker, they’ll proclaim victory, hand it to
the courts and close the files. And I can go
back to being Lead Investigator on the next
case.”
The doctor came out, gave the two
Americans a look-over and released them within
minutes.
“Y’know, David, I loved those shoes,
and the cops took the heel I snapped off.”
“Hey, how d’you think I feel about that
nice scarf I stuffed in the guy’s mouth?” © John Mariani, 2018 ❖❖❖ NOTES FROM THE WINE CELLAR
WELL-PRICED WINES FOR BIG HOLIDAY GET-TOGETHERS By John Mariani VIÑA SANTA RITA PEWËN DE APALTA 2021 It is time for
the annual tsunami of
articles as to what wines go best with a holiday
dinner, and,
while there may be some parameters for choosing
wines that have to match up
with everything from spicy stuffing and sweet
potatoes with marshmallows to
Brussels sprouts and pumpkin pie with nutmeg, one
shouldn’t make a big deal out
of it.
The one caution I adhere to is that, given
that riot of flavors, a very expensive Burgundy,
Bordeaux or California cult
wine will never be a good foil. Wines between $25
and $100, given their
enormous variety, work better, and, because of
chemical interactions, no wine
of any kind will complement Brussels sprouts,
artichokes or asparagus.
So here are wines that I think will be
good match-ups with the Thanksgiving dinner and the
day-after leftovers, as
well as, let’s face it any other time of the year. GEORGES DU BOEUF
BEAUJOLAIS NOUVEAU 2024
($14)––What was once a fad to be the
first on your block to hold a Beaujolais Nouveau
party has settled into a
pleasant reason to toast the new harvest with a
Gamay-based unfinished wine
that just so happens to go perfectly with turkey and
the trimmings.
This year’s vintage is very ripe, very
fruity and
of bigger body than usual.
It’s a happy wine for a happy feast. HAHN
PINOT NOIR 2023 ($16). Your=’re not
likely to find a better priced Pinot Noir with such
bright red berry flavors
than this. It comes from cool climate Monterey, so
it’s lighter in body than
what you’d get in Sonoma and more adaptable for
that. A very good choice for
the turkey and stuffing. PENFOLDS
BIN 407 2021
($90) and 704 ($90) CABERNET SAUVIGNON .
Australia’s most prominent producer with a scrim of
labels, make the 407 in
Coonawara, Wrattonbully and Padthaway in imitation
to its flagship Bin 707, so
the fruit is ripe, intense nut a little lighter in
body, good with poultry. Bin
704 is from their long-held California vineyards. It
spends all its aging
in French
oak and has a nuanced flavor
profile and softening tannins. It is now sold in a
1.5 liter gift box for the
holidays. DOÑA
PAULA
SELECCIÓN DE BODEGA MALBEC 2020 ($75). The Uco
Valley of Mendoza is very
kind to Malbec, the higher I altitude
the better, and this one is at 1,350 meter above sea
level. The vines are
pre-phylloxera and the grapes go through an
18-day
maceration and 24 months of aging in French oak
barrels, 50% new. Because
of its terroir this Malbec has little of the harsh
tannins of French Cahors
version, instead showing body and character rather
than mere brawn. VIÑA
SANTA RITA
PEWËN DE APALTA 2021 ($70).
Chilean Carménère shows the grape’s potential for
elegance when made with
finesse at it is from this dry-farmed estate planted
in 1938 in the Apalta
terroir. The
label of this wine is
inspired by the araucaria, a native and sacred
Chilean tree that also graces
the century-old park at Santa Rita. A less expensive
alternative is the Carmen
Delanz Carmenere Apalta 2021 at $30. ROBERT MONDAVI PRIVATE SELECTION
CHARDONNAY ($12). A very happy
price for a very dependable Chardonnay without too
much oak and plenty of
citrus fruit and the creamy quality of Mondavi’s
whites. It’s good to go with
the bird and can take the sweetness in other
elements making this as versatile
as a first course wine as for a cheese course.
PRAZO
DE RORIZ
2022 ($19). The increasing quality and availability
of wines from the Douro
River Valley in Portugal is to some extent due to
international investment, in
this case Symington Estates and Bordeaux winemaker
Bruno Prats. The Quinta
de
Roriz terroir, one of the oldest estates in
Portugal, is the source for hand-picked
grapes in a blend of 30% Touriga Nacional, 20%
Touriga Franca, 15% Tinta Roriz,
15% Tinta Barroca and 20% mixed varieties, and that
complexity shows well. VARVAGLIONE
12 E MEZZO 2023 ($17). The
name means “twelve and a half,” referring to the
light 12.5% alcohol that makes
this easy to drink throughout a large turkey dinner. This IGT
white is made around Taranto in
Puglia without aging in oak so that it’s clean.
Refreshingly dry and citrusy,
with pretty floral bouquet.
❖❖❖
BLOCK THAT SIMILE! “Like a bankruptcy in a
Hemingway novel, ripening
happens gradually and then quickly.”—Ligaya Mishan,
“Patience Rewarded: A
chef's take on beautifully ripe ‘ulu or breadfruit
in Hawaii is worth the
wait, NYTimes
(Nov 3, 2024). ❖❖❖ 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. WATCH THE VIDEO! “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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