I rarely if ever say anything negative on this site.  That does not mean I never have a bad meal out.  I just don’t like to write about it.  But tonight, well, tonight I just can’t help myself.  I felt like I was watching a Saturday Night Live skit that could be entitled “Hipster Joints Gone Wild”.  It was actually funny, in a really expensive sort of way.  I will not reveal the name of the restaurant – but some of you will guess.  

Total sideline #1  – by ‘hipster joint’ I mean – a place gets rave reviews, exudes cool attitude – but when it comes right down to it – it does not deliver.  At all.  And the whole experience costs you a bundle.

Total sideline #2 – my views are greatly influenced by the fact that I, myself, and my friends, are not hipsters.  We are not cool.  We have no tattoos, the men no handlebar moustaches, and none of us wear topsiders.  This could be a factor.  Perhaps.

Here are some clues that tip you off that you are at a ‘hipster joint’ – not THE REAL DEAL – and they all manifested themselves tonight, at one of Toronto’s most talked about new restaurants.  I did not even take any pictures in order to protect identities.

RESERVATIONS:  When you call, you can only reserve at 6:30 or 8:30.  AND – you are warned that you MUST give up your table at 8:30 – pronto.  I can kind of get over this one if once you actually get there, the restaurant is packed.  But tonight it’s not.  The entire time we are there.  The restaurant is not even full until we leave at 9:00.  What’s wrong with a 7:00pm table?  At 6:30 I felt like I was 75 years old going to a seniors buffet.

THE TAP WATER SIN:  Once you declare your choice of Toronto tap, you have to beg for water.  Several times.  I mean, if you are a super cool waiter, at a super cool spot, you should not have to take something to the table that you can’t add to the bill – right?  I mean tips are based on the total check right?  Get with the program people, if you want tap water – stay home.

PLEASE SIR, CAN WE HAVE SOME BREAD?  See above.  Waiters at hipster joints can’t waste time bringing free stuff to freeloading customers.  Even with the foie gras, apparently the waiter couldn’t ask the chef for extra toast – the chef is very particular and does not allow extra toast.  Do we think he is running some sort of charity?  Jeez.  Pay your $26.00 for your Farmer’s Market Seared Foie Gras and move along. 

ARTISAN & TRASH BEERS:  I almost feel badly about this one.  I love artisan beers.  I love trash beers – like the $1.00 Old Milwaukee Monday Nights at Longman & Eagle in Chicago.  Classic good times – and those guys at L&E are seriously cool.  I love this hi brow/low brow trend actually.  But a beer menu of 5 beers –4/5 of which NOBODY at our table has EVER heard of?  (And the one we had heard of was a $5.00 Labatt 50.)  We ordered 2 different kinds.  One was flat – the one that cost $12.00.  We told hipster waiter it was flat.  His eyes glazed over like we were telling him how we like to fertilize our lawns.  No offer of getting another one.  Poor hipster waiter, having to deal with nerds like us.  We have so much to learn.

DESSERTS IN MASON JARS:  A long time ago, in a land not so far away (maybe Leslieville), a group of hipsters decided (I think it was the same meeting where they decided handlebar moustaches were cool) that “If a dessert is served in a mason jar, it is cute and ergo, delicious.”  I was not at that meeting – clearly.  I love mason jars.  But you actually have to put something good inside it.  Don’t argue with me – we aren’t eating the glass jar people – we are eating the dessert.

NO COFFEE:  Our table ordered dessert and then asked each other if we’d be having coffee – you know how it goes – “You having coffee?” “Nah….I’ll just finish this delicious $12.00 flat imported artisan beer made with organic free trade hand harvested hops only picked from the sunny part of the field, thanks.”  We all decided no on the coffees.  Our waiter was relieved.  “Well, that’s a good thing – because we don’t serve coffee.  Or tea.  We refuse to do DRIP (this word is pronounced with a facial expression similar to describing rat poison).  BUT (now sing-songy voice)……….we are going to open for brunch soon, and are thinking about buying those cute little individual French presses – so, once that happens, you’ll be able to have coffee!!!!”  Oh goodie.  I could not make this stuff up.

NO SPLITTING BILLS:  Turns out, friends of mine – a group of 6 women were in the back.  They enjoyed their meal so much, they did not even stick around for the non-coffee and the cute yet tasteless mason jar desserts.  When they went to pay – they were told absolutely no splitting bills more than two ways.  For that you have to go see some front of house manager, probably for detention.  See previous points  – no doing work for free – not in hipsterville.

SO SO FOOD:  At your classic hipster joint, where every critic is raving, bloggers are blogging and people are so keen to get in they will even eat at 6:30, you pay $200.00 for two, for pretty good food, no frills “service”, flat beer and the privilege of saying “Yeah, I did not eat bread there, and I hear they are actually gonna serve coffee in a few weeks!”

When you find something really amazing, I mean really amazing, you want to tell everyone about it and yet tell nobody about it at the same time – for fear of spoiling it.  I’ve debated, and I am going to tell you about Jersey.  It’s just too awesome not to share. 

Wildflowers, potatoes and the sea beyond

A wind tossed spec on the map, accessible by air or by ferry when the notoriously vicious English Channel allows for crossing; Jersey has scenery that will simply take your breath away.  This 8km by 14km isle, home to 100,000 people, is criss-crossed with impossibly narrow winding lanes and encircled by incredible beaches and cliff sides.  They say the area of Jersey doubles when the tide goes out – exposing incredible rock formations and caves – leaving some areas to look like the surface of the moon – excellent for crabbing, anemone hunting and shelling adventures.  You could easily visit a different beach every day – and most have wonderful cafes serving excellent local seafood. 

Just off the Normandy coast of France, an independent nation with its own currency, yet somehow part of the British Isles in a way I don’t really understand, Jersey is a magical combination of Anglo and French, and well, Jersey culture.  (Read – you can have pork pies, fish n chips, AND Jersey creme fraiche and crispy baguettes – can you imagine anything better?)  All the road names and cottage names (every house has a name) is French or Jerriais, but pretty much everyone speaks English.  In the northern wilds of St Ouen parish, some folks still speak Jerriais – a French dialect that dates back centuries.   During World War II the Channel Islands were occupied by the Germans, a piece of history recently made more well known by the bestselling book The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society. 

Between ancient castles, splendid beaches, loads of WWII historical sites, the world famous Durrell Wildlife Sanctuary and walking on the footpaths and cliffs that run all along the coast, there is no shortage of things to do.  But let’s be honest.  It’s the incredible food I want to tell you about.  You are not surprised are you?

Laneway to Le Paysage

When we were visiting, the Jersey Royals were just being harvested – the first and crowning jewel of the new potatoes.  The locals only eat ultra-fresh Royals.  If you want some for your supper, you buy them that day and cook immediately – fresh from the earth.  Jamie Oliver graced this little island a couple of years back, to film a spot for Sainsbury’s specially selected Jersey Royals.  Shame for those poor sods in England, by the time those potatoes made their way across the Channel, they were at least 24 hours old….

First of the Jersey Royals

Maybe you have to prove your love for good potatoes

These lovely new potatoes are covered in rich black soil.  I am always suspicious of potatoes that don’t have any dirt on them – what’s up with that?  The Jersey Royal flesh is slightly sweet, rich and creamy.  Apparently in times gone by, these potatoes were even better (if that’s possible), when traditionally the farmers would drive their horses and then tractors to the sea to collect ‘vraic’ – seaweed washed up on shore, to fertilize the soil. The ‘vraic’ would infuse flavour and a slight saltiness to the Royals.  Although this Norman tradition is now very limited – the Royals we had with a healthy dollop of Jersey butter and some sea salt from Normandy (it’s just 22km away after all) were divine.

Persusing some abandoned Jersey Royals

'Borrowing' Jersey Royals from a farmer's field

At every turn, there were signs at the end of a drive or a lane calling out Royals for sale.  It’s an honour system – choose your potatoes (and loads of other assorted home grown produce, plants, and sometimes if you’re lucky cakes and jams), leave your money in the box, and drive away with your fresh from the farm treasures.  Rhubarb, a myriad of potatoes, and leeks were common last week – the first signs spring – and I was happy to be cooking!  Eggs are often available on the honour system too – and the eggs here taste like nowhere else.  Maybe it’s the wind and the sea, and the sunshine that showed itself a few times during our visit – but the yolks are enormous, and not yellow – but orange….and the eggs, are just so downright eggy.  I ate one every single day for breakfast, and I am not ashamed to admit it.  You would have too.  I know it.

Lots of variety for an end of driveway 'shop'

The honour system

Lovely Jersey cattle are everywhere, and we have these golden brown ladies to thank for incredible world renowned dairy products.  The Jersey cattle were bred from Norman cattle in the 1700’s, and are recognised the world over for their excellent milk, that is a rich golden colour and especially high in butterfat.

Going to meet the Jersey cows

Lovely Jersey Ladies

Don't turn your nose up at me!

Rich yellow butter.  Unctuous cream.  Cream that made me understand why the good folks of the British Isles pour generous amounts of cream on all their ‘puddings’ – because it tastes so damn good!  The best glass of milk of your life.  Rich and creamy yogurt.  And don’t get me started on the ice cream.  But since you asked…..the best cone comes from the ice cream vans marked ‘Real Jersey Ice Cream’.  Almost yellow, soft serve, and topped off with the traditional Cadbury Flake – heaven.  I am not even sure if they put any vanilla in the ice cream – it does not need it – the flavour is pure Jersey Cream.

REAL Jersey Soft Ice Cream

Of course, as an island in the sea, the seafood is abundant and fresh.  Jersey lobsters.  Fresh scallops – roe intact – why do we in North America remove the roe?  The bright orange bit is so pretty and decadently delicious.  Moules.  Local pollack.  Yes, pollack – mild with a lovely texture.  Cuttlefish and Ormers (abalone).  Local crab.  And oysters.  Jerseys.  Fairly large, briny – just pulled from the sea.  This may be an urban legend (although not much of Jersey could qualify as urban), but I was told the French in Cancale (the oyster capital of France!!!) import Jerseys at Christmas, as they are regarded to be better than their very own.  Rumours like that could start a war, or at least a food fight.  In Jersey, the fishmongers are happy to fillet, skin and shuck your purchases for you – or you can simply order a ‘fruit de mer’ a day in advance and pick up a cooked platter of assorted seafood happiness – all that’s left to do once you get it home is open the Chablis.

Ultimate take out - Jersey oysters

Jersey.  A simply magical, delicious place.  World class local produce, dairy and seafood.  Gourmet beachside cafes.  Michelin starred restaurants.  But don’t take my word for it.  Go check it out for yourself – it’s only a 40 minute flight from London – I wouldn’t take the ferry if I were you – I hear the tempestuous English Channel can be a bit ‘lumpy’. 

Jersey Tourism  http://www.jersey.com/English/Pages/default.aspx

Be sure to visit the Hungry Man in Rozel for a bacon butty.

I am simultaneously looking at Anna’s iPhone and the myriad of signs at the intersection.  We have a minivan full of kids and Ontario plates.  The guy in the car next to us at the light senses our confusion, rolls down his window and says (in French) with a smile, “If you speak French I could help you.”

“Oui – je parle Francais!”

Then he asks me where we are going.

I look at him.

I look at Anna.

I look back at him.

Puzzled – he asks me if we are looking for downtown.  Clearly we are tourists, we must be looking for downtown.

Relieved, I say yes, with a little guilt and hesitation.  I am lying.

You see….I could not tell him we were looking for the Orange Julep!  The big orange ball/casse croute/purveyor of the deliciously orange-ish/creamy/frothy beverage of my childhood dreams.

I can actually see the crown of the giant orange ball in the distance.  It’s one of those places – you know where it is – you just don’t know how to get there.

We pull into the empty parking lot (except for one golden 1986 Cadillac full of gangsta types chowing poutine and slurping juleps). Anna asks me when I was here last.  Maybe she asks because it looks so derelict and sort of closed.  “Oh…umm…..32 years ago….”

As a kid growing up in Montreal, I yearned to dine at the Orange Julep.  My begging paid off one fine day.  In what must have been a brief moment of insanity, Mom and Dad succumbed to my pleading.  The orange julep was everything I had imagined…I guess. Except…I am not really sure what my 7 year old self hoped it would be exactly.  But come on – the restaurant was shaped like a giant ORANGE!!  It had to be totally and completely awesome!!   That day, as soon as I finished my first and thus far only julep I threw up.  So much for that.  If that happened to you as an adult, you’d swear off the place, never cross the threshold again – which is, in fact how my parents reacted.  But for me, I was confident it wasn’t the julep that made me sick – maybe it was something my mom had fed me for breakfast.  I silently dreamed of going back.  I was told in no uncertain terms that we would never again be patrons of the gorgeous ginormous orange, but every time we drove by I dreamed of the sweet nectar known as julep sold within.  Sigh…..

So today is my day.  Back for an orange julep many years later, with my own kids in tow – but this time the kids are skeptical, and I (now the adult….I guess…) bounding ahead, giddy with excitement.

Turns out, not a lot has changed in 32 years.  Literally.  Maybe the oil in the fryer.  Maybe.  Oh and it seems they now need a lot of duct tape to keep the old julep machine running.  There are a lot of tin-foil encrusted pipes coming from the ceiling.  I think there is a crew of oompa loompas up there slicing and juicing the oranges.  ‘Cause I am sure they only use fresh oranges here– right?? 

The Mysterious Orange Julep Machine

I ask the girl at the counter “So…What’s in a jul….” and before I can even finish I am dismissed.

 “SECRET FAMILY RECIPE!!!!”

All right then….we aren’t getting outta here alive with any top secret julep info – that much is clear.  Too bad – if all had gone according to my master plan, I was going to look for a restaurant-sized orange for sale on Craig’s List and open my own Orange Julep in Toronto.

Anna, also a child of the 70’s, is starting to feel the love and the nostalgia of the place.  That old eating at a giant fruit magic….what can I say – we fall for it every time.  Slightly giddy (perhaps from the 6 hour drive with four kids all singing the Trololol song), she orders a round of combo’s for our crew.  To be honest, I find this order a little on the aggressive side, given this is merely an afternoon snack.  But who am I to burst her bubble?

Apparently - you drink Orange Julep for Pep

We decide to eat (and drink) IN the orange, instead of back in the parking lot – and all settle in to our hot dogs, poutines and juleps.

“Take note children,” I declare….

”This is how a hot dog is prepared!”

Steamed dog, placed into a TOP slice bun, which has been buttered and fried on each side.  It is pretty darn good.  The poutine is pretty respectable as well.

And the juleps.

What can I say?

Cold.  Creamy.  Sweet.  Orange-ish.  Super-frothy.  A veritable creamsicle in a cup.

All exactly as I remembered.  Even the nauseous feeling about 10 minutes after we pull away.

If you’re in Montreal go check it out – I definitely plan on returning in another 32 years.

7700 Boul Decarie

Call for hours  514 738 7486

I really have been remiss.  Over the course of this past year, I have been fortunate enough to visit Chicago on many occasions, and other than Hot Doug’s Sausage Superstore, I have not shared any of my dining experiences from the windy city.  There are so many choices when it comes to restaurants in Chicago, it can be overwhelming.  There are the classics, like Gene & Georgetti, Alinea, Topolobampo….but there is a new breed of restaurants emerging that are casual, loud, and fun – serving exquisite food that’s usually designed for sharing. 

Girl and the Goat

Probably one of the most talked about places is Girl and the Goat run by Top Chef Superstar and Chicago native Stephanie Izzard.  To be honest, I’ve been holding off writing about Chicago dining until I could figure out a way to get a seat there.  You see, you need to book your table at least four months in advance for a weeknight reservation that is not at 5:00 (I am not 70 years old!) or 10:45pm (neither, sigh, am I 20 years old any longer).  Insane – no?  A few weeks ago I did secure a 10:15 reservation on a Monday night.  The plan was to visit after having a preliminary meal elsewhere (in the name of research), but alas, surprise, surprise, I was too tired, and too full, and cancelled.  I bet they had no problem filling the table.

Last week, my friend Blair and I were feeling like lady luck was on our side.  We decided to take a chance on securing a walk-in table at the Goat.  I overheard Blair on the phone to a friend “Yeah…we are headed to the Goat – but we are only going to focus on the good dishes.”  Only the good dishes?  According to the reviews and the demand for tables, I was expecting even the napkins to taste good.  “There are three flavour notes there,” he sagely advised.  “Vinegar, spice and SALT.”  Maybe Blair was a little jaded – he does eat out an awful lot, and knows his stuff.  He then confessed he had never dined there completely sober.  I was not quite sure what to expect.

Upon arrival we were told to expect a minimum 1 ½ hour wait, but we could be seated at the bar where they serve the full menu.  Score!  I obediently followed Blair’s lead and we focused on the good dishes, and took our chances on a few new ones as well.  Homemade bread with peanut butter butter was pretty delicious.  I loved the whimsy of peanut butter butter – tasted like when you butter your warm toast before slathering with pb – so that the two melt together in perfect harmony. (Is there any other way to eat PB toast?)  Smoked goat rillette empanadas with marinated goat cheese, romesco and hummus (with the unusual addition of coarse mustard seeds) were absolutely amazing.  Eascargot ravioli were just fine.  Ham frites tasted like a crispy greasy salt lick probably tastes.  Ham is baked and dried and ground into a seasoning for the frites.  Super cool idea but salt beyond belief.  My ankles are swelling just remembering it.  Roasted cauliflower with pickled peppers and pine nuts – delicious if not super salty once again.  Crispy pig face with shoestring frites and perfectly fried egg was a delight.  Don’t worry – it’s not scary – it does not stare up at you – it’s hiding underneath a blanket of fried egg.  You need to chop the whole thing up till it looks like a real mess – and then inhale.  Roasted broccoli was burnt.  As in black.  Charred.  My Aunt Hilda says “When it’s brown, it’s done.  When it’s black, it’s buggered.”  Blair took one bite and declared: “You can’t serve burnt food – no matter how cool you think you are.”  He’s a tough customer.  Our server was a super star – he whisked it away, and removed it from our bill.  Dessert was spectacular.  It was a bowl of pure yumminess – dense chocolate cake, bruleed fluff, peanut butter something something, chocolate chili gelato from Black Dog, warm sauce made from stout.  I really hated to share this.  Really.  I wanted one just for me.  No offense Blair.

Ham Frites - order side gallon of water

Net net, Girl and the Goat is a great spot.  Some things they knock out of the park.  Others miss, and execution is not quite perfect.  But the concepts are great, and incredibly creative.  The thing is; this is the kind of food you enjoy at the bar with a few beers and a dear friend, not the kind of food you plan an entire trip to a city around.  I think it’s a case of hype surpassing experience – which is kind of sad – because without all the hype, without a four month wait for a table, you’d probably rate it a pretty damn excellent meal. 

So, if you don’t schedule your meals weeks and weeks in advance – not to worry – here are a few of my favourites that require significantly less long term planning. 

Purple Pig

In the heart of the city, on the famed Magnificent Mile, Purple Pig was named one of Bon Appetit’s best new restaurants of 2010.  A strict no reservations policy does not deter the crowds.  The hostess runs a tight ship, and will seat you as soon as possible, but be prepared to indulge in a cocktail or two while waiting.  Every single dish we had (and we had a lot of them) was outstanding.  Don’t miss the marrow bones, in fact, order two portions, they are decadently divine.  Just do it.  The now omnipresent herb salad with crispy pig’s ear – was a duet of fresh and healthy greens meeting up with crispy greasy porky goodness.  Deep fried turkey leg was a Fred Flintstone sized portion of tender meat – great for sharing.  The cinnamon toast soft serve ice cream, and the Panino Con Nutella – a dessert panini with nutella, marshmallow and roasted banana were pretty over the top, so be sure to save room for dessert.  

Purple Pig's Marrow Bones

Publican

Tucked away in Fulton Market meat packing district, this cavernous hopping spot is a real gem.  Ask for a booth, where they “close” you in – almost like a cattle stall, or sit at the large communal tables and make some new pork loving friends.  From the owners of Bluebird and avec, Publican’s is about “pristine product, simply prepared”.  The staff are incredibly knowledgeable and patient – answering a myriad of questions with a smile.  I am a sucker for side dishes, and fell for the roasted turnips with maple and sage.  Try the ham tasting – the night we visited it featured Spanish Serrano, country ham from Tennesse and La Quercia Rosa from Iowa.  Even the chicken, yes, someone in our group (you know who you are…..) actually ordered the chicken instead of the lamb neck, but it really was amazing.  Don’t miss the Louie Fries……perfect plump chips topped with two fried eggs, the yolk begging to be dipped in. 

Longman & Eagle

Go on a Monday – Old Milwaukee night – beers for a buck – served ice cold in the can – perfect to wash down 1 star Michelin nosh.  Only in Chicago.  I’d call Longman & Eagle a gastro-bar, serving up a whole lot of whisky (their motto is “whisky for your mouth, not our shelf”) and seriously “crafted” cocktails.  It’s also an inn, and they serve some pretty decent food.  Above all, it’s a fun place to be.  Highlights were Pretzel with Welsh Rarebit (a completely under-menu’ed item in my opinion), warm cheese gougere, Slagel Family Meatball on Polenta and, of course, roasted marrow bones. 

Longman & Eagle's Marrow Bones - great with Old Milwakee

GT Oyster

Take a little vacation from pork and try this awesome seafood spot in River North – added bonus – GT Oyster actually takes reservations.  Brought to you by the Boka Restaurant Group – the folks who own Girl and the Goat – Kevin Boehm and Rob Katz seem to have the golden touch when it comes to restaurants.  Italian born Giuseppe Tentori works magic in the kitchen.  Of course there is a fantastic fresh oyster selection – with creative sauces like Ponzu Mignonette – but don’t stop there – every single dish we had was absolutely delicious.  The Lobster roll took me back to Cape Cod summers, the Oyster Po-Boy Slider with Kimchee and peanuts was a brilliant fusion of flavours, and Baja Shrimp Bruschetta with grapefruit and Pistachios was divine.  I could go on and on…. 

Don’t worry if you don’t have a tattoo, or a handlebar moustache – these places are totally hip but welcoming to all.  They are all pretty loud, so either dine with people with good hearing, or those you are not particularly interested in talking to…..it’s all about the food (not the hype) anyway…..

Momofuku Flu.  I caught it at their Noodle Bar last week.  I think it’s contagious – at least I am pretty sure everybody there that day has it now too.

Recurring dreams.  I now dream of pork buns, every single night.  Two slabs of perfectly cooked pork belly, nestled in a taco-shell shaped steamed bun (genius!!).  A smear of hoisin.  Two lovely slices of pickled cucumber.  David Chang calls the preparation of the pork belly “embarrassingly simple” in his first issue of Lucky Peach.  So completely outrageously delicious.  Even in my waking hours I dream of these gems.

Perfect Pork Steamed Buns

Inability to concentrate.  Every time I try to settle in to work, I am distracted by thoughts of ramen.  Sometimes it’s the incredibly flavourful broth, with the bacon dashi.  Sometimes it’s the perfectly slow poached egg – cooked to precisely 60°C to ensure a soft, yet cooked white, and a heavenly liquidy golden yolk.  Mostly, however, it’s the noodles, with the incredibly chewy addictive texture.  It was ramen unlike anything I have ever had before – and I almost forgot to order it.  Imagine!  Almost forgot….I was not thinking straight, the flu had started setting in even at the ordering stage.

Outrageous cravings and hunger pains.  I know that two whole fried chickens for two adults, one ravenous teenager and an eleven year old mini-gastronome is a lot of food – but I had no choice.  The only way you can make a reservation is to order the fried chicken meal.  How else could I guarantee we’d sample some of Chang’s creations while in NYC?  Every time I saw an email from ‘friedchixresy’ in my inbox reminding me of our upcoming lunch, I smiled.  The sad part is – try as we might – we obviously could not eat all of the chicken.  I think there were at least three chickens on our platter, or some kinda 3 legged, 4 winged chickens.  It’s a lotta fried chicken and two kinds to boot – buttermilk with Old Bay, and Triple Fried Korean with Bibim sauce.  The whole deal is served with rustic scallion pancakes, a ‘garden’ bowl of lettuce, shisito peppers, carrots, radishes, mint, Thai Basil…and three incredible sauces.  Charrred scallion and ginger,  jalapeno and garlic in a soy/sesame/rice vinegar base, straight up hoisin and sweet/spicy/tangy Koren Bibim sauce.  You just tear into the chicken and create your own individual ‘wraps’.  My fav combo was Korean chicken, lettuce, mint and both the ginger scallion AND jalapeno garlic sauce.  We shared with our neighbors – took pity on them for not having a ‘friedchixresy’.  Such a shame.  Poor them.  Even though we were full, and shared all we could share (folks were oddly reticent to take the chicken off our hands – they were being polite – but I could see in their eyes they really wanted it) how did I let the best chicken I have ever had get away from me? We could have brought the few stray pieces home.  Had a little snack on the plane…..Could have.  Should have.  Would have.  Fried chicken regrets – sigh – you never get those moments back.

'friedchixresy'

Slight depression.  We did not order dessert – we were too full.  I know.  You’re just as shocked as I am.  We missed dark chocolate cake truffles, and pumpkin ale and pretzel soft serve.  Soft serve.  I cannot recall another moment in history when I passed up soft serve.  We must have been delusional.  This overlooked dessert opportunity just makes me…well…so sad….

Cure.  The Momofuku Flu is serious.  Not funny.  Once you’ve had a taste of stuff that good, you just want to go back again and again. When I troll the airline websites looking for fares to New York, or peruse the Momofuku website…I start to feel better…like I am on the road to recovery.   I bought their  Milk Bar cookbook yesterday – I now know how to make the ice cream, and I plan on trying Compost Cookies soon.  I take some comfort in that, but I don’t think I will feel 100% until I get back there…..or until Momofuku opens in Toronto. 

http://www.momofuku.com/

A new year tends to make you reflect.  I am incredibly lucky.  I have so much to be grateful for.  Two amazing children.  A wonderful husband who supports me in all I do.  The opportunity to do what I love for a living.  Truly the best friends anyone could ask for.  2011 was a pretty crazy delicious year all around.  ‘Tis the Season of lists – I know I am a little late – but here are my top 10 favourite tastes from 2011.  I wish you all a wonderful, healthy and tasty 2012…..Thanks for reading…..

10. Everything at Purple Pig

In the heart of Chicago, on the famed Magnificent Mile, Purple Pig was named one of Bon Appetit’s best new restaurants of 2010.  A strict no reservations policy does not deter the crowds.  The hostess runs a tight ship, and will seat you as soon as possible, but be prepared to indulge in a cocktail or two while waiting.  Every single dish we had (and we had a lot of them) was outstanding.  Don’t miss the marrow bones, in fact, order two portions, they are decadently divine.  The now omnipresent herb salad with crispy pig’s ear – was a duet of fresh and healthy greens meeting up with crispy greasy porky goodness.  Deep fried turkey leg was a Fred Flintstone sized portion of tender meat – great for sharing.  The cinnamon toast soft serve ice cream, and the Panino Con Nutella – a dessert Panini with nutella, marshmallow and roasted banana were pretty over the top, so be sure to save room for dessert.   http://thepurplepigchicago.com/

9. Martin Picard’s Foie gras Poutine

In March, during a week-long blizzard, I spent a few delicious days doing some serious Montreal food research with Paula.  Bagels, Smoked meat sandwiches, Tire ice cream from Bilboquet…..and a visit to Martin Picard’s Au Pied du Cochon.   Martin’s famous version of the classic Quebec poutine cannot be missed.  Perfectly crisp, house cut, skin on fries, are topped with ultra-fresh squeaky curds.  Perching on top is a gorgeous medallion of pan seared foie gras.  You’d think this was the best part, but let me tell you about the gravy – it’s made from demi glaze, foie gras and an egg emulsion.  Paula (normally elegant) had gravy up to her elbows, she kept dragging her finger across the bowl to get every drop of sauce.  I can’t blame her; we could not allow even a microgram of this deliciousness to go back to the kitchen without us.  http://www.restaurantaupieddecochon.ca/

Martin's Foie Gras Poutine

8.  Plum – Smoked Egg Bowl

Imagine:  An oversized rustic pottery bowl, filled with fresh favas, wild mushrooms, wild leeks, kale, faro….and topped with a smoked egg.  Yup, a smoked egg.  You crack into the large, orangey yolk and toss the whole sweet smoky mess together.  I was in luck.  My dining companion had zero interest in even a taste.  I ate it all. Problem is – you don’t bump into fresh favas with smoked eggs very often, so when you do you’ve got to slurp up every last bite. http://www.plumoakland.com/

7. Steak Frites Relais Entrecote

Le Relais Entrecote in Paris has been doing one thing with excellence since 1959.  There are no menus.  No chalkboards.  No daily specials.  The waitress asks but one question.  Well, it’s really not a question.  It’s half statement, part clairvoyance with a smidge of question.  She sizes you up, draws on her likely multi-decade tenure at this establishment and says:  “Saignant….?”  (Bloody?)  Or maybe “A point?” (medium?)  She scribbles on the paper table cloth how you’d like your steak, pauses to ask about wine and is off.  The steak – entrecote of course, is nicely charred on the outside, cooked to perfection on the inside.  The frites, are thin, crisp, golden, slightly salty and maybe cooked in peanut oil.  The ‘green’ sauce (which appears to be non-optional) is mysterious as to its contents, but divine.  You are served half of your portion at a time – thus ensuring your steak stays warm and your frites are fresh.  I think this could be my perfect meal. http://www.relaisentrecote.fr/

Never eat cold frites again.....

6. Bacon Butty – Borough Market

Overnight flight to London.  First stop – Borough Market.  First purchase – Bacon Butty from Roast.  Awesome.  http://www.boroughmarket.org.uk/

Borough Bacon Butty

5.  The Walrus and The Carpenter – Oysters

I had the great opportunity to visit Seattle for something like 12 hours this past September.  Although I have two dear friends there, I don’t get to Seattle very often.  We headed to The Walrus and The Carpenter in Ballard for a visit.  We devoured a selection of Washington oysters, including Olympias, Blue Pools and Sister Points.  Without a doubt, these were the best oysters I have ever had in my life – impeccably fresh.  The lovely room, the great service, amazing food including the tomato salad with vanilla vinaigrette, out of this world country bread, and the company of Jodi and Kirsten were pretty hard to beat.  http://thewalrusbar.com/

4. Ultra-fresh Buffalo Mozzarella

One night at La Sacrestia in Verona (my absolute most favourite place to eat there) we were presented with an enormous one KG fresh Buffalo Mozzarella for our first course.  Buffalo Mozzarella – ‘family style’.  Bianca sat at the head of our 12 person table and carefully, literally, ‘carved’ it for us.  As she lovingly portioned up our gorgeous mozzarella, I realized it was actually American Thanksgiving – what an excellent substitute for turkey with all the trimmings!  It was room temperature, creamy, perfect…..and only the first course…..

Cooking lesson from Antonio

3. Poco Dolce Bittersweet Chocolate Tiles with Grey Sea Salt

Seriously.  These are the best.  I stumbled upon them at the Fancy Food Show in San Francisco in January.  Among the possibly hundreds of chocolates there – these stood out head and shoulders above anything else.  Whenever I go back to San Fran I stock up – even if it means running to the gate to catch my flight – as long as I have my chocolate tiles – all is good.  I am always torn……share the love with friends?  Or stash away in case of emergencies? http://www.pocodolce.com/

2. Burgers Priest Burger 

I was just in New York and had the chance to eat at Minetta Tavern.  New York Magazine calls Minetta one of the five most influential restaurants in New York in the last six years.  That’s a big deal.  They serve what is widely regarded as the BEST burger in New York City.  At 26$ bucks – it’s made with only dry aged cuts of the finest beef.  We had a wonderful evening and a great meal – Cam had a crazy New York steak on the bone, we enjoyed pork belly, Read tried foie gras….but after  11 year old Paisley finished her Minetta Black Label Burger, she leaned in very close to me and declared (so nobody could over hear her) “It’s not even in my top 5…..it’s nothing like Burger’s Priest.”  Out of the mouths of babes.  There’s nothing else to say.  Burgers Priest is the best burger EVER.  Stamped it. http://theburgerspriest.com/

1. Truffle risotto

OK.  I made it myself, and Paisley and Read each took turns stirring.  But it was risotto.  With an entire smuggled white truffle in it.  Who cares if it was a teeny tiny bit mouldy?  It was a scrumptious meal shared at home and a heart palpitating adventure all rolled into one.  What could be better than that?

The Priest

Donuts are undergoing a renaissance of sorts these days – really what is better than a fresh doughnut?  Balthazar, the classic French Bakery, in trendy SoHo, makes banana walnut donuts at this time of year (yup – they have “seasonal” donuts).  It is fairly common these days to see “beignets” or “bomboloni” on dessert menus.   Thomas Keller started serving warm cinnamon donuts at the French Laundry in Napa when he opened in 1994.  Must have been a good year for donuts – it’s also when Doughnut Plant first opened its doors.

Wall of Donuts

Every time I visit New York, I treat myself to one, ok call it three or so, Doughnut Plant donuts.  They are quite simply outstanding.   I have ranted about my love of Mark Isreal’s treats in the past.  He comes from a long line of donut makers – and it shows.  This guy clearly knows what he is doing – yeasted or cake donuts – each one is more delicious than the next.

Until now, I had only stalked out Doughnut Plant donuts at various Dean and Deluca locations around Manhattan.  D&D have never let me down – but I have dreamed of viewing and per chance sampling the entire range.  Yesterday, I went straight to the source – in the heart of Chelsea.  Racks and racks of all of the flavours sit at the ready.  It’s like a mini donut shrine – the entire décor scheme is beignet circa 2012.  One wall is adorned with ‘donut’ pillows – one for each of the unique flavours on offer.  There are a few donut inspired tables and chairs, donut tiles on the walls…..it’s a happy place.

Donut art

I was like a kid in a candy store. Cam just gave me one of his looks that says ‘order whatever you want’…I really love that look.  It was a painful task, but I settled on the following for all of us to share:

See picture – clockwise from top left:

Doughnut Plant assortment

Pistachio – this is a solidly delicious yeasted donut topped with roasted pistachios.  Out there in the normal world this would be a KILLER donut, but here at Doughnut Plant, it’s really good.

Crème Brulee – I kid you not.  I would not do that to you.  We’re talking donuts here, people.  This is serious stuff.  Small, but mighty – it gets its own little paper collar to make it look even more regal.  The top is expertly brule’ed (that’s a verb – right?)– a top like glass, all crunchy and crackly.  The vanilla yeasted donut is rich in flavour, light – yet chewy in texture.  And then……it is filled with crème custard complete with flecks of vanilla bean.  This gem is totally and completely outstanding.  We can’t cut this one into fours, so I take the first, and…umm…second bite.  I do not want to share, but eventually I do.

Oatmeal – I know, it sounds healthy……but don’t worry – I am sure it is not.  And if it is – Mark Israel deserves a Nobel Prize.  A cake doughnut with lots of oats, nuts and dried fruit – it’s not overly sweet and has a super crunchy exterior and moist interior.  It is heavenly, plus you sorta feel a little virtuous for choosing oatmeal over say, chocolate…

Oatmeal doughnut

Coconut Crème – Sorry old friend.  You were my favourite for at least five years running.  But I have a new love now – Crème Brulee.  I admit to having a crush on Roasted Chestnut last winter, and Lavender one spring – but other than that I have been loyal.  I adore your signature square shape, the chewy doughnut and the creamy coconut custard.  You are a rock star, but it’s just time for me to move on.  It’s not you.  It’s me.

Peanut Butter and Jelly – Classic.  The cake is so peanut-buttery and the house-made jam the perfect sweet/tart partner.  Genius.

We did go back for a second Oatmeal, but refrained from trying any other varieties like Valrhona Chocolate, Tres Leches, or the new Meyer Lemon…..we did have lunch planned at Momofuku after all…..

Check out Doughnut Plant donuts – you will love ’em – if you don’t you might be certifiable.  No offense.

http://www.doughnutplant.com/

Getting ready for Christmas.  I spent the entire day cooking and baking with Paisley.  There’s lots to get done – Christmas is a mere week away.  For an eleven year old, she’s really great in the kitchen.  We have our favourites that we make every year – our tradition – and she is right on top of things.  Or into things.  Let’s just say she managed to get chocolate in her hair and molasses on the wall.  Don’t get me wrong – I am not complaining – far from it – it was a lovely day.

This mother daughter festive scene was not a part of my childhood.  Hazel was a great mom – but baking was not her thing.  As a kid I would wish so hard that my mom would one day bake even just chocolate chip cookies – or buy Kraft Dinner to at least to make up for not baking.  I would trade my store bought treats for homemade ones during school lunches.  (Now my kids do just the opposite – I think they wish – “if only my mom would buy Oreos!”)  I took matters in to my own hands one day when I was in grade six.  While she was still at work, I baked my first batch of cookies, but used cornstarch instead of flour…they turned out a little “dusty”….

Today Paisley and I made buttercrunch – a recipe I have been making for years and years.  It’s from Nick Malgieri – I took a class with him when I was pregnant with Read – so that’s fourteen years ago.  Its fun to make – and you get to break out the candy thermometer.  Although last year my thermometer broke and there was mercury everywhere – HAZMAT!!  I had to start all over.  Paisley loves to stir the buttercrunch until it gets too hot – and she loves to paint the candy with chocolate and then cover it with chopped almonds.  We always make a massive batch – it was one of my Mom’s many favourites, and I like to give it as a gift.  (The crumbs are superb on top of vanilla ice cream too….)

Tourtiere and tomato relish were also on the agenda.  I grew up in Montreal – but the tourtiere tradition actually comes from my mother-in-law – another once upon a time Montrealer.  The Copelands always had tourtiere (or as my kids call it TORTURE pie) on Christmas Eve.  In my small family every Christmas was a little different – there really wasn’t a set of things we always did.  Sometimes my mom and dad entertained, sometimes we got all dressed up and ate out somewhere super fancy (like Ruby Foo’s!) and sometimes we went to friends.  Every year was different – our only tradition was fun, friends and lots of good food.

Many moons ago when the butcher the Copelands always went to for tortiere closed down – I decided I should make the pies from scratch – I did not want to see the end of their tradition!  I use an old recipe that calls for a blend of beef, pork and veal – and a rich pastry recipe I have created on my own – half lard (for flakiness) and half butter (for the delicious factor).  We would never even consider eating ‘torture’ pie without Nana Bonham’s Quick Tomato Relish….once it was forgotten and I swore never again – it’s just not the same without it.

Paisley and I finished baking the spice cookies – these are great with tea or cocoa on a cold afternoon – and actually get better with age.  The tiny bit of cracked pepper in the recipe brings all the spices to the forefront. 

We still have to make Toblerone “stuffed” Shortbread – a recipe that has me swearing each year “never again!” and then when I eat one, I smile and remember that the effort is worth it.  I have been known to even stash a few away for emergencies – like late night present wrapping – after all Cam and Read chow them down like popcorn.  I can be stingy with these precious gems, and make these cookies last to ensure there are some left for Christmas day.  My mom used to complain – “I did not get very many of those Toblerone ones in my goodie bag – you do know they are my favourite!”  And I’d roll my eyes and think to myself…gee, you never ever mentioned that…..

Cam did his part today and made the Maple Leaf cocktails – mixed in the Copeland antique nickel pitcher – 3 parts Canadian Rye, 2 parts Maple Syrup, 1 part lemon juice – they need to mellow between now and Christmas day.  Served up in a small nickel cup with lots of ice – they help take the edge off any family affair.  I usually start drinking them when the roast goes in the oven.

A few days before Christmas, Maria will stop by and we will go into mincemeat tartlet production.  She is a whiz at the filling – made with real suet – don’t ask me how she gets it into the country from the UK – I have never tried any better.  She and pastry simply do not see eye to eye – never have – so together she and I will make sweet little buttery-fruity tarts and share a glass of wine or two.  Two years ago my mom joined us – however, my mom did not roll pastry or help fill tarts, nor did she help with the little star shaped pastry cutouts for the top…she would not even man the oven.  No, my mom just liked to be with Maria and I while we slaved away baking one of her many Christmas favourites – she adored Maria’s mincemeat, and Maria, and having a glass of wine, and telling us stories to make us laugh.  It was one of the last times mom came to my house – she passed away only eight weeks later.

So the tree with a special ornament for each year is up.  The dreaded annual newsletters are in the post.  Tortieres and relish complete.  Paisley and I are making lots of headway on our baking.  I have even started wrapping presents.  These traditions are mostly things Cam and I have built together.  Things we love.  Things my mom loved so much.  For a mom who did not have a lot of traditions – she really embraced all the ones Cam and I are building with our own little family.  So while I love Christmas, and all the goodies that come along with it, I can’t help but wish she was still here to complain about how I don’t give her enough Toblerone shortbreads, and how she has run out of buttercrunch.  Hazel would not be impressed with any ‘pity parties’ as she called them, so I best go pour myself a small Maple Leaf Cocktail – even if it has not had time to mellow – she’d approve of that.

Old Fashioned Buttercrunch

Here is the recipe based on Nick Malgieri’s Buttercrunch – I have doubled it – because if you are going to go to the trouble of making it and digging out the candy thermometer – you’re gonna want to have lots around to share – let your mom try some – I am sure she’d love it.

Get all your ingredients ready and have two large buttered cookie sheets prepared – you need to move quickly once the candy reaches 300F – as it starts solidifying immediately.

Buttercrunch Mixture:

1 lb unsalted butter

3 cups sugar

6 tbsp light corn syrup

6 tbsp water

1 cup chopped toasted almonds

Topping:

1 lb semisweet chocolate chips

1 lb chopped toasted almonds

1. Melt butter in saucepan
2. Remove from heat and add sugar, corn syrup and water
3. Cook, stirring constantly until reaches 300F on your trusty candy thermometer
4. Remove from heat and quickly add the 2 cups chopped, toasted almonds
5. Pour onto prepared cookie sheets, allow to cool 1 hour
6. Wipe off buttercrunch with paper towel
7. Melt chocolate chips
8. “Paint” buttercrunch with chocolate and sprinkle with chopped almonds
9. Allow to cool 20 minutes
10. Flip over buttercrunch, wipe off with paper towel
11. “Paint” buttercrunch with chocolate and sprinkle with chopped almonds
12. Share with special people

Mom approved buttercrunch

I usually follow the rules.  Generally, I am law abiding.  I am, for certain, a terrible liar.  I don’t know what came over me.  I succumbed to truffle madness.

While perusing a lovely food shop in the city centre in Verona, I noticed a hand written sign in Italian.  To be clear, I do not speak Italian, but there are things I do understand – especially when it comes to food.  TARTUFO BIANCO was written in large capital letters, something else and then several exclamation marks.  My heart quickened with the realization that it was white truffle season in Italy. 

“Scuzi….”  I ventured….I am not even sure that’s an Italian word, but it sort of sounds Italian and a little like “excuse me”.  The shopkeeper looked up.  A friend had told me that this particular store does not care for tourists who simply come to look.  “Tartufo bianco?”  I asked, pointing to his homemade sign.  He nodded.  Stared at me; grimly.  I had to make a decision.  If I asked more questions, I’d have to buy or risk offending the proprietor.  “Quisto?”  I think that might be Spanish, but it’s all I had.

Note to self:  I really must move ‘learn Italian’ up on my To Do list.

“40 Euros per gram.”  I think he thought he was done with me; scared me off, but I persevered.  In English.  (I was desperate) “Can I see one?”  Not cheerfully, he scuffled off to the back, brought me a perfect little white truffle, and placed it on the scale.  60 Euros.  “OK.”  I declared and breathed deeply.  A little voice inside me (maybe it was Cam’s) was saying “Are you CRAZY??????”

“Si?” He asked sceptically.

“Si.”  I replied firmly.

Suddenly he spoke English.  Amazing – like divine intervention.  He vacuum packed my tartufo, and told me it would keep for three weeks.  He warned me against storing it in Arborio rice – it would “suck” all the goodness from the truffle.  No, I was to store it in a sealed container with eggs – they would be perfumed with truffle essence without jeopardizing my little bianco.  I handed over his king’s ransom and left, feeling giddy and nervous all at once.

“Am I allowed to take a truffle back to Canada?”  I texted a friend who generally knows this kind of stuff.    “Absulement non!  Illegal!” was the terse reply.  Hmm…maybe I should have enquired before making the purchase.  Oh well, Tartufo Bianco was mine now, I could not abandon her.  I went off to buy a truffle shaver.

Ten days later, I waited for my bag to appear on the luggage carousel at Pearson.  At the exact moment my bag dropped onto the belt, a customs agent and his trusty sniffer dog appeared.  I strained to ‘look’ for my bag, even as it passed right by me.  I was trying to be nonchalant, but beads of perspiration were trickling down my face.  My heart was pounding.  Damn the impetuous moment when I purchased that truffle.  I was going to be put behind bars for truffle smuggling, never see my husband or children again, and the worst part would be that I would never get to taste my beloved fresh white truffle.  The customs officer approached, dog in hand.

My suitcase went round the carousel again.

The dog started sniffing my boots, my pants, my purse.  Could he smell truffle essence on me?  Or even worse, could he smell fear?  Does fear smell like white truffles?  I smiled, and continued to ‘look’ for my bag.  As soon as the truffle busting duo were out of my site, I grabbed my bag off the carousel.  Half running-half walking, trying to be cool – I was a complete wreck as I hightailed it through the customs hall.  What was I thinking?  Why did I do this?  Is a plate of risotto really worth all of this?  Never.  Again.  Never!!

Once outside, there was instant relief.  I definitely should have bought two truffles.  And maybe next time I should try to bring back a leg of prosciutto.  I would definitely need a bigger suitcase.  With a smell proof exterior to fool the sniffer dog.

In my truffle dreams, I planned to create some sort of epic meal centred around my little Italian friend.  I would go through my collection of cookbooks, craft the menu, select the perfect wines….it would be a wonderful dinner to commemorate both my bravery and my brush with the law.  I opened up the truffle for a closer look. 

It was no longer white.  It was brown.  It smelled divine but it looked really odd.  OK.  It might have had a little mould on it.  Mould! 

I Googled ‘how should a fresh white truffle look’ and ‘how to tell if a white truffle has gone bad’ – with no results.  Drastic action had to be taken.  My truffle could wait for neither the perfect menu nor the perfect night.  Bianco could not stand by while I recovered from my jetlag – I felt certain she was on her last legs.  I declared a truffle 911.  This thing had to be enjoyed.  STAT. 

That night I made risotto.  An incredibly simple risotto.  Aquerello rice.  (only the best for my truffle)  Rich chicken stock.  Generous amounts of butter and Parmigiano Reggiano cheese.  And truffle.  Sweet, fragrant, decadent, contraband truffle.  I used the entire thing.  All 60 euros worth.  And we enjoyed every illicit forkful.  It was do divine it probably would have been worth a night in jail. 

Just the other day I learned that you can in fact import a truffle as long as it is vacuum packed.  Turns out, I am not a criminal after all.  Just a girl who loves truffles and needs to learn the import laws.  Good in a way I guess, but I kind of liked thinking of myself as a truffle ‘smuggler’.

Italians tend to make pretty bold statements about food.  Where the BEST chocolate gelato is.  Where NOT to buy prosciutto.  The ONLY olive oil to serve with fish.

I have been spending a little time in Verona recently, and have a bold statement of my own to make.

The WORST cup of coffee in Italy is BETTER than the BEST cup of coffee in North America.

There.  I said it.

At the company I visit in Vicenza, they have a little automatic coffee machine that makes better espresso than Starbucks.  I kid you not.  From a push button machine!  Italians are masters when it comes to coffee.  There are things (not many) that they are not good at.  Take pastries for instance.  Don’t waste a single calorie in Italy on a croissant, or what they call brioche.  Save yourself for all the other delicious things like cheese, pasta, gelato….the list goes on and on.  In France I’d dare say it’s almost impossible to get a really poor pastry.  Even a croissant I had on a short Air France flight was head and shoulders above an Italian version.  The French can keep their coffee.  I’d even take a Tim’s any day over a coffee in France.

Espresso, cappuccino, macchiato….the Italians win time and again.  The other day I was out for lunch with the Italians and I ordered a macchiato at the end of the meal.  There was snickering.  “This is not Venice!” One of them declared smugly.  There seem to be all kinds of rules.  What kind of coffee you start the day with.  What you take after a meal.  They take their coffee very seriously.  Very.

If my theory, my big bold statement, holds true, imagine how good their BEST coffee is.

My hosts took me for the BEST cappuccino in Verona.  To be clear, as they were and always are when it comes to food and what is best, this was not the best coffee in Verona, that is another matter.  This was the BEST cappuccino in Verona.

Bauli is one of the largest exporters of Pannetone.  Their offices are on the outskirts of the city, close to the highway – and lucky for me, on the way to Vicenza where we go to work each morning.  In their building they have a café – operated by both Bauli and Pellini Top.

They open at 7am, and word has it they serve over 1000 cappucino’s before 10.  The lineup is long – but the barrista and his assistant are brewing machines.  You can be in and out in less than 10 minutes – fully caffeinated and ready for the day.  Both mornings – I did not witness any coffee orders other than cappuccino – and one taste tells you why.

Cappuccino Pellini Top

First – a single shot of exquisitely brewed Espresso Pellini Top – from 100% specially selected Arabica beans.  Then, a super generous dusting of cocoa.  Lastly – perfectly steamed whole milk – that’s allowed to rest before pouring – to avoid the dreaded over foamy cup.  An impeccably skilled pour – resulting in a picture perfect cappuccino.

Creamy.  Rich.  Hint of bitterness.  Reminiscent of cocoa.  Much too small for a girl used to talls, and grandes, and never, ever under any circumstances served to go.  But still…..the BEST cappuccino in Verona, and certainly of my life.

Grazie mille.

http://www.bauli.it/en/arte.php

http://www.clabcomunicazione.it/pellini/index_eng.htm#a4