Category: Food

Puerto Rico Eats

Any time I vacation in El Caribe, I get very excited for obvious reasons.  I spent summers in Santo Domingo and Puerto Rico as a child and teenager, and hold onto fond memories of food and fun in the sun.  It has been over ten years since I’ve revisited, partly because of life changes and other travel destinations, and partly because I’m concerned over the modernization of islands which are pristine in my memory, a time with few cars and no fast food franchises.  But, alas, even third world Caribbean islands have caught up in this internet age, and finding the petals that were once flowers has proven elusive, given the over development of resort tourism.

Tired of the extended NYC winter, I booked a great deal to San Juan, PR in the Condado area of Santurce.  Tropical breezes met fickle weather, but for the most part sunny and temps in the 80’s.  It only occurred to me that I needed research on where to eat and drink, and that not much has been written about PR outside of Frommer’s and Trip Advisor.

My encounters in PR dining was very mixed, with lots of tourist traps, high end criolla cuisine and in betweens, topped off by a diamond in the rough.  Criolla refers to a style of cuisine prominent on most Caribbean islands, a marriage of European technique and local ingredients and native cooking, and is unique to each island but universal in approach.

In this respect Puerto Rico, Dom. Republic, and Cuba serve very similar tasting food, with slight nuances and touches.  Tropical fruits, fried foods, rice and beans, and fresh fish, stewed and grilled meats are core ingredients, adapted pasta dishes and the like are add-ons from Euro-recipes.

On Ashford Avenue, I ate small meals at La Hacienda, a PR-Mex place which has basic fare from both sides, cheap drinks, and a resounding view to the ocean.  Some highlights of the menu are flautas, mole and chimichangas as well as fried pork chunks and fried snapper fish.

There is hotel eating which can be perilous.  I had some decent small plates at Pikayo in the Conrad Plaza Hotel.  There were some proper cocktails had and a credible wine list, albeit curious one.  To watch the NCAA b-ball finals, I had some forgettable pizza at Mike’s, where I’m sure the product is tailored towards Latin flavor profiles.

Also near the hotel is a resto called Ropa Vieja, which served a proper plate of mofongo with shredded beef.   I would return for that one dish alone.   We consumed an obscure bottle of Yunquera Albillo 2009, a delicious bottle and a bargain at $28 USD.  I say USD because at lunch at El Jibbarito in old San Juan, a couple of tourists asked the waitress if the resto accepted USD or would they have to convert to pesos.  God Bless U.S. geography lessons. The food was fair at El Jib, but not worth a special trip.

In Old San Juan, there are lots of restos spending way too much on tourist décor and palates, overpriced with very fruit juicy sangria and wine lists heavy on Californian wine.  If I want 15% in my wine, I’ll stick to rum and coke.  Most of the wine lists seemed synchronized by the same importer, and the prices varied wildly.

A more successful visit was made to La Bombonera, which reminds of the typical luncheonette in the Bronx and El Barrio in NYC.  Cuban sandwiches and strong coffees.  La Mallorca, the specialty of the house is divine.  This is a must have sugar attack.

Academically speaking I was very interested in the Spanish restaurants, which are well known in PR.  I was very disappointed in many ways.  First, the wine lists seemed the same.  Second, the dishes were all familiar, but poorly executed.  The jamon guy should have been taken out and….   The paella looked terrible, again perhaps a modification for the local tourists, and key ingredients were left out of classics as interpretations of the chef.  At Picoteo, at least there was 5 star Mahou beer in a beautiful setting.  At Compostela Santiago, some wines on the list were a steal, such as a “94 Pesquera for $125.  The Pulpo ala Gallega was served without potatoes, but the octopus was tender and juicy.  The arroz a banda was an imposter, and the cochinillo, priced at $45.,  came two portions sizes too small with no sides.  The only salvaging part of the meal was a great bottle of Sameira from the Ribeiro and a standby from Ribeira Sacra, Vina Caneiro.

After a nice conversation with the Maitre d’Hotel, whose brother is the chef at Macondo on Houston, he tipped me off to a place off the beaten path in the Plaza de Mercado in Santurce.  The neighborhood houses a small plaza with fruit and vegetable vendors and lots of local makeshift bars with outdoor seating serving cold Medalla beer, rum, and fritura (fried foods).  After several attempts at local GPS (asking around), I came up to a house off to the side with no sign.  This was the house (resto) of Jose Enrique, chef and proprietor.  Once through the front porch and door is a scene, one that instinctually I know is the “promised island”.  A non-descript room with a bar, bustling with people in the know, speaking Spanish and having long lunches full of tropical drinks and colorful plates.  Eureaka!  Save that there were no available seats in the dining room and a 1.5 hour wait.  But in the patio…I was afeared there was no AC, but this patio was adorned with ceiling fans, wooden benches and salsa over the speakers.  All that was missing was a hammock.

Fresh juices with or without rum to start, followed by sangria and a good short wine list.  Who is going back to work after this outing?  Amelia brought over a handwritten menu on dry erase board with apps for the day.  Every one seemed tantalizing.  Homemade longaniza, empanadas with tiny fish, crab salad filled arepita cups, smoked, fried pork chunks, head cheese, langoustines, scallops, tomato and eggplant salad, salmon fritters.  A meal could be constructed from these.  My partner and I could only eat five.  Then the main course billboard comprised of whatever was caught or from local farms, skirt steak, mahi mahi, sea bream, tuna, yellow snapper, filet mignon empanizada, and so on.  Just what was available for the day Amelia assured us.  The meal was brilliant, just what the essence of criolla cuisine is:  not a fancification of home cooked dishes, just home cooked dishes using the freshest and best of the island.  Twists on classics such as mofongo and mamposteao, playful deconstruction of a dessert classic like temblake.   This meal stacks up against any of the fine meals from my recent memory of the big five (Italian, French, Spanish,  Japanese, & New American). Convivial atmosphere, feeling at home, great staff and a desire to return for my next meal.

Amelia tells me there are many regulars, and no reservations, which can prove difficult in terms of planning a time for a visit.  I suggest to come when you please and have a few beers at any of the next door bars while you wait.  It’s worth the trip.

One way to beat the brutal New York winter storms is to leave, to a warmer climate preferably.  El Caribe would have been toasty, but I got a nice hook-up in Paris, what with a standby ticket and a friend’s flat in Asnieres sur Seine.  I scheduled my time between bistros, hot chocolate, tea, and pastries, and filled in the blanks with lots of window shopping, being as how the SOLDES signs were everywhere (Mid Jan thru early Feb is a huge sales period in Paris).  Luckily for me I didn’t fit into any of those designer mark downs, but I made up for it in eating and drinking.  As it turned out the weather was a balmy 40 to 50 degrees with mixed clouds for the majority of the stay.

It is good advice to get recommendations wherever you travel, but especially so in Paris, with three brasseries on every street, the perils are many.  I visited a couple of places Anthony Bourdain featured on his show No Reservations: Paris, got some solid advice from El Capitan, and filled in the rest from a very useful guide authored by my friend Michel Abood of Vinotas Selections.

Here is a list of the bistros which ranged from very good to outstanding:

Le Severo

Le Temps au Temps

Le Villaret

L’Ourcine

Frenchie

Le Comptoir

L’Ecallier du Bistrot

Bistrot Paul Bert

In addition there were the wine bars:

Baron Rouge

Juveniles

Willi’s Wine Bar

Avant Comptoir

It is hard adjusting to the NY state of mind, especially with all this ice, but I’m hoping the groundhog is right this time.  Fuller reviews and my recs to follow soon.

On a recent trip to Chicago, I was more than pleasantly surprised to find a food, beer and wine destination thriving with culinary excellence, with some restaurants even more exciting than the scene in New York City.  On past trips to Chicago, I have explored steak houses and deep dish pizza joints, street hot dogs, great Mexican fare and solid pubs.

But the focus was on the new and noteworthy this time around, and I have added three new restos to my expanding list of Chicago eateries and bars.

On Friday night, I snatched an early table at Publican in the West Loop, essentially a beer hall with gastro fare.  Large paintings of plump pigs adorn the walls, wooden stable doors enclose the booths, surrounding long communal wooden seating and central standing room only bar, flanked by the open kitchen, attractive and engaging.  The crowd is hip, the ambiance ebullient, the staff knowledgeable and laid back.

Start off with the oysters, pristine and paired perfectly with the extensive beer list.  On to crudo and pork rinds, which if were sold in Harlem would cause a riot, fluffy, puffy, piment d’esplette accented – they are my latest obsession and addiction.

The next beer was a Flemish offering called Monk’s Cafe, an eye opener and versatile for the courses to follow.  The highlight is a ham chop in hay, thrice cooked via sous vide and open fire.  I am not sure what hay tastes like, but the smoky, meaty chop had a woodsy aroma and was succulent, decadent and dreamy.  I had tickets to see Carmen at the Lyric, otherwise I would never have left my table until I’d sampled all the beers.

The next night was a follow upscale sleek temple called Blackbird, a multiple James Beard award winner helmed by chef Paul Kahan.  At the bar, I sipped a perfect Manhattan and bourbon sidecar, then sat down to the tight row seating thrilled by the menu at hand.

I chose a versatile wine with the help of Christopher Nostvick, the sommelier, who shared with me that he would be adding Italian wines to the French and American dominated wine list. Les Heritiers de Comte Lafon Macon-Mully Lamartine 2007 was up to the task.  Garbanzo bean soup with falafel, pickled asian pear, caramelized egg yolk and sumac was the starter, a hint of Chef Kahan’s style, great ingredients, superbly presented and cooked with scintillating accents seemingly out of left field.  The garbanzos were creamy, make that double creamy with the egg yolk, the falafel playfully crunchy.  The whole time sumac lingers causing pasue for thought and discovery.

Coffee-scented fluke tartare with lemon cucumber, saffron, and bread sauce was up next, cooling the news that the Yankees were getting beat up, again showing a creative hand using coffee and saffron, an unusually thought provoking affair.

Roasted hudson valley foie gras with charred green garlic, black garlic, preserved plums and shrimp salt followed, the two garlics misleading me into thinking I had never tasted foie gras before.

The main courses were solid but less interesting, an aged peking duck breast with illinois chanterelles (who knew?), haricots verts and brown butter worcestershire  and a classic grilled berkshire pork loin with caramelized white chocolate, beets, plums and sea beans.   This was washed down nicely with a towering glass of  Bressy Rasteau 2005.

Some local cheeses to follow and an espresso for the next leg of the evening.

A cab ride to the Violet Hour, Chicago version speakeasy, with a line and much hullabaloo at the door.  I spoke to George the doorman and scored a table towards the rear.  It felt more lounge than speakeasy, with spacious ceilings and seating areas, soft hues and cool music.  I went for classics, mint julep, sidecar etc. and before I knew it 3 am rolled around and I had been lost in time.  I contemplated the Wiener Circle for some good old fashioned abuse, but was rerouted by sleep and a dream of brucnh at Bongo Bongo.

The line for Bongo was an hour wait, and if not for Bears tickets, I would have queued up.  Instead I settled for a trattoria, stadium beers and a healthy anticipation for my final destination before my flight back to the Empire state, the Girl and the Goat.

After a bit of schlepping, back to the hotel, bag retrieval, ride to the restaurant, etc.  we sat down at the bar at 4:30 pm because the place was booked solid at five.  The Girl and the Goat is captained by the only female Top Chef Season 4 winner Stephanie Izard, who was actually there managing the kitchen on a Sunday!

Situated in the West Loop, an apparent hub for new and hip restaurants, this enormous space is dark, almost Gothic in tone.  At the rear is the open kitchen, half staffed by female cooks.  All were young and hip looking, operating seriously and orderly.

After some more delicious local beer, we opted for a Nigl Gruner Veltliner, a great producer and expression of the grape.  The menu is divided into three sections, meat, vegetable, and fish and all plates are meant to be shared.

The meal began with ethereal pretzel bread, and fried watch hills atop egg salad and capers.  Then hiramasu crudo and green beans in fish sauce.

We ended with goat, pork and veal sugo pappardelle, falling off the bone tender, laced  with goose berries popping with each bite.  Then a sort of breakfast dish of wood oven roasted pig face, a mishmash of pig face parts formed into a patty, draped by a  sunny side egg, spiced with tamarind and cilantro with a side of  potato stix.  I’ll have to come back for the goat loin, beef tongue, and lamb shank.

The restaurant reminds me of Momufuku and Ssam bar of NYC, in terms of menu design and concept, except that the star is the goat, and the service and ambience is friendly, minus the attitude.  The food is quite good, although sometimes heavy on the sauces.  I feel chef is still finding her way, but I appreciate the direction she is going.  I look forward to checking in on the Goat on my next visit.

Blue line to O’Hare, the inevitable two hour delay, then the rerouting of our plane to JFK, as well as the dreams of pork rinds sure to haunt me for the rest of the week leading up to Halloween.  I can’t help thinking that the food scene there is just as alive as it is at home, maybe even brighter on the count of ingenuity.

Sing on Sinatra.

There are meals that transcend memory in one’s life, an experience that lingers and transports, leaving an indelible mark on one’s food soul.  The reverberations that ensue are subtle, then profound, then life-changing.

This past summer I was extremely blessed to be offered an invitation to El Bulli, a gastronomic mecca, a mathematical impossibility, a convergence of providence and good fortune, reinforcing the adage, “It’s who you know.”

So, as part of my yearly summer road trip in La Patria (Spain), El Bulli was to be the culinary crowning highlight.

The restaurant is located near the seaside town of Roses in northeastern Spain along the Costa Brava.  After a day of cloudbursting in the sunshine, a van arrived to pick up the party because driving to El Bulli is treacherous, even for the natives.

A very integral component to the dining experience of your lifetime is who is in attendance.  This aspect is almost more important than the actual food and wine.  Maria Jose of LDH, joined by her US business manager Monica, El Capitan (my road warrior), and DJ (an old time road warrior wine biz friend of El Cap) rounded out the crew.  All of us are in the industry, and appreciate the magnitude of the affair.

El Bulli sits high on the cliff facing the ocean.  After a trip to the kitchen and pictures with chef Ferran Adria and Jules Solner, we are led to a patio where I am transed by the sounds of crashing waves beneath us.  Sea air fills the skies, and the sun begins its natural descent.  We settle in, and all nervousness and excitement is met with a bottle of Gosset Grande Reserve Champagne – it was like drinking the foam from the restless waters.  The first two courses were some play on cocktails, fueling anticipation.  Then an enormous egg shell made out of gorgonzola arrives to the table, with fresh nutmeg shavings.  We are instructed to burst in with our hands, the egg shell cool to the touch and so mind-opening, truly we were a part of a circus of food, and what a wondrous show we were in for.  A few more courses and then the spherical green olives, not so much a dish as a concept, a turning of a pure food item on its head, a liquid orgasm of olive essence, a sphere that danced on the spoon and the tongue before conceding to internal pressure, liquefying in the mouth while exploding in the mind.  It was the only course that we received two of, the secondary olives were housed in a glass aquarium for us to fish.  I am still living in those olives.

I am not sure when, still in an olive daze, but we were ushered indoors, a hacienda like aerie with scarce twenty five patrons scattered about in privacy, soothing white walls and wooden beams with stony floors and vistas of the night blue sky.  We are seated at a table designed for a large party, exceptionally homey for five.  We move on to a Corton Les Vergennes Cuvee Paul Chanson 2005, a nice Grand Cru effort, begging the question on how we are going to pair wine with the extensive menu and myriad of flavors.  Maria Jose took care of this, generously gifting her wines from cellar, white and red, with the theme for selection based on birth years present at the table.  Vina Tondonia Gran Reserva ’57, ’61, & ’70 for white, ’47,’54,’64 for red (some Bosconia), throwing in 2000 (rosado), 2001 & 2005 (tinto) for tasting.  The elegance of these fine aged wines elevated the meal to a stratospherical level. There were intermittents, 1964 Oloroso by Gonzlez Byass and Hidalgo Pascada Pastrana manzanilla, and a finishing wine of PX Solera 1830 by Alvear.  You could imagine how many wine glasses we were surrounded by.

It was a real task to take a photo before eating every dish, and I managed admirably, only eating part of a gamba before snapping a shot.  Many dishes could serve as the highlight of any meal, and some begged bewilderment, puzzling analysis, and folly.  A baguette made out of meringue filled with angula (eel) liver is still on the tip of my tongue’s memory.  Tuna bonito broth French Pressed in a bodum, se anemone, sea urchin, and sea eel to name a few.  There were no meat courses, save for a hare broth, deep and intense.  There were 38 courses in all.

Morphings, a box of chocolates in a dizzying array of flavors and scents, accompanied by tea cut from fresh leaves brought tableside finalized the sweetness portion of the program, followed by a digestivo back on the patio where it all began.  A quick glance at the clock struck 3 am, time lost from a 9 pm start time.

What did we discuss? Friendship, love, generosity, and of course food and wine, the universal elements that binds us all, without which the world would be a less magical space.  Life holds in store for us moments, simple and grandiose, with dear friends and family, filling for us that space in our hearts, minds and stomachs.