OK, we watched. Our apartment building had its own "street party," hosted by the people who live in the two basement flats, who happen also to have lovely gardens that we didn't mind a closer look at. The gathered group consisted of some residents (most, though, were out of town, hence the hard sell that the porter Alf gave me about attending), and friends of the hosts. Some were such fierce royalists they didn't come until the ceremony part was over, but most were more skeptical. Many jokes about the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge having to run a pub in Cambridgeshire for a living, and "pulling pints." We arrived in time to see the first look of "the dress," which drew widespread approval. The hideous get-up of two of William's cousins (Beatrice and somebody) provoked utter derision. This was also about food: we had Buck's fizz (champagne and orange juice) to start, and then more champagne to toast the lovely couple. After the ceremony, while the royals were having their luncheon, we too noshed on sausages, chicken, tomato and feta salad, and cake for dessert. Back in time for "the kiss," which was intensely anticipated but received a C-. (Replays of the kiss of Diana and Charles from 1981 got even lower reviews and a great deal of cynical or sympathetic commentary.) There was a second kiss, which received better marks, but 9 of us had crowded into the lift (that holds 8 people) to go to the rooftop, to watch the "flyover," so we missed it. We sort of saw the 4 RAF jets disappear into the mist over Buckingham Palace, and the Lancaster bomber and 2 escorts making its return trip, with many jokes about the reductions in the budget reducing the RAF to just these 7 planes. As Americans, we were assumed to be anti-monarchy, and while we didn't fool anyone, I hope we were respectful and polite! All were especially proud of "how well" we do these pageantry things. (A newspaper commenter had remarked that all the union jacks along the Mall looked a little too much like the Third Reich. But I didn't repeat this today.)
The gardens were lovely, with climbing roses, breeding blackbirds, bluetits at the feeder, and lots of shrubbery and florality.
Best of luck, Cambridges.
Friday, 29 April 2011
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
Toulouse
A seminar invitation in Toulouse provided the excuse for an extended weekend's visit to the French southwest, where Airbuses are built and duck reigns supreme. Toulouse is a city of under a million people, with a smaller (but automated) subway, and far fewer crowds than Rome. We had fantastic weather for walking about, exploring churches, museums, canals, and a bit of the surrounding region. Meals, though, were our goal.
Friday night, on the recommendation of R's host, we ate at a small restaurant on Rue des Blanchers, not so far from the Manufacture Nationale de Tabak, today (for awhile longer) the home of the Economics Institute.
(This is the Manufacture, located on the Canal de Brienne, not the restaurant.) The restaurant, Du Plaisir à la Toque, seemed quite popular on this Friday night. We'd tried to have our hotel book, but nobody answered the phone. Walking by, we made our own reservation, which was a good thing, because as we dined, several groups were turned away. There was a small menu, plus specials, and we opted mostly for the latter: we plunged in right away into the duck foie gras, foie gras in sauce for R, and foie gras on a rabbit rillette for me. For the main, R had lamb shank in Roquefort sauce, and I had aiguillettes of duck (they are called the supreme of chicken, that little bit from the breast that is separate), wrapped around foie gras, surrounded by a circle of lightly sauteed vegetables such as zucchini and red cabbage. The whole effect was excellent and scrumptious. The service was casual but attentive; the room lit by sparkling fairy lights, also casual, but an excellent introduction to our Toulouse culinary holiday.
Saturday: there is a farmer's market on the main Place de la Capitole, at the City Hall. The range of vegetables was a little disappointing -- still featuring winter root vegetables. This was a harbinger of the realization that the cuisine of Toulouse is heavily based on meat, liver, and protein, not vegetable.
But our real destination was the famous covered market in Place Victor Hugo. Here on Saturday morning we found in Cartesian rationality stalls for cheese, duck products, offal, the four quarters, and fish, both the finny kind:
And a huge variety of shellfish. (Toulouse claims special status because it is equally accessible to the fisheries of the Atlantic and the Mediterranean.)
There is also a mind-boggling array of cheese from all over France:
And last but not least, the shop of the Samaran firm, recommended to us as the best for duck and duck products.
Those are whole duck livers in the center, and all kinds of other mouth-watering examples of the local cuisine.
After a long and longing circuit of the market, we went upstairs for lunch. On the second floor there are six restaurants featuring the products of the market. We opted for one of the fish places, ordering the menu. R had fish soup and sardines, I had a fish paté and the "duo" (this is a popular item, two things paired) of trout and daurade. Dessert (memorable because it wasn't so good) was chocolate mousse and cheese. Most people had selected the tiramisou, which came in a series of shot glasses. Maybe next time...
We had hoped to do some cycling in Toulouse, particularly along the Canal du Midi. The friendly Tourist Office behind the Capitole explained that the ubiquitous Toulouse bikes could not be rented by foreigners because of credit card restrictions, but there was a rental office near the train station. It was unfortunately not open on Sundays. This was our only chance. We ambled over there, only to find that there was only one bike available. But the mechanic in the back room offered that he was just about ready with another one, so we hired the two bikes for the afternoon (we could have kept them a week, I think, and the basic membership is good for a year), and pedaled off down the Canal du Midi, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site that continues to the sea. We took off on heavy city commuter bikes, in the face of a pretty strong wind, but the canal was lovely and peaceful, and in about 40 minutes we had left the city limits behind us. (Ours are the white Location bikes; the standard city bikes have the red wheel cover.)
The paved part of the canal path crosses the bridges several times, and gave us a chance to contemplate the water. (Note that the trees have not yet leafed out, even in the south of France at the beginning of April.)
Just when we were beginning to tire and think about turning back in order to get the bikes back before the office closed, an inviting canalside cafe appeared. Many cyclists were already there, finishing their lunches, presumably heavily dependent on duck and duck liver. We were near the town of Castenet.
We needed only some bottled water and a coffee, but we relaxed along with the other Saturday cyclists, who had arrived on all manner of bikes and in all types of costumes, from Tour de France kit to ordinary jeans like us.
The ride back with the considerable wind was a breeze, as they say. The day was not too hot, but sunny and extremely pleasant. (The bike office clerk apologized for the lack of bikes - it was a rare sunny day and many folks had decided to go out cycling.) In general, service was very friendly and helpful, whether at the hotel, the tourist bureau, the bike office, in restaurants or in shops. The atmosphere of the town seemed quite laid back - was it the good weather? No, said Christian, R's host - it's because it is so close to Spain.
The bicycle trip whetted our appetite for more Toulousian food. Tonight we would dine at a restaurant down the street from our hotel which had seemed quite popular the night before, Bistro du Chevillard, and which advertised its "Plats des canailles," or dishes of stellar offal. Here R had the classic tete du veau in sauce ravigotte (we had seen tete du veau and pied du veau at the market earlier), and I had a salad of grilled chicken livers. For the main course, R had casserole of andouillette and I had the special, a broiled veal kidney with bacon and frites. Quite a lot of food, even with the bike ride. Like the night before, the place was bustling with ordinary folks and families enjoying a good bouffe.
Sunday was cloudy and cool, and we congratulated ourselves on the good biking weather the day before. We did some sightseeing, including a visit to the art museum at the Bemberg Foundation in the Assézat Mansion - an amazing number of Bonnards, and a nice collection overall. Lunch was a little more challenging on a Sunday, but when our first choice place was closed, we stumbled on a mom and pop cafe called, "The Taste of Others," featuring local regional products. A diner outside assured us the food was great, and so we went in. It turned out later she was a friend of the owners and stayed outside drinking the whole time we were there, but in fact, the place was indeed excellent. R had a mixed platter of charcuterie and cheese, and I had a "planchette of foie gras mi-cui on toast with bio salad." (You have to work hard, actually, to find salad or vegetables here. But why bother when the meat is so great?)
Sunday was otherwise a pretty slow day in Toulouse. The streets were closed to most traffic because it was the first Sunday of the month. There was also a triathlon taking place along the Garonne, with a few highly competitive bicycle racers and lots of others who looked like your mother on a coaster bike. But one must eat, and we needed to find a place for dinner. Upon recommendation of R's host, we opted for the Brasserie Capoul in the Place Wilson. This was a pretty huge place, with a great skinny young jazz piano player performing cabaret favorites by memory and by fake book, including a very jazzed up "Someday My Prince Will Come." We were a bit foied out, so we opted for the fish menu: mussels and daurade, and local wine. Nothing fancy, but quite pleasant.
On Monday, we rented a car for a sightseeing trip to Carcassonne, and time permitting, Albi, which boasts a magnificent cathedral and a history of sheltering the Cathar heresy. We chose well to visit Carcassonne on a cloudy and blustery Monday: we arrived just as the gates opened, and there were few tourists to worship at the shrine of Viollet le Duc, who singlehandedly re-invented medieval France in the mid-19th century. (I was also similarly saddened to learn that the classic French hotel star system was invented by tourist authorities in the 1950s to encourage Americans to dare to visit France, all courtesy of the CIA who wanted to build up the French economy and keep the Communists at bay.) So Carcassonne is a world class mass tourist center, but on this Monday, without the crowds, we were impressed with its battlements and the perspective over the countryside, once the border with Spain. Much was rebuilt, but the cathedral still retained some of the original stained glass windows.
We had thought about picnicking, but the weather was not particularly inviting, so we kept looking for a suitable spot to eat on the very scenic drive from Carcassonne north to Albi. We drove through Mazamet, which looked totally closed down, but on our second or third circuit through the town we came upon the hotel where all the town's bourgeoisie were having their lunch, and so we did too.
Knowing we were booked for a 2-star meal that evening, we ordered omelettes with foie gras and dried duck breast (a common local specialty), and a salad, and we pushed on to Albi, whose cathedral and old renaissance town were really stunning. The cathedral is rather spare outside (and of a color like the mosque at Djenne in Mali) except for the elaborately carved entrance.
The old town is full of life, many fine shops and shoppers, but it was quite a labyrinth. In London, it is hard to get lost because there are so many markers, maps, and sign posts. In the French countryside, it is hard to get lost by car because there are so many markers and sign posts (unless you lose the thread to "Centre Ville" as we did for a time returning to Toulouse). But it seemed easy to get lost and turned around in Albi, even while admiring the old apothecary.
And then back in rush hour traffic, to deposit our Europcar at the train station in time to prepare for the highlight of our trip, dinner at the intimate 2-star restaurant Michel Sarran. We couldn't pass up the "Menu saveurs occitane," so this is what we had:
Amuse bouche of cigarets of goat cheese, a spoonful of fish mousse
Marinated raw sea bass layered in thin sliced asparagus, with a disk of bass and topping
Rouget (red mullet) between two crackers made of potato, with ultra-creamy mousseline, a baby fennel with anchovie sauce, and a red (pepper?) sauce
Seared duck liver, with polenta crisps, extraordinarily smooth and creamy polenta (a smear on the side), and minced duck with a sauce inside a large pasta tube. (Duo of duck)
Cheese included Roquefort, goat, St. Nectaire
"Exotic fruits" including mango (perfectly ripe), lychee, sorbet of fraises?
Petit fours
The service was attentive and exquisite, we ordered local wines - Fronton Chateau des Plaisance red, and a half bottle of Jurançon white.
On the next day - we worked. R to visit the economics department, and I at the hotel on tourism revisions. The evening post-seminar dinner with two of the economists took place at La Cindrée, in a picturesque old house near the center. More duck liver and duck, okay but not magnificent. The room and the company, though, were excellent.
And then before our flight the next day at noon, another descent on the market at Place Victor Hugo, to the Samaran shop, for some ducky souvenirs to bring home: a mi-cui whole liver, saucisson sec, and a magret, all of which provided our next few meals back in London. (You can also buy Samaran products at the Toulouse airport -- modern and empty -- for a huge markup.)
The trip was so great we decided to return for a conference in May.
Friday night, on the recommendation of R's host, we ate at a small restaurant on Rue des Blanchers, not so far from the Manufacture Nationale de Tabak, today (for awhile longer) the home of the Economics Institute.
Saturday: there is a farmer's market on the main Place de la Capitole, at the City Hall. The range of vegetables was a little disappointing -- still featuring winter root vegetables. This was a harbinger of the realization that the cuisine of Toulouse is heavily based on meat, liver, and protein, not vegetable.
After a long and longing circuit of the market, we went upstairs for lunch. On the second floor there are six restaurants featuring the products of the market. We opted for one of the fish places, ordering the menu. R had fish soup and sardines, I had a fish paté and the "duo" (this is a popular item, two things paired) of trout and daurade. Dessert (memorable because it wasn't so good) was chocolate mousse and cheese. Most people had selected the tiramisou, which came in a series of shot glasses. Maybe next time...
We had hoped to do some cycling in Toulouse, particularly along the Canal du Midi. The friendly Tourist Office behind the Capitole explained that the ubiquitous Toulouse bikes could not be rented by foreigners because of credit card restrictions, but there was a rental office near the train station. It was unfortunately not open on Sundays. This was our only chance. We ambled over there, only to find that there was only one bike available. But the mechanic in the back room offered that he was just about ready with another one, so we hired the two bikes for the afternoon (we could have kept them a week, I think, and the basic membership is good for a year), and pedaled off down the Canal du Midi, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site that continues to the sea. We took off on heavy city commuter bikes, in the face of a pretty strong wind, but the canal was lovely and peaceful, and in about 40 minutes we had left the city limits behind us. (Ours are the white Location bikes; the standard city bikes have the red wheel cover.)
The paved part of the canal path crosses the bridges several times, and gave us a chance to contemplate the water. (Note that the trees have not yet leafed out, even in the south of France at the beginning of April.)
The bicycle trip whetted our appetite for more Toulousian food. Tonight we would dine at a restaurant down the street from our hotel which had seemed quite popular the night before, Bistro du Chevillard, and which advertised its "Plats des canailles," or dishes of stellar offal. Here R had the classic tete du veau in sauce ravigotte (we had seen tete du veau and pied du veau at the market earlier), and I had a salad of grilled chicken livers. For the main course, R had casserole of andouillette and I had the special, a broiled veal kidney with bacon and frites. Quite a lot of food, even with the bike ride. Like the night before, the place was bustling with ordinary folks and families enjoying a good bouffe.
Sunday was cloudy and cool, and we congratulated ourselves on the good biking weather the day before. We did some sightseeing, including a visit to the art museum at the Bemberg Foundation in the Assézat Mansion - an amazing number of Bonnards, and a nice collection overall. Lunch was a little more challenging on a Sunday, but when our first choice place was closed, we stumbled on a mom and pop cafe called, "The Taste of Others," featuring local regional products. A diner outside assured us the food was great, and so we went in. It turned out later she was a friend of the owners and stayed outside drinking the whole time we were there, but in fact, the place was indeed excellent. R had a mixed platter of charcuterie and cheese, and I had a "planchette of foie gras mi-cui on toast with bio salad." (You have to work hard, actually, to find salad or vegetables here. But why bother when the meat is so great?)
Sunday was otherwise a pretty slow day in Toulouse. The streets were closed to most traffic because it was the first Sunday of the month. There was also a triathlon taking place along the Garonne, with a few highly competitive bicycle racers and lots of others who looked like your mother on a coaster bike. But one must eat, and we needed to find a place for dinner. Upon recommendation of R's host, we opted for the Brasserie Capoul in the Place Wilson. This was a pretty huge place, with a great skinny young jazz piano player performing cabaret favorites by memory and by fake book, including a very jazzed up "Someday My Prince Will Come." We were a bit foied out, so we opted for the fish menu: mussels and daurade, and local wine. Nothing fancy, but quite pleasant.
On Monday, we rented a car for a sightseeing trip to Carcassonne, and time permitting, Albi, which boasts a magnificent cathedral and a history of sheltering the Cathar heresy. We chose well to visit Carcassonne on a cloudy and blustery Monday: we arrived just as the gates opened, and there were few tourists to worship at the shrine of Viollet le Duc, who singlehandedly re-invented medieval France in the mid-19th century. (I was also similarly saddened to learn that the classic French hotel star system was invented by tourist authorities in the 1950s to encourage Americans to dare to visit France, all courtesy of the CIA who wanted to build up the French economy and keep the Communists at bay.) So Carcassonne is a world class mass tourist center, but on this Monday, without the crowds, we were impressed with its battlements and the perspective over the countryside, once the border with Spain. Much was rebuilt, but the cathedral still retained some of the original stained glass windows.
And then back in rush hour traffic, to deposit our Europcar at the train station in time to prepare for the highlight of our trip, dinner at the intimate 2-star restaurant Michel Sarran. We couldn't pass up the "Menu saveurs occitane," so this is what we had:
Amuse bouche of cigarets of goat cheese, a spoonful of fish mousse
Marinated raw sea bass layered in thin sliced asparagus, with a disk of bass and topping
Rouget (red mullet) between two crackers made of potato, with ultra-creamy mousseline, a baby fennel with anchovie sauce, and a red (pepper?) sauce
Seared duck liver, with polenta crisps, extraordinarily smooth and creamy polenta (a smear on the side), and minced duck with a sauce inside a large pasta tube. (Duo of duck)
Cheese included Roquefort, goat, St. Nectaire
"Exotic fruits" including mango (perfectly ripe), lychee, sorbet of fraises?
Petit fours
The service was attentive and exquisite, we ordered local wines - Fronton Chateau des Plaisance red, and a half bottle of Jurançon white.
On the next day - we worked. R to visit the economics department, and I at the hotel on tourism revisions. The evening post-seminar dinner with two of the economists took place at La Cindrée, in a picturesque old house near the center. More duck liver and duck, okay but not magnificent. The room and the company, though, were excellent.
And then before our flight the next day at noon, another descent on the market at Place Victor Hugo, to the Samaran shop, for some ducky souvenirs to bring home: a mi-cui whole liver, saucisson sec, and a magret, all of which provided our next few meals back in London. (You can also buy Samaran products at the Toulouse airport -- modern and empty -- for a huge markup.)
The trip was so great we decided to return for a conference in May.
Monday, 11 April 2011
Home Cooking
The rate of our experimentation has slowed down, but it's a rare meal that we have duplicated (pork chops, lamb chops being exceptions), compared to our normal repertoire at home. (On the other hand, we have eliminated certain staple dishes from our London regime, such as homemade pasta, pizza, and anything on the barbecue; and chicken is a rare visitor to White Hall.)
But we are still visiting the market each weekend we are home, and looking for new things to try. Before the Rome trip, we went to the Marylebone market on Sunday, and bought a sea bass, a rack of lamb, and a free range chicken (there is no other kind, of course). There was a huge line at the fish monger, because some woman (to her husband's great annoyance) kept buying and buying and buying. While I made the rounds of the greens stalls, and collected some more delicious Braeburn apples, R finally purchased this nice sea bass, specially filleted for us. Because we also bought some lovely fresh baby sorrel leaves at the market, we decided to adapt our salmon in sorrel sauce recipe for the bass. On Gordon Ramsay's instructions, we scored the skin like this:
The idea is to have the cooking liquids soak into the flesh, I guess, but the technique seemed to allow the skin to stick to the pan in pieces, making not such an attractive finish. I'm sure it would have been much better in our copper pan than in the orange Le Creuset.
Meanwhile, we melted the sorrel in a little butter in another pan, and watched it turn from bright green to something a little swampier in color.
Add some cream and butter, maybe a little lemon, and pour over the fish, served along with some boiled new potatoes. Wild sea bass in sorrel sauce. Aesthetics aside, the fish was very well cooked and firm and tasty. The sorrel kind of disappears from view, but it imparted its green and lemony flavor.
For our rack of lamb, we had bought a small one from another butcher at Marylebone farmers' market, Maris Piper potatoes for mashing, and a bag of spinach again from Izzard's greens. We coated the lamb with some mustard, parsley, and bread crumbs, and sauteed in the pot:
Timing remains difficult for us: the oven has a mind of its own, and so we are still tending to undercook things. Here, though, is the browned side of the final result, which although a little too rare, was bloody delicious.
And we bought a chicken too! Time for another old standby, chicken in garlic sauce, which requires garlic, of course, wine vinegar, tomatoes (canned plum tomatoes from Waitrose), cream (Gloucester cream or creme fraiche from Neal's Yard), "traditionally" served with basmati rice. Here's our little chicken dish in the pot. The sauce has a nice color, don't you think? It was certainly delicious.
Meanwhile, off to Rome we went, and returned, and had just three days between our return and our next trip to the continent, to Toulouse. The perfect antidote to all that Roman cooking was a simple cheese plate and a nice salad. The salad consisted of greens (mache) and some blood oranges, which are routinely available here and very tasty.
And the cheese plate.
From upper left, clockwise: Robiola, a creamy cow's, sheep's, goat's milk blend we bought at the Latticini Micocci on Via Collina in Rome (near our hotel, and according the the Michelin guide, "a paradise for cheese-lovers"); Stichelton, the bleu cheese from Neal's Yard Dairy; Innes Log, Neal's Yard's favorite goat cheese, with the moldy rind, some spiced plum chutney, and finally the pecorino from "Micocci on Via Collina." Served with slices of Poilane bread, just peeking in at the top of the photo.
And then it was off to Toulouse, the land of ducks, duck fat, duck liver, and the Canal du Midi. Stay tuned for the next post.
But we are still visiting the market each weekend we are home, and looking for new things to try. Before the Rome trip, we went to the Marylebone market on Sunday, and bought a sea bass, a rack of lamb, and a free range chicken (there is no other kind, of course). There was a huge line at the fish monger, because some woman (to her husband's great annoyance) kept buying and buying and buying. While I made the rounds of the greens stalls, and collected some more delicious Braeburn apples, R finally purchased this nice sea bass, specially filleted for us. Because we also bought some lovely fresh baby sorrel leaves at the market, we decided to adapt our salmon in sorrel sauce recipe for the bass. On Gordon Ramsay's instructions, we scored the skin like this:
For our rack of lamb, we had bought a small one from another butcher at Marylebone farmers' market, Maris Piper potatoes for mashing, and a bag of spinach again from Izzard's greens. We coated the lamb with some mustard, parsley, and bread crumbs, and sauteed in the pot:
Meanwhile, off to Rome we went, and returned, and had just three days between our return and our next trip to the continent, to Toulouse. The perfect antidote to all that Roman cooking was a simple cheese plate and a nice salad. The salad consisted of greens (mache) and some blood oranges, which are routinely available here and very tasty.
And then it was off to Toulouse, the land of ducks, duck fat, duck liver, and the Canal du Midi. Stay tuned for the next post.
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
La Cucina Romana
At the end of March, we traveled to Rome for R to visit with the economics institute there, and for us to revisit a city of our distant past: the only visit of one of us was 25 years ago, and for the other, 50 years. Of course, Rome has been there for several thousand. Even a long weekend in Rome cannot do justice to all of the magnificent art and architecture there, not to mention, of course, the food, so we had to sample and plan ahead a little. We booked a guided tour of the Vatican Museums, including the Sistine Chapel, that was very rewarding, although exhausting, with all the Michelangelo, Botticelli, and Raffael to take in. Plus the crowds, which were enormous everywhere in Rome. We can only imagine what the summer must be like. We had some good tips on restaurants from those with more experience, and in the end, we ate very well.
First, to orient ourselves, we visited the Campo de Fiori market, said to be the best in town. This gave us a flavor for some of the vegetables and fruits we might later see on menus. Two turned out to be very important for Rome: artichokes, which at these markets are more reddish and rounded, and less prickly than the ones we buy at home. One web site calls them cimaroli artichokes.
The second is "puntarelle." What was this? Grated zucchini? Some green all its own?
It turns out these, we are informed by this Italian food blog, is an extremely local Roman dish, whose season runs from November until February. It is a variety of Catalonian chicory, which requires a great deal of preparation (some of which we observed in the market.) First the leaves are stripped, and then the shoots are sliced, soaked so they curl, and dressed.
Next to the Campo de Fiori is the Farnese Palace, which Tosca lovers will know was the home of Scarpia and the place where he has his fatal supper with Tosca, who sells herself in order to save, she thinks, her lover Cavaradossi. In fact, the Palace has long belonged to the French, and is now the French Embassy (and home to the Bibliotheque Francaise in Rome). The new French ambassador wanted to open up the palace to show off its frescoes and other riches. We had hoped to get tickets, as the Economist had raved about the exhibition, but the web site stymied us, and our hotel wasn't too eager to help either. Undaunted, especially R, we walked over there from the market, and eventually stood in the queue for those "without reservations." It was a very short queue, because it is not possible to enter without reservations. The palace opened at 9 am, and after the nice guard let in 20 or 30 people "with reservations," he let in four of us. Here is the outside of the palace.
No photos were allowed inside, but the highlights were the frescoes in the music room (Scarpia's supper room) by Annibale Carracci; the structural designs of Michelangelo; portraits of Farnese "holy men" such as Titian's portrait of Paul III and others that are normally shown in Naples, but had originally been in the palace. Pretty terrific stuff!
But enough about art, let's talk about food. The cuisine (cucina) of Rome is said to be a cuisine of poverty, making plenty of use of the less treasured parts of animals. The less grand fish are also featured -- anchovies and octopus. A vibrant Jewish presence had lent its mark to Roman cuisine as well. It is also, we learned, a cuisine of tradition. Meat is served at restaurants at the beginning of the week, fish from Thursday to Sunday. Thursdays are for gnocchi.
We arrived on Thursday and had dinner with a group from the institute and another visitor -- a party of 6 was a good size for sampling a number of different appetizers at the restaurant Da Vincenzo, "known for its fish." For the antipasti, we had a couple of plates of mussels, a couple more plates of anchovies in lemon, and six oysters. There were also deep-fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with anchovies, one for each of us. For the pasta course: potato gnocchi with little mushrooms and clams. And for fish R and I shared a filet of sole. Fresh and simple. Very nice. (I have not done a good job of remembering desserts. So I can say that Roman desserts are not memorable.)
On Friday, after the market and the Palazzo Farnese, R was working all day and I was sightseeing. For lunch, I found through the green guide a family-run trattoria off the Piazza Navona, Da Francesca, in piazza del Fico, and I ordered a plate of pasta with ragu of polpo - octopus. This was a rich and yummy ragu, just the thing to power an afternoon of sightseeing (piazza Navona, and many many Bernini statues and fountains. Trevi fountain. Triton fountain. Fountain of the rivers:)
R did as the Romans did for lunch - and had only a heavenly "artisanal" ice cream at I Caruso, via Collina 15, around the corner from our hotel on Piazza Sallustio, and across from what Michelin says is the best cheese store in Rome. Friday evening we made reservations for a place far away from the center, Il Quinto Quarto, the "fifth quarter." The idea is that they make use of all of the parts of the animal (beef) that others leave behind, i.e. offal. Moreover, they specialize in the local cuisine and wines of the area around Rome. This is a small place out past the Olympic park, with just a few tables inside and a few more outside in a closed terrace. We were seated just by the picture window that looks into the tiny kitchen, where we could see the cooks deep frying up a storm. R started with anchovies, and I ordered a sformatto of asparagus, that really tasted of asparagus! (See the fresh ones in the market picture above.) We weren't sure we needed three courses, but the place is famous for its pasta carbonara, the waiter insisted, pointing to some publicity framed on the wall. So we split a serving. Good choice! The pasta was large tubes, the guanciale (cured pig cheek) was small and not crispy, and the sauce was just egg and olive oil. No cream anywhere in sight. It was carbonara like nothing ever before. Finally the main courses: another classic for R, tripa a la Romana, slices of delicate tripe in a tomatoey-cream sauce. I had the breast of veal, "roasted slowly for 20 hours with herbs and spices." It was truly excellent, tender, carmelized, with what seemed like caraway or another kind of seed. The cut was much thicker than the breast of veal we used to buy in Princeton and even at Urbana's Jewel, when we first moved there. But the portion was gargantuan! Our google map directions said we could walk to the restaurant from our hotel in about an hour. We chose taxis both ways, but a walk might have done some good.
Saturday! The Vatican. They did a good job of crowd management, timed tickets, places to lecture to groups about the Sistine chapel well before the crush to get there. But a long time on our feet, waiting and walking and craning our necks to look at the magnificant frescoes. We had wanted also to tour St Peter's, but needed lunch first, and didn't want to eat at one of the many Vatican cafes (very Disneyesque) or nearby. And R had regretted not having lunch on Friday at another neighborhood place near the institute, Cantina Cantarini, piazza Sallustio. Miracle of miracles, it was still open at 2 pm on Saturday as we dragged ourselves back up the hill from the Piazza Barberini metro, past the impregnable hulk of the Palazzo Marguerita, home to the US embassy. The Cantina is a neighborhood place, started by migrants from the Marche region, and it was full of neighbors as we dined. R had cuttlefish ink pasta, and I had spaghetti con vongole. And so did many others! Just the perfect antidote to all that power and glory across the river. R's host at the institute recommended a few other places in the neighborhood, including "for more modern cuisine," Otto e mezzo, "8 and a half," so we made a booking there for "otto e mezzo," which is a little early by Roman standards, but we'd had a long day. This is ultra cool, meant to be homage to Fellini, gesturing to Roman cooking traditions but in a modern way. Thus R had puntarelle with deep fried anchovies, and I had artichokes served four ways - a couple of quarters deep fried, others thinly sliced, others steamed, and finally small stuff ones. We skipped the pasta course and went straight to the fish: sea bass with artichokes (there is a Theme here) for R, and turbot with olives and cherry tomatoes for D. Plenty of good white wine to accompany.
Sunday is another, and our last day, for sightseeing. We went to the Colosseum, first stopping at the church St Peter in Chains, to see Michelangelo's sculpture of Moses for Pope Julius's tomb. Approaching the Colosseum, all kinds of touts invited us to join their guided tours and "skip the lines"; this was the rule for the Vatican Museums: groups trump individuals. One said the wait would be an hour and a half, but the line was moving pretty briskly, and we decided to remain independent. We were inside in no more than 20 minutes. We were able to climb to the upper tier as well as walk all around the lower, and look into the basements below. The day was gorgeous, sunny but not too hot, and it really felt like we were on holiday.
But all those sights make a person hungry! We figured we were pretty close to Trastavere, a neighborhood of bars and trattorias across the river, but we didn't count on the Palatino hill on our way being a closed monument. We had a ticket to get in, but the traffic was one-way, the wrong way. Eventually we made our way around the old forum, and to the Capitoline Hill (whose square was laid out by Michelangelo), through the Jewish quarter and off to find a restaurant. Eventually we settled on a pizzaria, Dar Poeta. More touristy than some places, there were tourists with guidebooks in all languages, and the pizza was fine -- zucchini blossoms and - yes! - anchovies for R, and pesto, cherry tomato, potato (soft not crispy) and mozzarella for me. The secret of both -- very spare on the toppings, to let the bread flavor come out.
Perusing our guidebook, we noted that Raffael's mistress had lived on one of the streets nearby, and we thought, where in Rome is her famous portrait, La Fornarina, that we had seen when it was traveling to Indianapolis? It is in Palazzo Barbarini, the museum of ancient art, right on our route back to the hotel. So we moseyed along back streets, seeing more fountains, like this one to which Bernini added the tortoises on the top:
The museum was practically deserted. In addition to the lovely La Fornarina, there was also a magnificent fresco in the main salon, by Pietro da Cortona. Three fabulous ceiling frescoes in one weekend! And still one more dinner to fill. We had hoped to eat lightly at a local wine bar, but it was closed. So our hotelier recommended a "very good" nearby place, Taverna Flavia, noted for its celebrity loving host and pictures on the walls of celebrities from film and politics. For our last Roman dinner, I wanted finally to have "Carcioffi alla Giudia," artichokes Jewish style. These are deep fried, and we'd seen many coming out of the kitchen at Quinto Quarto. I had two little ones, they were tender and crispy and very flavorful. R had sardines. For pasta, R had tagliatelli with porcini, and I had another Roman classic, pasta amatriciana, which is a sauce of tomato, guanciale (pork cheek), and pecorino cheese. (You can buy little kits to make it in some grocery stores.) I think I need to sample a few more examples to become hooked, but the place was pleasant, and the pictures fun to look at. We tipped our waiter pretty well, I guess, because as we were leaving he invited us to view the Elizabeth Taylor room, another dining room in the wayback. It seems she and Richard Burton hung out there when filming Cleopatra. The owner, said the waiter, never married. He told Liz that if she would not marry him, he would never marry anybody. Wow, there were a lot of pictures there!
In the morning before our flight, we dropped by the famous cheese store, knowing regretfully that we had lots of good Neal's Yard cheese at home, but unable to resist a few samples. So we bought some aged pecorino, and a soft cheese, Robiola.
Ciao!
First, to orient ourselves, we visited the Campo de Fiori market, said to be the best in town. This gave us a flavor for some of the vegetables and fruits we might later see on menus. Two turned out to be very important for Rome: artichokes, which at these markets are more reddish and rounded, and less prickly than the ones we buy at home. One web site calls them cimaroli artichokes.
Next to the Campo de Fiori is the Farnese Palace, which Tosca lovers will know was the home of Scarpia and the place where he has his fatal supper with Tosca, who sells herself in order to save, she thinks, her lover Cavaradossi. In fact, the Palace has long belonged to the French, and is now the French Embassy (and home to the Bibliotheque Francaise in Rome). The new French ambassador wanted to open up the palace to show off its frescoes and other riches. We had hoped to get tickets, as the Economist had raved about the exhibition, but the web site stymied us, and our hotel wasn't too eager to help either. Undaunted, especially R, we walked over there from the market, and eventually stood in the queue for those "without reservations." It was a very short queue, because it is not possible to enter without reservations. The palace opened at 9 am, and after the nice guard let in 20 or 30 people "with reservations," he let in four of us. Here is the outside of the palace.
No photos were allowed inside, but the highlights were the frescoes in the music room (Scarpia's supper room) by Annibale Carracci; the structural designs of Michelangelo; portraits of Farnese "holy men" such as Titian's portrait of Paul III and others that are normally shown in Naples, but had originally been in the palace. Pretty terrific stuff!
But enough about art, let's talk about food. The cuisine (cucina) of Rome is said to be a cuisine of poverty, making plenty of use of the less treasured parts of animals. The less grand fish are also featured -- anchovies and octopus. A vibrant Jewish presence had lent its mark to Roman cuisine as well. It is also, we learned, a cuisine of tradition. Meat is served at restaurants at the beginning of the week, fish from Thursday to Sunday. Thursdays are for gnocchi.
We arrived on Thursday and had dinner with a group from the institute and another visitor -- a party of 6 was a good size for sampling a number of different appetizers at the restaurant Da Vincenzo, "known for its fish." For the antipasti, we had a couple of plates of mussels, a couple more plates of anchovies in lemon, and six oysters. There were also deep-fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with anchovies, one for each of us. For the pasta course: potato gnocchi with little mushrooms and clams. And for fish R and I shared a filet of sole. Fresh and simple. Very nice. (I have not done a good job of remembering desserts. So I can say that Roman desserts are not memorable.)
On Friday, after the market and the Palazzo Farnese, R was working all day and I was sightseeing. For lunch, I found through the green guide a family-run trattoria off the Piazza Navona, Da Francesca, in piazza del Fico, and I ordered a plate of pasta with ragu of polpo - octopus. This was a rich and yummy ragu, just the thing to power an afternoon of sightseeing (piazza Navona, and many many Bernini statues and fountains. Trevi fountain. Triton fountain. Fountain of the rivers:)
R did as the Romans did for lunch - and had only a heavenly "artisanal" ice cream at I Caruso, via Collina 15, around the corner from our hotel on Piazza Sallustio, and across from what Michelin says is the best cheese store in Rome. Friday evening we made reservations for a place far away from the center, Il Quinto Quarto, the "fifth quarter." The idea is that they make use of all of the parts of the animal (beef) that others leave behind, i.e. offal. Moreover, they specialize in the local cuisine and wines of the area around Rome. This is a small place out past the Olympic park, with just a few tables inside and a few more outside in a closed terrace. We were seated just by the picture window that looks into the tiny kitchen, where we could see the cooks deep frying up a storm. R started with anchovies, and I ordered a sformatto of asparagus, that really tasted of asparagus! (See the fresh ones in the market picture above.) We weren't sure we needed three courses, but the place is famous for its pasta carbonara, the waiter insisted, pointing to some publicity framed on the wall. So we split a serving. Good choice! The pasta was large tubes, the guanciale (cured pig cheek) was small and not crispy, and the sauce was just egg and olive oil. No cream anywhere in sight. It was carbonara like nothing ever before. Finally the main courses: another classic for R, tripa a la Romana, slices of delicate tripe in a tomatoey-cream sauce. I had the breast of veal, "roasted slowly for 20 hours with herbs and spices." It was truly excellent, tender, carmelized, with what seemed like caraway or another kind of seed. The cut was much thicker than the breast of veal we used to buy in Princeton and even at Urbana's Jewel, when we first moved there. But the portion was gargantuan! Our google map directions said we could walk to the restaurant from our hotel in about an hour. We chose taxis both ways, but a walk might have done some good.
Saturday! The Vatican. They did a good job of crowd management, timed tickets, places to lecture to groups about the Sistine chapel well before the crush to get there. But a long time on our feet, waiting and walking and craning our necks to look at the magnificant frescoes. We had wanted also to tour St Peter's, but needed lunch first, and didn't want to eat at one of the many Vatican cafes (very Disneyesque) or nearby. And R had regretted not having lunch on Friday at another neighborhood place near the institute, Cantina Cantarini, piazza Sallustio. Miracle of miracles, it was still open at 2 pm on Saturday as we dragged ourselves back up the hill from the Piazza Barberini metro, past the impregnable hulk of the Palazzo Marguerita, home to the US embassy. The Cantina is a neighborhood place, started by migrants from the Marche region, and it was full of neighbors as we dined. R had cuttlefish ink pasta, and I had spaghetti con vongole. And so did many others! Just the perfect antidote to all that power and glory across the river. R's host at the institute recommended a few other places in the neighborhood, including "for more modern cuisine," Otto e mezzo, "8 and a half," so we made a booking there for "otto e mezzo," which is a little early by Roman standards, but we'd had a long day. This is ultra cool, meant to be homage to Fellini, gesturing to Roman cooking traditions but in a modern way. Thus R had puntarelle with deep fried anchovies, and I had artichokes served four ways - a couple of quarters deep fried, others thinly sliced, others steamed, and finally small stuff ones. We skipped the pasta course and went straight to the fish: sea bass with artichokes (there is a Theme here) for R, and turbot with olives and cherry tomatoes for D. Plenty of good white wine to accompany.
Sunday is another, and our last day, for sightseeing. We went to the Colosseum, first stopping at the church St Peter in Chains, to see Michelangelo's sculpture of Moses for Pope Julius's tomb. Approaching the Colosseum, all kinds of touts invited us to join their guided tours and "skip the lines"; this was the rule for the Vatican Museums: groups trump individuals. One said the wait would be an hour and a half, but the line was moving pretty briskly, and we decided to remain independent. We were inside in no more than 20 minutes. We were able to climb to the upper tier as well as walk all around the lower, and look into the basements below. The day was gorgeous, sunny but not too hot, and it really felt like we were on holiday.
Perusing our guidebook, we noted that Raffael's mistress had lived on one of the streets nearby, and we thought, where in Rome is her famous portrait, La Fornarina, that we had seen when it was traveling to Indianapolis? It is in Palazzo Barbarini, the museum of ancient art, right on our route back to the hotel. So we moseyed along back streets, seeing more fountains, like this one to which Bernini added the tortoises on the top:
In the morning before our flight, we dropped by the famous cheese store, knowing regretfully that we had lots of good Neal's Yard cheese at home, but unable to resist a few samples. So we bought some aged pecorino, and a soft cheese, Robiola.
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