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It’s obvious that my husband and I are tourists in Rome. We wear expressions of awe and confusion. One thing we don’t do is always carry a guidebook. There’s nothing wrong with them, but I was surprised to count the number of people who approached Trattoria da Teo with books in hand.
Our B&B host told us about Teo’s. We didn’t know we needed reservations. The restaurant, like most in Rome, opens at 7:30. This was something many with Rick Steves and Frommer’s weren’t aware of either, but a fair number was. Perhaps the guidebooks should be more detailed. We sat in the small piazza watching people go to Teo’s door only to be turned away. We waited more than 30 minutes and once inside were told there was one remaining table available for someone without reservations.
Although this is a popular Trastevere eatery, we weren’t wowed. The food wasn’t photogenic, but there were a few bright spots, including the lightly breaded calamari with artichokes. Read the rest of this entry »
I’d been told many times that pesto made from basil grown in the Cinque Terre is especially good. The warm sun and coastal air make the licorice-flavored herb uniquely pungent. Basil is not a mild flavor, so I was intrigued by the idea of a different, perhaps stronger taste. I ate pesto several times over the course of three days to make sure.
Rest assured, it was very good, but I think the local olive oil may also be a contributing factor. Although, each dish I sampled allowed the rich green basilica to shine. The oil did not overpower, which can be the case with some versions.
We stayed in Riomaggiore where in late February it is still the low season. We found only two restaurants open. In nearby Manarola, there were more options, but not an overwhelming number.
My pesto dinners were surprisingly different, albeit only slightly. One, at Pizzeria da Mam’angela, featured potatoes. Osteria Maite’s had pine nuts and was a darker green, but both were mixed with perfect al dente tagliolini, a linguini-like fresh pasta.
La Scogliera in Manarola offered several options for pesto, including lasagne, gnocchi and minestrone. I had the latter. The soup was rustic and hearty . The serving was just right for a late lunch.
At home a large serving of pasta with pesto would suffice as a meal. One night I opted to eat as Italians do and had a primi plati and a secondi plati (grilled swordfish). It was a lot of food. The second evening I had only pasta. Perfecto!
Assimilation, family expectations and grief are at the heart of Mira Jacob’s The Sleepwalker’s Guide to Dancing, which is both humorous and poignant, albeit long.
Although Amina Eapen was born in the United States, her parents’ roots remain tied to their native India. Amina is a single, 20-something, professional photographer. Her mother, Kamala, convinces her to return to Albuquerque on the pretext that Amina’s father is not well.
The story alternates between present day and Amina’s youth. Her parents’ marriage is problematic while her relationship with her brother, Akhil, is more consistent. One of Jacob’s threads leads to a family visit to India when the children are young. Largely, though, the focus is on the siblings in high school and Amina’s struggle to see her mother as more than a manipulator and her father as someone with physical ailments.
The settings Jacob presents include India, a small town near Albuquerque and Seattle. None would seem to have much in common with the other, yet they all contribute to the characters’ personalities and the life paths Amina and her family follow. Interestingly, the Eapens create a tight-knit community with other Indian nationals. They are so close as to be like a large, surrogate family, which Amina finds both tiresome and comforting.
The sounds and smells of India are vibrant in the Eapen kitchen, where food is something that Kamala uses as both bribery and solace. These serve their purpose as the family comes to grip with loss they have long kept buried — literally.
The Sleepwalker’s Guide to Dancing
Three-and-three-quarter Bookmarks
Random House Trade Paperback, 2015
498 pages
Mariana, our son Tim’s girlfriend, is wonderful for many reasons. Her most recent way into our hearts, and stomachs, was to walk into our house with a box of Voodoo Donuts. We don’t live in Denver, so these are treats I have only read about. Most of what I’ve read includes the lengthy lines involved in snagging a sugary dozen.
She explained that she didn’t have to wait long. In fact, she said, shortly after she got to the counter the line started to build, so she felt lucky. We did, too.
She ordered a Voodoo dozen, which meant that the choices were selected for her. That’s an interesting approach, but we all agreed we were pleased with the variety.
These are eye-catching, sweet-smelling goodies that are surprisingly light and airy. The toppings are uber-creative. Consider the Bubble gum-pink frosted raised donut that not only wafted images of big sticky bubbles, but included a piece of gum. This was too saccharine for me, but I did appreciate the ingenuity. Ditto on the Cocoa Puffs; this was never one of favorite cereals as a kid.
Since there were four of us sharing the donuts we democratically cut most into quarters so we had a couple bites of each one. Chocolate frosted raised donuts have always been one of my favorites and even though there is little to no originality involved, I loved it. Nonetheless, the buttermilk glazed donut was perhaps my favorite; I liked the double-chocolate a lot. I may need another dozen just to make sure.
Florence Gordon is a crotchety old woman. Actually, she’s not that old (75), and bitchy is a better description. Yet, this title character of Brian Morton’s novel is certainly likeable – not lovable, but fascinating. Hers is a forceful, no-nonsense personality. Although she’s a writer and considered an icon among feminists, she’s a poor communicator.
Sure, she’s written numerous essays, has plans to write her memoir and speaks her mind. The trouble is she doesn’t share what’s in her heart. Neither does anyone else in her family: her son, Daniel; his wife, Janine who adores Florence; nor their daughter, college-age daughter, Emily. This is a family of secrets. They hold tight to the things that should be shared with kin. Sadly, they spend a lot of time interpreting, often erroneously, one another’s actions.
Florence is put off by Janine’s adoration and seemingly disappointed by Daniel’s career choice: a cop. Still, Florence and Emily slowly start to build a relationship beyond something perfunctory. Emily helps her grandmother with some research. The latter is surprised to discover that her granddaughter is intelligent and perceptive.
The writing is terse, yet the characters and New York City setting are well-portrayed. Morton does a fine job, especially with the females, of inviting the reader to see what’s inside the characters’ heads. An absent character, Janine and Daniel’s son, is alluded to as a talker. Perhaps he could have gotten Florence to open up. That would have made for a completely different, but not necessarily better, story.
Florence Gordon
Four Bookmarks
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014
306 pages
I recently returned to enjoy dinner at Scarpetta in Bevery Hills. It was as good as I remembered, although I think one element was even better: the service.
Our server, Christian, enhanced our meal with his knowledge of the menu and attentiveness. He knew the ingredients, the preparation and offered to make changes if needed.
The next evening we dined at Redbird, the new restaurant in what was once the rectory of St. Vibiana’s in downtown Los Angeles. The press about chef/partner Neal Fraser’s new digs has made getting a reservation feel like winning the lottery. However, thanks to the service, we didn’t feel victorious.
Our questions about the menu were answered by our (nameless) server rote-style stating what we could read for ourselves. A few items were unknown and he did fill in those gaps, but without the passion Christian radiated at Scarpetta.
I ordered Ora King Salmon served with roasted beets, farro verde and pomegranate. The fish featured the most beautifully-crisped skin I’ve ever tasted. However, the farro was ripe with the distinct infusion of goat cheese. Had I known, I would have made another choice or at least requested a different side dish. Half the fish and beets were gone by the time our server returned to check on us. It was evident I wasn’t eating the farro.
I inquired about the offending ingredient and the server needed to check with the kitchen. He returned praising my discerning palette — admittedly, it wasn’t much of a stretch. I continued to enjoy the fish, which, again, was cooked to perfection. A manager offered apologies, explaining that staff is trained to ask about dietary restrictions. My dislike of goat cheese is based on personal preference; I can’t, in good conscience, call it a restriction. At that point it appeared it was my fault for not informing the server of my aversion. Even if I had, he hadn’t been aware of its presence. I was offered another side, but at this point my entrée was nearly consumed.
A friend suggested a complimentary dessert. That didn’t happen. Instead, the farro was boxed up for me to take home. I’m confident Christian would have handled things much differently.
Scarpetta Redbird
225 N. Canon Dr. 114 E. 2nd St.
Beverly Hills Los Angeles
I used an ATM for the first time on a recent visit to California. It’s not because I haven’t seen them before or had a need for cash at an odd time of day or night. I just have an inexplicable aversion. The ATM I recently used was for cupcakes! I’ve wanted to try Sprinkles Cupcakes ATM in Glendale at the Americana shopping area for quite a while. The ATM experience was fun, but the cupcakes were unsatisfying.
Sprinkles has been a mainstay in the cupcake world for a decade with shops around the country. I’ve enjoyed their small frosting-laden cakes in Beverly Hills and New York City. Cupcakes are one of my favorite foods. I like their compactness, the ratio of cake to frosting and the creativity of flavors many bakers incorporate.
It all begins at the ATM’s touch-screen that reveals a menu with several flavor options, including Red Velvet and a few gluten-free varieties. I know the Red Velvet is rich and moist, but decided to try something new: peanut butter and chocolate. We also ordered Double Chocolate, Marshmallow Chocolate and Black and White. Four is the maximum number per order. With a quick swipe of the credit card, within minutes four separate boxes containing the baked goods are ready for retrieval.
My choice was underwhelming. It was dry and the amount of frosting was disappointing. The other flavors were fine, but I regret not ordering the Red Velvet. Guess I’ll have to give the cupcake ATM another try.
Sprinkles Cupcakes
629 American Way, Glendale, Calif.
Binge watching is old stuff, but podcast binging is a new all-consuming activity (for me). In under a week I listened to all 12 episodes of Serial, the This American Life production that debuted last fall.When it aired I couldn’t make a commitment to follow it. Now, with frigid temperatures and some time on my hands, I got hooked. I’m glad I didn’t have to wait for each installment, and that I could listen to as much as I wanted in one sitting. It was media gluttony and I’m not a bit repentant.The premiere season of Serial follows the case of a Baltimore teenager, Adman Syed, charged with the 1999 murder of his ex-girlfriend. Journalist/narrator Sarah Koening details the crime through court records, interviews with Syed, lawyers, police, friends of the victim and accused, among others. Koening’s research is exhaustive – and gripping.
Much of the evidence against Syed is circumstantial with plenty of holes in the prosecution’s case. The recurring theme from those who know Syed is that violence is not part of his character. Although he was the only suspect to be tried, Koening provides other possibilities. She repeatedly states she’s a reporter not an investigator. Actually, she’s a good investigator, but the distinction is important. It means that she acknowledges speculation when facts are missing.
Koening and her crew spent 15 months to absolutely establish Syed’s guilt or innocence. The story is compelling in the way of all good murder/mysteries, because ultimately the listener becomes completely engrossed with the question of whodunit?
Serial
Five Audio Bookmarks
2014
http://serialpodcast.org/
Angelinos have shopped at Grand Central Market in downtown Los Angeles since 1917. Today, they’re also enjoying cuisine prepared by various vendors sharing space with the grocers. My mom recalls going there as a child with her mother and aunts to do much of their weekly shopping for everything from produce to dried beans, from meat to cheese.
There’s still a butcher, but a more upscale one and the same is true of the cheese purveyor. Many of the transactions for produce are spoken in Spanish. Much of the food is traditional ethnic street fare; some is on the trendier side. It’s a food court with character and characters.
Before a recent visit we created a list of the places we wanted to sample: Tacos Tumbras a Tomas, Sarita’s Pupuseria, Texas barbecue from Horse Thief, Sticky Rice and Bel Campo. We made it to the first two and were too stuffed to eat anything else. Well, except for ice cream from McConnell’s.
The tacos were massive: mounds of carnitas doused in a blend of spicy red and green salsas. Although the tacos were huge in size and flavor, the best part may have been waiting in line (line is used loosely here). I didn’t have enough confidence in my Spanish to order but I understood what those beside me were having and what the men behind the counter were asking.
Sarita’s Pupuseeria was also a popular spot and the line (this one appropriately named) moved slowly. While you wait it’s fascinating watching the women make the thick pancake-like shapes. We tried some filled with refried beans, cheese and pork with cheese. The latter was the tastiest thanks to gooey cheese and shredded pork, but it was also the greasiest.
We’re looking forward to another visit so we can cross the other places off our list.
Grand Central Market
Four Plates (and lots of napkins)
317 S. Broadway
Los Angeles
Thanks WordPress for letting me know this is our third anniversary. I don’t have a book or restaurant to review right now, but I did make my 275th post earlier this week.
The traditional gift to commemorate three years is leather. Hhmmm. Sounds like I need to get a book to celebrate!
Thanks WordPress, but more importantly, thank you readers! It’s nice to know I have followers who aren’t related to me, although I am very grateful to those who are for being so consistent in your love and support. I’ll keep writing and I hope you’ll keep reading. Here’s to three more — at least!
The Blue Page Special 