Rosario’s has a serious pig problem. There are little porky tchotchkes on the counter, statues of swine behind the counter, and a few huge piggy bank–looking porkers above the freezer case. Even the neon sign on the front of the building depicts a bunch of happy piglets jumping in to a grinder. Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less from one of Chicago’s best Italian sausage makers.
Two weeks ago I ate dinner at Mario Batali's Babbo with Tina Wong (aka The Wandering Eater) and two of our friends for a indulgent night resulting in food comas all around. If you've thought about going but have yet to make the month-in-advance reservation, read Tina's food porn-laden review and you'll probably change your mind.
I have yet to write my review, but we're already making plans to go back, if that's any indication. My perfectly valid reason is that since we didn't have enough time to eat dessert, our meal wasn't complete. Also, I really want another bite of one of their pig’s foot “Milanese”, one of the most heavenly slabs of fat I've ever eaten.
Previously
The Wandering Eater at Momofuku Ko
Photo of the Day: WD-50
Photo of the Day: Cheddar and Bacon Chive Scone
Heavenly Panna Cotta by Gina DePalma, Babbo's pastry chef
It would seem that a man who wore a Jason (of Friday the 13th) mask for a living and took more than a few discs of frozen rubber to the head during his career isn’t the best person to take food advice from. But Tony Esposito, the Chicago Blackhawks hall of famer was, in hockey parlance, a serious grinder. And as it takes one to know one, Esposito definitely knows his grinders. His framed signed picture hangs in the back of Bari Foods, an Italian grocery brimming with tinned cans of San Marzano tomotoes and gleaming jars of pickled goods, praising the house giardiniera
With Quartino, Osteria via Stato, and now A Mano all slinging cured meats, Chicago’s downtown lunch arena is sporting more sausage than the Chicago Bears locker room after a big game. A Mano, the newest of the triumvirate, is helmed by Bin 36 veteran chef John Caputo and offers a wide selection of salumi, including the handiwork of Seattle’s sausage king, Armandino Batali. In addition to the charcuterie, A Mano features all manner of Italian-focused goodies from wood-fired pizzas to zingy crudo.
Photograph from The Flooz on Flickr
With few exceptions, most food at outdoor concerts is terrible, leaving music lovers to stuff themselves beforehand or pack a portable picnic. Nothing is more portable than a sandwich, and this past weekend, one of my Flickr friends found the perfect sandwich for a pre–Arcade Fire picnic on Randall's Island in New York: the Rosino Panino, picked up from Sorriso Italian Pork Store in Astoria, Queens.
On Wednesday Serious Eater Lia posted about Grom, an Italian gelateria concern opening its first U.S. store on Saturday the 5th of May. What Lia didn't tell all of you is that Grom is a mere 50 yards from my house.
When I left my house at 10:30 on Saturday morning there was already a short line to get into Grom, which was opening at 11. When I returned five hours later, the line was longer—much longer, a full city block long in fact. I noticed a friend, Mindy, standing with her significant other midway through the line. I asked her how long she had been waiting in line: 45 minutes, she said. "The gelato is free," Mindy said. Ah, yes, combine a little New York Times hype and the promise of free, artisanally made ice cream, and you have the makings of a long line in Gotham.
"Most visitors to Milan, Italy's center of finance, commerce and design, go looking for gold, literally or figuratively, and so do I. But the gold I search for is culinary." Former New York Times food critic Mimi Sheraton goes on a cook's tour of Milan and samples the city's finest epicurean delights, like the risotto al salto, "a thin pancake formed of leftover risotto, fried to parchment crispness on one side then flipped (or jumped — salto) to the second side in a swirl of hot butter, the preferred cooking fat of Lombardy."
I did an insane thing last night. I took the train to Philadelphia to meet some friends at Vetri. Vetri was opened a few years ago by Marc Vetri, a Philly native who had cooked in NY at Bella Blu, an Upper East Side Italian restaurant that serious eaters have never paid much attention to.
Rave reviews greeted Vetri's opening in Philly. Mario Batali raved, saying that Vetri was possibly the best Italian restaurant on the East Coast. My friend Andy Clurfeld of the Asbury Park Press kept telling me that I had to check Vetri out.
So I did, last night, even though my first train was so late I had to buy an Acela ticket in order to be a mere half hour late. And Andy and Mario and everyone else who has been telling me about Vetri are right.
Vetri is a terrific restaurant, serving the kind of simple, gutsy, long deep-flavored Italian food rarely found in this country. People in jeans and jackets and ties seem to be having a terrific time at Vetri eating unpretentious, unbelievably delicious, unapologetically rich food.
What did we eat?
A superb Antipasto plate with little cubes of fried potato, sherry-charred burssels sprouts, grilled fennel, prosciutto, mortadella, grilled scamorza, and a couple of things I can't remember.
Golden sweet onion crepe with white truffle fondue
Chestnut Fettucine with Wild Boar Ragu
Sweetbread Ravioli with Braised Veal Sauce
Spinach Gnocchi with Shaved Ricotta and brown butter
Pappardelle with porcini mushrooms and shaved white truffles
Almond tortellini with white truffle sauce
Smoked pork sausage with mostarda
Roasted baby goat (capretto) with soft polenta
For dessert:
Buttered pear tart with chocolate sorbet
Beignets that we dipped in Italian Hot Chocolate
Ice Cream Sundae with Candied Hazelnuts
Maple Napoleon
I don't know if Vetri is the best Italian restaurant in America, or even the East Coast for that matter. I do know that it was easily worth the trip to Philly, even if your train is an hour late.
Vetri is at 1312 Spruce Street, ph: 215-732-3478
Here's Craig LaBan's review in the Philadelphia Inquirer
For those of us who derive great pleasure from eating and talking about it, today's New York Times is a veritable smorgasboard, a feast for our stomachs, brains and heart. Let's start with Mimi Sheraton's cover story on eating in Rome in the Travel section . I've met Mimi Sheraton on a few occasions, even broken bread with her, and she has been nasty and unpleasant towards me each time. Why I don't know. That said, she often writes very well and very passionately about the lusty pleasures so many of us derive from life around the table. I still have a yellowed clipping of the piece she wrote for New York Magazine about New Orleans food many, many years ago. And her piece on eating in Rome today was Sheraton at her best. Halfway through it I wanted to jump on a plane to Rome to savor the "tiny fried croquettes of artichokes, meatballs and the like," as well as the "big, rustic chunks of oxtail" at Il Matriciano, the carbonara and fried artichokes at Matricianella, and the breads and sandwiches at Compagnia del Pane.
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