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THIS WEEK

AWAY IN DALMATIA
By John Mariani

NEW YORK CORNER
LE BERNARDIN
By John Mariani


HÔTEL ALLEMAGNE
CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN
By John Mariani

NOTES FROM THE SPIRITS LOCKER
NEW TEQUILAS
By John Mariani



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AWAY IN DALMATIA
By John Mariani

BRELA ON CROATIA'S DALMATIAN COAST

         The Dalmatian coast on  the Adriatic has seen a dramatic increase in tourism just in the last five years, not only for its historic cities of Dubrovnik and Split but for those smaller, quiet towns that line the coast and offer a more localized sense of Croatian culture.  As a result of this interest, these towns have acquired a number of restaurants offering both traditional and modern cuisine on their menus at remarkably affordable prices.

Brela is a port city––called “Champion of the Adriatic” for its attraction of tourism–– from whose pebbled Punta Rata beach (which Forbes in 2004 declared “the most beautiful beach in Europe”) and Vruja Cove are at the base of the pine-covered Biokovo mountain. BnBs abound, and though I found the Bluesun Hotel Berulia, which was packed with German bicyclists and trekkers when I visited, comfortable and convenient, but its dreary basement restaurant had all the charm of an institutional cafeteria.

Fortunately I found a splendid restaurant named Feral (Obala Kneza Domagoja 30) just down the beach (open just four days a week) that draws primarily on local organic provender, seafood and meats from small farms and purveyors. They also make their own bread, and the menu is vegetarian friendly.

The décor is minimal, with a bar that does craft cocktails and has a very good wine list, with many Croatian and Dalmatian bottlings,  and the very friendly owner-chefs come to every table to advise you on the night’s best dishes, which, on my two visits included five varieties of fried seafood with potato salad; domaći njoki kozicamatender gnocchi with fresh shrimp (right); wild asparagus with a poached egg;  perfectly cooked teleća jetra veal liver with shredded onions; penne pasta with a truffle cream and zucchini. Crni rižot risotto with cuttlefish in  its purple ink; and for dessert, vanilla crêpes and apple pie. Prices are very moderate, with most main courses under 25 euros.

Also along the coast is the town of  Makarska, (left) from which people take the ferries to the island of Brac, that is, if the powerful, cold wine called Bura is not churning up the waters.

There is a wide walkway along the bay, bobbing with painted rowboats, and above the town is a nature preserve. In town Makarska’s distinction is an odd, small museum, once a monastery, that now houses a collection of sea shells, which, if you are fascinated by bivalves, will keep you entranced for hours.

I had a delightful lunch at Gastro Diva (Kalalarga 22) inside the old city (below). It’s a rustic three-room affair much beloved by thelocals and appreciated by those who go for hearty Croatian fare and housemade bread. Enjoy the charcuterie platter of cheese, bresaola and olives while enjoying a good wine from Brac. Then dive into the skradyvskog rice balls; grilled komarca (sea bream); telece pecenje lamb and gnocchi; or fuẑi jadranskim pasta with prawns, with everything on the menu under 30 euros.

Farther inland the mid-size city of Sinj on the Cetina River gives you a sense of isolation within the mountains of Dalmatia, with fine open squares and its basilica of Our Lady of Sinj, who the locals say had a hand in the epic and decisive battle commemorated in the Alka of Sinj Museum when, in 1715, a force of 100 Croatians defeated a  much larger Ottomans army. Each year its most important historic feast day is the tournament of mounted knights.

Imotski, is a crossroads city near the border with Bosnia and Herzegovina, with an appropriately impressive medieval fortress that looms over the valley. It is also adjacent to two  beautiful lakes, one tinted red from the iron minerals in the surrounding wall of  rocks, the other a  very pure blue, both of which are said to connect through underground channels to the sea. They are excellent places to go hiking.

I enjoyed a superb lunch at a modern restaurant in Imotski  named Tri Sunca (Ul Ante Starčevića 20),––Three Suns–– a pleasantly sunny room in  the small Emotheo Heritage Hotel, which specializes on the recipes of old grandmothers’ cookbooks, where my friends and I had a verdant juha od šparoga I kozica asparagus soup; žablji krakovi frogs’ legs risotto; a hefty veal shoulder with mashed potatoes (left); braised well-spiced local beef with gnocchi Trilike sauerbraten, ending off with a traditional almond cake. Main courses are about 15 euros.  We toasted our friends with the Croatian form of “cheers!” with a glass of Dalmatian wine named Katich Kujundzuša and saying, “Ƶivili!”

 

 

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NEW YORK CORNER

LE BERNARDIN

155 West 51st Street

212-554-1515

By John Mariani

 

 

            For the first 25 years of our marriage, my wife and I celebrated our anniversary at the great classic French restaurant in New York named Lutèce, now closed. And ever since then we have done so at the only other restaurant in New York to compare, albeit in a very different style.  

        The food at Le Bernardin is all seafood (though there is a vegetarian  menu offered) and it is all exquisite, creative without ever showing eccentricity and quite unlike anything else one might find in the U.S.

Indeed, by placing ourselves in Chef-owner Eric Ripert and partner Maguy Le Coze’s hands, my wife and I have never had the same dish twice over the past fifteen years, even though a few dishes have been on the menu since the restaurant opened in 1986.

        The tables are large, set with thick linens and napery, lovely show plates, China is of the highest quality, silverware is just the right weight and stemware elegantly fragile.

       Opened by Maguy Le Coze  and her chef brother Gilbert, Le Bernardin immediately won the highest praise from the media, including four stars from the New York Times and three from the Michelin Guide. Sadly, Gilbert passed away in 1994 but his second-in-command, Eric Ripert stayed the course, eventually becoming a partner with Maguy. A few dishes abide on the menu from the restaurant’s inception—classics like seafood carpaccio that Le Bernardin pioneered and everyone since has copied. But while keeping within the kitchen’s traditions, Ripert has masterfully allowed the menu to evolve with myriad global flavors.

         On our anniversary visit this year my wife and I, as usual, left the menu up to Ripert, which began with kombo salt-cured with Japanese madai, with fresh hearts of palm dressed with a tangy calamansi vinaigrette. Then came lightly steamed lobster with kumquat and charred cucumber  in a spiced shellfish-citrus broth.

         Quick, even cooking is the essence of Ripert’s cuisine, always maintaining the seafood’s essential flavor, so that Faroe Island salmon (right) is slowly baked and topped with Royal Osetra caviar and a horseradish emulsion one might think would overpower the fish. Instead its subtlety buoys the dish’s saline and briny flavors.

         Next came a classic nudged into the 21^st century––Dover sole pan-seared with butter, served with Romanesco and cauliflower florets, toasted Almonds and a soy-lime emulsion.

         Le Bernardin has a splendid cheese cart from which we each chose four cheeses each.

         Dessert was very simple: a dish of summer strawberries with

Tahitian vanilla Chantilly. Chocolates and cookies followed.

         If I did not go into greater detail in describing each dish it was because I want to save room to mention all the other aspects of Le Bernardin that make it unique, even among New York’s French restaurants. Each of those aspects have been so carefully honed and modulated over three decades that what may go unnoticed is part of a seamless enactment of exquisite taste.

         The dining room itself is done with the same unaffected sophistication, its large tables widely separated, flourish of flowers,  artwork reflecting the sea and ideal lighting so one can see the rest of the room as well as the beauty of the dishes served. Despite the room’s capacious size, it is never loud, the  noise soaked up by carpeted floors, fabric chairs, thick linens and draperies.

         When you enter you find all the staff, led by directeur de salle Tomi Dzelaja,  impeccably dressed (better than some of the male clientele). The cordial greeting immediately indicates the refinement of what is to follow. The host turns you over to a lovely smiling young woman who shows you to your table.  Wine and beverage director Aldo Sohm (who is partner in his namesake wine bar across the breezeway) has a passel of sommeliers who are intent on finding you the right bottle for your taste and budget from an extraordinary wine list.

         Three kinds of bread are presented with a ramekin of soft butter that is replaced whenever you’ve used half of it. Special spoons or forks accompany certain dishes, as are wine glasses, which are always refilled without your needing to ask for it.

         Captains and waiters carefully spoon or swirl the sauce onto your dish at the table, lest it grow cold on its way from the kitchen.

         You will not be continuously interrupted mid-meal to be asked how you like a dish; only after you finish one might you be so queried.

         Eric Ripert himself often comes out into the dining room and, though he is something of a media star, greets his fans with a humble demeanor and sincere interest in how you are enjoying your evening. When Maguy Le Coze is at the restaurant she moves through the dining room with savoir-faire, with her hands folded, nodding at everyone.

         The sorry news about Le Bernardin is that it is not easy to get a table, even weeks in advance for prime hours. Which is precisely why you will have better luck requesting an early hour  or one after 9:30. And now, in the heat of summer, with so many regulars out of town, lunch is easier to book. You may also eat in the posh lounge, if you like, which has its comprehensive menu and dozens of wine by the glass.  

         All of this determines why Le Bernardin is expensive, but not as much as many others in New York, and considerably less than Parisian counterparts. At Le Bernardin a four-course meal $215, the chef’s tasting menu $350. But a four-course lunch is only $135.

         You not only get what you pay for at Le Bernardin but you get more than you expected, which goes just as much for the décor and the service aa for the nonpareil cuisine, which is all the more remarkable for a restaurant now in its fourth decade in New York.

        

 

Open for lunch Mon.-Fri.; Dinner Mon.-Sat.

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HÔTEL ALLEMAGNE
 By  John Mariani

    Everything seemed to be within walking distance in Marseilles, and the two Americans found that Marciano’s garages were just blocks from one another. At the first the mechanic on duty said his boss was probably at one of his other shops, probably the one on Rue de Beausett, where he usually spent his mornings. Katie and David, still rehearsing their lines for the prospective interview, walked slowly to the next shop and asked for Marciano, telling the employee that wanted to ask his boss some questions about a car they might be renting in the area that they were going to drive to Paris.
         After a few minutes a large, thick-necked man in his thirties, with a three-day’s growth of beard that in Paris might look fashionable but here in Marseilles merely looked unkempt. He was wearing the blue worker’s overalls called bleu de travail worn all over France, clean that morning so far. He asked how he could help the two Americans, speaking in fairly good, heavily accented English.
         David noticed that there was a very expensive current year Maserati in the garage under a tarp—he could tell by the shape of the wheel spokes that were visible.
         “Is that a Maserati under there?” he asked.
         Marciano just nodded and again asked how could help. He regarded David as a curious American who would have a girl like Katie by his side. Not because of his age but because he didn’t look the usual type—very slick, very tan, with a big watch and designer sunglasses. Then again, Katie looked too wholesome to be one of those rich guys’ mistresses who looked like she’d just come out for the first time since having plastic surgery. He didn’t see any wedding rings.
         “We’re looking to rent a car to drive all the way to Paris,” said David.
         “Why come here? You go to Avis or Europcar. Their offices are around the block.”
         “Yeah, but we’re looking for something special that’ll make the drive fun. Y’know, see the scenery, stop along the way. We’re in no great rush.”
         “What are you looking for? I don’t have any Maseratis, if that’s what you mean.”
         “No, something a bit less showy and fast than that. Like a top-of-the-line Mercedes,  maybe SL Class, something like that. Hey, did you see that movie that just came out, The Transporter, about a professional driver hired by various underworld figures. I think he was driving a 7 Series BMW?”
         “No, I did not see the movie, and I don’t keep cars like that here.”
         David said, “It was a pretty good movie if you like car chases up and down the Riviera. I always wondered if there really are guys like that you could hire for such jobs.”
         “I would not know, Monsieur.”
         “Well, like I said, we’re in no rush if it would take a couple of days. I mean, what kind of car would you drive for that distance?”
         “I’d take a train or fly,” said Marciano, not sure where the conversation was going or why they came to his shop.
         “Do you know how long the train takes?” asked Katie.
         “Oui, I took it to Paris last week. It took three-and-a-half hours. No problem, no traffic.”
         “Do you know Paris well?” she asked.
         “Oui, I go for business quite a lot.”
         “I ask because we had a room booked at one of those three hotels that had the virus attack where all those people got very sick.”
         “I don’t stay at such rich places,” said the mechanic, taking out a cigarette and lighting it with a Zippo lighter. “Like I say, I go for business. So, I don’t spend much time in my hotel.”
         “It’s really too bad about those hotels. The one we booked was called. . . what was it called, David?”
         “In English it was the Queen’s Hotel.”
         “Hôtel de  la Reine,” said Marciano. “I have never stayed there.”
         “Well,” said David, “I think we’re still thinking we want to rent a car and drive to Paris, so listen, we’re staying here in Marseilles at the Hôtel Saint-Ferréol on Rue Pisançon. We’re going to be there for three more days, so if you can get us a good price on a Mercedes—a coupe’s okay, a convertible would be terrific—here’s my card.”
         David handed him a card that only had his name, home address and telephone number on it. “Just let the concierge know if it works out.”
         Marciano shrugged and said, “I have nothing at the moment, but I will let you know if I can get a car. Now I have to get some work done. Enjoy Marseilles.”
         Trying to keep things light Katie said, “You must have some favorite workingman’s or fisherman’s favorite little bistro you like to go. We don’t want  to eat at the high-end places.”
         Marciano said, “I run two pizzerias in the port, so I don’t go out to eat much. Better to ask your concierge.” He then said, “Au revoir, messieurs,” and walked to the back of the shop.
         Katie and David left the shop, walked a few steps, looked at each other and raised their eyebrow
         “Whaddaya think?” asked Katie.
         “Well, first off, he’s lying about never staying at the Hôtel de  la Reine.”
         “Yeah, and something tells me he doesn’t trust a word we said to him. Notice how he didn’t even bother to ask what we’d pay for such a luxury car?”
         “Maybe he figured we were so rich we’d say price was no object.”
         “That I doubt. I think he took one look at us and sensed we weren’t the type. If we were, why would be staying in a second-class hotel like the Saint-Ferréol? If we were so rich, we’d be staying at the Grand Hôtel. I read that Chopin stayed there.”
         “You’re right,” said David, looking at his well-worn blue blazer. “You look great, but I look like I just got off a tour bus.”
         “So, what do we do now?”
         “Well, for one thing, we should tell Iacovino and Borel that Marciano lied about the hotel, which, frankly, may not sound like a big deal. The police aren’t going to haul him in for that. But the fact that he was in the hotel that night and lied about it makes a connection to the crime much more probable.”
         “Maybe we should have dinner at one of his pizzerias tonight, find out where he’ll be.”
         “Way too obvious,” said David. “I suspect he’s already calling his friends around town to ask if they know anything about us. I’m afraid we’ve just got to confront him with what we know and see where it leads.”
         “You really think he’s going to admit what he did? Just stick his arms out and let us handcuff him and drag him to the police station?”
         “No, but maybe we can trip him up enough to convince the police to drag him to the police station.”