The eye- and mouth- of the beholder.

As with every overseas jaunt I embark on, half the fun of my recent trip to Spain was in planning and anticipating. I know there’s something to be said for spontaneity, and I embrace it whenever possible, but with all the information out there on the Internet, why not indulge my inner geek and do a little research? When an intriguing piece on Bilbao’s food scene from the New York Times fell into my lap, I knew I had to add Restaurant Guggenheim to my list of hopefuls. Not only is it in the Guggenheim Museum, which already hovered near the top of my non-culinary agenda, but it showcases the cuisine of Josean Martínez Alija, who trained at both El Bulli and Mugaritz (two establishments that wouldn’t even make it onto my most optimistic wish list) and is known for his cucina novella style.

Laying eyes on Senor Gehry’s creation was shiver-inducing in the way of all things truly revolutionary. It may not be my style, but the stark beauty, sheer size, and evident artistry involved in its creation are inspiring. The fact that this bizarre building with its bosomy, gleaming undulations was the brainchild of one man just boggles my mind; what twist of the imagination, what dreamlike inspiration compels someone to build such a contrivance? With practicality and functionality so clearly playing second fiddle, it is a true testament to creativity. Only after walking around the structure, retracing our steps, and mounting several flights of alternatively shallow and vertiginous flights of stairs did we finally find the entrance, and with such exertions behind us, we decided to head straight for the café.

The bright, modern space that welcomed us is as aptly suited to the exterior of the building as it is to the cuisine we were about to experience. We opted for the prix fixe, and despite only four choices for each of three courses, the decisions were excruciating. After promising to share bites, we related our orders to the waiter, and were rewarded with a diminutive goblet of pumpkin soup topped with basil oil. Already I was captivated by the delicate balance of aesthetic beauty with a sincere culinary approach. The swirl of garish green suspended in soft orange belied the intensely fresh aromas of pesto and earthy squash, and the deep flavors that followed. 

No sooner had we knocked back these initial offerings, and taken our first few sips of the bottle of txakoli we had ordered, than our first courses arrived. For him, a lightly baked egg with the most electric yolk I had ever seen atop a pillow of silky potato puree was showered tableside with a crystal-clear ‘red onion soup’- like a fragrant distillation of caramelized onions. A nudge to the egg unleashed that most lovely yolk, and a spoonful of the resulting amalgam was both simple and decadent. For me, roasted eggplant. What appeared to be an entire half eggplant, face down on my plate, concealed a bed of mushrooms beneath. The most apparent aspect, however, was the color; a purple hue usually reserved to denote grape-flavored confections shone on the skin of the vegetable, and when transferred to the white plate was truly arresting. The tender flesh was an homage to the aubergine in its purity of flavor, and a slightly indulgent, if artistic, swoosh of vibrant tomato sauce added zing.

In this moment, I began to think that the insipid Food Network hostesses who justify some clichéd garnish by crowing that we ‘eat with our eyes first’ might actually be onto something. Was my dish tasty? Sure. But if it had been served to me as a drab pile of vegetables that tasted the same, I would have thought it unremarkable- pleasant, but unremarkable. Food is about flavor, this goes without saying, but it is also an art form. If gazing upon a beautiful woman can titillate, if taking in an ocean view can relax, if looking down from a mountaintop can thrill, then why can’t seeing what we are about to ingest in a visually exciting way add to our enjoyment of that flavor experience? I might be opening myself up for criticism on this next point, but it’s the same with people. I do believe that it’s what’s inside that counts, but at the end of the day we cannot separate our overall impression from what we experience visually- it’s all one package. Anyway, the bottom line is that when it comes to food, flavor is king- just as when it comes to people, substance wins every time- but most functioning human beings have both the sense of taste and the sense of sight, and I’m not sure if compartmentalizing the two is possible.

With that tangential pondering behind me, lets move on to the second course. A large white dish coaxed a bed of jet-black squid-ink risotto into a perfect circle that echoed the plump red tomato it supported. Cutting into the buxom little vegetable (technically a fruit, I know) exposed a stuffing of tender baby squid with a subtle brininess that played well with the sweet yet acidic tomato flesh. On the other side of the table, Iberian pork cheeks were meaty, well seasoned, and complemented by a silken puree of celery root, with just the merest suggestion of vanilla running through.

And dessert. Usually the single downfall of the whole prix fixe concept for a diner like me whose sweet tooth is perilously underactive, here it was truly on par with the courses that had preceded. Both plates were a study of the monochromatic: white on white. An incredibly velvety crème caramel burst with fresh orange flavor, beside it what looked like orange pulp was teeming with floral, orange blossom aromas, and an elegant quenelle of ‘iced cheese’ was like a lightened-up version of cheesecake in frozen form. The same icy accompaniment graced my plate, along with cubes of chewy ‘rice cake’, the toasted edges of which added textural interest, and almost made it look like seared foie…very pale seared foie. The star of the dish, however, ran down the middle of the plate: a dead ringer for rice pudding, a sweep of the spoon revealed the ‘rice’ to be pockets of air amid a foam of cinnamon cream that was like a whiff of heady mulled cider.

 Combining all three components in one bite was illuminating; the formerly abrupt aspects of each became coherent in combination, and no one flavor or texture dominated. In short, it worked. A few last sips of txakoli, a demitasse of bitter espresso, and there was no more to be had. What could follow such a repast, if not a stroll around the galleries of the eminent museum that already housed us.

Much like the building that made this restaurant possible, the 
food served makes a mockery of practicality in its complete opposition to the ‘eat to live’ school of thought. It is sustenance, but this food is fun, and it was clearly conceptualized in the depths of a highly active and engaged mind. It’s certainly not for everyone, nor for everyday consumption, but I take heart in this evidence that creativity, whether a behemoth of glass and metal or an ephemeris of cinnamon cream, has a place. It was a memorable lunch indeed; would it have been the same if it weren’t within the walls of Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim museum in Bilbao? If I hadn’t begun to taste the meal weeks earlier while reading an article at my desk in Boston? No, but just as we cannot separate taste from sight, or sight from perception, this food was enjoyed as the apogee of an experience, and as the product of its place and time. Next time I cut into an eggplant or a tomato will likely disappoint, but I’d say that’s a small price to pay.

House with a Style: Champagne Alfred Gratien

I’ve been going to the Annual Champagne Tasting at the Christie’s in New York for the past two years and been captivated by Champagne Alfred Gratien, especially their "Cuvee Paradis". I decided to see how one of my favorite Champagne is made and paid a visit on my first day in Epernay.

All I knew was that I had a "rendez-vous" at the house and I was told be there at 2PM when everyone comes back from the lunch break. When I arrived bit early, there was no sign of a single person in the property, so I sat on one of the steps in the courtyard and waited. At 3 minutes to 2PM, all the cars started to arrive in the employee parking space. As I was impressed by French people's punctuality, a young man in a black sweater, dark blue jeans and stylish black sneakers came out of a white van with Champagne Alfred Gratien logo. "Bonjour" he shook my hand and I introduced myself. This French man is Nicolas Jaeger, the Chef de Caves of the house.

Despite Alfred Gratien’s well-recognized international status, the house is relatively small with only 7 workers with Nicolas and the property consists of two separate buildings with a courtyard in the middle. Nicolas took me inside one of the buildings, where it was half filled with barrels after barrels of wines from different villages, all organized by each village with its initials stenciled on. The room smelt a combination of sweet fresh grape juice and warm oak notes from the barrels. He pulled a top of one of the barrels and told me to “ecoute”. When I put my ear close to it, I could hear the fermenting wine making a small noise. Nicolas described it as ‘wine is talking to you’. We left this part of the building with more traditional wine making equipments and entered the other side, which looked very contemporary with impeccably clean shinny stainless steel tanks. These are used for blending the wines as well as to hold the reserved wines.

We walked across the courtyard to enter the other building and took an elevator down to the underground cave made out of chalk, traditional of Champagne region. It is dark, cool and the humidity is pretty high (average 80%) and I could see the water drop shining on the white chalk wall like a little star. This is the place where the wine goes for the second fermentation to create its bubbles and also the place to rest and age to develop more complex flavors.

When we came back to the ground level, he showed me the line of disgorgement to the corking procedure, the final stage of the production. Next, it was time to taste! We went upstairs to the tasting room. Many pictures were hanging on the wall and I observed each like a Sherlock Holmes. In one of them, I found young Nicolas with two other older men. When I asked, he told me they are his father and grandfather who had also worked as a Chef de Caves. I wonder what it was like to grow up in the family of winemakers. Did he get to taste all the wines in the cellar since he was like 5 years old? Did he have to describe how each dish taste on the table during the family meals as a part of sensory education to become a Chef de Caves?

While I was imaging all the unique things he got to learn growing up in his family, Nicolas opened a bottle of the NV Brut and handed me a glass. As I was finding notes of vanilla and hazelnuts, Nicolas continued and said “yes, things you find in café; caramel, nutmeg, brioche…” These unique aromas are from the oak barrels used for the first fermentation and fresh pear and citrus fruit nicely balanced it with good amount of acidity to make it pleasing on the palate.

He then smiled and asked me if I would like to taste "Cuvee Paradis". How can I say no to that offer! This is Alfred Gratien’s 'Tete de Cuvee' made from Chardonnay and Pinot Noir only from Grand Crus. The time it spends on the lees is much longer than the traditional NV and this drink like a top end white Burgundy. So many layers of harmonious soft pear, apple and quince fruit along with well-defined acidity, are beautifully complemented by warm and gentle notes of creamy hazelnut, nutmeg and candied ginger. All these delicate yet persistent flavors echoes on the palate for a long time and then disappears quietly. The style is extremely elegant with a great finesse and it made me speechless for a moment. Nicolas commented, "I take time to make 'Cuvee Paradis' for those who love and know how to appreciate good quality Champagne."

As I was saying “merci et au revoir” to Nicolas, he said “our house is very small and as a Chef de Caves, I have to run back and forth doing a lot of things and that is the reason why I have these sneakers on. No tie, no suits and no dress shoes, you know.” 

Dear Nicolas - I really like your style, in terms of fashion and in terms of Champagne you craft.

It Takes a Village...to Make a Salad

            In my previous apartment, on one of many nights when I clattered through the door with a reusable canvas grocery tote swinging off my shoulder, my former roommate asked reproachfully “do you go food shopping every day?” Presently, the answer to that is no. In a perfect world, yes, I would go food shopping every day. Would I go to Stop & Shop every day? Hell no. In our culture, food shopping is a chore, and often a particularly odious one. As someone who spends eight hours a day in a kitchen for my job, cooking is not always the first thing on my agenda when I arrive home, but when the mood does strike me, it’s usually the direct result of a foodie inspiration. Whether this means seeing a picture or reading a recipe of a dish I just have to make, or perusing local produce and finding the perfect tomatoes that just must find their destiny in a caprese salad, both scenarios are born of spontaneity, and therefore not conducive to using whatever was purchased at the supermarket on Sunday and now languishes in the back of the fridge. For this reason, I do find myself taking multiple trips to various culinary purveyors in a given week- if I can afford it, that is.

This style of food shopping may seem impractical and laborious to the American sensibility, but there are still places where it’s the modus operandi for segments- albeit dwindling segments- of the population. It’s that whole European thing where you go from butcher, to baker, to green grocer, to fishmonger, gathering from each one component of your meal. Of course you could visit a store and gather the majority of items on your list under one roof, but won’t you get fresher fish from the guy who saw the nets being pulled up? Better baguette from the woman who starts kneading and shaping at four o’clock every morning? Better peas from man who trained the vines along a trellis he built with his own hands? I know I’m romanticizing this concept (not to mention applying gender stereotypes with abandon), but I truly believe that we respect our food more when we are held accountable to another human being who put their everything into producing it. Yes, chemically that pea is just like a pea that comes in a shrink-wrapped Styrofoam tray for $3.99 at Whole Foods, but as true foodies know, a meal is so much more than science.

My most recent inspiration came from the pages of Evan Goldstein’s Daring Pairings, a book in which dishes are matched up with a certain wine grape. When I came across the carignan pairing, my culinary juices began to roil, and I decided the first order of business was a long overdue trip to South End Formaggio in search of Roncal cheese and slab bacon. After failing to find parking in the pouring rain, I pulled into an illegal spot, turned my hazards on, and said a silent prayer to the towing gods….then I entered paradise. I have never been in the presence of so much cheese in such a small place. I could have spent hours there, but in the interest of avoiding a trip to the impound, I shared my goals with the purveyor and put on my blinders. While Roncal was not on offer, it happens to be very close to the Spanish sheep’s milk cheese Manchego, and after sampling a few viable options, I selected a raw milk farmhouse cheese, aged 18 months, and full of pungent yet mellow nuttiness, a caramelized note, and an animal flavor undeniably reminiscent of a sheep herd. Bacon was to be in the form of a smoky, Berkshire pork slab, sliced thick on the spot, and so fragrant that it perfumed my car (which was, thankfully, right where I left it) even through the plastic bag. 

            The next day proved to be one of those incredible fall days, almost sybaritic in its sun-drenched perfection, and poignant in its acknowledgement of the encroaching winter. The crates at the farmers market overflowed with previously unheard of apple varieties, potatoes hooked and knobbed in every direction, shiny purple onions on the end of two-foot-long shoots, and winter squashes, their skin streaked with fiery orange and tan. I selected a rotund kabocha squash, deep green in color, woody stalks of aromatic thyme, and a handful of shallots, amethyst beneath papery brown sheaths with earth still clinging to them.

And then- I cannot deny- I went to Whole Foods, because there are some ingredients that you just can’t get elsewhere. I scooped organic pecans from the bulk bins, selected a smooth, pale little head of endive, and- because it was on sale- a vibrantly green bunch of hydroponic watercress, each little leaf like a perky lily pad.

At last, it was time to assemble. The squash was unburdened of its knobby skin (no small feat), coated with oil, salt, pepper, and thyme, and roasted in a hot oven until tender and caramelized. The pecans were toasted to deepen their flavor and then received just a sprinkle of salt. The bacon was sliced into meaty lardons and sautéed in a skillet to coax out the fat (not to mention what is probably the most besotting aroma in the culinary realm, and sends me into a fervor akin to a feline catching a whiff of catnip). Thinly sliced shallots joined the sizzling bacon, and acquired a glistening coat of flavor before a mixture of sherry vinegar, fresh pepper, and olive oil was swirled in. This warm concoction was then tossed with endive and cress leaves, plated beside wedges of squash, and topped with crumbled nuts and shavings of cheese…perfection. How daring the wine pairing was I cannot say, but it worked; a L’Arbossar Priorat was deep and intense, with dark fruit flavors, liquorice, and violets all delivered in a mouthful so creamy and lush that swallowing almost seemed a shame. Overall, the meal was simple: a salad, and a beautiful wine. But when each component is sought out, and each ingredient carefully chosen for its quality, even a simple thing can truly be more than the sum of its parts, and even a salad takes a village. Or maybe a few villages- South End, Brookline, Newton- but hey, the adage is open to interpretation.

Les Vendanges en Champagne

 
Harvest in Champagne had been one of the "things I want to do" for quite sometime and this September, I finally did it at Champagne Cordeuil, located in a tiny village of Noe-les-Mallets, about 1&1/2 hour drive from a town of Troyes in the southern part of Champagne region in the Aube.

Champagne Cordeuil is RM or Recoltant-Manipulant= grower producer, who grows own grapes and makes own Champagne, vs. NM or Negociant-Manipulant= Champagne house, which buys grapes/wines from growers and makes Champagne according to the house style; majority of the Champagne we see here in the US are NM such as Moet & Chandon, Veuve Clicquot, Pommery, Taittinger, etc. What made this opportunity working for RM particularly great for me was that I get to deal with both viticulture and vinification at one property.

Each year, each village receives the official harvest starting date from CIVC (organization which controls production, distribution, and promotion of Champagne) and this year the starting date in the village of Noe-les-Mallets was 9/16. Dragging my suitcase full of 3 weeks worth of clothes along with a raincoat and farmer's rain boots for the harvest work, I arrived in Paris on 9/14 and shared a ride with 3 other “pickers” the following day.

There were about 25 pickers at the Champagne Cordeuil. All French (except 2 Italians living in France) and majority were late 20’s to early 30’s. Noticing they were all “repeaters” from all over France, I became curious and asked why they come all the way here to do the harvest every year. Everyone’s answer was the same – “This place is special.” “There is no place like Champagne Cordeuil.” I later found out why.

 

 Our day starts at 7:00AM with a simple breakfast of café au lait or hot chocolate with baguette. By 7:30AM, we get in transportation vans and head to the vineyards located in different parts of the village. The work begins at 8:00AM with a bucket in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. 

Harvest in Champagne may sound glamorous and romantic (or at least it did to me) but the actual work is extremely hard and labor intensive. The vines are trained very low close to the ground, and since two out of three grapes used for the production of Champagne are black varieties to make clear, golden colored Champagne, great care must be taken, therefore hand harvest is the only option permitted by law. Also due to its marginal climate and northerly location, vines are planted on the slopes in order to take advantage of sunshine. This is great for the grapes but hard for the human being to work with. Just to give you an idea how hard it was - I was told to bring a bottle of aspirin as I was going in a lot of pain (and yes I was) and crawling out was the only way I could get out of my bed for the first couple days.

However from day 3 and 4, I happened to get used to the work in the vineyard and I was even thinking about applying for a job in a vineyard from day 5 and 6, asking the Chef de Caves where I can take oenology program in the area. Only the problem – I started to smell like a farm; the aroma of soil and dry hay, complemented by a whiff of horse manure. Additionally my hands and fingernails were stained black from Pinot Noir grape.

Despite all these things I was not used to, the time I spent at Champagne Cordeuil was amazing. Every lunch and dinner starts with 2 glasses of Champagne followed by unlimited amount of red wine with four course meal of appetizer, entrée, cheese selection and dessert, all prepared from scratch by its own chef. His French home cooking was so delicious to a point I almost asked him if I could stay in France with him the day he gave me a ride to a bus stop.

The lunch break is 2 hours long everyday, so when we finish our meal, we go outside and lay on the grass, chitchat, smoke cigarettes, take a nap, sing, play games… After a break, we go back to the vineyards and work till 4:30-5:00PM. When we return to the property, we take a shower, relax a bit, and meet in the dining room at 8:00PM for dinner. 

My favorite time of the day was before dinner, when some of us got together in “la cave”(= winery, where they press the grapes and make Champagne) and hang out with the owner “Gigi” and the Chef de Caves. They usually open couple bottles of Champagne or other beverage and tell us about the production of Champagne. Sitting in “la cave”, hearing the press machine going in the background, smelling the freshly pressed grape juice, and learning about Champagne was an ultimate environment, which I could not have asked for more.

  

In general, the harvest takes about 10-12 days but we finished in 8 days this year on 9/23 and it was a time for “fete” or party! It was also a day, which happened to be full moon and the day people celebrate for the end of the harvest with an animal dog in France. Unlimited numbers of Champagne bottles were opened and dishes after dishes of a special feast took over the entire dining table. We drunk, sang, and danced till after midnight (till 4AM for some).



During the 10 days I spent in Noe-les-Mallets, not only I learned what it was like to work in the vineyard and Champagne making but also the delicious meals, Champagne, and the special moments I get to share with everyone were just magical. I now know why Champagne Cordeuil is special and there is no place like it!