​I had made the trek out to Maine-ly Sandwiches on I-10 that’s in the same shopping center as the Edwards Marq’E 23 movie theater for a late lunch with a lobster roll in mind.  As $28 for the Whole Lobster Roll seemed excessive for a midday meal during the work week, I ordered a ½ lobster roll and felt that I would likely need some more sustenance.  A half Italian Sandwich, available in a variety of choices, is just $4.50, so I ordered one after asking the cashier which one she thought was the best.  Chicken Salad, maybe seeming unusual under the banner of “Italian Sandwiches,” but that proved to be a very enjoyable recommendation.
 
Though I ate chicken salad sandwiches often during my second year of business school – cheap, convenient and something that the cafeteria didn’t screw up – that was a number of years ago.  I’ve rarely eaten them since, so this order would be a nice change of pace, at least.  Served on a buttered and toasted split-top roll, a soft, industrially produced hot dog roll, I got the sandwich with everything: the chicken salad, slivers of apples, bits of walnuts, chopped onions, iceberg lettuce, slices of tomato, pieces of bell pepper, pickles, black olives, pickled and jalapeños along with salt and pepper.  It was a rather odd and unsightly concoction, but it was quite tasty, mayonnaise-heavy, with a lot more going on than the typical chicken salad sandwich.  The laundry list of sandwich toppings all played well together for me, even the black olives, and there was welcome textural diversity with the walnuts and pickles.  I’m glad that I took the cashier’s suggestion.  I’ll likely do so again in the future.
 
Also, the lobster roll, properly buttery and fairly rich, was quite good, too.  The drive was worth it.
 
Maine-ly Sandwiches
7620 Katy Freeway (just east of Silber, near the Edwards Marq’E 23), 77024, (713) 677-0771
mainelysandwiches.com

​I just read something in the New York Times about the opening of new restaurant in Midtown Manhattan that was described as a “traditional Northern Italian restaurant, which serves dishes like linguine with white clams and chicken scarpariello.”  The former is a classic Neapolitan dish and chicken scapariello is an Italian-American dish, also with roots in Naples.  The writer, Florence Fabricant, is quite experienced and quite a good food writer so I assume that the above reference was done tongue-in-cheek.  And that phrase “Northern Italian” still gets bandied about on restaurant signage and websites, if less so these days. 
 
This piece is adapted from my eBook, From the Antipasto to the Zabaglione: The Story of Italian Restaurants in America.  I care more about the semantics of this than most.
 
“Northern Italian” became a buzz-phrase.  It got diners excited.  Immensely enjoyable, distinctive regional cuisines have long existed in northern Italy.  As an amalgamation, it started being promoted, if not delivered, by at least 1970 in New York.  “Where is the grand tradition of the North? I have two years searching for it and my exploration weaves a trail of mournful disillusion,” a lament at the top of Greene’s lengthy article.   Some of the first press about the food of northern Italy came from Craig Claiborne, who introduced and championed Marcella Hazan in his space in the New York Times in 1970.   A native of Emilia-Romagna, she was conducting cooking classes in her tiny Manhattan apartment at the time.  The big boost came with the success of Hazan's first cookbook Classic Italian Cooking in 1973.  “Hazan's effort to convey authenticity elbowed aside the older efforts,” concerning Italian food, according to Nach Waxman, the owner of Kitchen Arts & Letters, a Manhattan bookstore dedicated to culinary matters.   That and subsequent volumes were influential both for cooks and diners.  “Northern Italian” was not only something fresh, but something that was more seemingly more genuine.  Soft pastas made with egg by hand, something Hazan championed, certainly appeared to be more authentic than spaghetti from a box that had been the pasta staple for decades. 
 
A few years after Hazan’s success, in 1977 Giuliano Bugialli’s, The Fine Art of Italian Cooking was published and sold well, helping establish Bugialli as respected instructor and popular author.  It focused on the cooking of Florence and Tuscany under the heading of “Italian.”   A contributing subtext in these books – seemingly somewhat intentional based on the title – was the belief that northern Italian food was more advanced and sophisticated.  Those northern regions were more prosperous and were home to the highlights of the Renaissance, after all.  And, its cooks were not quite the swarthy immigrants of yesteryear, towards whom there might have still been a bias in some quarters.
 
There was, and even still remains, a lot of confusion among the food writers and dining public as to what “Northern Italian” means.  Geographically, it meant the areas north of Rome, excluding Abruzzo to its northeast (that region had been part of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies whose capital was Naples).  Florence Fabricant of the New York Times gave the widespread understanding in 1977 as, “by local definition, ‘northern Italian’ signifies restaurants of some elegance that go lightly on the marinara, serve fettuccine, tortellini and scampi and do not feature meatball or pizza.”   This is what these restaurants portrayed, and what the public was to believe, but it was not really northern Italian.  In the 1990s this still meant in practice, “very little more than fresh pasta made with eggs, appearing in place of…commercial pasta, and cream and butter substituting for olive oil and tomato in the sauces.”   A few dishes were usually done in this heavier fashion, but the biggest effort for a restaurant in transforming itself a “Northern Italian” one was the cost for new signage and menus advertising the billing. 
Mimi Sheraton, the New York Times restaurant critic in 1981, reviewed Salta in Bocca, a “pleasant north Italian restaurant” that nearly garnered three stars in which the “recommended dishes” are almost a greatest hits collection of the southern Italian-American restaurant kitchen:
 
“Baked clams, mussels Riviera, roast peppers with mozzarella cheese, minestrone, pasta e fagioli, fettuccine casalinga, spaghetti carbonara, spaghetti al sugo, capelli d'angelo with seafood, linguine with white clam sauce, tortellini gratinati, fettuccine all'Amatriciana, fried squid, red snapper Livornese, scampi fra diavolo, chicken piccata, chicken scarpara, veal Genovese, veal paillard, osso buco, veal cutlet Milanese, veal cutlet Fiorentina, grilled veal chop, fried zucchini, sauteed escarole, zucchini with tomatoes, rugola salad, cheesecake, zabaglione, cheese and fruit platter.”
 
Though the veal cutlet sported the “Milanese” and “Fiorentina” modifiers, the tortellini and osso buco were probably the only preparations to be found anywhere north of Rome.  This lack of understanding was typical, and continued for a couple decades even among avid diners in the biggest markets.  But, patrons and reviewers, too, liked the new dishes.  These were something different and even novel, though “Northern Italian” also seemed to mean “more expensive,” that was good for the restaurateur.
Authentic northern Italian food was actually to be found in New York by the 1960s, at the reinvigorated Barbetta featuring a refined version of the robust cooking of Piedmont.  This was a singular and upscale anomaly.  Located in the theater district in Manhattan, it was founded in 1906 and given a makeover by the daughter of the founder.  In “1962, she was determined to make Barbetta more Piemontese than ever, adding such typical dishes as fonduta, carne cruda, bagna cauda, bue al Barolo, and introducing white truffles and Piemonte's traditional white truffle dishes,” according to the century-old restaurant’s website.   Other, and truly northern Italian restaurants, were to join Barbetta in Manhattan in the 1980s. 
Though much of it was marketing or misinformation, there was some truth to this “Northern Italian” fare advertised beyond Barbetta.  Fior d’Italia in San Francisco had been serving it even two decades longer than Barbetta.  As mentioned above, some of these Manhattan-based restaurateurs were from northern Italy, some, like Giambelli had actually worked in restaurants in the north of Italy.  They did serve some dishes from their home areas, if often in a richer fashion than at home.  The majority of the menu – and certainly the overall style – was still better described as Italian-American, albeit sometimes immensely enjoyable Italian-American.

Guinea hen at La Subida in Cormons, Italy, one of the best restaurants in northern Italy.  This dish was terrific.

​Barbera is not the wine that I grew to really enjoy some years ago with food, mostly Italian-themed food.  The wine now is different: it’s bigger, bolder, and more alcoholic.  The food that pairs well with it with more than a little different, too.
 
Years ago, Barbera wines – made entirely from the Barbera grape and mostly all in the region of Piedmont northwestern Italy – were made in very high quantities and drank in copious amounts in northern Italy.  It was a fairly light-bodied wine with a bit of cherry fruit, very low tannins, a bit of Italian earthiness, and a plentiful amount of acidity, its more noticeable characteristic.  Barbera was a wine that screamed out for food.  In fact, I rarely enjoyed the wines without something to eat.
 
In the past quarter century or so, Barbera has seen a number of changes, driven by the desire to improve the quality, most notably for the Barberas in the Asti area.  Many of the growers began lowering yields to do that.  Clones from a university in nearby Turin during the 1980s added more ripeness, lower acidity, and more phenols (these include flavonoids that can affect the mouthfeel and color of the wine; tannins are one).  Malolactic fermentation began to be used that drove down the acidity.  Then oak aging grew, though much less new oak is used now than 10-15 years ago, much better to highlight the distinct character of Barbera, and welcome improvement in my mind.  In the field, locations for the vineyards got better.  This was much more the case in the Asti region, as for Barbera d’Alba, the best vineyards go to Nebbiolo, mostly for Barolo and Barberesco.
 
And, very significantly, “everyone has to worry about global warming and its effect on alcohol levels,” which was a common refrain I heard in my several days around Asti on a trip sponsored in part by consortium for the wines of Barbera dAsti a couple of months ago.  The impact of the increasingly hotter planet has especially been felt in the the past 15 to 20 years, and Barbera, seemingly more so than other varietals, is especially susceptible to the growing alcohol levels.  In fact, of the all the Barberas I sampled there and since returning home, the lowest alcohol level I’ve had has been 13.5% and that was just once or twice.  As much wine, I like to enjoy several glasses, and the difference between a wine that’s 12.5% and 15% can be felt a little too much for my taste.
 
Though the alcohol levels have risen appreciably, Barbera has made incredible strides in the last 10-15 years to paraphrase one of the speakers during my recent sojourn to Barbera-land.  The wines are more serious, richer and some can age quite nicely.  I still find that Barbera is more readily enjoyable in both of their major styles than Nebbiolo.  Barolos take time, Barberesco and even the Nebbiolo di Langhe, do, too.  The two different styles for Barbera d’Asti and for Barbera throughout is aging in stainless steel and aging in oak.  The former produces lighter wines with more fruit and more noticeable acidity; these are the wines reminiscent of the way the most Barbera used to be produced, just with higher quality – and more alcohol.  The oak-aged ones will often have a tannic bite and a bigger body.  These are wines that can age and might need four or five years to really enjoy.  Both can exhibit the ripe fruit of raspberry and blackberry, and plum in hot vintages, cooking spices, and underbrush, and also leather with oak-aging.
 
As for foods, is more than an easy pairing for pizza and simple pasta dishes, and the oak-aged ones, Barbera d’Asti Superiore, will be too big for my tastes for most pizzas.  Both styles wines go well with the classic agnolotti del plin, with or without shaved fresh white truffles, and the Superiore went better with their Piedmontese version of pot roast that was the main course for most of the meals.  Back home, there is more eating and drinking that I need to do.  While Barberas and the lighter versions still are not hefty enough to pair enjoyable with steak or lamb, the Superiores might do a good job.  These might even be a great pairing for the classic Texas beef brisket.  We’ll see.
 
But, in any case, Barberas remain very good values.  You can find a wine, which will be invariably well-made, usually for under $20 while the Superiores will run a few dollars more but rarely over $30.  These are definitely well worth picking up if you drink wine primarily as accompaniment to dinner, though Superiores, with a generally more rounded taste, can often be enjoyed solo, and so more appealing to non-Italians.  And, the USA is the biggest export market for the wines of Barbera d’Asti, so we are enjoying them in profusion. 

​For years my friend Jack had raved about the Friday lunch at Galatoire’s, the famed Creole restaurant that’s resided on Bourbon Street for over a hundred years, that he had visit often in the past when a case at the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals would bring him to the Crescent City.  He described it has “the best bar in New Orleans” when dining downstairs on a Friday afternoon.  Providing not only a very lively setting for an enjoyably boozy afternoon, Galatorie’s, most importantly, serves excellent, classic French-Creole fare with an emphasis on the fish and shellfish from the Gulf that they do an more-than-adept job in procuring and preparing, with no shyness in utilizing butter and cream.  I finally got to have a Friday lunch downstairs last week.  It lived up to expectations.
 
The best way I can think to describe a Friday lunch at Galatoire’s is that it’s like the best reception that you’ll ever go to, albeit with a more nattily attired and boisterous group of fellow guests who all seem to be in a great mood eating far better food than you’ve ever had a reception served with much more attention and promptness; and those waiters bringing the alcoholic and caloric joy are the only ones who’ve consumed fewer than a half-dozen drinks.
 
We had reservations upstairs at 1:30 but upon arrival asked if we could be seated in the main dining room.  It wasn’t a problem if our large group didn’t mind waiting for an hour or so, and we could while away the time at their bar next door.  Several cocktails later our table was ready in the still-full, mostly rectangular room that is the main dining room.  Another cocktail then wine.  Galatoire’s has an excellent wine list and I was very happy to find a Semillon-heavy white Bordeaux from Petite Sirene that was wonderful for just $40 a bottle.  It more than aptly complemented the Crab Maison – subtly decadent jumbo lump crabmeat in a Creole aioli studded with capers – shrimp remoulade and fried oysters en brochette start along with their lighter version of turtle soup and then the terrific Lemon Fish (or cobia or ling) lightly dusted in flour and then sautéed in a surfeit of butter and topped with a fair amount of impeccably fresh crabmeat.  The meal was absolutely delicious, the highlight for me was the cobia from the Gulf, which was clean-tasting, mild yet flavorful, delicate and delightful, with the butter going very well with the fish.  A white Sancerre from Pascal Jolivet for just over $50 and a trio of American Cabernets did well for others, as did their dishes.  Everything was very much enjoyed.  The loud conversions were only interrupted by bites and sips.  I don’t believe that we left the restaurant before 5:30. 
 
Snaring a table in the main dining room on the first floor is not an easy thing to do, especially when traveling that day from out of town.  No reservations are taken.  You have to wait in line for a table.  Or, you can pay someone to wait in line for you, as many regulars seem to do.  When heading to New Orleans last year I made an early flight just so I could wait in line at Galatoire’s.  My Lyft driver got hit when heading to the airport, so I missed my flight and we had to fall back on the reservations I made for upstairs.  Lunch upstairs was great, if like a normal, if excellent upscale restaurant with a great pedigree.  But, when walking out at 4:00 past the still-full downstairs dining room, we could see the party that we were missing.  We were very happy that it worked out this time.
 
Galatoire’s
209 Bourbon Street (a block-and-a-half east of Canal), New Orleans, (504) 525-2021
galatoires.com

​I first enjoyed the Bavarian-style beers at the Crescent City Brewhouse not too long after it opened in 1991 in the French Quarter, and enjoyed them over the years when traveling to New Orleans.  I had a couple last year, my first trip back to the city in a number of years, and was pleasantly surprised that this brewpub on busy, touristy Decatur Street was still open.  I was even more surprised at the quality of the beers, which seemed even much better than I remembered.  The two beers that I had were terrific.  They were again last weekend.
 
The pilsner I ordered was properly crisp, clean-tasting and quite flavorful with a light, Germanic hop aroma.  It tasted better than the Munich pilsners that I remembered from there (I like the broadly similar Helles, style more in Munich; the Czechs do those delicately perfumed and nuanced pilsners much better in my opinion).  The pilsner was excellent, and perfect after traipsing around the Quarter for the previous hour.  After finishing the half-liter pour – the only size they serve it seems – I had their version of the Vienna-style lager, the Red Stallion.  Medium-bodied with its copper color denoting a good malt presence, lightly hopped, it was a very pleasant pint-plus.  I didn’t enjoy it as much as the pilsner, but still a nice beer that was obviously very well made. All of the beers are made in house utilizing the large, attractive copper vessel set behind the bar and according to the Reinheitsgebot, the German purity law of 1516.  Only malt, hops, yeast and water are used in the beers, helping ensure some level of clarity of flavors.
 
In addition to the Pilsner and Red Stallion, the Crescent City Brewhouse always has a Weiss, a Bavarian-style hefe-weizen, and the Black Forest on tap, plus a seasonal beer in a range of styles.  I tasted my brother’s Weiss.  With prominent aromas of banana, it did not taste like one of the sweeter hefe-weizens that I expected, but was a bit drier and more balanced and an excellent version of the style and perfect for those many warm and humid months in New Orleans.  I didn’t sample the Black Forest, which is described as a beer that’s “rich…malty…sparsely hopped, in the traditional Munich style” which sounds a lot like the Dunkel style that’s a feature of all of the Munich breweries.
 
I find it amazing that a brewpub in the French Quarter, just a couple of blocks from Jackson Square, serves such top-quality beer.  The beers are a good deal better than they need to be.  As people seem to especially enjoy beers made on site, brewpubs can usually get by with mediocre or even awful beers, the buzz of the pub, and the alcoholic beers, helps to obscure the handiwork of less-than-skilled brewmasters.  And, that the Crescent City Brewhouse is doing it with lagers is even more impressive, as lagers, especially lighter-bodied and light-colored are very difficult to brew well on a consistent basis.  There are not too many small breweries in this country that are doing it well.  Few, are doing it as well as is done in the French Quarter.
 
The Crescent City Brewhouse is definitely worth a detour for fans of Bavarian-style lagers.  Easy to drop in and out, there is often a jazz band playing near the entrance and bar.  The quartet featuring an alto sax, bass, drums and, somewhat oddly, an electric guitar, was first-rate last weekend with a fresh, if mid-century sound well removed from Dixieland.  If you don’t have time to sit for pint, you can always get a cup to go dispensed at a counter facing the sidewalk.  And, you’ll likely be drinking something better – certainly more pure – than those other tourists with their plastic cups.
 
Crescent City Brewhouse
527 Decatur Street (two blocks southwest of Jackson Square in the French Quarter)
New Orleans, Louisiana 70130, (504) 522-0571
crescentcitybrewhouse.com

​A few hours before flying out from New Orleans last weekend, I did what I usually do before departing the Crescent City, I joined the queue of tourists in the old Central Grocery on Decatur Street in the French Quarter to purchase a muffuletta (or muffaletta in the more common spelling) to take home for dinner that night and a meal the next day.  One of the two great Italian-American cold sandwiches along with the sub or hoagie, I’ve long enjoyed the muffuletta from where it was created over a century ago.  Still largely a local and somewhat regional treat, it might be the most enjoyable and significant contribution to New Orleans’s culinary legacy from its Sicilian immigrants. 
 
The sandwich takes its name from the distinctive, dense circular loaf about 9--inches in diameter also called a muffuletta. The loaf is sliced horizontally and filled with deli ham, mortadella, salami, slices of provolone and the olive salad that sets it apart that has pieces of Kalamata and green olives, bits of carrots and tiny tops of cauliflower soaked in olive oil.  The ingredients are nothing special, supermarket-quality at best, aside from the bread, but the muffuletta from the Central Grocery is more than the sum of its parts, especially after a few hours when the olive oil seeps well into the loaf and the diverse and complementary component flavors began to meld some and the sandwich warms.
 
The muffuletta is one of the minority of popular American preparations where the creator is clearly known.  It was created at the Central Grocery sometime after it opened in 1906 by owner Salvatore Lupo.  Located near the French Market and the wharves, it was a popular stop for the immigrant Sicilian dock workers and truck farmers to make their lunch.  His customers would purchase the meats, cheese, olive salad, which is traditional in much of Sicily, and bread.  They ate these separately, in the Italian style.  Without much in the way of space to eat in the small store, Lupo, seemingly taking a cue from the American habit, introduced these typically purchased group of items combined as a sandwich. Customers quickly took to the creation, which was named after its bread, which is originally from Piana degli Albanesi – or Piana degli Greci until 1941 – an ethnic Albanian community that is fifteen miles from Palermo, where this bread also popular, especially as a treat on the Day of the Dead on November 2.  Interestingly, the sandwich is always cut in quarters and since the loaf is fairly large, a normal order is two quarters. A full order is half a muffuletta, something in line with the welcome quirkiness of New Orleans, alcohol-fueled or otherwise.
 
Central Grocery
923 Decatur, New Orleans, Louisiana 70116
(504) 523-1620
centralgrocery.com

​One of the many famous dishes originating in New Orleans is Barbecue Shrimp; in my opinion, also one of the very tastiest ever created in an Italian-themed restaurant in this country.  Barbecue Shrimp were first cooked at Pascal’s Manale, a restaurant in business since 1913.  Its heritage is Italian – Manale, after all – and it still advertises itself as “Italian-Creole.”  But, like most Italian-named eateries in the New Orleans area, the Creole is far more prevalent than the Italian.
 
I had it this past weekend at Mr. B’s Bistro, the long-standing Brennan family restaurant in the French Quarter that I had not visited in years.  Though service was something less than prompt and professional, surprising at a Brennan restaurant, the barbecue shrimp were terrific, and terrifically messy.  Thankfully, plastic bibs are provided, an unsightly necessity. 
 
A few things about this garlickly and buttery preparation are unusual when remembering that it was devised at an Italian restaurant.  Though delicious, it hardly registers as Italian or even Italian-American, to be honest.  It is Creole.  “Barbecue” is a complete misnomer.  The shrimp are not barbecued, or even grilled.  The shrimp are actually baked.  Also, it takes its inspiration from Chicago.  It was created at the restaurant in the 1950s after a customer raved about recently having the well-known Shrimps de Jonghe in Chicago.  Yes, Chicago once had a renowned shrimp dish.
 
As flavorful as the dish is, it is also surprisingly easy, and great for parties, since most of the work is done beforehand.  It can be a little, or a lot, messy, which can make it fun for informal get-togethers.  The recipe below is from The Guide to Ridiculously Easy Entertaining.   It comes from my co-author, Michael Wells, who is originally from New Orleans. 
 
New Orleans-Style Barbecue Shrimp
 
Serves – 8 to 10
 
Ingredients: 
Large shrimp (uncooked & heads-on) – 4 to 6 pounds
Butter – 3 sticks (24 tablespoons)
Olive Oil – ½ cup (4 ounces)
Garlic – 4 cloves, finely chopped
Bay Leaves – 2, crumbled
Lemon Juice – 4 tablespoons; use juice from freshly squeezed lemons
Worcestershire sauce – 2 tablespoons
Flat-Leaf Parley – 1 tablespoon, finely chopped
Oregano, dried – 2 teaspoons
Paprika – 2 teaspoons
Cayenne Pepper – 2 teaspoons
Louisiana-style Hot Sauce – 1 teaspoon
Black Pepper, freshly ground – 2 teaspoons
Chili Sauce – ½ cup (4 ounces)
Lemons – 2, thinly sliced
 
Cooking Steps: 

1. Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium-low heat.  When butter is melted stir in all of the contents, except for the shrimp.  Simmer for 10 minutes.
2. Place the shrimp in a large baking dish and then pour the butter mixture over it.  Cover it with plastic wrap and then store in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.  The longer the better.
3. Preheat the oven to 300°F (149°C).
4. When nearly ready for your guests, put in the oven at 300°F (149°C) and cook for 20 to 30 minutes.

 
To Serve: 
Serve with steamed rice and crusty French or Italian bread.  For more casual settings, the bread alone will suffice.


A side of the delicious barbecue shrimp at Mr. B's Bistro in New Orleans

​Last week my brother texted that he had just spotted the Austin-brewed Celis Raspberry at his local HEB in Katy for the first time, but did not see their Grand Cru.  I responded that I hadn’t seen it in the area since I had it just over a year ago at an event at The Hay Merchant with owner Christine Celis to publicize the introduction of the relaunched brewery’s products into the Houston market.  The Grand Cru was absolutely delicious that evening, even better than I had remembered during the Celis’s initial go-round in the last decade of the last century.
 
I was surprised to happen across Celis Grand Cru in cans yesterday at the Spec’s flagship store on Smith Street, the first time I had seen the beer in Houston, either in stores or on in bars or restaurants since that release party.  I had to pick up a six-pack. 
 
I’m especially glad that I did, as I ended up having few friends over in the afternoon.  Along with the Grand Cru, I had several beers from other small breweries to share.  The Grand Cru was wide favorite among all four of us, and clearly also the best made beer to me.  Fittingly described by the brewery as featuring “a combination of full rich taste with fruity and spicy accents,” it tasted like a true and delicious Belgian tripel, with a hint of citrus and tropical fruitiness and a welcome subtleness and complexity, finishing with a long, smooth aftertaste.  Made with plenty of light malts to bring it to a substantial 8.6% alcohol, in line with the style, but it nicely doesn’t taste nearly as hefty.  The combination of Saaz and Cascade hops add some aroma and spicy bitterness – it’s only around 20 IBUs – and the ground coriander seeds and dried orange peel add to the fruit notes.  It’s also “made with the same special yeast strain used in the original 1965 recipe,” helping it retain some of the character of its predecessor, Hoegaarden Grand Cru, that Christine Celis’s father, the legendary brewer Pierre Celis, created a half-century ago.  Famed beer writer Michael Jackson called that beer “outstanding” and “a liqueur of the beer world,” which might well apply to its newest incarnation that’s now available in Houston.
 
Celis Grand Cru
$9.78 per six-pack at Spec’s   

​As with many Houstonians, my first taste of chimichurri sauce was at Churrascos, where the bright green, oily salsa was a wonderful accompaniment to the long, thin plantain chips that were a great way to start a meal there.  But for a more traditionally South American and complex version, in Houston it’s tough to beat the chimichurri sauce at Saldivia’s that is placed on every table and complements nearly everything that I order there.
 
After too long of an absence, I had dinner last weekend at Saldivia’s where I ladled heaping amounts of their nearly addictive, rustic-style chimicurri sauce – a mixture of mostly olive oil, vinegar, bits of garlic, parsley leaves and short stems, oregano, I believe, and scattered red pepper flakes – over the fresh, crusty rolls to start, trying vainly not to eat too many slices before what would invariably be a big steak dinner.  Then it found its way over the sweetbreads, which were terrific that night, the blood sausage, chorizo and a couple of different types of empanadas that had started the procession from the kitchen.  When my main course featuring an entraña arrived with its smattering a chimichurri sauce, I instinctively had to apply some more to the always delicious grilled skirt steak, making it more to my tastes.  And the chimichurri sauce made the accompanying grilled vegetables that much better, of course.  I ended up leaving a few small puddles of sauce on the table as much and as greedily as I was using it. 
 
The ability for this sauce to make nearly everything tastier has certainly been noticed by others.  I read on a couple different sites proclaiming the incredible versatility of chimichurri sauce, including one that claimed it might be the most versatile sauce, period.  I can’t think of another one that matches its utility off the top of my head.
 
Contrasting the chimichurri sauce at Saldivia’s versus the one at Churrascos, Saldivia’s hues toward the traditional recipe that is found in Argentina and Uruguay, where the proprietors of Saldivia’s hail, while Churrascos founders are from Nicaragua, and those restaurants use a simpler version that is used there, which seems to be an adaption of what originated in Argentina and Uruguay.  The differences in the chimichurris are that the Uruguayan / Argentine recipe calls for the tastier flat-leaf parsley versus the curly parsley, uses red wine vinegar instead of white, and includes oregano and red pepper flakes, and probably more garlic, than the sauce at Churrascos.  Those additional and different ingredients, plus a lifelong familiarity with the sauce, give the version at Saldivia’s a greater depth of flavor and versality.  It’s just better at Saldivia’s.
 
Saldivia’s South American Grill
10850 Westheimer (between Walnut Bend and Westheimer), Houston, 77042, (713) 782-9494
saldivias.com

​To paraphrase that boisterous British bard of the pre-millennium, Billy Idol, Moscato d’Asti might be enjoyed best when it’s dancing by itself.  With its bright bubbly character, it does dance.  In the flurry of pairing recommendations that I solicited from winemakers when I was in the Asti area last month, on a trip partly sponsored by the Asti DOCG consortium, one of them told me that Moscato d’Asti is really best as dessert, by itself.  This was somewhat echoed by a writer for Jancis Robinson’s website who spoke at the Asti event.  I confirmed the solo approach last night with a post-prandial glass from a not-the-most-highly-regarded producer that had been sitting in my refrigerator for over a week after opening.  It turned out to be nearly perfect for me in a satiated state about an hour before bed.  The wine was sweet, but not cloyingly so like all Moscato d’Asti’s because of their high acidity, and just what I was in the mood for.  I imagine I will be so in the future, and feel the need to start purchasing Moscato d’Asti on a regular basis.
 
Some of the suggestions for pairing I had heard during the trip: included: cheeses though not aged ones, salami, gorgonzola dolce, even when in a pasta or risotto with pears, possibly with pork with prunes, soy sauce, spicy dishes, Chinese dishes, as the Chinese like the sweetness Moscato.  From the Asti consortium’s website: “it’s canonically paired with…dry pastries…. pastries that are not stuffed with jelly, cream, or custard etc.…. it’s also a great wine for pairing with fresh fruit.” Justin Vann, a proprietor and acclaimed wine guy at Public Services in downtown Houston, told me that Lay’s potato chips, in their especially greasy original form, might be the best match.
 
I tried it with several things when I returned home, including the Lay’s potato chips, which actually did go better with the wine than the raspberries, blueberries, chocolate cookies, raisins, various cheeses, and at least a couple of other dessert-like items, but the Moscato d’Asti was clearly the most enjoyable by its lonesome for me.
 
I recommend giving it a try if you enjoy a little sweetness. Moscato d’Asti has between 120 and 130 grams of sugar per liter.  Lot’s a lot, and more than tawny port or Coca-Cola, which has about 105.  But, again, because of the substantial acidity that most sweet wines, and sweet beverages in general don’t have, Moscato d’Asti can be somewhat refreshing sweet finish.  Based on my recent experience, it can last for at least a week in the refrigerator sealed with something like a Vacu Vin that I used.  Even with its low alcohol content of around 5%, two people might not want to finish a bottle after dinner most nights.  Most nights.

Moscato d'Asti wines after harvest on a cool morning at the end of November.

​Courtesy of a trip to learn about the changes in a few wine regions in Piedmont, I was going to be in Alba – the heart of white truffle collection – at the end of November, which is prime time for indulging in these seasonal, very ephemeral and very expensive gustatory treats.  The king of the truffles.  I’d had fresh truffles before, during this past summer in Umbria and in the town of Acqualagna in the Marche region some years earlier, but never white truffles.  So, I had to make sure that these were part of at least one meal, or one dish at least, so I made it out for lunch on my own soon after arriving in Alba; I wasn’t sure how generous my hosts were going to be.  They turned out to be quite generous, as Italian hosts are apt to be, but I didn’t know that at the time.
 
Choosing a restaurant recommended by the Michelin guide from which I’ve had terrific luck over the years in Italy, I made it out for lunch around 1:00.  Just a five-minute walk from our hotel, Osteria dell’Arco was booked on a Wednesday, a good sign, and I had to make a reservation for a half-hour hence.  When I was able to be seated, it seemed that I was only the only non-Italian and only non-Albese, which I took to be another positive.  I ordered a tasting menu filled with traditional dishes and which included white truffles shaved over the Tajarin “40 tuorli” al burro d'alpeggio, the deep yellow, angel-hair-thin fresh pasta made with a ton of egg yolks that was served simply with melted butter.  The pasta was a bit clumpy, the sauce a little too watery as the pasta was not fully drained, and the white truffles, some a bit damp, were almost without aroma and without much taste at all, if not unlike a pleasant, if not-so-assertive mushroom.  A more generous share might have helped.  It certainly wasn’t worth the €22 (about $25) surcharge for the truffles for the dish.  I couldn’t help thinking that I might have gotten an older nearly spent truffle, and prepared somewhat indifferently, with the restaurant thinking the foreigner wouldn’t know the difference.
 
The dish at Osteria dell’Arco turned out to be the only disappointing pasta I had on the trip.  The exact same dish served the next day in stages to a group of over well over a hundred people out in a covered courtyard on a cool afternoon was much better, with the pasta a tad firmer and much tastier, and the truffles fresher, much more fragrant and with a richer flavor.  The dish was delicious.  The kitchen of the Michelin-starred San Marco restaurant in the town of Canelli did a terrific job serving a multitude, and the truffles it was shaving were seemingly in much better shape than what I had been served the day before.
 
But, as much as I liked the dish there and the several other times that I had white truffles shaved over carne cruda, risotto and ravioli and agnolotti before the end of the trip, I affirmed that white truffles really aren’t worth the hype to me.  They added a richness and an earthiness to the taste of the dish, but it is really the aroma, that deep musky fragrance, that is the best thing about white truffles.  Possibly the most enjoyment I received from the truffles during the trip was when a bowl of very fresh truffles, distractingly aromatic, were set next to before they were to be shaved onto the pastas.  They certainly aided a dish and I would not turn them down, but to pay for them, and to pay an additional $25 in Alba – which might have cost $75 to $100 here at the rare restaurants that serve them – that’s another story.  I thought that very good quality Parmigiano grated over a pasta dish was a better complement than the white truffles.
 
Maybe my tastes are too pedestrian, too American, but I was left thinking, concerning the white truffles, is that all there is?... If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing…. Let's break out the booze and have a ball…. If that's all there is.

A delicious pasta with white truffles at San Marco in Canelli a month ago.

​Beer cocktails might not be the most exciting of beverages.  Beer is usually meant for unadulterated enjoyment.  And when mixed, like in its most common form these days, the taqueria-favorite michelada, it’s identified as simply a working-class concoction.  Of course, there are some exceptions including the Black Velvet that magically combines Guinness and champagne into a clubby London stalwart, and somewhat obscurely, but deliciously, the Cruberry.  This involved a couple products from the initial go of Celis’s eponymous Brewery in Austin in the 1990s and was invented by Steve Black, a co-owner of the terrific Falling Rock Tap House in Denver while he was managing The Ginger Man in Houston.
 
There seems to be at least another one, too.  After returning from a trip to Paris, a beer-savvy friend quickly e-mailed about a drink he and his wife really enjoyed there, something brand new to them, Bière Picon.  It’s something I had also never heard about – neither had any of the very knowledgeable local bar operators I soon asked – I was very intrigued to investigate given my friend’s enthusiasm and, more so, after learning it was a beer cocktail featuring a French version of bitters.  As my tastes have embraced more bitter flavors as I have matured, like a good portion of the country’s imbibing public in the past decade, and buttressed by a number of trips to Italy, I had become a fan of bitters, at least the Italian version, amaro that is usually consumed as a digestivo. 
 
I found a recipe for Bière Picon (or Picon Bière as they call it) from the online drinks magazine Punch that is essentially:
 
Amer Picon – 3/4 ounce
Pilsner beer – 5 to 6 ounces
Ice – A few cubes
Orange slice for garnish
 
Pour the beer and Amer Pico into Collins glass over a handful of ice cubes and garnish with the orange slice.
 
Unfortunately, Amer Picon, the French spirit that makes a mixture a Bière Picon, is not sold in America.  This is quite odd given the explosion in the range of spirits in the past decade and that Amer Picon is owned by the beverage behemoth Diageo.  Though Amer Picon is not available, there is a fine substitute according to liquor and cocktail historian David Wondrich, which is widely available, the Italian amaro CioCiaro.  The unusual name refers to the region where it is made in the province of Lazio, about 100 miles southeast of Rome that takes its name from the distinctive sandals long worn by its inhabitants.  Milder and smoother than most yet more flavorful, it’s also one of my favorite amaros. 
 
Using CioCiaro, the best ratio I have found is one part of that to eight to ten parts of a well-made light- or medium-bodied lager like a fresh-enough Czech pilsner or a Munich Helles beer.  Karbach’s Love Street, which tastes like a lighter version of a traditional Helles, can work well, too.  Belgian-style white beer like Celis White does a very good job, too, for different, more citrusy taste.  Ice is silly with this, and a garnish doesn’t fit into the mold of a beer cocktail as something unfussy and to be concocted with a minimal amount of effort.  Here is my version ready for state-side consumption:
 
Birra CioCiaro [BEER-ah cho-CHAR-oh]
 
Amaro CioCiaro – 1 ounce
Helles, pilsner or Kolsch-style beer – 8 ounces
 
Pour in a pint glass.  Stir a few times to combine amaro and beer.  It should then drink quickly.  It did for me, and maybe too quickly.  The concoction was certainly beer-like, but it did not taste like the Czech pilsner it was made with.  The Saaz hop characteristics of the beer were muted, but the drink was still slightly bitter, and had a touch of sweetness from the CioCiaro. 

This works well as an aperitif, though I’ve found that one was very enjoyable, but sufficient for my palate.

Through September I was disappointed in the collection of new restaurants that had opened in the city this year compared to the fantastic year that 2017 was for newcomers, likely the best ever in Houston.  But things picked up in the last quarter, and it proved tough to limit the list to just ten restaurants.  Houston remains a wonderfully dynamic dining city and its restaurant scene grew, if with fewer ambitious restaurants this year than last.  Chef Chris Shepherd, especially, had a terrific year.  He and his team were remarkably busy, with three restaurant openings and Southern Smoke, the city’s best food event, all within the space of a few months.  All succeeded in more than fine fashion.  It was a busy year not only for them but other restaurateurs.  The folks from Agricole Hospitality (Coltivare, Eight Row Flint) opened four places, including Indianola with the skilled Paul Lewis (Osteria Mazzatini, most notably) at the helm.  Ford Fry of State of Grace opened a couple of fun spots in the spaces of the dearly departed duo of Hunky Dory and Bernadine’s.  On the counter-service side, our recent-years impressive barbecue landscape got even more impressive and more interesting.  It was a good year for new restaurants, and before the end of year, a hectic one, too. 
 
To note, the average prices reflect a typical dinner, which might be an appetizer, side or dessert in addition to the entrée – or a suitable number of small plates – a couple of drinks, tax and a 20% tip.  Below are the top ten new restaurants to open in Houston in 2018, listed alphabetically, and described in a sometime long-winded fashion.
 
Blood Bros. BBQ – $25 – This acclaimed barbecue pop-up opened their first restaurant in Bellaire just before the end of the year, much to the joy of local smoked meats aficionados and has been busy since the get-go.  They are still learning the business, as one of principals quickly admitted to me during a visit – the line moved at a glacial pace – but the food, especially the meats, was first-rate.  The requisite beef brisket is tender with wonderful, salty bark.  The fatty ends were absolutely terrific, though the leaner interior tasted just a touch dry in spots, nothing that the welcome slices pickled red onions, fresh jalapeño or the table-top slightly vinegary hot sauce couldn’t amend. The straightforward cheese-studded pork sausage was almost too easy to eat.  The pork ribs were moving as quickly as the brisket during my first time there, a good sign.  The sides here are better than most that include creamed corn, a mustard-free potato salad with skin-on new potatoes, rich soupy beans, and macaroni and cheese.  There are just four proteins to start – turkey, too – but I was told that meats will be added as the restaurant gets some more time under its belt.  As good as it is now, this Bellaire smoker will likely be even a good deal better in a few months.  5425 Bellaire (at Chimney Rock), 77401, (832) 582-5992
 
Calle Onze – $50 – Tex-Mex might be considered passé in some quarters, but Calle Onze – and to a lesser extent Superica – shows that our long-loved regional cuisine can still entice with dishes that might not be new, but done in a more considered and an even refined way that can satisfy even more.  An expansive cocktail program can add to that, too.  Around the corner from the popular Eight Row Flint and taking its name from its location, 11th Street, Calle Onze, valet-only and all, and maybe in part because of the fine-dining-like valet-only, has been packed since opening in depths of the summer; a perfect match for those newer Heights residents who can afford those high six- and seven-digits digs.  Fittingly slicker and nicer than just about any local Tex-Mex stop, the cooking is generally better, too, certainly more attractively plated.  Grilled chicken in an enchilada typically means bland pieces of protein that rarely aid the dish.  Not here, as the nicely marinated and attentively grilled chicken provides a nice complement to the cheese and quality tortillas.  In addition to the familiar local Tex-Mex dishes like that, there are also one like smoked pork belly with pineapple and watermelon, duck carnitas, scallops with masa dumplings and crispy chicharron, and lobster and cheese ravioli.  Ambitious might not be the proper adjective to describe the menu at Calle Onze, but it’s appealing at the very least. 222 W. 11th Street (just west of Yale), 77008, (832) 767-1417
 
Eunice – $90 – Serving Creole or maybe more accurately Creole-inspired fare, the restaurant that became Eunice had garnered very considerable buzz beginning in 2016 when it was going to be star New Orleans chef and restaurateur John Besh’s first foray into Houston.  With Besh no longer actively involved in the restaurant group due to allegations of extensive sexual harassment, Eunice, named after the southern Louisiana hometown of its executive chef, Drake Leonards, fell a bit under the radar until almost its opening in October.  And the gorgeous restaurant in Greenway Plaza – clean-lined and modern, yet quite inviting, comfortable and light – can also be easy to miss as its set off the intersection.  A foray into the menu during its first month with a group of friends included the roasted oysters with bits of shrimp, blue crab, and then brown butter breadcrumbs, which were excellent, with the toppings working well with the moist, milky oysters.  Maybe even more pleasurable were the chicken liver mousse served with a fig jam and thin slices of quality toasted bread.  Mild yet flavorful, its similar in quality to the different, also exemplary adaptions of the dish at nearby Giacomo’s and Georgia James.  The crispy Boudin Balls and Dan Dan Shrimp – named after a friend and former co-worker of the chef, not the Szechuan noodles – were both worth ordering.  The first-rate entrées included hanger steak from the lunch menu, slices of duck breast with some dirty rice not that clearly described as “Duck Duck Rice / sweet potato, celery root, dirty rice,” and a sautéed Gulf black drum with some crab and brown butter.  The only misstep was overcooked nearly mushy pasta substituting for the traditional rice in the shrimp etouffee.  Ask for the rice.  The friendly, attentive and knowledgeable service extended to the bar service, with an excellent martini for just $6 – a very welcome surprise since I paid for $14 for a simple and small gin-and-tonic earlier in the year at one of their sibling establishments in New Orleans. Eunice proved better and a better value, and a welcome addition to Houston.  3737 Buffalo Speedway (at Richmond), 77098, (832) 491-1717
 
Feges BBQ – $20 – A barbecue joint in a subterranean office food court?  Yes, and it’s worth the hassle for non-Greenway Plaza workers to visit during the weekday when its open.  And, yes, they are smoking meats onsite courtesy of a seemingly lengthy venting system.  From the husband and wife team of Erin Smith and Patrick Feges, both of whom have impressive culinary CVs – and that includes Killen’s Barbecue for Feges – and it shows at this fairly humble counter-service spot where not only is the requisite beef brisket top-notch but its brethren are better than is typically found at a barbecue joint.  Pork belly, turkey and pulled pork are a few of the other admirable smoked meats plus an interesting array of often piquant sides like sweet + spicy sprouts, braised collard greens, Moroccan spiced carrots, spiced cracklins, sweet potato + banana mashers and the yogurt + cilantro slaw.  With the lengthy list of quality sides and a couple sides, you can even do well going vegetarian for lunch here, a welcome oddity among barbecue restaurants.  But, if feeling less like healthy eating, there are also a trio of sweets including the PB&J Chocolate Cake that has drawn raves.  3, Greenway Plaza, basement food court (south of Richmond between Buffalo Speedway and Edloe), 77046, (832) 409-6118
 
Georgia James – $150 – Houston can actually use another steakhouse, especially if it is from Chris Shepherd and company. The reprise of the popular One Fifth Steak set in the former home of Underbelly offered a different take on the expected chop house that has managed to please both those customers attracted to the city’s more interesting fine-dining spots and those who consider a nice meal out a visit to a steakhouse.  Likely with the latter group in mind, the menu is little less adventurous than its One Fifth predecessor, but it’s still the most unique steakhouse in the city.  It starts uniquely with wonderfully crusty small loaf of bread that’s served with a jar of clarified butter infused with smoked brisket from nearby Feges Barbecue (Patrick Feges is an Underbelly alum).  Though the expected strip (loin), ribeye and porterhouse are served, there is no filet.  And no Caesar Salad to start, either.  Customers should be more than satisfied with one of the other beefy options, including the succulent sirloin, the tender Wagyu Zubaton – cut from the upper portion of the chuck – or the 100-day-wet-aged hanger steak, a true onglet cut that is flavorful but not really funky and a relative deal at $35.  Somewhat differently, the restaurant sources from the regional 44 Farms and Marble Ranch and cooks most of the steaks in a cast iron skillet.  The soft and juicy cast iron-cooked ribeye was delicious the other night, if maybe with just a little more exterior fat than ideal.  There are also bone-in versions for the bigger spenders including the long bone ribeye dry aged for 100 days for $150 and a daily butcher’s cut.  The starters and sides are largely fun, intelligent riffs on the standards including domestic caviar and a raw bar with pricey seafood towers.  The wine list is terrific, eclectic for a steakhouse, and with nice prices for the quality, which is what you can expect from Matthew Pridgen who also does the wines at UB Preserv and One Fifth.  1100 Westheimer (at Waugh), 77006, (832) 241-5088
 
La Lucha – $70 – Though this is supposed to take inspiration from the old San Jacinto Inn, a restaurant I loved as a kid, it doesn’t remind me at all of it.  No matter.  This place has often excellent, casual food that can also be a lot of fun in an attractive and vibrant setting that is a far cry from the San Jacinto Inn.  It’s not surprising that this new place specializing in fried chicken and Gulf seafood joint occupying the space of the dearly departed Hunky Dory has a fine selection of oysters from the Gulf and a great happy hour special on those on the half-shell, as it’s siblings with State of Grace, which might have the best oyster program in the city.  Though those bivalves are a definite attraction, the star of the menu might be the fried chicken, served in half or whole bird portions.  The fried shrimp are also quite good, done a little differently than found elsewhere in town.  Except for the full fried chicken and roasted oysters orders, the Texas Gulf classic redfish on the half shell, and the Louisiana caviar (bowfin) served with an onion dip and uber-processed Pringles, the dishes are under $20, well-suited for sampling and sharing.  OK, the Pharmacy Burger might be to, tougher to share, but it’s terrific (and far better than any of the ones I ever had at the nearby Yale Street Grill).  There are handful of house cocktails, though the list of wines is limited.  Nicely, there are over twenty types of sparkling wines that include nice prices on good Champagne, which might be the perfect pairing for fried chicken, after all.  1801 N Shepherd (at 18th Street), 77008, (713) 955-4765
 
One Fifth Mediterranean – $120 –The third concept to occupy One Fifth, Chris Shepherd’s eleven-month restaurant in the former home of Mark’s, serves food largely inspired from the Levant and points west, Turkey and north Africa.  The cuisines that have not been represented in fine-dining establishments here, and rarely in this country, but taking some cues from the lauded Zahav in Philadelphia, this is another successful turn of One Fifth with laudable, upscale interpretations of preparations of various cuisines of the eastern and southern Mediterranean.  The light, fresh-tasting hummus was easily the best I’ve ever eaten as was their airy, house-made pita bread.  When I visited, the Daily Hummus was topped with an as least as delicious braised lamb short ribs off the bone.  There are several types of hummus preparations and other dips and spreads that can be a no-brainer to start a meal.  With a number of these easily shareable dishes, including family-style large preparations like an entire fish and braised lamb, a visit with a few at the table can make for an especially pleasurable communal meal.  The wood-burning oven used for the pita and other breads gets a lot of use, with fish, meat and vegetables appealingly cooked al ha'esh (on the fire).  I was told that this current incarnation of One Fifth has resonated with local Persians, among others.  For many not nearly as familiar with the items, one of the two tasting menus, at $60 and $75, might be the way to go.  1658 Westheimer (nearly at Dunlavy) 77006, (713) 955-1024
 
Shun – $110 – From the son of the owners of longtime favorite of Japanese transplants and visitors, Nippon in Montrose, Shun is something nicer, hipper and more ambitious than his parents’ comfortable stop.  A little less traditionally Japanese, too, with locally attuned flavors and ingredients make their appearance in some of the dishes. With a mix of sushi and sashimi, grilled robatayaki items, and a grab-bag of Japanese small plates, the menu might be tough to navigate for some, but the servers are helpful guides.  One of the highlights we were directed to on a recent visit was the Lengua Gyoza, a trio of big, soft and delicious dumplings filled with tender tongue meat from wagyu cattle – a far cry from what’s in cheap lengua tacos – and served with salsa verde in a ponzu mignonette.  The pricey, but large pieces of nigiri sushi and sashimi are excellent, as you might expect with the experience at Nippon, with some sourced from more exotic waters.  Fun and delectable rolls like the Sun Blast filled with salmon, apple, tobiko, micro cilantro, lime, spicy aioli and topped with a piece of crispy salmon skin might have more wide-ranging appeal.  Shun can seemingly appeal to a range of customers with familiar items like tempura, miso soup, pork katsu, and sushi rolls, those interested in a meal of mostly sushi and sashimi, and there’s a separate sushi counter, or those wanting something more unique.  The customers appeared to reflect that, with families with young children, middle-aged Inner Loopers along with plenty of Japanese folks.  They all looked as happy we were, the highballs and well-compiled sake list helped see to that.  2802 South Shepherd (between Westheimer and West Alabama), 77006, (832) 409-5888
 
UB Preserv – $80 – Underbelly has moved down the street to a smaller, livelier and louder, space that was more deemed more appropriate – if maybe a little too small given that it’s seemingly always crowded – and is showcasing Asian influences even more and from a seemingly broader footprint.  Not that the ever-evolving Underbelly got old or stale, but the move and new chef de cuisine, Nick Wong, an alumnus of David Chang’s Momofuku kitchens, has made its successor more interesting and a visit more exciting, and more fun.  The many dishes among the two dozen or so that easily and smartly mix some of the different cuisines that get traction among Houston diners.  Executive Chef Chris Shepherd showed over the tenure of Underbelly, and at the several-cuisines-at-once One Fifth Romance Languages, how he and the team can combine items from seemingly disparate cooking traditions into something sensibly delicious, which continues here.  The menu skips merrily around the world for inspirations: China, Vietnam, Italy, Mexico, Mitteleuropa, Texas, Thailand, etc. The pork schnitzel was a favorite across the street.  Here, the tender piece of bread pork is flavored with the spicy and sweet Korean gochujang sauce for a fun twist.  If you have trouble deciding among the offbeat, tempting options, the four-course tasting menu is well-priced at $55.  For their Sunday brunch, The Crispy Rice Salad is a star, featuring puffed and crispy grains of rice providing a welcome textural contrast to the array of fresh herbs and the bright ripe cherry tomatoes.  As much attention and acclaim that Shepherd and the restaurants have received, they’ve never quite received their due for their excellence with vegetables.  One example was The Tomato & Avocado Salad, an early brunch dish, that also came with a medley of well-chosen fresh herbs, wedges of ripe green avocado and even more tomatoes in hues of deep purple and robust red, all nicely ripe and tasting terrifically.  It’s what you would expect from one of the city’s best.  1609 Westheimer (between Mandell and Dunlavy), 77006, (346) 406-5923
 
Wanna Bao – $40 – Yes, you should.  Proclaiming itself on its signage as “Hearty Chinese Bistro / Dumpling House.”  It is.  And a good one at that, and in a hip, industrial-sparse bistro-like setting at the edge of Midtown is well beyond what would be typical of a similar place along Bellaire Boulevard, serving both dishes from Shanghai and the madly popular Szechuan region, Wanna Bao seemingly succeeds with both – as with both ends of its signage, the dumplings for certain.  I really enjoyed their take on that Shanghai specialty, soup dumplings (xiao long bao) that features a nicely thin and tasty pasta sheen aptly holding the flavorful liquid and proteins inside along with the piquant, even messier for me red oil dumplings.  Those Shanghai dishes are done quite correctly from what I have heard through the grapevine.   For most preparations the ingredients are of noticeably high quality, and the flavors are bright and distinct, and complementary within the dish.  Also, for what it’s worth, Chinese expats seem to make up a substantial portion of the patrons at this oft-busy spot.  But, even for casual fans of Chinese fare, there will be more than a few familiar items like Kung Pao Chicken, an excellent version of Mongolian beef done with plenty of peppers, various types of fried rice, along with those steamed dumplings. 2708 Bagby (just before Tuam), 77006, (832) 623-7265


A Brussels sprouts dish at Eunice

​There were a couple of bottles of Moscato d’Asti in my refrigerator that I had forgot to add to the crowded cooler before heading to my brother’s house the other day that would have been a perfect pairing for some of the Christmas celebration.  There was even a request for it on Christmas.  But I have to admit, when I was initially invited on a recent trip to Piedmont, I paused slightly because Moscato was on the itinerary (the Moscato d’Asti consortium was one of the trip’s sponsors).  I had not been a big fan of Moscato.  Though not long after arrival, actually with my first few sips, I realized any trepidation I had was because I had conflated Moscato with Moscato d’Asti.  I had confused the cheap, overly sweet, unbalanced and simple versions from Australia, California and elsewhere in Italy with the Moscato wines made in the Asti appellation.  Moscato d’Asti is something better and quite nice for holidays and much more.
 
Moscato d’Asti are aromatic, lightly sparkling wines – frizzante in Italian – from the region of Asti in northwestern Italy made entirely from the Moscato Bianco grape that’s Muscat Blanc à Petits Grains in French.  Courtesy of a stuck fermentation, these are vinified to a low alcohol amount of alcohol, 4.5% and 6.5%.  Often tasting of honeysuckle, pear, lemon, and orange, Moscato d’Asti wines are somewhat sweet, with a high amount of residual sugar, 120 to 130 g/l.  Tawny port, for example, is between 95 and 110 g/l of residual sugar.  But even with more sugar, Moscato d’Asti does not taste as sweet as port.  This is due to the considerable acidity that helps makes for wines that are rather balanced, if still sweet.  And all of the wines I sampled during my recent time in Piedmont, were obviously very well-made and certainly more complex and interesting than the Moscatos I had had in my memory.  I agreed with the notion we heard that “Moscato d’Asti is definitely not a simple wine.” 
 
Part of the reason for that is the vast majority of the vineyards are on hillsides, usually in prime settings.  And the Moscato d’Asti needs to be picked, usually manually, at the right time so that acidity, sugar and aromas are all in balance, which might require more attention for harvest than for other varietals.  So, production more expensive, which might not be completely reflected in the prices.  You can usually pick up a Moscato d’Asti for under $20, and even under $15 for top producers like Saracco and Michele Chiarlo. 
 
With the balance, enjoyable flavors, a light body and low alcohol, the wines of Moscato d’Asti are easy to drink.  In its home region, Moscato d’Asti is often the dessert, but it is also good with cheeses including gorgonzola dolce, though not aged ones.  Elsewhere, Moscato d’Asti might work with dishes that pork with prunes, with soy sauce, some spicy dishes, and possibly a big range of Chinese dishes.  Here in Houston, the lightness, low-alcohol, quality and value help make Moscato d’Asti a nice pairing for our too often subtropical weather, even without any food.
​
Vineyards near Asti earlier in the month

After finishing my initial cocktail during a recent visit to Anvil and expressing a like of martinis, the bartender recommended a Ford Cocktail.  I had never heard of it.  But, it turns out that has been around since before the turn of the twentieth century, making it to print in 1895 in George Kappeler’s Modern American Drinks.  It is a variation of a martini, hence the sage suggestion.  It features Old Tom gin – the sweetened variety that was popular in the 19th century before improved distilling methods allowed for the classic London dry version – dry vermouth, the cognac-based and honey-enlivened herbal liqueur, Bénédictine, orange bitters, and finally orange peel to garnish.
 
Though it might have been around for 125 years or so, the Ford Cocktail has been a rare bird, one that was seemingly dormant until the resurgence of the cocktail maybe a dozen years ago – or maybe somewhat earlier in Old Tom’s home turf in London.  A useful cocktail book I have at home by the estimable Anthony Dias Blue published in 1993, The Complete Book of Mixed Drinks, which has roughly 1,000 cocktail recipes, does not have the Ford Cocktail.
 
The Ford Cocktail at Anvil tasted like a more rounded martini courtesy of the slight sweetness from the Old Tom gin, the orange bitters, and Bénédictine, along with the lively citrus notes from the orange peel.  Still on the dry side, it was excellent and almost too easy to consume.  It’s yet another classic cocktail that Anvil does extremely well, likely much better than it once was.
 
Anvil’s recipe for the Ford Cocktail:
 
1.5 ounces – Hayman’s Old Tom gin
0.75 ounce – Dolin Dry vermouth
0.5 ounce – Bénédictine
1 dash – Regan’s Orange Bitters
Garnish – orange peel
 
Stir with ice for at least 30 seconds and strain into a Nick and Nora cocktail glass