MARKETS: Campo de' Fiori, Rome

For the first of my posts focusing on great MARKETS around the world, I feel compelled to start with what feels most like my "home market": Campo de' Fiori in Rome. I know there are those who claim that the Campo is a market for tourists, and increasingly over the years, the market has indeed started to cater to travelers and tourists, selling phallic pastas and aprons emblazoned with "anatomical" images of Michelangelo's David statue. But it's also most definitely a market for locals, and provides produce for some of the top restaurants in the city as well. I should know. I was a local there for many years, and have been shopping the market in Campo de' Fiori since I first moved to the 'hood in 1999. My ex-boyfriend is one of the top toques in Rome, and he bought produce there for his restaurant. As one of the first chefs to teach cooking classes in the city, I took students there to buy ingredients for our menus. I saw elderly Italian nonne picking over produce, and I ran into chef friends ordering cases of specialty baby peppers or fresh porcini mushrooms for their ristoranti. There were tourists, sure. But as with any market in Italy, the mercato di Campo de' Fiori is a central meeting place where people of all varieties come to enjoy the aromas and the scenery, to catch up with friends and gossip, and of course to buy food: home cooks, professionals, and tourists alike.

Campo de' Fiori, in Italian, means field of flowers, which this piazza once was. And it was here in 1600 that Giordano Bruno was burned at the stake for heresy, and where, six years later, Caravaggio (the first bad-boy Italian artist) killed a young man in a sword fight that ended in Caravaggio fleeing Rome for the rest of his life (sadly, only another 4 years). Today there's no statue for the murderous master of chiaroscuro, but there is one for Bruno, who overlooks the square from its center. These days, though, the only fights you'll see in the piazza are people haggling over the price of pomodori, or inebriated twenty-somethings fighting over young female tourists' attentions in the piazza's bars.

The market is a riot of color and noise, with the season's offerings on tempting display. As I always explained to my cooking students, Italy as a united country is a century younger than the U.S. Of course, as a place and a culture it's been around for thousands of years. But Italians tend to think of themselves even today as they always have, historically. They think locally. Regions and cities and towns have always had rivalries, teamed up to fight common enemies, killed each other's kings and overthrown each other's governments. And though all of these places, these regions, these kingdoms are technically united under the Italian flag and its government today (troubled as it is), these historic differences run deep. So instead of conjuring a coup, in modern times, these rivalries are translated to two places: the soccer pitches and kitchens -- for the most part, less dangerous than government overthrow. For the most part.

So, what does this all mean for food? Well, it's on display at the Campo market. Italians haven;t experienced the locavore movement like America has, because Italians never really strayed from eating and cooking locally in the first place. What you will see in the market are Roman artichokes, globe-shaped beauties instead of the tulip-shaped variety you'd find in Venice. (Venice! chu-puh!). The greens are local, bitter greens for which Rome is famous. The fiori di zucca are found at the end of the zucchine romanesche, which have vertical striations that make them different -- and better, of course! -- than zucchine from elsewhere in Italy. In fact, most everything you see here is grown within Lazio, Rome's region.

The vendors prefer to sell strawberries from nearby Terracina. They want arugula ("rughetta" in Roman dialect) that grows wild along the road heading out of the city. They want to sell you pecorino Romano, not that other sheep's milk cheese from Sardegna or Tuscany. No. Here, you get what this wonderful city gives, and it gives a bounty. 

I have so many great memories associated with this market and its vendors, and the countless wonderful meals I was able to make from purchasing items from here. There's the charming father-son fruit and veggie sellers, always quick with a compliment, who have great puntarelle in cooler months. There's the woman with great tomatoes, in all shapes and sizes, that perfume the whole piazza when the sun warms their tender skins. There was the elderly "donna del bosco" as I dubbed her: she sold everything from the forest (bosco), from berries to earthy mushrooms. She must have passed away a few years ago, as she's no longer at her stand. I miss her. There's Anna and Erasmo, the couple who took me in as one of their own, feeding me delicious cheeses and salumi over the years (they're forever my source of the best ricotta di bufala around), and chatting away with me and my family and clients, offering hugs to everyone. And there are the butchers in the center of the piazza, who have always been warm to me, and always impressed clients with their capacity to cut the most tender, paper-thin slices of veal scaloppine for saltimbocca: no pounding needed.

But the ones I call "my guys"? The ones who will deliver to my home, and to my restaurant,
the most exquisite ingredients (lots of) money can buy? The ones who let me film with a crew any time, 7 am or 2 pm, to get the shots we needed for various food shows over the years? The guys I'd sometimes pass by on my way home from a late night out, when they were setting up at 4:30 a.m., and we'd wave at each other and say "a dopo!" (see you later)? The ones who listened to me when I requested that they stock "strange" ingredients like cranberries at Thanksgiving, and lemongrass and cilantro throughout the year? The ones who offer me tastings of jewel-like fruits and baby cherry tomatoes so sweet they're like popping candies? Da Claudio, of course. Some Romans call this place "Da Bulgari" because it's pricey. But sometimes, you need to pay to get the good stuff. That's Claudio behind me in the photo, hamming it up for my Mom who was taking the picture ("Is this your beautiful sister?!") -- he's a real character, always yelling and selling and making a scene. But he's a good guy, and I've been a client for more time than I care to admit. And still, every time I go back, whether I've been away 6 days or 6 months, I always get a "bentornata!" (welcome back). The Campo will always feel like home to me.

ESCAPES: L.A. Eats Part 1: Hollywood and WeHo

It's no secret that I'm a true east-coaster: I love the fast pace and multiculturalism of New York City, the lights of Broadway, the densely-populated Eastern seaboard, the cool waves of the Atlantic, intellectualism, brunettes, and sarcasm. But I've always maintained that the west coast is a nice place to visit. I've been vacationing there since I can remember, but the food was never the most memorable part of my trips out there. We all know the importance of food and wine in Northern California, and they've got some great restaurants, vineyards, and food purveyors up north, no doubt. But Los Angeles has only recently come into its own as a culinary destination. Now, don't get me wrong: it's no New York, despite the numerous New York dining establishments that have opened L.A. branches. But strategic planning can get you some very good food -- both low-brow grub and haute cuisine -- in the varied and sprawling nabes of the City of Angels. 

I began my L.A. stay at the Hotel Roosevelt, a revamped iconic spot on Hollywood Boulevard, in the thick of the city's most kitschy, touristy neighborhood. But it's hotels like this one that have made the area a destination for locals as well: there's a hot bar scene, some good restaurants, and a pool and pool bar that -- I shit you not -- is cordoned off by a velvet rope and bouncers with a guest list. The food at the poolside Tropicana Bar is perfectly refreshing for a lunch lounging by the pool, or a little happy hour ceviche-and-mojito deal. But if you're not on the guest list, the burgers and fries in the hotel's 24/7 burger spot, 25 Degrees, are pretty damned delicious. 

My next move was to a design loft apartment in wonderful West Hollywood. This is as close as a New Yorker can come to a semi-walkable neighborhood, where I could avoid renting a car and could walk to a great selection of top restaurants, bars, and shopping (think Manhattan's West Village). I highly recommend chef Suzanne Goin's Lucques, where a warm dining room awaits beyond the ivy-covered entrance...and a gorgeous back patio beyond that. Goin is renowned for her comfort food elevated to elegant, and her "Sunday Suppers" are a great prix fixe value. Another great spot is David Myers' Comme Ca, also in WeHo. The classically French-trained chef-surfer has created a spot that is both laid-back California and European luxe, serving everything from burgers to bouillaibaisse to bone marrow. The mood changes dramatically from lunch to dinner, so it's worth stopping in for both.

My college friend Deb, a former pastry chef and fellow food lover, moved to L.A. from New York about 5 years ago. She gets excited when I come to town, since she knows I'm always interested in hitting some great dining spots. At her recommendation, we headed to Hatfield's, owned and operated by a husband-and-wife team with experience in some of the top kitchens in New York (Jean-George, Gramercy Tavern). Quinn is the chef and Karen is the pastry chef, and they work with a team behind the glass of an "open" kitchen, where diners can observe the cooks at work. 

Since I've been on the other side of that glass, I prefer to enjoy the dining room -- here, a soaring space made to feel intimate with lots of booths and banquettes in a neutral room with greens and oversized honeycomb light fixtures.
There is always an a la carte menu, but we chose seasonal tasting menus, which offer lots of flexibility.

Highlights included a raw Hawaiian kampachi with jicama, avocado, roasted peanuts, and black lime creme fraiche. The paprika-dusted shrimp with white beans was light and tasty, and the black cod with asparagus cream, roasted asparagus, and mushrooms truly tasted of spring (and the Pacific Northwest).

Desserts ended the meal on a high note, with a caramel semifreddo with Mexican chocolate sorbet, its warm-spice and chile pepper kick pairing nicely with the rich, decadent flavors of caramel and chocolate. 

Similar flavors were used in a very different way in the cinnamon sugar-dusted bomboloni (little donuts), served with dark chocolate sauce for dipping, and a vanilla date shake, in a nod to Southern California and its many date palms. In all, the meal was very satisfying without stuffing us, and the cocktails and great wine list proved the perfect accompaniment. I was a little jet-lagged and ready for a good night's sleep.

One spot I'd been looking forward to trying since I'd read about its opening was Red O. Mexican cuisine is not necessarily at the top of my list of favorites, as it is for many people I know, but then again we don't have the variety and authenticity of places on the east coast like those that exist in California, particularly Southern Cal. And now, perhaps the most revered American expert on Mexican cuisine, Rick Bayless (based in Chicago), has opened a spot in L.A. I'd taken an insider's chef's class from Bayless at an IACP Conference in Dallas years ago, and he always left an impression on me. His food is delicious, his knowledge of regional Mexican food encyclopedic. And I wanted a really good Mexican meal of the variety that's hard to find in New York. The decor of Red O was gorgeous: full-length windows and glass ceilings with gossamer white curtains and white canvas draping that resembles boat sails, wrought-iron details and artful dining room dividers.

The lighting was perfect, spot-lit walls surrounding tables with candles and low-hanging mod wicker chandeliers. Potted palms are everywhere. We sidled up to the bar while our table was being prepared, and I started on the first of many delicious cocktails. I'm not much of a tequila drinker, but the La Dama cocktail was quite more-ish, as the English say.

The mix of top-shelf tequila with mango grenadine, serrano chiles, pomegranate liqueur, and pomegranate seeds was perfectly balanced between sour, spicy, and sweet. Once we sat down, it was in extremely comfortable surroundings, on a banquette with lots of pillows and low-lying tables -- and of course as is the norm in WeHo hot spots, we were surrounded by plenty of beautiful people. 

One of my all-time, hands-down, favorite things in life? Ceviche. So starting off with the ceviche trio was a no-brainer. My friend and I spent a good 15 minutes trying to decide which of the three was our favorite: the albacore, ahi, or yellowtail (in the end it was a tie -- we'll need to try several more to pronounce a winner!). 

The menu is vast so we asked our server for some guidance, and in the end we selected courses from each menu category, as it's not really organized in courses as we know them. After the ceviche we went with a classic tamale, made contemporary with goat cheese. We followed that up with some beef short rib sopes, kind of a fried pastry base, formed into a cuplet and filled with pulled short ribs in a rich red tomato-chile sauce and topped with queso anejo. 

We were also tempted enough by the Oaxacan offerings to try an Alaskan halibut cooked in the style of this famous Southern Mexican town. The fish was perfectly seared and served with a chile sauce, oyster mushrooms, and a tomatillo-radish salsa. Light, spicy, and interesting.

Of course, if you want some inexpensive and authentic Mexican street food, you can always head, as we did, to roadside taco stand Pinches Tacos, right across Sunset Boulevard from the Chateau Marmont and retro-fabulous Bar Marmont. It really is a little shack where you order your tacos, get a tray, and wait for your number to be called. The small tacos are all under $3 a pop, and the larger entrees of burritos and enchiladas and sandwiches are all under $10, so it's hard to go wrong here. You can fill your belly and save your cash for tippling across the street.

Where else can I recommend in this part of L.A.? I did meet an old friend for drinks at Fig & Olive on Melrose Place (note: I'm well over Fig & Olive in New York, but its L.A. counterpart is a real scene), and had a girls' night out at Koi, which had some very tasty sushi -- something I'm always excited to get on the west coast. And of course, no stay in West Hollywood would be complete without a smoothie from Urth Caffe', location of many an Entourage scene, and the spot where everyone in this part of L.A. heads for coffee, shakes, and some major star gazing: L.A. Style.

Lucques

8474 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  900
(323)
www.lucques.com

Comme Ca
8479 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  90069
(323) 782.1104
www.commecarestaurant.com/los-angeles

Hatfield's
6703 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  90038
www.hatfieldsrestaurant.com
(323) 935.2977

Red O
8155 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  90046
(323) 655.5009
www.redorestaurant.com

Pinches Tacos
8200 West Sunset Blvd.
West Hollywood, CA  90046
(323) 650-0614
www.pinchestacos.com

Fig & Olive
8490 Melrose Place
West Hollywood, CA  90069
(310) 360.9100
www.figandolive.com

Koi
730 N. La Cienega Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90069
(310) 659.9449
www.koirestaurant.com/los_angeles/about

Urth Caffe
8565 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA  90069
(310) 659.0628


ROOSEVELT HOLLYWOOD
7000 Hollywood Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA  90028
(323) 466.7000
www.thompsonhotels.com
25 Degrees
Tropicana Pool and Bar

SPRING HOLIDAYS: Passover, Pasqua, & Pasquetta

Springtime holidays celebrate a renewal of life, reinvention, rebirth. Both Passover and Easter have Biblical stories behind them, though historically there's always been a spring solstice celebration of fertility and life. Personally, I grew up going to family Passover seders as a sort of obligation. But as an adult, I've grown to enjoy the holiday, and really came to appreciate it when I began hosting my own seders in Rome. I would invite friends over, both English speakers and Italians, and everyone would participate in the reading of the haggadah (the book that contains the story of Exodus and the prayers said before, during, and after the Passover meal). There were rarely other Jews present. For my friends, this was simply an interesting twist on one of my dinner parties.

But it was a fun cultural experience for everyone, and friends got to explore and enjoy some traditional Passover foods, things they'd never tried before. Another plus? Everyone loved the idea of the requirement of consuming lots of wine throughout the meal. And there were so many passages to be read and prayers to be said before we actually got to eat the dinner that one of my friends, upon spreading the apple-nut mixture haroset on a piece of (tasteless) matzo, proclaimed, "This is the best thing I've ever eaten!" Yes, he was starving and half-drunk. But it was a happy moment nonetheless!

Easter, while not a holiday I generally celebrate, is a day of great importance in Italy. Still, I could always appreciate the trappings of Easter in Rome (to wit: people camping out alongside the Coliseum to witness the Pope's Stations of the Cross, and the accompanying sound checks, was more reminiscent of desperate fans scalping tickets to a rock concert than devout Catholics hoping to glimpse their religious leader). And I've certainly enjoyed my fair share of the Easter feasts with friends and loved ones. 

In Rome, it's a celebration of spring itself, La Primavera: lamb, artichokes, asparagus, eggs, cheesy parmigiano Easter bread, salumi and formaggi...the list goes on.There's a saying in Italy that states: Natale con i tuoi, Pasqua con chi vuoi...which basically means Christmas with your family, Easter with whomever you want. I like that it's a more community-friendly holiday in Italy. People certainly turn out for church, but beyond that, the Easter meal can be with family, friends, or out in a restaurant. Eating well is the priority. 

And the next day, Easter Monday, or "Pasquetta," is basically national picnic day. In Rome we'd head to the vast and beautiful park, Villa Pamphili, for vino and nibbles and sun and frisbee. It was always packed, but this was the perfect gathering spot for everyone in Rome to soak up some springtime sun and get out of doors without trekking to the beach just yet. And a picnic is a wonderful excuse to eat up leftovers, make delicious panini and frittate and drink crisp vino bianco in the afternoon...

This year, I catered clients' Passover seders, and today is barely warm enough in New York City to make a picnic tolerable. Lovely as Central Park is, it's no Villa Pamphili, there are no umbrella pines, and precious few people in the U.S. celebrate Pasquetta. I miss Rome in the springtime. But I brought a little bit of The Eternal City along this season in my Passover carciofi alla romana (Roman style braised artichokes) and sauteed greens "Jewish Ghetto style" with sultanas and pine nuts. Preparing them brought me back to my 17th century apartment in Largo Arenula, to my Passover seders in my large living room with the wood beam 15-foot-high ceilings, the noise of the city's cars and vespas passing beneath my windows.

It brought me back to preparing for Pasquetta picnics, chilling bottles of Falanghina, and packing up the coolers to hop on the tram outside my door, which took me across the river to Trastevere where I'd meet my friends. We'd head in a caravan to Villa Pamphili, to our spot, to our own "famiglia romana" in the park, eating and drinking wine, laughing, tossing the frisbee until our shadows grew long and we headed back out along the walled Via Aurelia Antica, through Monteverde Vecchio, down the hill into Trastevere, at dusk.

 Buona Pasquetta a tutti.

QUICK BITE: Sachlav

The last few days of 2012, and the first few of the new year, were gorgeous in Israel. I was having leisurely lunches on the beach in flip-flops and a t-shirt. I swam in the Dead Sea and toured Massada in summer gear. It was all very mild Mediterranean. And then, suddenly, the weather changed. Storms blew throughout the country. It snowed in Jerusalem. I was caught in a hail storm in Haifa. And I experienced torrential downpour in Tel Aviv for days on end. Every Israeli assured me that the weather was never like this. It hadn't been this cold and rainy in 50 years, said everyone. Lucky me! But in a way...lucky me. I'd always been in Israel during the summertime or early autumn. I got to experience something different. Hot spots in Tel Aviv were a little less crowded, and the stormy weather drove everyone indoors: to museums, theaters, intimate bars and cute cafes where one could enjoy languid conversation and numerous glasses of superb Israeli wine.

And so it happened, after one of these rainy nights I stayed out too late and imbibed a little too much, I slept in the next morning, disinclined to arise from under the cozy covers, in my adorable apartment in the Neve Tzedek neighborhood. But my friend had promised to treat me to a wonderfully warming drink in Jaffa that morning, followed by brunch in a local cafe. And since it was just a 10-minute walk away to the oldest port in the Western world, I was soon inspired to dress and venture out. Jaffa is historically a very Arab part of Tel Aviv, and this drink my Israeli friend wanted to introduce me to has Arab roots, so we were headed to the right part of town. Ironically, the drink also proved to be an excellent hangover salve, warming us on that cold, gusty day. The drink? SACHLAV.

This thick milk-based drink was originally made with orchid tubers (called sahlab in Arabic). Its preparation varies a bit from country to country: some versions add rose water or orange blossom water, and some add coconut and cinnamon. Many are topped with nuts and dried fruit. In Turkey (possibly where it originated), its consistency is thick like pudding. In Israel, it's more of a drink, though often served with a spoon. It's warm. It's comforting. It was perfect on that cold morning in January. 
Sachlav, beyond its capacity to comfort, has always been considered an aphrodisiac. Maimonides even comments that one should drink it “to revive the spirits and to arouse sexual desire.” It's true that there is something wonderfully romantic about the drink's origins, the preciousness and exoticism of the orchid tubers that are the base of the drink in its original form. But in modern times, these orchids have become rare and prohibitively expensive, so they've mostly been replaced with thickening agents like corn or potato starch in today's versions. Less romantic, perhaps, but still really delicious.

Some claim that sachlav dates back to the Romans. Others argue that the orchid used to make the drink -- most likely indigenous to the tropics -- would not have arrived in the region until the Middle Ages. Regardless, the Medieval Arabs and Turks adopted the culinary tradition. The Germans and English got on board as well in the 17th century, replacing the milk with water and calling the beverage saloop. It even made an appearance in colonial America, but with the rising popularity of tea and coffee in the U.S. and Europe, the drink faded from the scene rather quickly. Their loss, our loss.
 

Sachlav Toppings

Sachlav is still a beloved drink in the Middle East, kind of what hot chocolate is to Europeans and Americans. It's often sold out of metal samovars at outdoor markets to warm shoppers, which is exactly how my friend and I enjoyed it in Jaffa. Various toppings are set out for you to choose from, including cinnamon, dried fruits, nuts, and coconut flakes. We enjoyed the sachlav as a precursor to brunch, though it could be considered a meal in itself. And as I drank the warm vanilla, coconut, and cinnamon-infused treat, those clouds hovering over Tel Aviv seemed to blow away for a few minutes, allowing us to stroll the streets of the ancient port village -- no longer under the cover of an umbrella, but out enjoying the animated street life that's colored this corner of the world for thousands of years.

 

ITALIAN CLASSICS + RECIPE: Cicoria

A little about one of my favorite vegetables in Italy, wild chicory, called cicoria in Italian: we are not talking about curly endive. We are not talking about the root of the plant that is grown, roasted, and ground as a coffee substitute in areas like Louisiana.  We're talking about the lovely leaves of the wild chicory plant, native to Europe, its bitter leafy stalks calling out to be tamed by caring cooks, particularly around Rome, in Liguria, and Puglia, where famous dishes like cicoria e fave (with fava beans) are staples. It's also popular in Catalonia, Turkey, and Greece, and is one of the first plants cited in literature: Horace mentions chicory as being a principal part of his diet. Egyptians used chicory to treat liver and gallbladder problems.The blue chicory flower is considered a romantic inspiration, and in European folklore was believed to have the power to open locked doors.

  Now, if you find the notion of a sauteed green eliciting pure joy in grown adults to be strange, then you haven't been to Italy during the cooler months of the year. It's more exciting than spinach, more delicate than various wild greens like dandelion or collard. As Gordon Gekko might proclaim: wild chicory, for lack of a better word, is GOOD.  
And in trattorie all over Rome, it's prepared ripassata in padella: once the greens are parboiled to remove some of the bitterness, they're tossed back in a hot pan with garlic, olive oil, and a healthy pinch of spicy peperoncino. This produces a side dish so simple in its awesomeness as to render most other green vegetables...unimportant. When restaurants run out of the dish before all of their customers have ordered, you will hear sighs and gasps coming from tables when they're told the bad news, "la cicoria e' terminata." Faces are long, hopes are lost. Nothing can replace it. At least until the following day, or until the springtime when artichokes are in season...

CICORIA RIPASSATA IN PADELLA 
(4 people)

2 large bunches of chicory

extra-virgin olive oil

2 cloves garlic

hot pepper flakes

salt to taste

Water

-Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.

-Cut stems off chicory and rinse the leaves. (Discard stems or slice and use for puntarelle). Add to pot and boil until soft and cooked through.

-Prepare a bowl of ice water. Remove chicory from boiling water and “shock” in ice water to stop cooking.

-Once cold, remove from ice water, drain, and pat dry.

-Heat a thin layer of olive oil in a skillet. Add peeled whole garlic cloves and cook over medium heat for 3 minutes. Remove garlic.

-Add chicory and toss to coat.

-Add red pepper flakes to desired “heat”, and salt to taste.

-Cook for about 3 minutes to heat through, and so chicory absorbs flavor of the garlic oil. Serve at once or at room temperature drizzled with red wine vinegar.