​I’ve been down on the quality of the pizza to be found in Houston, especially after the closure a few months ago of easily the best pizzeria since it opened in 2006, Dolce Vita.  Unfortunately, proprietor Marco Wiles wanted to concentrate on his other Italian restaurants, Da Marco and Poscol, a little further down Westheimer as he has gotten older.  As much as I like to tout the quality of the restaurants here – it’s certainly among the top handful of restaurant cities in the country now – the pizza game has been a laggard.  It’s especially disconcerting because I really like pizza.  This affection for pizza led me to my odd Margherita Pizza Project in which I forced myself to have every single margherita pizza served at the time in Houston.  It proved quite disappointing; the vast majority of the margherita pizzas served in Houston are rather mediocre or worse.
 
Margheritas are tough to do really well, but there were not a surfeit of pizza places doing much as well as I would have hoped.  So, I was very heartened to hear last year that the folks at Nancy’s Hustle in EaDo were going to open a pizza-centric place nearby.  Nancy’s Hustle is among my favorite restaurants and I know the chef there has a penchant for breads and pastas and thought that pizzas could be their next success.  Tiny Champions is.  With pizzas with a minimal amount of toppings that Tiny Champions does – like with the margherita – the quality of the dough is paramount.  This is the key thing that Tiny Champions has done very, very well in my several visits.
 
The pizzas here are minimalist in construction, ingredients are judiciously applied, but there is a lot of flavor in what there in the box are on the tray.  With thinness of the crust and the understated use of toppings, that crust has to be very well-made and flavorful or the pizzas will be disappointing.  But, the thin, bready and slightly chewy crusts cooked to firm crispness here are delectable. The pizzas look Italian, at least the way they do in a lot of Italy outside of Naples and the pizza al taglio in Rome that’s served by the rectangular slice to go.  It has a taste more reminiscent of the New York style, but not New York style.  It’s a somewhat unique taste, and one that’s delicious. 
 
The pies are very well-balanced, with a little of each working more than ably together and providing a lot of flavor.  There are a half-dozen standard creations presented on the menu in a wordy format: tomato, mozzarella, speck, pineapple, and fresh jalapeños; tomato, mozzarella, sausage, onions, peppers, and basil; tomato, garlic, anchovy, herby oil ricotta cream spiked with chile, a Tuscan style dry salami, with fennel, fresh herbs, maybe more fennel; ricotta cream, mozzarella, kale, Swiss chard, and pickled garlic; and the cheese pizza – tomato, mozzarella, Parmesan.  If you want to build on the cheese pizza base, you’ve got a limited but better than most array of: pepperoni, fennel sausage, anchovies, roasted mushrooms, roasted onions, fresh jalapeños, mixed olives, and a slew of sauces for dipping the crust or more – garlic chili oil, herb-inflected oil, hot sauce, a fancy ranch, Parmesan, salami XO.
 
A very welcome sign, is that the pizza from Tiny Champions don’t suffer much at all in transit.  Given their thin crusts, they might reach a more tepid temperature than the typical pizza, but the good taste remains.  I’m not at all opposed to pineapple on pizzas – seemingly unlike a great many with Italian last names – and the one here paired with speck, a better ham, and spiked with fresh jalapeños is delicious.
 
But, pizza is not alone among the enticements at Tiny Champions.  It’s a different array that you might expect from a pizza joint: there are several pasta preparations featuring soft pastas made in house, an array of appetizers numbering a baker’s dozen with strong Italian and Mediterranean accents and often acidic notes, ice creams sometimes with a savory bent made by the restaurant, along with cocktails, beers and an adventurous, well-edited wine list that you might expect with Sean Jensen involved.  I haven’t sampled any in my three visits to pick up food, but I imagine these are all quite commendable or better given the quality of the pizzas and the association with Nancy’s Hustle.
 
I haven’t dined in, yet, but after three pizzas, I’ll quickly state that Tiny Champions is the best pizzeria in Houston.
 
Tiny Champions
2617 McKinney (east of Emancipation), 77003, (713) 485-5329
tinychampionshouston.com

​Italian cuisine encompasses a lot of things, but pasta might be the most emblematic.  In a recent issue of the Italian Gambero Rosso electronic magazine, Cristina Bowerman, the Michelin-starred chef of Glass Hosteria in Rome’s Trastevere neighborhood answers the question of what Italian cuisine is to her with: “…if there is a characterizing trait, I think of pasta, in particular dry pasta…And in cooking, in the texture and sensitivity with which we handle the pasta we distinguish ourselves, it defines us.”  The product is not the freshly made soft pasta that many restaurants tout, but the commercial product you can purchase in the supermarket.
 
Despite her non-Italian surname, Bowerman is a native of Puglia in southwestern Italy.  She lived over a decade in the U.S., in California and Austin, Texas; her English faculty, in addition to her restaurant prominence and knowledge, has made her a frequent presence on American food shows on Italy in recent years.
 
In somewhat of a corollary to her assertion, dry pasta is both the Italian item that is most cooked by Americans and resonates most as Italian.  Of course, the way we cook pasta in America is different than is done in Italy, usually with exuberance, fewer or no rules, and typically much more sauce.  Pasta can be delicious in Italian, or not.

​A few years ago, my group at work ventured out for lunch a ways down the Southwest Freeway to dine at the vegetarian southern Indian restaurant specializing in thalis, Maharaja Bhog.  One of my co-workers from India wanted us to experience it.  After arriving, the bulk of us had to wait a few minutes on two of the group who were uncharacteristically late.  Both from China, they had stopped into Peking Cuisine a couple of doors down to order Peking duck for dinner for their families that they would pick up after lunch. 
 
I had recommended Peking Cuisine in my Houston Dining on the Cheap guidebook some years earlier, though it been a while since I had dined there and I didn’t realize that Peking duck for take-away was an option or popular.  My limited Mandarin skills might make that a difficult proposition, but I was happy to learn about it.  And, I thought that it was great that there was not just those two places that draw diners, discriminating diners at that, but a third located in between those, Pho Binh.
 
So, set on a feeder road of the freeway and S. Gessner in a bland strip mall In three successive storefronts from left to right are a southern Indian vegetarian restaurant offering something fairly unique for the city, a Vietnamese spot known primarily for its pho, as its name indicates, and a Chinese restaurant specializing in northern Chinese cooking – and Sichuan, too, now, as most Chinese restaurants seem to be these days.  Not just diversity, but diversity with commendable quality.  I’ve enjoyed each.  Peking Cuisine, not too far from the nexus of authentic Chinese eateries on Bellaire Boulevard has long had a good reputation.  Pho Binh, at least its original address, is the most lauded pho spot in the area, and Majarja Bhog has been touted by more than a few folks from southern India.
 
I happened to be down there last Saturday and it seems that all is the same as it was, thankfully, and the strip center is even nicer now, a bit less depressing-looking than it once was.  The setting never seemed to impact the tastiness of the food, in any case.

​A few months ago I came across a quote in the Wall Street Journal from a well-regarded chef and restaurateur Douglass Williams of MIDA in South Boston: "No other food appeals to as many people, as easily, as Italian. It doesn't matter where you're from, when you sit down to pizza or pasta, you get it." 
 
There is a lot of truth to that, and the sentiment probably applies to diners in most of the world.  Italian is popular.  Italian-themed food, whether or not it is tethered closely to Italy, is seemingly more approachable – and maybe enjoyable – than other cuisines.  Pizza has been part of nearly all this country’s dining habits for decades and pasta even longer.  Plus, the inevitable splash of tomato sauce or the greasy fingers from the pizza helps ensure that many of the dining experiences are fun, appealing, or at least can’t be taken to seriously.

Probably the best ravioli dish I've ever had, in Parma.

The “Pizza Wars” episode of “The Food That Built America” airs again tonight on The History Channel at 9:00 CST, and it streams now on its website.  The episode focuses on the rivalry between Pizza Hut and Dominos, which are now the two biggest pizza chains in the country, and have been the introduction – and even benchmark – of pizza for a great many folks.  I am on the episode a couple of times.  It was fun to muse about pizza in front of a camera, at times even more fun than eating it. 

​Pizza originated in Italy, to be sure, but it is not originally Italian.  This is because pizza is specifically Neapolitan in origin.  It’s from Naples, the big, chaotic and historic port city in southern Italy, and pizza actually spread more quickly throughout the U.S. than it did elsewhere in Italy, as odd as that may seem.  Pizza initially traveled with the immigrants from Naples and its environs, of whom there were many to the U.S.  To note, the Sicilian pizza is also fair part the pizza landscape here.  Arriving later, it was derived from the sfincione served in Palermo, a type of spongy focaccia, but that’s for another tale.
 
A brief history of pizza in America until it become popular
 
One of the most important events in the gustatory history of the country seems to have begun officially in 1905 when Gennaro Lombardi, a native of Naples, opened the first licensed pizzeria in America in Manhattan’s Little Italy, Lombardi’s.  He had been making versions of this strictly Neapolitan fast food at the bakery in which he worked, which was also being done elsewhere, at least in his neighborhood.  The New York Tribune noted a couple of years earlier in 1903 in Little Italy that “apparently the Italian has invented a kind of pie. The ‘pomidore pizza,’ or tomato pie.”  These pizza pies were just the province of these Neapolitans; in Italy at the time, it was not found outside of the vicinity of Naples. “There are only two places in New York where you can get real, genuine Neapolitan pizze. One is on Spring Street and one on Grand. The rest are Americanized substitutes,” reported an informed source, “the Dago,” in a Sun piece in the summer of 1905.
 
These pizzas first found an audience with those recently arrived Neapolitans and quickly spread to all the Italians living in the neighborhood.  Pizza has proven to be a very easy sell over the years.  In the 1920s and 1930s Lombardi’s former employees, all Neapolitans, opened pizzerias in Brooklyn, East Harlem and uptown Manhattan that would be destined to become icons in their own right.  But, pizzas were really an ethnic, mostly Italian, specialty until after the Second World War, even in New York City.   Also in the 1920s, pizzerias were opened by Neapolitan immigrants in the Italian neighborhoods of New Haven, Connecticut, Trenton, and Boston.  Philadelphia and Chicago were two of the few other cities with Neapolitan pizzaioli and pizza before the Depression. 
 
Pizza spread throughout the country after the Second World War, as it began to be served well beyond the Italian neighborhoods.  Starting and growing in areas with virtually no competition from pizzerias with Italian antecedents, several regional, national and international pizza companies got their start in the mid-1950s to 1960: Shakey’s in Sacramento in 1954 – the name referencing one of its malaria-damaged owners – Pizza Hut in Wichita and Pizza Inn in Dallas in 1958, Little Caesar’s in suburban Detroit in 1959, and Domino’s in Ypsilanti, Michigan in 1960.  Commercially made gas and electric pizza ovens, along with large mixers for the dough introduced in the mid-1950s, helped make the creation of the pizzas easier, far less dependent on a seasoned pizza-maker. American business know-how helped even more.  The franchise system increased the number of branches and market presence quickly.  Even if far from the best pizzas around – the pies usually featured doughier and blander crusts and lower-quality toppings – these pizza chains have been greatly enjoyed by millions over the years.  Not incidentally, with tremendous insight, or luck, Pizza Hut, Dominos and Pizza Inn first opened right near colleges and universities whose enrollment grew tremendously from the 1950s on, something that these chain pizza joints rode to continued and continuing success.
 
An even briefer history of pizza in Italy outside of Naples
 
“Pizza, which was unknown in north Italy before the war” recounted cookbook author Marcella Hazan in her memoir Amacord.  Pizzas was difficult to find anywhere outside of the Naples region through the 1950s. Even in southern Italy beyond the greater Naples area, it was not be found.  A family friend from Reggio Calabria, the city at the toe of the boot, did not have her first pizza until she arrived in New York in the late 1950s.  She said that Naples was the only place in Italy to get pizza then.
 
It came to those other cities with transplanted Neapolitans who traveled north to find work in the industrial boom after the war.  For example, in Hazan’s northern region, Parma, a well-to-do and university city, got its first pizzeria in 1960 started by a person from Salerno, south of Naples.  Though now popular throughout Italy, pizza has taken hold the most in a city closer to Naples, Rome, which has developed a couple distinctive versions.  The first was pizza tonda, a round pizza with a blistered cracker-thin crust that grew out of the Neapolitan versions.  Then came pizza al taglio, a long rectangular pizza without Neapolitan antecedents, which is more like a focaccia and sold mostly in take-away places.  It has become synonymous with Roman pizza outside of Rome.  The Eternal City also currently boasts some excellent pizzerias making version similar to those in Naples.    
 
It is true what Carol Helotsky wrote in her book Pizza - A Global History: “Pizza went from being strictly Neapolitan to being Italian-American and then becoming Italian,” though I’d clarify, adding that it became American after Italian-American.

Brandi in Naples, the birthplace of the margherita pizza, and the home of the best margherita pizza I've ever eaten.

​Some years ago, a longtime friend who is an avid cook, asked me if my family had a good recipe for meat sauce.  I responded no, a little surprised with the question, as I think that we had it at home when I was a kid, though I don’t have any memories of it.  And, these days, it’s not something that I make very often at all.  But, meat sauce with spaghetti used to be seen on just about every Italian-themed restaurant menu in this country and is still to be found.  It can be quite satisfying if done well, to be sure. 
 
This Italian-American meat sauce is distinct from the famed and delicious ragù Bolognese that’s typically served with wide strands of freshly made pasta and originally comes from Bologna, the capital of the rich-food region of Emilia-Romagna.  The main reason is that hardly any of the Italian immigrants came here from that area.  Also, it’s made differently than what is called meat sauce.  True ragù Bolognese was almost unknown on restaurant menus until the mid-1970s with the introduction of “Northern” Italian cooking to the U.S. that included Marcella Hazan’s inaugural cookbook.  This had a terrific recipe for the dish, which gained a lot of traction among adventurous home cooks.  Meat sauce is also not what Italian-Americans often call “gravy” or “Sunday gravy,” a very long-cooked sauce featuring several types of meat that comes from the Naples area.
 
Prompted by my friend’s query, I did some research into the origin of the Italian-American meat sauce.  From what I found and as far as I can tell, it is typically just ground beef sauteed until done with a little onion or garlic, or both, and then added to a cooked tomato sauce.  It is easy with tomato sauce on hand, better homemade even pulled from the freezer on a weekday night.
 
Something much tastier is a preparation that my brother and his wife have been making for years.  Soon after it was published in 2000, my brother and I had copies of The Italian-American Cookbook by John Mariani, the longtime food and restaurant writer, and his wife Galina, a book that seemed to fit quite well how we liked to eat and cook.  John Mariani happened to be part of the small group along with me on a gastronomic trip to Pavia near Milan in late 2019.  I had to quickly tell him that my brother and sister-in-law were big fans Galina’s Meat Sauce (page 126-127) – as I was of their efforts – though they ended up modifying the recipe in his cookbook.  He seemed quite pleased, though I couldn’t tell if he minded the desire for changes to it.  Mariani mentioned that the meat sauce was entirely Galina’s creation, bay leaves weren’t part of his mother’s Neapolitan-rooted cooking, and has been a favorite of his and his sons for years.  I can see why.
 
The adjustments that Gene and Cara made gave the sauce a little more complexity and richness.  They added milk, additional dried spices – fennel, parsley and thyme – replaced the water with wine, seasoned the ground beef when it was cooking separately, omitted the  sugar, and simmered the sauce for three hours instead of forty-five minutes.  It was now not too unlike a ragù Bolognese, if with still the familiar Italian-American taste.  You might want to give this a try when you have a few hours to cook.
 
Cara’s and Gene’s version of Galina’s Meat Sauce – Not the most elegant name, but I couldn’t come up with anything better.
 
Ingredients
 
Olive oil – 1 cup
Yellow Onions – 3, chopped
Carrots – 2, grated
Celery stalk – 1, finely chopped
Garlic cloves – 6, minced
Ground Beef – 2 pounds; alternatively, 1 pound each of ground beef and ground Italian sausage
Milk – 1 cup
Red Wine, dry – 1 cup
Peeled Tomatoes – 3 28-ounces cans
Tomato Paste – 1 6-ounce can
Bay Leaves – 3
Oregano, dried – 2 teaspoons
Fennel, dried – ¼ teaspoon
Thyme, dried – ¼ teaspoon
Parsley, dried – 1 teaspoon
Salt – 5 teaspoons
Black Pepper – 1 teaspoon
 
Directions

1. In a large stockpot, heat over medium heat a little more than ½ cup of olive oil.  When sufficiently hot, add the onions then carrots and celery and cook until these have lightly browned, about 10 minutes.
2. In a separate large sauté pan, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil on high heat then add the ground beef.  Add about 1 teaspoon of the salt and ½ teaspoon of the pepper and stir in thoroughly.  After about 5 minutes add the milk and cook for a few more minutes until a fair portion of the milk has evaporated.
3. In the stockpot with the vegetables, add the garlic then add 2 teaspoons of the salt and ¼ teaspoon of the pepper and cook for 2 more minutes.
4. Add the ground beef into the stockpot. 
5. In the stockpot add the bay leaves, oregano and the other dried spices, tomato paste, cans of tomatoes with its liquids and the red wine.  Stir well, crushing the tomatoes.  Season with the remaining 2 teaspoons of salt and ¼ teaspoon pepper.
6. Raise heat to high and bring to a boil.  Lower the temperature to low and cook for 3 hours.
7. Serve with pasta, with grated Parmigiano, or use in a lasagna.

 
I’ve made this sauce, albeit without the fennel seeds, which I don’t usually have.  It was still excellent.
 
It is better the next day as the Marianis mention, and it freezes very well, too.

The very well-used cookbook

​The smart, smallish storefront Indian restaurant on Durham not far south of Washington has been a regular stop for me since the pandemic began.  Convenient, even though I have to briefly enter the restaurant, a trip to pick up a meal is always quick, as the order is ready and the checkout is swift.  The food travels very well back home to consume, much better than from most places.  Surya was a regular stop for me before the pandemic began, mostly because I really enjoy the food.
 
I’ve really enjoyed pretty much everything there, and I’ve had, or nearly had, every entrée.  After ordering it more than a few times now, I have to finally admit that my favorite preparation is the Chicken Vindaloo, which I had once again the other day and edges out their version with lamb for me.  This Goan-originated dish was properly spicy, actually extremely spicy this last time – three glasses of water and a half-glass of milk were necessary to get through this lunch – but more significant was the deep flavor of the reddish-orange-colored sauce with an enjoyable brightness, richness and complexity that I could barely pause from, ladling it on the terrific long-grain rice side or scooping it up with the soft, occasionally blistered fresh naan.  Studded with moist pieces of white chicken meat that are actually quite savory and cubes of soft potatoes, this is a delicious meal.
 
A visit to Surya, especially for the vindaloo, is one of things that helps makes these times more bearable.
 
Surya
700 Durham (a couple of blocks south of Washington), 77007
(713) 864-6667
suryahouston.com

​Many moons ago, a favorite dish among a group of friends, and seemingly a great many others, was the Cream of Poblano Soup at Nicole’s on San Felipe not too far from the Galleria where our friend was a manager.  I don’t quite remember the taste, other than it was somewhat luscious, piquant and absolutely delicious, and I am one who usually doesn’t order soups.  This was in the days before the Houston restaurant scene really took off – and I become a much more experienced and demanding diner – but the memory of the quality of that dish has stuck with me.
 
Recently at my parents and in a stroke of serendipity, I came across a recipe clipped from the Houston Chronicle from sometime in the 1990s for a recipe for “Truluck’s Cream of Poblano Soup.” The dish migrated to Truluck’s when it first opened with our friend and some of the other staff when Nicole’s shuttered by the early 1990s.  Here is an adaption of that recipe, done in the style of Nicole’s.  The chorizo is very important, as my friend stressed after I mentioned I had found the recipe.  I made the soup last month and it was terrific, and even better as a leftover a couple of days later.
 
Ingredients
 
Makes 6 bowls of soups, good for starters.
 
Poblano Peppers – 3
Onion – 1, chopped
Carrot – ½, diced
Butter – 2 tablespoons
Flour – 2 tablespoons
Chicken Stock – 2 cups
Water – 4 cups
Half-and-Half – ¾ cup
Chorizo - 6 ounces
Cilantro – 3 tablespoons, finely chopped
Salt – 1 teaspoon
Monterey Jack Cheese – 2+ cups, shredded
Tortilla Chips – 2+ cups
 
Directions
 

1. Roast the peppers, either in the oven or over a flame, then peel, seed and dice.
2. Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat and add the peppers, onions and carrots and cook until tender, about 5 minutes.
3. Add the flour, stir in well, and cook for 5 more minutes.
4. Add the chicken stock and water, mix thoroughly and simmer for 30 minutes.
5. While the soup is simmering, cook the chorizo in another pan, which should take about 5 minutes over medium heat.  Drain on paper towels.
6. Strain the soup to remove the vegetables, preserving the liquid.
7. Puree the vegetables until smooth.
8. Add the pureed vegetables back to the pan with the rest of the liquid.  Add the half-and-half, a tablespoon of cilantro and the salt.  Heat until it is simmering and then turn off the heat.
9. Serve each bowl of soup with 1 tablespoon each of the chorizo and cilantro, then top with about ¼ cup each of the shredded cheese and then the tortilla chips.
10. Have the extra cheese and tortilla chips available to add into the soup, if desired, as it is consumed.

 
I have used much better quality chorizo for this dish, Kiolbassa and Chorizo de San Manuel brands, rather than the really cheap-tasting, heartburn, etc. -inducing $1 chorizo that I have too often purchased in the past.  I would recommend spending a few more dollars for the chorizo for this preparation, as I did.  And, next time, as I desire more spice these days than I did in the distant past, I will add at least a couple of serrano peppers to the mix, even though it was delicious as cooked above.

OK, “magical” is too strong of a word, but this wine was really good, and good in an unexpected way, something completely different from what I had experienced with this varietal.  Among the two-plus cases of wine from Italy I was shipped several months ago by a PR person whom I had met on a wine trip there some years ago was a Moscato from Sicily, Moscà from Barone Sergio.  I wasn’t familiar with any Moscatos from Sicily, or the producer, but the varietal, called Moscato di Noto there, is the same Muscat Blanc à Petits Grains that is used famously in Asti and in every region in Italy under several different names.
                      
So, the grape was the same as the well-known Moscato d’Asti, with which I had become much better acquainted a couple of years before on a trip to Piedmont that was sponsored, in part, by the Moscato d’Asti consortium.  Moscato d’Asti are aromatic, lightly sparkling wines – frizzante in Italian – that courtesy of a stuck fermentation, 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, which is a lot.  But, due to the considerable acidity that helps makes for wines that are rather balanced, if still sweet. These wines can be terrific, a far cry from the cheap, overly sweet, unbalanced and simple replications of Moscato d’Asti from Australia, California and elsewhere in Italy.
 
This Sicilian Moscato from Barone Sergio was something unlike these Moscatos from Asti.  Not entirely unlike, as it had flavors such as the citrus and honeysuckle recognizably Moscato-esque, but it is a still wine and one that is 13%.  I found it nicely aromatic, dry, balanced, with a medium body and firm structure, and very enjoyable with food with a touch of spice.  Delicious, even, and a type of wine that I would like to consume on a regular basis.  Its uniqueness was another reminder of the wonderful diversity that exists among Italian wines today, a wonderful diversity of very well-made wines. 
 
Barone Sergio Moscà is distributed by Artisanal Cellar in this country, but unfortunately doesn’t seem to get to my part of it in southeast Texas.  Something that I’ll have to keep looking for.

​As much as I like Goode Co. Seafood, it had been a while since I had eaten there.  When picking up a weekend lunch for my parents on the west side, its location on I-10 seemed to be the right call.  And, being lunch, a seafood po boy and fries seemed to be right order.  Actually, we all ordered that, if each with a different po boy.  Fried shrimp for me, and fried oyster and fried catfish ones for my parents.  We all loved what we got.
 
I am big fan of shrimp po boys, that New Orleans-bred sandwich classic.  The crunch of the properly fried shrimp, the succulence of good-quality shrimp – which very easy to get here – the taste of a fresh, crusty short loaf of French bread that’s fully dressed, a complement of shredded iceberg lettuce, tomato slices, a fair amount of mayonnaise slathered on the brad and a few thin rounds of pickles a touch more texture and hint of acidity. 
 
The excellent ones at Goode Co. Seafood are in the same vein, but just little different, a localized take.  The medium-sized shrimp are butterflied before frying and just five to a sandwich, not overflowing as it other places, but not skimpy.  In the finish-yourself version offered via takeout, the shrimp rest in the roll and on the side are an array of possible additions: shredded lettuce, a packet of mayonnaise, small containers of a piquant cocktail sauce, tartar sauce, pickles and another of pico de gallo in lieu of tomatoes, all house-made, of course, and then also a big wedge of lemon to squeeze on the shrimp.  I opted for some tartar sauce instead of my usual, and the traditional, mayonnaise and plenty of pico de gallo.  It all worked quite well together.  Helping the enjoyment were some top-notch fries – not easy to find for takeout these days – skin-on, judiciously salted and crisper and tastier than most, even after a little travel.
 
Liking the meal so much, I had to pick up one to go again the following weekend at the address that is more convenient to me, the original one on Westpark.  I resisted temptation to try something new, and a little healthier, the mesquite-grilled shrimp po boy.  Deep-fried that time, too, and equally delicious.
 
Goode Co. Seafood
2621 Westpark (just west of Kirby), 77098, (713) 523-7154
10201 Katy Freeway (between Gessner and the Beltway), 77024, (713) 464-7933

​There is no family recipe of tomato sauce – or gravy – in my immediate family.  This is because my Italian heritage is limited to my great-grandfather from the Marche region in central Italy and my great-grandmother whose parents were from Tuscany and Venice.  These are all areas that don’t have a tomato sauce with pasta tradition, at least the familiar ways that Italian-Americans and Americans love.  So, no Riccetti family sauce.
 
Long having an interest in perfecting a tasty long-cooked pasta sauce recipe, I recently queried a few of my Riccetti cousins, who all live in the Chicago area.  My cousin Celeste responded with her go-to recipe, one that she calls a marinara sauce.  It’s cooked for just an hour, before the possible onset of any possible astringency.  The result is something between the 20- to 30-minute simmered quickly cooked tomato sauces I have been cooking often in recent years and the hours-long sauce that many and many restaurants make.  I have made this a couple of times now and it has been terrific, both with DOP-certified whole peeled tomatoes and the cheapest ones sold at the supermarket.  The vibrancy evident in most decent quality canned tomatoes remains in the finished sauce while also having some depth and complexity.  I’ve just paired the sauce with pasta so far, but Celeste mentioned that used it with veal braciole for Christmas to very good effect.
 
Of possible interest, the recipe has a strong Sicilian influence: the use of tomato paste, the addition of sugar, the combining of both garlic and onion at its base, and the use of oregano for something other than saucing pizza (or making a pizzaiolo sauce).  Celeste’s mother, my Aunt Josephine, is Sicilian-American, so it is expected.  For tomato sauces for a while, I’ve been using mostly those rooted in Naples that use fewer ingredients along with one from Marcella Hazan, but this one will be getting much more my attention going forward.
 
Tomatoes, peeled – 28-ounce can, crushed
Tomato paste – 6-ounce can
Water – 1 cup or so, more if desiring a thinner sauce
Onion, medium-sized – 1, finely chopped
Garlic – 3 cloves, finely chopped
Parsley, fresh – 1 teaspoon, finely chopped
Oregano, dried – 1 teaspoon
Salt –  1 teaspoon
Black pepper – ½ teaspoon
Sugar – 2 teaspoons
Olive oil – 1 tablespoon olive oil
Basil, fresh – 2 tablespoons, chopped

1. Sweat onion, garlic and parsley in the olive oil.
2. Add the tomato paste, stir in well and cook for 30 seconds.
3. Add the crushed tomatoes and water to create the desired thickness
4. Add the salt, pepper, oregano, and sugar.
5. Simmer for 1 hour.  No more.
6. After sauce has been cooked, add the chopped basil.

 
I made a couple of small adjustments when I’ve prepared the sauce.  For years, I’ve been in the habit of cooking onions down somewhat first when these are part of a recipe.  I also used a food mill to remove the stems of the tomatoes and provide a smooth consistency for the sauce.

As bad as 2020 has been concerning restaurant closures, I expected worse.  Hopefully, most can hang on until things improve.  Here are the ones I found most notable that could not.

• Americas – The excitement and once even some magic associated with the Latin American-inspired Americas at its original Post Oak location had long since become muted as the years wore on and the city’s dining scene advanced.  With that and that the founding Cordua family had been forced out not so long ago, made the closure of this long enjoyable stop more bearable.
• Atlas Diner – Richard Knight, formerly of Feast and Hunky Dory and now this counter-laden space Bravery Chef Hall, is one of my favorite chefs in Houston and I believe among the best.  Hopefully, his always adroitly rendered and often imaginative offerings rooted in British, French and American antecedents find a suitable home in the future.
• Barry’s Pizza – The thick Sicilian-style pies were a draw at this casual pizza parlor that made it nearly four decades, announcing that it was shuttering for good at the end of May.
• Bernie’s Burger Bus – All four locations closed of the city’s best burger joint closed on May 31. 
• Bombay Pizza Co. – Something different and usually quite enjoyable on a particularly scruffy short stretch part of Main Street, this closure seems more than temporary, unfortunately.
• Burger-Chan – One of Houston’s best burger places, it couldn’t really continue in an office food court when the offices are emptied of workers.  Thankfully, another one is reportedly in the works.
• The Classic –  The contemporary diner on the western part of Washington from the folks at benjy’s and Local Diner never really excited too many diners, myself included.
• Dak & Bop (Museum District location) – Less fun for the kids in the Museum District and most of us who enjoy spicy fried stuff that is well made.
• Emmaline – A decent spot for a fairly upscale dining experience though never nearly among the city’s top dozens, but it was near my office.  My endearing memory is their valet service damaging tow of my co-workers’ vehicles during one lunchtime visit.
• Helen in the Heights – Though a welcome addition to the Heights, this never seemed to catch on as it might.
• Indika – Though it had lost its shine when founder Anita Jaisinghani sold it to concentrate on Pondicheri, it was still quite worth a visit until changes were made in the menu and emphasis, which didn’t really endear until many, most diners had moved on.
• Kaneyama – On Westheimer near Gessner, this sushi purveyor had its fans over the years but closed in May.
• Kenny & Ziggy’s (Buffalo Speedway location) – Owner Kenny Gruber cited the smallish dining room as making operations unprofitable with the necessary restrictions for service during the pandemic.  A shame, as it is much more convenient for me than the Galleria area spot.  A place I like to go when I feel my cholesterol is too low.
• Morningstar Coffee and Donuts – Well-liked and -regarded, this quirky and likeable Heights-esque spot just closed in December.
• Night Heron – From the folks at Coltivare, Indianola and Vinny’s, this never resonated with its Menil area neighbors – an odd menu off the bat didn’t help – nor too many others as did its predecessors.
• Pappas Seafood – Along with the location of Pappadeaux a little west on Richmond, this little Pappas Seafood place with its largely locally attuned seafood at Shepherd shows a Pappas move away from the inner loop (excepting the grand steakhouse downtown).  Another on Aldine-Bender and I-45 also closed.
• Pappadeaux (Richmond east of Kirby location) – Large and with a seemingly usually filled parking lot during popular dining hours, there are other Pappeadeaux’s left, though none now in the heart of town.
• Poitin – Nicely set with a cool view of downtown to its east, with a fairly expansive dining room and bar area, the odds were stacked against it during these tough times.
• Politan Row Food Hall – Some really neat and well-operated recent vendors made this a destination, more of note as its Rice Village surroundings has become more chain-oriented with its restaurant choices.
• Ragin’ Cajun (Westchase location) – The original location on Richmond Avenue remains open, and this near westside address made it for a couple of decades, a good run for any restaurant.
• Treebeards (on Market Square) – The Cloisters location is still open for your fix of southeast Texas-style red beans and rice.
• Yia Yia Mary’s – Pappas most explicit nod to their Greek heritage was a nice option to have in the area that did not survive the pandemic, either.

 
Bars

• Alice’s Tall Texas – On North Main west of I-45, the cheap Lone Star that was its hallmark has possibly become less of an attraction as surrounding area at the edge of the Heights has become less working class.
• Penny Quarter – One of Houston’s best wine bars, and certainly the noisiest, it will be missed, but the able team behind it – including principals Bobby Heugel of Anvil and Justin Yu of Better Luck Tomorrow – should hopefully be adding to the bar map once the pandemic clears.
• Public Services – This attractive bar a block south of Buffalo Bayou was excellent in turns for its cocktails, wines and spirits, especially whisky, and with service that was always a cut above.

 
Other

• Acadian Bakers – A longtime favorite for cakes closed in March.
• Boomtown Coffee (Main and Congress location) – The smart-looking Main Street location of Boomtown closed its doors in mid-July.

 
There is also Dolce Vita that was long the city’s best pizzeria – in a city rather lacking in quality pizza.  It’s closure was a decision by owner Marco Wiles independent of the pandemic to focus on his other two concepts, Da Marco and Poscol, as he has gotten older.

The whimsical Ants on a Log from the Atlas Diner

In recent years I’ve had fun compiling lists of the best new restaurants in Houston.  I think that I’ve done a good job with them, too.  But, the list for 2020 will have to wait.  A combination 2020-21 list will be much more in order when it comes to pass in a year’s time.  Though the pandemic slowed the introduction of interesting new restaurants, there were certainly a few fairly ambitious ones worth noting off the bat: Bludorn, from a former executive chef in Daniel Boulud’s realm who’s paired with a extremely well-resumed team; Ostia, an Americanized Italian that also has roots with a top Manhattan toque, this one Jonathon Waxman and his well-regarded Barbuto in the similar vein; Musafeer, an upscale Indian offering preparations inspired by many traditions there and another local example of fine-dining Indian fare, this one the priciest; March, part of the complex that includes Rosie Cannonball, a chef who worked at Osteria Francescana, and a uniquely upscale dining experience for the city featuring inspirations from several of the Mediterranean cuisines.
 
EaDo continues to grow in dining destinations.  Tiny Champions from the fun folks at Nancy’s Hustle has recently opened, which should be both quite enjoyable and a much-needed expression of pizza in this quality-pizza-deprived metropolis.  And, Justin Vann, formerly of the terrific wine and whisky bar and recent Covid casualty, Public Services, is seemingly aiding the effort with the team, which provides even more reason to visit.
 
Xin Chao, too, needs a visit sooner than later.  I’ve enjoyed Christine Ha’s personal and somewhat inventive offerings downtown at the Blind Goat in downtown’s Bravery Chef Hall.  Further west down Washington Avenue, Ronnie Killen opened a new spot not far from my office, consistently named Killen’s.  I haven’t been to the office since early March, but it is nice to know that option exists whenever it is safe to return there.  With a menu of heart-stopping local favorites, I’m certain to love the place if just the few barbecue dishes are near the caliber of the influential Pearland spot.
 
I’ve mostly been visiting more humble, and inexpensive and convenient, places in my daily quest for food and desire to support local eateries.  Several of the new ones I have checked out have been fine, though nothing really to rave about – except just maybe Baguette & Tea for banh mi – much less include in a best newcomer list.  Maybe these will improve with time and experience, as can happen.
 
The reason I won’t have a list is that there is no way to accurately judge – and more so, enjoy – a restaurant in the current situation, especially for me who needs to be much more careful than most.  When taken away from the restaurant and eaten at home necessarily loses a good amount in transit, as there is always fair amount of time between preparation and consumption that you don’t have when dining at there.  That the food is likely less than the chef’s intended temperature, and is likely suffered at least a bit from jostles of the road.  It won’t be as attractive, seductive; plating in Styrofoam doesn’t really exist.  Not just the taste or look of the food, but the rest of the restaurant experience is missing: the décor, the atmosphere, the buzz, the people-watching, the banter with fellow diners and staff, the inventive cocktails – my home-bartending skills certainly pale in comparison with those found at most of my favorite places  Mostly, the company of your immediate dining companions, family and friends, in a suitable setting outside the home.
 
The great and really good new Houston restaurants of 2020 will have to wait until next year to be correctly judged.  Please pick up meals from them and others, though.​

Maybe not the best choice, but was enjoyable for that lunch from a newcomer.

It seems for a while now that supermarkets and big liquor stores have aggressively featured panettone: palettes of them in at least a dozen different brands and a number of sizes.  Panettone is the Italian tall, dome-shaped cake that makes its appearance before Christmas.  Originally from Milan, it is popular throughout much of Italy during the Christmas season, at least the lands north of Rome.  Somewhat like an Italian version of fruitcake, if much tastier, it is sold throughout the world, and makes for a pleasant dessert or a semi-sweet accompaniment to coffee or something stronger.
 
Panettone is actually a little more versatile than you might expect.  This is good to know if you end up with plenty of it left after Christmas and tired of eating it with coffee or a liqueur, tempted to toss out the remainder of the often substantially sized box.  At an Italian Expo event some years ago, a chef who had worked in Milan served an amazingly simple sandwich from his restaurant’s booth.  It was mascarpone slathered between a couple of slices from a panettone.  It was very good, and extremely easy to replicate at home, and affordable.  An inexpensive one kilo (two-pound-plus) panettone can be had for $10 or so.  If good quality mascarpone is tough to find at your nearby grocers, you might substitute brie or cream cheese, though I can’t vouch that the results will be as tasty.
 
Another use was suggested to me by famed restaurateur Piero Selvaggio of Valentino a while back, especially for somewhat past-prime panettone.  It makes the base for terrific French toast.  Or, more accurately, that might be Milanese toast.


A slice of panettone at Cascina Vittoria in Certosa di Pavia last year.  It was a lot better than anything that you can find here.