MARIANI’S

Virtual Gourmet


  
FEBRUARY 9, 2025                                                                                             NEWSLETTER

 


Founded in 1996 

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Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung in "In the Mood for Love" (2000).

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THIS WEEK
VASTO

By John Mariani

NEW YORK CORNER
GRAND CENTRAL OYSTER BAR
& RESTAURANT

By John Mariani

THE MAGDALENE LAUNDRIES

CHAPTER 55
By John Mariani

NOTES FROM THE WINE CELLAR
WHAT TO DRINK WITH INDIAN FOOD

By John Mariani



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VASTO, AN HISTORIC HILL TOWN
ON THE ADRIATIC

By John Mariani



 
 

    Vasto is my hometown, two generations removed, whence came my grandfather and grandmother in 1905 at a time when it was an impoverished hill town whose history reflected the ups-and-downs of foreign occupation, from the Lombards and Normans to the Turks and Mussolini. 

         I have visited several times in the past fifty years, at first finding its charms were considerable if crestfallen.   The painting at the top of this article by an unknown artist has hung on my family’s walls for a hundred years, and the real Vasto looks exactly the same as in the painting.

Yet in the past twenty-five years Vasto has been bolstered and scrubbed as a very popular tourist town, especially in summer when Europeans blanket the beach and marina below the main town. Up on the hill Vasto is compact, wonderful for walking, with a grand piazza (below), a 15th century castle, a fine Romanesque Cattedrale di San Giuseppe  and a baroque Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, which is said to hold the crown of thorns worn by Jesus at his crucifixion.

Off season Vasto returns to the local ebb and flow of life, with the artisanal boutiques, bakeries and trattorias full of people speaking the regional Abruzzese dialect, and hotel and B&B prices, already quite moderate in summer, drop considerably to under $100 a night. On my visit last fall, my wife and I stayed at the tucked-away Residenza Amblingh (Via Portone Panzotto), with a panoramic view of the Neapolitan Gardens and Adriatic Sea. Owner/hosts Massimo and Raffaella are very proud of this secluded, beautifully decorated and well-lighted 18th century residence  (left) wherein all has been given a modern rusticity with superb amenities, spacious rooms with bath and bar fridge, Smart TV and WiFi. There is a small bar and library, and breakfast is taken on the terrace.

Vasto has a  number of restaurants and trattorias I’ve been visiting for decades, all of them rich in seafood dishes, like Hostaria del Pavone (Barbarotta 15/17) uptown and plenty of newcomers at the port, like Da Ferri (Via Osca 82), and marina. where pizzerias abound.

My favorite pizzeria on the hill is named Pizzeria aux Fils du Chevalier (Piazza San Pietro), a two-story eatery that always draws a crowd––particularly in good weather for the terrace overlooking the Gulf––whose menu lists four pages of variations, most of them 8 to 10 euros, from Riccio with eggplant, prosciutto, mozzarella and mayonnaise to Montanara, with tomato, mozzarella, mushrooms, small sausages and capers.

    Lo Scudo (Corso Giuseppe Garibaldi 39) has been around since 1867, and is a culinary repository of Abruzzese tradition, known for its brodetto alla Vastese teeming with sole, hake, scampi, red mullet and several more species of seafood. The pastas are all 12 euros and include a seafood risotto and cavatelli with mussels. The fritto misto (mixed fried seafood)  is impeccably crisp and flavorful.

         Whenever I return to Vasto I always head for Trattoria  Zì Albina (Via Luigi Marchesani 15), opened in 1907, and still among the best in town, owing to its clout with the local fishermen. The only change I saw last time was the once orange walls are not sea blue; otherwise it has the same simple charm and warm service staff. It has an excellent wine list, especially the slew of Abruzzo wines.

    We began our meal with a ravioli stuffed with burrata and shrimp in a light tomato sauce; then came to grandest of brodettos––40 euros for two or more people––brought in a huge bowl, steaming with briny and spicy aromas, abundant with half a dozen kinds of seafood, each cooked perfectly for their texture. And then they bring you a large plate of spaghetti on which you ladle the remaining broth from the bowl. 

    For me Vasto is returning to my ancestral home, but for anyone traveling the Adriatic Coast it will come as a town that shows how resilient Abruzzo had become in the last twenty years.

 

 

 

 

 


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NEW YORK CORNER


GRAND CENTRAL OYSTER BAR
& RESTAURANT


                                                                                    89 East 42nd Street

                                                                             212-490-6650

 

By John Mariani



 

         The term “iconic” is today so over-used as to describe everything from bell bottom bluejeans to Cadillac tail fins. But if the word applies to anything in New York, along with the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building and Rockefeller Center, it would have to be the Grand Central Oyster Bar & Restaurant, which this year turned 111 years old.     Yesterday I had lunch there under the magnificent tiled Catalan vaults  put in place by Spanish architect Rafael Guastavino, who also did the same at Ellis Island and under the Queensboro Bridge.

         As I have for many decades, I pored over the broadside of menu, agonizing over whether to have my old favorites, from the Manhattan clam chowder ($12.95) and crabcakes ($22.95) or the day’s specials, which yesterday included Louisiana catfish fingers with greens and a blue cheese dressing ($30.95) to grilled local swordfish over garlic mashed potatoes and pineapple salsa, grilled eggplant and beer-battered onion rings ($44.95). Then I spotted baby scallops Cape Cod scallops ($24.95), which is an amazingly cheap price), that seasonal wonder rarely seen even in New York restaurants. I called the waiter over and said, “Please tell me you still have an order of the bay scallops left!” Fortunately he did, and sided with buttery mashed potatoes and lemon wedges I swooned over every morsel of the sweet mollusks sauteed in an abundance of  garlic butter. That and a glass of Chablis and I was reminded all over again why this restaurant is both unique and iconic.

         The story of its existence—never safe from the wrecker’s ball and once, in 1997, devastated by a fire so hot the tiles fell off—begins with

railroad baron Cornelius Vanderbilt opening  Grand Central Terminal in 1913, putting the Oyster Bar in its  belly. It would somehow survive Prohibition, when much restaurant business shifted to speakeasies like ‘21’ Club, then flourished during World War II when millions of military personnel came through New York, then declined along with railroad passenger ridership in the 1960’s. At one point those historic tiles were painted aquamarine blue.  By the 1970s it was bankrupt.

Fortunately, under the guidance of master restaurateur Jerome Brody, a new Grand Central Oyster Bar & Restaurant was opened and found a whole new audience, both for those who got slurped up their oyster pan roasts at the counter, tourists who were astonished at its size  of 440 seats and regulars who ate their several times a week.


        The restaurant had always been a union shop but in 1999 Brody granted 49% of the ownership to its huge number of employees, who by 2012 owned it outright as a rare ESOP. (Brody’s wife continues as franchise owner.)

And so, life goes on beneath the Terminal’s great hall, when at precisely 11:30 the doors are unlocked and waiting customers pour in, at first slowly, then in a noontime wave.  Frankly, I have never found the reception hosts particularly warm and cuddly, welcomes can be cool; they note names, assign tables to which waiters lead them and present the screed of a  menu. Other guests will cram the snaking counters and bar section. The back wall is polished wood, the tables set with red checkered cloths. You are immediately served some of the best biscuits north of the Mason-Dixon Line with a generous dish of butter; later will come crunchy hard rolls.

As  noted, it’s not easy to make a decision among scores of dishes, most simply prepared, and always from the freshest seafood possible to find in the market. Given the volume the restaurant does at lunch and dinner, one can only imagine the clout the management and chef Juan Lopez  have with fishmongers. Each morning at 3 AM Lopez is at the Fulton Fish Market and all his orders are at the restaurant kitchen by 7 AM to be weighed and cut up, scaled and filleted.    

       So, on an given day you’ll find 25 species of fish,  including mahimahi, Arctic char, monkfish, scrod, rainbow trout and black sea bass, two dozen kinds of oysters culled from Beavertail, Rhode Island, to Prince Edward Island. As with those luscious bay scallops, they might have autumn’s Florida stone crabs or shad roe. There are a dozen desserts, housemade. And before you even go, you can check the day’s menu printed every morning on-line.

The bar is well stocked with every kind of spirits and beers,  and the wine list, which offers 25 by the glass, is extensive and focused on whites.

New York has plenty of seafood restaurants, from the French Le Bernardin  to the Greek Estiatorio Milos to the City Island cafeteria Johnny’s Reef. But none has the Oyster Bar’s history, architecture or abundance. That, and the fact that simply entering the subterranean restaurant, as hungry people have for  more than a century, is to understand how a restaurant can be a true icon, as representative of the belly and soul of New York as could be imagined, and certainly one never to be reproduced or built anywhere else.

 

 

 

Open for lunch and dinner Mon.-Fri.

 




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THE MAGDALENE LAUNDRIES
By  John Mariani





CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE


        Katie boarded a Delta Shuttle to Boston out of LaGuardia’s beautiful old art deco Marine Air Terminal, originally built to receive the flying boats that once flew into New York. A half hour later Katie landed at Boston’s Logan International and got a taxi to Brighton, where, since 1884, the Archbishop’s residence (left) had been part of a 60-acre property that also included St. John’s Seminary.

         Upon arriving Katie knew she’d had seen this estate before, for she had once take summer classes at Boston College, located right across the street. Getting out of the taxi, she looked around at the breadth and depth of the property, set in a wealthy white Catholic neighborhood that was still predominantly Irish-American.

         The mansion was three stories tall, overlooking Commonwealth Avenue, and Katie was received under the portico by a young priest who could tell how Katie, like everyone seeing the Archbishop’s residence for the first time, was amazed at its size, modeled after an Italian palazzo in marble and mahogany, though the interior was not as opulent.

         “We have a few minutes before Cardinal Law can see you,” said the priest, whose name was Kerrigan, “if you’d like to see some of the place.”

         Katie said she’d be delighted and turned on her recorder.

         `“Pope John Paul II stayed here,” said the priest, “as have many dignitaries. This main floor is used for entertaining guests and some secretarial offices.”

         Katie was shown a dining room and kitchen, a conference room, a lovely small chapel. There was a slight musty smell in the air.

         “We broadcast Mass each day from this chapel. We can’t go upstairs but there are four bedroom suites, one for the Archbishop, the others for secretaries or guests. On the fourth floor we have four wonderful nuns from Les Souers Sainte-Jeanne who take good care of all of us. They’re French, so we eat very well indeed. Ah, here’s Archbishop Law!”

         Law (right), at seventy, looked every inch the Irish Catholic cleric, of average height, well fed, with a ruddy face topped with white hair. He wore the official cassock with the fuchsia trim and skull cap.  Katie knew she had seen the same stern look of so many parish priests she’d known since childhood, carrying themselves slowly, as if always moving down a church aisle, either about to bestow a benediction or a slap. There was no cheeriness in Law’s demeanor, and Katie sensed the interview would be short.

         Law got right down to business.

         “I’ve read about you, Miss Cavuto,” he said dryly. “You have earned quite a reputation as, what shall I say?, a dogged reporter?”

         “I like to think I’m tenacious but fair,” said Katie. “Do you mind if I record our interview?”

         “That’s fine if we can stop it if I want something off the record.”

         “That’s fine.” She placed the recorder on Law’s desk and clicked it on. She’d tested it out before she arrived.

         Katie began with a brief summation of what she’d been researching in Dublin—Law deliberately interrupted her several times to ask what she thought of his favorite city outside of Boston and had she gone to the Cathedral there and how did she like the food—and she dropped the names of those she’d interviewed, from Sarah Garrison and Father Draney to Law’s counterpart, Archbishop McInerney.

         “What happened to that good man is inconceivable to me,” said Law, putting his hand over his heart and shaking his head as if in contrition. “Father Mac—that’s what he wanted people to call him—was one of the most loving priests I’ve ever met, as well as a first-rate business manager. He put the diocese on a strong financial footing, which is difficult in Ireland, and he was widely respected for his ability to secure funds for the charities.”

         “And, so, do you know why and who would want to harm him the way he was?” asked Katie.

         “I’ve read the reports, and I have to say I disagree with them. They say it was most likely someone who had been sexually abused by the Archbishop—and I can assure you, Archbishop McInerney had never been accused of such behavior in his entire career—or that it was to keep him quiet about Church activities. Which is also ridiculous because, however tragic, the man can still write with his hands.”

         “Then who do you think committed the crime?”

         “I think he was just a very sick individual who preyed on priests. It’s possible he had been sexually molested at some time in his life by a priest or that he harbored resentment for being what he thought was mistreatment while in school. He might have been thrown out of high school or college for some other activity, perhaps alcoholism or because of his own homosexuality, maybe even pedophilia. Perhaps he believed Archbishop McInerney was going to expose him as a pedophile.”

         “But you just said that the attacker left the Archbishop with the ability to write things down.”

         Law tacked away from answering Katie’s assertion and said, “Then why do you think he was attacked, Miss Cavuto?”

         Katie bore in, reminding Law of the murders of the nuns by a woman who had been physically abused by them and sexually abused by priests visiting the Magdalene Laundries.

         “I know, I know,” said Law, wringing his hands and giving the stock answer. “That is a sad and sorry chapter in Irish Catholic history. It began with the best of intentions but became something very different. But now that’s over. The Laundries are gone.”

         “But not all the sisters or priests who were complicit in the abuse are. Many are still in their parishes or teaching or retired.”

         Law said, “Miss Cavuto, I am Archbishop of the diocese of Boston, Massachusetts. Clearly, my reach and influence does not extend to Dublin. I can only try to act upon allegations of such activities as come across my desk. These are matters to be handled by the Dublin diocese and, if necessary, by the Vatican.”

         “But isn’t it true, Archbishop Law, that you had a role in squashing an investigation by the Boston Globe some years ago about sexual abuse by priests in the diocese of Boston?” 

         Law had anticipated the question and gave the same answer he had at the time of the aborted investigation. “Not to repeat myself, Miss Cavuto, but I’m Archbishop of the diocese of Boston, and I hardly think I can stop a paper like the Globe from printing whatever they like.”

         Katie wanted to go further with that line of questioning but began to fear that Law would end the interview before she had a chance to bring up the Network. She already had the files on her lap and now placed them on the Archbishop’s desk.

         Law tilted his head slightly and asked, “And what are those?”

         “Archbishop Law, have you ever heard of a Network within the Catholic Church, a secret society of priests who are homosexual, sometimes pedophiles, who are in contact with one another and advise members where they can go for sexual activity?”

         Law squirmed in his seat and said, “A Network? I’ve never heard of such a thing. It’s always possible there are a few renegade priests who keep in contact for the reason you describe, but a Network, absolutely not.”

         Katie opened the files and Law’s eyes signaled that he knew what was in them.

         “These are pages and pages of the names of priests and brothers who I believe were part of such a Network,” she said. “I was first told about such a possibility by Richard Sipe, who has been researching sexual abuse in the Church for a long time.”

         Katie was sure that Law knew of Sipe but the Archbishop said nothing.

         “The priest in Dublin who was attacked and castrated, Father Liddy, is on this list.”

         “And is Archbishop McInerney?”

         “Yes, but on a separate list,” said Katie, opening to another page and pointing. “These priests are all high Church officials, cardinals and bishops. They may or may not be gay or pedophiles but they seem to be on the list as people who can help a priest out who may have been outed or gotten into trouble.”

         Law knew exactly what was coming next.

         Katie turned the page around for Law to read it.

         “And there’s your name, Archbishop. Why would it be on this list?”

         Law stammered, his face going from pink to red, and said, “I have absolutely no idea how or why I would be on this or any such list. If someone put my name on there, I…I assume they thought that . . . that because I am the highest official in a specific diocese a priest could come to me with his problem, just the way if you were in trouble in a foreign country you…you might go to the American Embassy for help.”

         “You mean sanctuary?”

         “Of a kind, yes.”

         “And have priests who might be on this list come to you for help in such matters?” 

         Law stroked his chin and said, “Well, of course, in the sanctity of confession I have heard priests and brothers—and nuns, too —tell me their sins and ask for contrition and my help.”

         “And when they did, you would just give them penance to say and absolution and nothing else?”

         “Oh, I’d try very hard to convince them not only to get help but to go straight to church authorities who can provide psychological help. They’re the specialists in such things.”

         “Well,” said Katie, “I know about the sanctity of confession, but have any priests, brothers or nuns come to you outside of the confessional to ask you to help them out of trouble?”

         Law had beads of sweat on his forehead and temples, but he managed to rouse a sense of indignation at what he was asked.

         “Miss Cavuto, we in the diocese take such allegations about our people very, very seriously. We investigate them thoroughly, and sometimes we are driven to expel such clerics, not just from their religious order but from the Church itself, which threatens them with eternal damnation.”

         “But you never involve the police, even if it was a case of pedophilia?”

         “If the police arrest one of the clergy on such charges, well, it’s their job to prosecute them. The Church has no judicial authority to do so.”

         Katie had grown tired of the same stock answers, though she would repeat them in her article, verbatim. She said, “You may have heard, Archbishop, that in Dublin my partner, a former New York police detective, and I, were attacked twice and almost murdered because we were getting deeper into our investigation. And at the same time, we heard from the Dublin police that for as long as anyone could remember, cases about priests who molested minors never went anywhere because the Church officials—and I assume that included Archbishop McInerney—brought pressure on them to kill the investigations, just like people say you did with the Boston Globe investigation.”

         Law was leaning over the files, turning the pages.

         “And just where did you obtain these files?” he asked.

         “They were copied from on original book in Dublin and that there are several copies among the Network, including one kept by Archbishop McInerney.”

         “And you intend to put this all into your magazine?” he said.

         “The story’s pretty much finished, but my editor said he thought you should have a chance to respond before we publish, so I flew up here to see you and let you have your say.”

         Katie remained silent, waiting for Law to unscramble his thoughts. Finally the Archbishop spoke, haltingly.

         “Do you know, Miss Cavuto—and I’m pretty sure you were raised as a Catholic girl —how harmful this would be to so many lives and to the Church itself?”

         Katie had no intention of going back over her Catholic upbringing, except to say, “Archbishop Law, the people on this list have been so much more harmful than anything I write could ever do to them. And as for the Church, this is not the Church I was raised to believe in. This is like. . .like the Anti-Church, one that stands against everything good that I still believe in. But I didn’t come here to discuss 21st century Catholic ethics. I’m here doing my job, and the chips will fall where they have to, if I do my job right.”

         Katie didn’t wait to be told to leave. She got up from her chair, grabbed her recorder and the files, without help from Father Kerrigan pushed her way through the door, down the cold marble steps and out the iron gates of the estate, where a pre-arranged taxi was waiting. She took a long breath of air that felt as restorative as when she’d emerged from confession as a girl, feeling all her sins had been washed away.

 




©
John Mariani, 2018



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NOTES FROM THE WINE CELLAR



What to Drink with Indian Food  

By John Mariani




         It is certainly not true that all Indian food is highly spiced and red hot with chilies (which didn’t even reach India from the Americas until the 16th century).  But many dishes are built around seasonings and spices with pronounced aromatics that make them difficult to match with wine.
         India does make wine from indigenous grapes like Anabeshi, Arkavati and Arkashyam, although the Turkish varietal Sultana (also called Thompson Seedless) is predominant, and, while increasing among the middle class, wine is only two percent of the country’s alcohol market share.  The problem is that India is a patchwork of states that do and do not ban alcohol, and wines are also very expensive, not least if exported. Also, most are quite sweet.
         It is worth noting that international varietals like Chenin Blanc, Sauvignon Blanc, Syrah and Zinfandel have made small inroads, and there is a bit of a snob factor in drinking European wines. A hip cocktail bar named The Bombay Canteen in Mumbai carries a wide array of liquors as well as 14 wines, both Indian and international, including Gran Sello Tempranillo and Syrah from Spain; Matia Riccitelli “Hey Malbec” from Argentina; Riporta Nero d’Avola from Italy; Bex Riesling from Germany; and Jacky Marteau Gamay from France. The fine dining restaurant The Table in Mumbai carries two dozen wines and has a Coravin system for seven wines by the glass, including a Sangiovese from Italy and a Cabernet Sauvignon from South Africa.
         These listings give a clue as to what wines will go well with Indian food, and most are fairly full-bodied and intense, which would be good matches with rich Mughal dishes like vindaloo and butter chicken. Whites like Chenin Blanc and Sauvignon Blanc have a grassy component and light sweetness. Delicate white Burgundies would not work, though a high alcohol, heavily oaked Chardonnay. Gewurztraminer and Riesling, which have their own spiciness, is a good choice. Sparkling wines would, too, especially with tandoori dishes.
         Lesser body reds like Chianti and Beaujolais will fade in the face of Indian spices, but sweet dessert wines like Port, Trockenbeerenauslese and Ice wines will marry well to sweet Indian desserts like ras mali and kulfi.
         Frankly, I usually prefer beer with Indian food, but I’ve some fine meals accompanied  by wines of the western hemisphere. Here are some I find work very well.

 

Stewart Sauvignon Blanc 2023 ($36). This Napa Valley Sauvignon Blanc, fermented wholly in stainless steel, is all about refreshment, with both fruit and acids and 12.9% alcohol working together both to enhance and to cut through the spices of Indian seafood dishes and biryani rice dishes.

 

Larkmead Lillie Sauvignon Blanc 2023 ($75). Bolder and more full-bodied, with a high 14.3% alcohol, this Napa Valley spends time in 100% barrel fermentation, with 32% new oak. It has tropical notes, good minerality and a  fine finish on the palate. It would work wonderfully with the crêpe-like dosas filled with potatoes and spices. 

 






Château Malherbe Grand Vin Blanc 2021
($55). Aging has provided refinement to this blend of French Rolle and aromatic Semillon, from Provence, made biodynamically by the Ferrari family and winemaker Jean Luburthe. Made from 50-year-old grapes planted in clay and shale, it undergoes malolactic to give it a soft profile then aged in Burgundy barrels for 12 months, emerging at a proper 13%. It has a pleasant heft that would go well with  mis, yogurt-based korma. 

 

 

Inman Family Wines OGV Estate Brut Rosé 2023 ($80). An elegant sparkler made with 100% Pinot Noir at the Olivet Grange Vineyard with the méthode champenoise, it comes quite close to rose Champagnes at much higher prices. Two percent of the previous vintage “tinted” the wine to “reduce bitterness and phenolics and add texture and character.” It would be excellent with mulligatawny soup.   

 




Penfolds Bin 600 Cabernet Shiraz  2021 ($50). The Cabernet (85%) brings the richness and tannin backbone while the Shiraz (15%) brings the glow of ripe fruit. While Penfolds is known in 1998 as a significant Australian company, in this case they brought cuttings from the Kalima and Magill Estates to California, planting them in the Camatta Hills vineyard known as “Creston ‘600’ Ranch, thus the name. It spends 16 months in American oak barriques. This is one big red that would meet the heat in dishes like lamb vindaloo from Goa.  









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FORTUNATELY HAGGIS, CULLEN SKINK AND
GRUEL WILL STILL BE SERVED FOR LUNCH

Scotland's SNP government will soon ban birthday cakes and sweet from playgroups and nursery schools, as well as chicken nuggets, fish fingers and anything deep fried — including chips — chocolates and fruit juice,  pretzels and popcorn., as well as most white breads. Only  water  will be served.






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 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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The Encyclopedia of American Food and Drink by John F. Mariani (Bloomsbury USA, $35)

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.

 

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