The first, and most widespread type of Italian-American cold sandwich is one on a typically eight- to ten-inch fresh loaf of bread about three inches wide sliced lengthwise and filled with a copious amount of Italian or Italian-style cold cuts, or boiled ham, slices of cheese, usually Provolone, and tomatoes, often shredded lettuce, maybe preserved peppers, plus a dash of olive oil and another of vinegar. Never mayonnaise, at least on the East Coast. The combination features tartness from the vinegar, the bite of peppers, satiating meatiness, the slightly crisp texture of the lettuce, the aroma and taste of recently baked, fresh and usually crusty bread, and often some residual oil on hands or clothing. At least when served fully sized, its origins as a laborer’s lunch are easy to see. These sandwiches, often stuffed to the brim and wrapped in paper to contain the bounty, reflected the abundance of America, not the restraint of Italy. Whether named hero, submarine, hoagie, grinder, Italian, spuckie, zep, or torpedo, these are fairly similar regional variations created in the northeast by southern Italian immigrants or their offspring.  In one version or another, most frequently with the “submarine” or “sub” name – often to the dismay of many Philadelphians – these are now found throughout the country in various forms and level of quality, courtesy of the business magic of franchising. The name, sub for these, appears to have originated in northern New Jersey in the early 20th century.  The origin stories are often not so clear – for both the creations and their names – but it seems that several of the familiar cold sandwiches on a long roll developed independently in several areas in the northeast after the arrival of Italian immigrants.
 
The first of these sandwiches made and served to immigrant labor from southern Italy seems to have been in the west side Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood of New York in the late 19th century at a grocer called Petrucci’s. From the bowels of New York it spread south to other Italian enclaves on the island than across the East River to Brooklyn and then Queens and north to the Bronx. It took a few decades to acquire the name “hero.” That seemingly came from famed New York Herald Tribune food writer Clementine Paddleford in 1936, who wrote about the large sandwich: “You'd have to be a hero to finish one.” Another very early version was created in the unlikely town of Portland, Maine, the Italian sandwich, a name that carries until today. Descriptively named for its creator, Giovanni Amato in 1902, and most of the earliest customers, it consists of fresh bread casing slices of cold cuts, cheddar cheese – using what could be sourced – and tomatoes, with green peppers, spicy pickles, olives, onions, and oil with salt and pepper. What began as a cart, Amato’s Sandwich Shop is still open today, and in a number of locations. 
 
Philadelphia’s favorite sandwich, the hoagie, got its start at DiCostanza's Grocery, just south of the city in Chester, in the mid-1920s according to most of the reliable sources, but without the odd name.  As for that, it could be that a certain Al DePalma was walking down busy Broad Street when two men holding huge sandwiches passed near, he heard one say “you have to be a hog to eat one of those.”  A few years later, DePalma remembered the vignette when he opened a small restaurant, and named his long sandwiches at DePalma’s, likely modeled from others in the area, as "hoggies.” This vignette may not be entirely true, but Al DePalma apparently deserves the credit for naming the iconic sandwiches in a commercial sense, at least in its initial moniker.  The original version probably consisted of Italian-style cold cuts, cheese, and lettuce garnished with a choice among tomatoes, onion, peppers and pickles, and slathered with oil, mustard, and, unusual for Italian-run places, mayonnaise. Its success drew many imitators. After the Second World War, the sandwich name became a “hoagie,” reflecting the distinctively pleasant Philadelphia accent featuring extended vowels, “HO-gie.”  This type of sandwich has taken deep root.

The Italian with some extra hot peppers from Primo Hoagies. Quite tasty.

Elro and its Hoagie and Meatball Sub are gone as the last year closed, but there are still a fair share of worthwhile detours for sandwiches, hot and cold. Below is a current list of my favorite sandwiches. Sandwiches, not shawarmas, wraps, or the sandwich-adjacent hamburgers or hot dogs, though I like all those – with the expected exception of wraps. Unintentionally, among the sandwiches I’ve got on the list: a Houston original; Texas barbecue; a regional Italian; Italian-American via New Orleans; a New Orleans-style po boy; deli, including pastrami a couple or three times – always loved pastrami – banh mi; Philadelphian; and a torta. Properly Houston. Here are the ten favorites, listed alphabetically:
 
Angelo’z – Regular Po Boy – $7.15 – With the distinctive, airy 9-inch rolls, a tad dry and slightly crunchy, recently baked at Royal Bakery in Montrose, Angelo’z is the truest and best successor to the once-loved, family-operated Antone’s that plied Houston with inexpensive sandwiches for several decades. My favorite these days, this basic, classic cold combination features ham, salami, provolone cheese, the signature chow chow, mayonnaise and pickles that somehow tastes much better than it seems it should.
 
Blood Bros. BBQ – Tritip Pastrami Sandwich – $15 – This is a terrific take on the familiar starring a 44 Farms-brand ground brisket patty bearing a lightly smokey taste, melted Swiss cheese, onions, and its Duke’s of Hazzard spread in between slices of grilled marbled light rye. Delicious there and even travels well.
 
Casetta Cucina – Mortadella Schiacciata – $15.50 with the robiola – If you enjoy the sandwiches in Italy, from the Autogrill or lesser autostrade stops or just like Italianate versions anywhere, you'll really like the ones here featuring top-notch ingredients used intelligently and judiciously. Schiacciata is a slightly dense focaccia-like bread from Tuscany, where chef and proprietor Francesco Casetta hails, which provides a sturdy base for these sandwiches that are a little different. Baked in house, the bread makes a difference in the quality, too. In between slices of the schiacciata, with some big chunks of sea salt atop providing a little additional texture, goes the soft mortadella with pistachio, melted, mild robiola cheese, contrastingly bitter arugula, and a little peppery Tuscan olive oil (I’ve assumed). This is a perfectly Italian or Tuscan construction.
 
Feges BBQ – Chopped Brisket Sandwich – $15, large – There are a lot of really good brisket sandwiches in town these days, but I opt for the one at Feges in Spring Branch here, a comfortable stop. Sliced is a better test for barbecue joints, which Feges passes with flying colors, and I often go for the fairly manageably-sized and lazier-to-eat chopped. The roughly chopped beef is fitted with a quality soft bun and is best with a few squirts its mustard-y barbecue sauce to add a little complementary zestiness.
  
Josephine's – Muffuletta ½ – $19 – It does a terrific job with the muffaletta, even better than at the reported originator, Central Grocery in New Orleans, and now my favorite version in Houston. Unlike the original, it is toasted and served a bit warm, and the meats – capicola, mortadella and salami – slightly melted provolone and Swiss, and the bracing olive salad meld together extremely well, maybe helped by some of the cooking heat. The bread from Royal Bakery on Dunlavy is properly robust, tasty and fresh, making for a great start and base for the sandwich. It goes on from there, from the slight crunch of the warmed loaf, then the vinegary touch of the vegetable mix and soft, hearty slices of meaty proteins, making for a delicious bites.  With a lot of oil, it is messier than most. Served with potato chips.

Kenny & Ziggy's – The One And Only Reuben, with pastrami – $26.95 – Quite overstuffed, with melted Swiss, hot sauerkraut, and Russian dressing, excellent seeded rye baked on site, and a copious amount of the triple-smoked, house-made pastrami – making a cardiologist’s nightmare – is even more delicious than it is messy to eat. Many extra napkins are necessary. The Pastrami Sandwich, $23.95, served hot, is worthwhile substitution that’s also a favorite.
 
Pappa Geno’s – Philly Steak and Cheese Sandwich – $13.99 – These invariably also messy sandwiches are large, featuring fresh, soft rolls, thinly sliced seasoned beef that is tender and flavorful and well complemented by the plentiful melted provolone and nearly caramelized onions that come with it in this, its base cheesesteak. The ingredients might not have the provenance of those on many upscale restaurants, but they are more than good enough and work wonderfully together. This and the other versions were definitely better than from the local location of Tony Luke’s – highly regarded in the City of Brotherly Love – that I tried a couple of times but had the misfortune of being located near of Pappa Geno’s during its brief tenure.
 
Roostar – Grilled Pork Sandwich – $8.19 – Now with a trio of locations in various parts of town, this Banh Mi 2.0 operation is both slicker and more efficient, and better, overall, than its predecessors. Jalapeños cut horizontally – if less plentiful than I like – shredded pickled carrots, cucumbers, cilantro with stems, soy sauce and garlicky aioli fill the sliced rolls from the excellent Slow Dough Bakery that are maybe more traditionally French than is found at other banh mi spots. Not just the bread, but the proteins, including grilled pork, are generally better quality than elsewhere, too. It’s my favorite of the bánh mì thịt nướng options these days, a sandwich I’ve consumed into the hundreds by now.
 
Tio Trompo – Torta al Pastor – $9 – This is a fairly bare-bones counter service taqueria with a limited menu that specializes in cuts of pork from the spinner, the trompo, the vertical spit used to cook pork al pastor. That slowly roasted pork from it – which retains its moistness even in crisp pieces, unlike for al pastor at far too many taquerias in Houston – fills several types of tacos and the torta. Telara bread from local favorite El Bolillo, almost always quite fresh and crusty, provides a tasty complement to the pork, which is joined by a thin slather of refried beans, tomato slices, shredded lettuce, and wedges of avocado. Excellent salsas complete the experience.
 
Winnie’s – Shrimp Po-Boy – $17 – This New Orleans-style po boy is just one of the reasons to fight the parking hassles to get here. Featuring medium-sized, cornmeal-dusted Gulf shrimp deep-fried and properly overflowing from the classic Leidenheimer po-boy roll that’s shipped in fresh twice a week, it is dressed a little differently – tomato, Savoy cabbage, pickles, mayonnaise a Creole mustard vinaigrette – that all works really well.

The Shrimp Po-Boy at Winnie's

The biggest dining news of 2024 was the Michelin Guide’s restaurant recommendations for the first time for the state, the company drawn by subsidies from local and state tourist boards. Its inspector(s) was, were, reportedly based in Austin, which is why the state’s capital in laughably ludicrous fashion had both more stars and many more recommended restaurants overall – 44 to 26 – than did the fourth largest and one of the very best dining cities in the country. There were quite a number of glaring omissions for Houston. And the French seemingly had their first taste of our excellent Texas brisket and were utterly thrown off kilter for the guide, producing wildly uneven results. Just about a quarter of all its recommended restaurants in the state were barbecue joints and also a quarter of its stars. But it is a start and a positive that Michelin is here.
 
Maybe not as exciting as last year with highlights that don’t quite reach Katami or Little’s Oyster Bar, this year saw a number of enticing new eateries. I had good luck with most of the anticipated newcomers, if with a handful of significant exceptions. Nicely, long punching under its weight, Houston’s pizza landscape improved some more with the openings of Pizzana, Karbach Brewing’s Pizza & Pints, and Magdalena’s, that last which dished pizzas like the old Dolce Vita, if somewhat inconsistently. That scene is taking a hit with the closure of Elro – excellent for pizza and a good deal more – at the end of the year. Hopefully, chef Terrence Gallivan’s hiatus will on local dining scene with be brief.
 
If there was any theme this year among several of the top new places it might be comfort. Steaks had prominent places in several of the top newcomers, and there were more new upscale steakhouses to be found, of course. And Berg Hospitality again opened some additional concepts, all with expensive, attractive build-outs. One just too late for this year is Barbacana, featuring the former chef de cuisine at March and a well-pedigreed team. It limited service just before Christmas, fully so early next year for what might be an exciting new stop downtown.
 
Here are the ten best restaurants in Houston this year, listed alphabetically.
 
Bar Bludorn – New American – Entrées: $19 to $75, $49 average – Bringing its signature level of service and attention to detail to west Houston, this is the third restaurant from the group that incudes the Bludorn and the terrific Navy Blue. Along with the name, the mid-century modern-inspired décor helps give a more casual feel, and the welcoming and proficient bar upon entrance reinforces that. There are Atlantic oysters to start that can be baked and fried, too, for the more squeamish. Fries also work at the bar, but could be crispier and accompanying aioli more assertive. The dining room menu highlight steaks along with a roasted duck and a fried chicken with a peanut butter gravy, both of which have drawn critical praise. The handful of pastas can be primo-sized or a full portion, and there should be plenty more from which to choose for nearly any diner, with familiar items done somewhat creatively. Fun desserts like the Foie Gras Candy Bar provide some very tempting calories before you are out the door. The wine list has a French accent and is nicely chosen, as expected, with Burgundies, more red than white. These can satiate both the well-heeled Memorial Villages burghers and those planning to spend a under $100. There are more than enough enticing options on the list that won’t break the bank.  Memorial
 
Baso – New American – Plates: $16 to $200, $80 average order – Easy to miss, though directly across 19th Street from the outstanding Squable, this another destination spot in the Heights. Inspired by the live-fire cooking at the lauded restaurants of the Basque region, a hearth greets diners at the start of the lengthy open kitchen of this earnest establishment with a from-the-bootstraps design that includes a neat kitchen bar that should attract curious diners. The menu is even much more inscrutable than most, but the attentive staff will ably describe the night’s offerings and help offer a course through the visit. Dishes are mostly small, composed and imaginative, and all meant for sharing. Subtle spiciness is common aspect in many, welcome for Houston. Among the handful of larger preparations is a grilled pork chop topped with “jowl condiment” that results in a juicy, delicious slab, certainly one of the best porcine creations in town. But watching one of the beefsteaks near the glowing embers might be an even more tempting treat. You’ll need a few plates, and prices quickly add up. With wine, plan on at least $200 per person. More if you are an enthusiastic diner. Prices skew high on the short list with some temptations: there is not much desirable in two-digits among the reds, for example. But the wines by the glass are well-chosen and mostly under a dollars under $20, not a given at many nicer spots these days. The seemingly oddly constructed cocktails can be a very good place to start, too.  Heights
 
Late August – New American – Entrées: $17 to $60, $35 average –  Set on the first floor of the multi-use ION at the edge of Midtown, not too far from Chris Williams’s Lucille’s, here Williams teams with chef Sergio Hidalgo to offer a menu that ranges widely and should resonate with most local diners. About half of the creatively turned and nicely plated dishes feature Mexican ingredients and preparations while also going to neighboring Louisiana, Jamaica, Africa, east, west and south, and the Middle East for ideas, with all the fruits and vegetables coming from their farm near Sugar Land that also supplies Lucille’s. There are shrimp meatballs, pea hummus with chorizo and chapulines, green macaroni and cheese with pureed greens and coconut cream, Louisiana barbecue seafood – more than just the shrimp – and Navajo fry bread to sop up the sauce. One highlight is the Crispy Octopus with an well-integrated, typically wide mix of components: yucca, romesco sauce, corn, avocado cream, and something called shrimp chorizo. The contemporary space is handsomely done and inviting. With wines by the glass and cocktails to a lesser extent a little more lightly priced than most nice restaurants, the bar can be even more so.  Midtown
 
Leo’s River Oaks – American – Entrées: $40 to $150, $76 average – The menu is far from exciting, the expensively wrought interior might seem to many dark and gloomy rather than romantic, bar service a bit clunky with uninspiring creations, and the California-heavy wine list is much better suited for the suburbs than the heart of the city. But the main reason to visit is that Tim Reading is heading the kitchen and you can be assured that the mostly familiar fare will be executed very well. Reading was last at Georgia James Tavern, as Underbelly Hospitality was in the early days of its implosion after it parted ways with Chris Shepherd, and before that executive chef at Caracol and then his really nicely done counter-service Mexican spot in Bravery Chef Hall, Ixim. One of the several steaks here will drive up the bill if not as much as the necessary caviar service. The menu veers Italian at times, with risotto, carpaccio, burrata with beets, a side of broccolini, agnolotti and veal Milanese done properly with a bone-in veal chop. The gnocchi are French, though, but lightly done and quite tasteful, even if the portions are truly side size. There is plenty of which to choose for most diners and it can be an easy visit before a movie, with the newly renovated River Oaks Theatre adjacent. If not, it services the theater, too.  Heights
 
Marigold Club – American – Entrées: $21 to $92, $58 average – Though this upscale spot references London’s Mayfair on the menu and a name that might evoke a gentry-rich men’s club there, this is might be best described as American with some French touches, or mid-century wealthy American updated for present-day Houston; intelligently and even slyly updated, as you might expect from the folks at Goodnight Hospitality (March, Rosie Cannonball). Steak tartare, a seafood tower, pâté with a cherry chutney, Dover sole with the tomato-y vierge sauce, and the Duck Wellington with green peppercorns, highlight an approachable and playful-at-times menu. There are black truffles that can be shaved on, and caviar service, of course, if not the beluga of the Russian oligarchs who once widely owned in Mayfair. Though possibly stuffy on first glance, it can be fun, when noticing the wall treatments of jubilant well-to-do diners of possibly Houston today and then the sundae cart on the menu that prowls the dining room. As expected from the group, the wine list is excellent, and bar service is exemplary.  Montrose
 
Maximo – Mexican – Entrées: $16 to $30, $22 average – Tucked well into West University Place, occupying a long-standing restaurant space in retail strip, this almost-too-cute-to-be-this-good spot was the best Mexican restaurant to open here in this year. From the Local Foods Group, which had another new winner with Milton’s, this dishes up a focused menu of casual, sometimes heathy, always interesting Mexican preparations that not dumbed down in any way for the address. The smaller sized portions are usually executed quite well with presentations more artful than usual. There are tacos anchored by flavorful house-made tortillas in a half-dozen ways – no trompo so pass on the invariably slightly dry pastor – soups and salads, smaller plates and some bigger items from the plancha like a butterflied whole red snapper, fajitas and bowls and burritos with a choice of meats.  West U
 
MF Lobster & Seafood – Seafood – Entrées: $18 to $60, $36 average – Set in a striking, stand-alone circular structure, if reminiscent the Monitor’s turret fitted with a brimmed hat, and joining Auden and other restaurant concepts in the usually idyllic and sometimes bustling Autry Court, sushi star Chris Kinjo and his lieutenant Miguel Alvarez have created a enticing menu that includes New England seafood items along with Mexican, Japanese and Italian-American preparations. In lesser hands, it might seem unfocused, but here, knowing the level of sourcing and execution, it can be tougher to decide what to order than at most places. There is silky and substantial clam chowder, delicate crudos and ceviches, shrimp tacos, lobster rolls, seafood pastas, and cioppino. The interior is attractive, with floor-to-ceiling windows providing nice vistas and there is a bar made for lingering. The wine is a weak link here, though there are bottles displayed for sale throughout the dining room, somewhat distractedly.  River Oaks
 
Milton’s – Italian-American – Entrées: $23 to $68, $33 average – One tipoff that the restaurant is worthy is at the start, the bread service. It is terrific and tough to resist: excellent, unique breadsticks, soft mouth-watering rolls, and a white country bread that is the best of the three. The quite obscure tigelle on the menu – a bread type from Emilia-Romagna – is also quite tasty. In the space that the really creditable Eau Tour occupied last comes an easier sell than French here, Italian-American. Described as an “American trattoria,” a phrase that doesn’t make a lot of sense, this serves chef-y touches to Italian-American fare with some contemporary Italian-from-Italy items in an approachable neighborhood setting fitting for the pricey zip codes nearby. If jazzed up, there are the expected-today octopus, arancini, burrata, branzino and n’duja but also sweetbreads, honest-to-goodness veal Parmesan, and Shrimp de Jonghe, Chicago’s gift to seafood cookery. For nearly ten different hearty preparations, the pastas are made in house guided by Seth Siegel-Gardner, the culinary director at the parent Local Foods Group, formerly the one half of the Pass & Provisions duo. The chicken liver survives from its predecessor, while and the Italian-heavy wine selections are a big improvement from the very odd ones offered before.  Rice Village
 
Okto – Mediterranean – Entrées: $30 to $62, $48 average – In the multi-used Monrose Collective, this is an engagingly created space, from the patio to lively dining room and immediately upon entering, the quite expansive, impressive horseshoe-shaped bar. This is an inviting stop for a drink and small plate from a short menu that is well-suited to noshing and sharing. The sharing might be the best option here. With dishes inspired mostly by the Levant, Greece, North Africa, the usually meaningless Mediterranean description actually fits here, and these choices are mostly easy to eat with others. Seafood carpaccio and tartare, olives, feta, plenty of vegetables, a grill, lamb, of course, and a couple of steaks including an old school Tournedos Rossini, and with foie gras. Monte Carlo is on the Med, after all. It can be thought of as a more attractively set version of its sibling Hamsa – but with the similarly tough parking situation. Valet. Decent short wine list, though there are hardly any red wines for under $100 a bottle, rather annoyingly. And if the dullest gin and tonic imaginable is an indication, don’t bother with the house cocktails. The bar is still an attraction, though.  Montrose
 
Pizzana – Pizza – Entrées: $16 to $27, $22 average – Los Angeles-bred, celebrity-backed, this is the real deal for Neapolitan-inspired pizzas, immediately becoming one of the best pizzerias in town when it opened early in the year. You can’t have a good pizza without a good crust and these “neo-Neapolitan” creations sit on a sturdy, crispy, airy and very tasty platforms created with a dough kneaded by hand and fermented for a couple of days. Rather than the traditional soft Neapolitan pizza dough, it is actually modeled on the bread dough from the bakery of chef Daniele Uditi’s aunt in Caserta near Naples. It works extremely well. Available in a variety of combinations with a number of high quality toppings used judiciously. There are classic Neapolitan, American, along with some occasionally fanciful like its signature Cacio e Peppe, and a seasonal Carnitas with sliced Mexican-spiced porchetta, two salsas, parsley-cilantro and roasted tomato chipotle, imported cow’s milk mozzarella, fresh cilantro, and sliced raw serranos that nicely played to the Houston palate. Antipasti, pastas, and salads, too, but the pizza pies are the reason, and not the atmosphere, you should visit this perfunctorily designed spot.  River Oaks
 
A couple of honorable mentions for nicely utilitarian, affordable counter-service options that work well for lunch (and breakfast): Casetta’s Cucina for its Tuscan-inspired sandwiches on house-made bread in Spring Branch, and The Little Taco Shop for tacos, quesadillas and more that dishes similar items better than can be expected from this small storefront in the Upper Kirby District.

One of the enticements at Late August

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 even in industrialized form, it is big business now, 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 here 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. I picked up one at Kroger the other for just $6.99. Even better with the slices of panettone are toasted.
 
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. Something I’ve done a number of times. Or, more accurately, that might be Milanese toast.

Italian restaurants, which I consider too often…. Though Italian restaurants, or a fair number, generally became more truly Italian over the years, several widespread aspects of the Italian restaurants in America were not found in Italy. These included a small bowl or cruet of olive oil set on the table along with a basket of bread for dipping into the oil. This seems to have begun in the 1980s. It might have been one of the innovations of ground-breaking New York restaurateur Pino Luongo, whose Tuscan-inspired restaurants included Coco Pazzo that once had a location in Houston. Though the concept of dipping raw vegetables into oil, pinzimonio, is found in parts of Italy, the similar use of bread is not, at least the way it is done in this country. Olive oil for the bread on the table was a crowd-pleaser and quickly spread, becoming expected by most diners, even if it was an additional freebie for the owner and a way for customers to waste a lot of decent olive oil. It became emblematic of Italian restaurants here – as much as soft, overcooked pasta served with a lot of sauce – and was resisted only by those able to adhere more closely to the Italian model.
 
If presented in a bowl or plate, the olive oil was often studded with herbs, garlic and sometimes industrial balsamic vinegar. The use of the sweet vinegar became another hallmark of American Italian dining. Balsamic vinegar in its truest, most artisanal form, was nearly unknown outside of its home in and around the north-central city of Modena in Emilia-Romagna until it began to be imported into the U.S. by Williams Sonoma in the late 1970s and then used at the most discerning restaurants a few years later. As it took years to make small amounts, it was expensive, but its concentrated flavor went a long way as a condiment. As the original aged versions gained traction with Americans and the American press, commercial vinegars bearing the name “balsamic vinegar,” tasting vaguely similar and far less pricey, began to be produced. It was with these that most American diners grew to enjoy, both with bread and more so mixed with salads.
 
Predating both the table presentation of olive oil and the familiarity with this uniquely Italian-esque vinegar was the Italian steakhouse, at least in America. There are no steakhouses in Italy. Outside of the Florentines and later other Tuscans, there has been no steak tradition in Italy. In fact, the bistecca in the famous bistecca alla fiorentina comes from the English “beefsteak” because there was no suitable Italian name for the dish. “Being American is to eat a lot of beef steak,” as Kurt Vonnegut rightly observed, and Italian-Americans found it both profitable and enjoyable to serve steak. The first might have been The Palm in Manhattan that opened in the 1920s – very unfortunately, subsequently Landry-ized in recent years – even if it did not consciously start out as primarily a steakhouse. It was later joined, especially after 1990, by numerous others primarily in the northeast and Midwest. These served similar preparations and steaks as the typical grand American steakhouses. What made them “Italian” was that the menu was filled out with a number of rote Italian-American dishes, and usually the restaurant’s full name included the phrase, “Italian Steakhouse.” They could sell to customers wanting two different popular cuisines.

Frank Sinatra was a reportedly a big fan of one of the longtime Italian steakhouses, Gene & Georgetti’s in Chicago, which is still around and quite adept, with old school charm and a hearty menu updated with the times. Sinatra was reportedly a big fan of countless Italian-themed eateries. In fact, “Frank Sinatra ate here” might only be rivaled by “George Washington slept here” in the northeast. According to the dedicated road food warriors, Jane and Michael Stern, who would know better than anyone, “there are countless places between Philly and Boston (not to mention some in Vegas and Palm Springs) where, if you judged by the pictures on the wall, you'd have to say that Frank was the management's best friend.”   A tree of decades-old Italian-American eateries in the Los Angeles area can trace their heritage back to Sinatra beginning with Hollywood’s Villa Capri. Though Sinatra was, by all regards, a terrific customer known for his extremely generous tipping, he also brought a tremendous amount of star power and glamour. He was, after all, one of the most famous Americans since the time he burst on the scene in the early 1940s until his death in the late 1990s. The advertisement of a restaurant’s connection to Sinatra was and continues to be a recognizable feature of the Italian restaurant here, just as it once was with previous Italian-American heroes, Joe DiMaggio and Enrico Caruso.
 
Sinatra’s fixture is more permanent, because Sinatra’s music – and in some sense his persona – has become intertwined with Italian-American food and joyous carousing. Sinatra might be as much a part of the American Italian restaurant as red sauce. His songs and those of the other popular Italian-American singers interpreting the Great American Songbook after the Second World War have become a requisite part of the soundtrack of Italian-themed restaurants. Sinatra was just the best and has been the most played, but he is often joined by Dean Martin, Tony Bennett, Louis Prima, Bobby Darin, Jerry Vale, Jimmy Rosselli, Mario Lanza, Perry Como, Frankie Laine, and Vic Damone as part of the ambiance when out at an Italian restaurant.
 
Though American-bred singers seemed natural complements to the restaurants serving the food, what might be surprising is the disdain that the vast majority of Italians have to Italian food with any American concessions. Most Italians absolutely cannot stand Italian-American food, or at least they say so. This seems to stem largely from the fact that Italians have possibly the narrowest palates in the world, or at least they did in decades past. That and their intense local pride fostered by history and geography. They might complain bitterly about the preparations of dish a town over in Italy if it is slightly different than their own. Of course, they are typically quick to criticize restaurants here.
 
No matter. Italian restaurants in America need to be in business not necessarily to be that Italian.  

From an Italian steakhouse chain in the Midwest; a steak with some seemingly Italian-American touches

As there are so many delicious foods to be found in hopelessly unattractive strip centers throughout the Houston area, it should be no surprise that excellent sandwiches can be had at one in a small place that opened this summer in Spring Branch, on Campbell just north of I-10. The surprise is that sandwiches are somewhat of an afterthought there. Primarily a fresh pasta shop also selling accompanying sauces, Casetta Cucina, has just three sandwiches. These are rather unique, Italian sandwiches made with the unusual Tuscan schiacciata bread, a fairly dense focaccia-like bread made in-house that gives the assemblages a sturdy, delicious base. The unusual name with its assault of consonants might give pause when customers go into the shop for pasta and see the little placard on the counter for sandwiches bearing this name. It is pronounced skiah-CHA-tah. Not too hard.
 
If you enjoy the sandwiches in Italy, from the Autogrill or lesser autostrade stops or in cafés there in the afternoon, or just enjoy Italianate versions anywhere, you'll really like the ones here featuring top-notch ingredients used intelligently and judiciously. I’ve liked them even more than the ones I’ve had over the years in Italy. And these are very similar, if just a little different because of the bread. There is the Caprese with rich buffalo milk mozzarella and tomato slices bolstered with a little bit of pesto, another featuring prosciutto, with the mozzarella and bitter arugula, and the third with pistachio-studded mortadella, arugula and for an additional couple of dollars, melted creamy, buttery robiola from the Italian cheesemakers at Lira Rossa a couple of hours west of Houston. Along with noticeable olive oil, each is topped large grains of sea salt that add a very welcome flavor to the mix. Each of the three is very good, though the mortadella one has been my favorite. Just those three now, I’ve been told a Sicilian hamburger is on the way. Whatever that might be, I’m sure it will be worth a try, at the very least.
 
Casetta Cucina is mostly a spot to pick up pasta fresca, pasta made by hand. The pasta-making station greets you as you enter, situated prominently behind the counter separated by glass with either owner, Francesco Casetta, or another worker plying away, with stacked, big bags of Caputo flour from Italy visible on the floor. You might have seen Casetta at one of the weekend farmers markets selling pasta. Once the executive chef at Tony's, he certainly has the skills to craft a quality sandwich. More so, since he making the bread.

There is not much to the place in terms of dining in, just a couple small tables or so out front and another in hallway, but the sandwiches travel very well back to the office or home.

Casetta Cucina
1024 Campbell Road (just north of I-10), 77055, (346) 546-8438
casettacucina.com
Monday-Friday, 9AM to 6PM

Michelin is most focused on false positives, avoiding undeserving inclusions – though there always some and a handful locals in this initial guide for Houston – and it’s obvious from the recommendations for other cities that the list scratches the surface, at best.  That is even much more so in the very first guide for a place when the inspector(s) for the city can only visit so many restaurants.
 
But Michelin starts slowly.  I heard from the ceremony on Monday that Michelin only starts an area with single stars at most.  Actually, I don’t believe that there are any two-star spots here, but good to know.  And likely confirmation that it is going slowly in all things.
 
Bao Ong had an interesting interview in the Houston Chronicle yesterday with “anonymous Chief Inspector of the Michelin Guide North America.”  There was a laughably odd response that, “The Michelin Guide is unique because it evaluates only the cuisine itself. But it can also mention service quality and decor, and describe the experience you can get at a certain restaurant.”  Maybe this is more true now with a few noodle shops, taco stands and now barbecue joints being recommended, but certainly décor and service matter, much more so when stars are awarded.  My friend in Mexico City thought that taco stand star was definitely a joke, even in terms of the food compared to many similar spots.
 
Anyway, I am very happy Michelin is here.  It’s a start, and there will be many more recommended places in the future, as in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Washington, DC.
 
Star-worthy omissions:

• Katami
• Little Oyster’s Bar
• Navy Blue
• Uchi

 
Recommended, and most of these are Bib Gourmand according to its criteria, examples from other cities, and the ones that were cited for Houston as such:

• Amalfi
• Auden
• Backstreet Café
• Bari
• Brennan’s
• Caracol
• Da Marco
• Elro
• Eunice
• Goode Co. Seafood
• Goode Co. Kitchen & Cantina – C’mon Candente over this?
• Hugo’s
• Lucille’s
• Kata Robata
• Kiran’s
• Ostia
• Pacha Nikkei
• Pondicheri
• Riel
• Soto
• Squable
• Tiny Champions
• Tony’s
• Xochi

 
Inclusions I would not have made:

• Rosemeyer BBQ – I was with a couple of other wine and food writers during the live-stream of the event and none of us had even heard of the place.  Maybe it is great, but there are a number of other barbecue places that are full-service spots that are certainly deserving that were not included.
• Candente – I have dined here almost ten times and usually quite enjoy it, but I don't believe it is nearly as deserving as Goode Co. Kitchen & Cantina and El Tiempo, each probably hurt in consideration for having multiple locations.
• Killen’s – Having dined heard several times and not too far from me, it has not been on my list to visit for a while now.  Maybe it has gotten better recently.  I have loved Killen’s BBQ and enjoyed Killen’s STQ.

 
Also, I don’t doubt that Corkscrew should have been included on the list, but certainly not with a star, especially with a number of other area barbecue joints are just as good, or better, and in nicer digs.

At Pacha Nikkei last year

Along with empty Chianti fiaschi covered in wax from candles, red-and-white-checkered gingham tablecloths might quickly come to mind for many, maybe those a little older, when thinking of Italian restaurants. There was a strong association between the two for years in this country given the sheer number of Italian restaurants employing them. New York restaurateur Pino Luongo wrote “in 1983, there were only two types of Italian restaurants here. There were the places with the red-checkered tablecloths that served spaghetti and meatballs and veal piccata” and a far smaller number of fancy spots. Even today, it’s easy to find red and white coverings for sale with names like “Italian Restaurant Checkered Tablecloth,” “Italian Styled Red and White Checkered Print Tablecloth,” “Italian Checked Tablecloth” and “Checkered tablecloths – Not just for Italian restaurants.” The use of these types of tablecloths was not limited to Italian restaurants, and were also once very popular with a wide range of restaurants, especially in the nation’s biggest city. Joe Allen’s Paris restaurant that drew a lot of ink was described after opening in 1972 as having an ambiance that “is still definitely New York” prominently with “red‐checked tablecloths,” and even the landmark “21” restaurant famously had those in its bar area for decades until shuttered by the pandemic.
 
That Italian restaurants became linked to those tablecloths might have began in New York before Prohibition, where there were many more Italian restaurants than elsewhere. The Italian restaurateurs could have looked to the city’s popular, casual French bistros, or German, or affordable restaurants of any or nearly every stripe – except for Chinese, it seems – in the city for an example to borrow to suitably cover their tables. The starched white tablecloths at the nicer establishments signified something classier and more expensive. And cleaning and ironing those white tablecloths were more expensive, too. The affordability of these red-and-white-checkered options were certainly a significant factor, too. And, conveniently and maybe importantly, that busy red-and-white pattern help obscure stains from red sauce and red wine, which were brought to about every table.
 
As Italian-themed restaurants became more ambitious and pricier, and maybe more Italian, these lost the red-checkered patterns. These were seen by many diners as old fashioned. And that is reason is why you will still see them at some intentionally homier Italian-American places. Italian-American not Italian.

As most savvy restaurant-goers know, the Mucky Duck – McGonigel's Mucky Duck, officially – though primarily a music showcase, has probably the best pub grub in the Houston area. Among the necessary and popular options is the hamburger, which are tastier, of course, when made into a cheeseburger. With cheeseburgers, I occasionally like a bleu cheese version. You can get one at the Mucky Duck that is different. The English Stilton is the bleu cheese.
 
Not just the classic pairing with an after-dinner port, the mild, savory and buttery-flavored Stilton gently melted on the thick patty provides a distinct and welcome complement, and not as strong as the typical bleu cheeses used. The high-quality cheese matches rest of the burger that features grass-fed, Akaushi beef from HeartBrand in Flatonia and a buttered and toasted billowing onion challah bun from Slow Dough, with strands of red onion and leafy lettuce in between. Paired with crisp, tasty fries. A nice German lager, also, in my case the other evening.
 
McGonigel's Mucky Duck
2425 Norfolk (just east of Kirby), 77098, (713) 528-5999
mcgonigels.com

It’s the season for Oktoberfest, that famous beer festival in Munich, which runs from late September into early October, inspiring breweries in Munich, elsewhere in Germany, and across this country to produce a slate of copper-colored, medium-bodied beers of the same name. The style most commonly known as Oktoberfest is Märzen, a lager that is clear and amber-hued featuring a smooth, malty taste and a slightly dry finish buttressed by a judicious use of classic German hops. It was introduced by the Spaten brewery in 1871-72, derived from a style of lager beer created in Vienna a few decades earlier. This is a style of beer I've really enjoyed over the years. I wrote about a tasting of these a decade ago, and thought it was about time to update it.
 
Märzen is March in German and was the last month in which brewing was possible because of the wild yeasts that quickly propagated during the warm days of summer in the time before refrigeration. The beer was stored in cold cellars – to “lager” in German – and drank during the course of the summer. The last of the beers, usually a little heavier and deemed more special, were consumed by the end of the September and early October for the festival and its predecessor fall festivals. The long storage ensured an especially smooth and flavorful beer. And it always is from the remaining six Munich brewers.
 
There is some confusion with the Oktoberfest name for beers, though. Beginning in the mid-1970s, the dawn of the age of light beer, Paulaner introduced the Festbier, a lighter beer than the Märzen to serve at the festival. It was similar if a little more alcoholic style of the brewery’s main beer, Helles. The other Munich breweries followed suit at the festival over the next couple of decades. So now for consumers here, Oktoberfest can mean either a Märzen or the broadly Helles style when labeled “Festbier,” or really some interpretation of either. When looking for the classic malty, darker beer look for both “Oktoberfest” and “Märzen” on a label.
 
Those traditional versions from Bavaria are smoother, more balanced between the slightly sweet taste of malt and a long, dry finish and, most significantly, without the flaws, the harsh notes often found in beers from the small domestic breweries, which are more also more alcoholic. Tasting for this proved again to me how difficult it is to make flavorful lager beers, especially those lightly hopped.
 
The ratings below are done in a hybrid of my copy of Michael Jackson’s Pocket Guide to Beer (signed by the author himself) and the New York Times wine scores, 0 to ****. It is mostly Märzen but the Festbier style, or name, is too common to ignore. The beers are listed in order of preference from the Oktoberfest beers I could find in Houston. The progenitor of the Märzen, Spaten, is not to be found here now, sadly.
 
 
Hacker-Pschorr Oktoberfest Märzen ***
Balanced flavor with malty aroma that extends to the slightly sweet taste with a bit of dryness at the end and very smooth throughout, it is cooling autumn Munich in a glass: expectedly very well-made, hearty, alcoholic and lending itself to some buzzy fun. Really easy to drink. 5.7% alcohol by volume; 21 IBUs
 
Paulaner Oktoberfest Märzen  ***
An welcome nose of sweet dark malt and then a malty, smooth taste and a long finish that is an exemplar of the Märzen style. Excellent. 5.8% alcohol by volume; 20 IBUs.
 
Ayinger Oktober Fest-Märzen  ** ½
Sporting a slightly malty aroma with a hint of nutmeg has a very long, extremely smooth and malty taste with a welcome touch of sweetness that makes it an easy beer to enjoy, if not quite as outstanding in the past. From one of the world’s greatest breweries. Just a little drier on the finish than its Bavarian brethren. 5.8% alcohol by volume; 23 IBUs.
 
Altstadt Okt Oktoberfest  ** ½
Amber color in the glass and malt nicely on the nose from a combination of almost traditional Pilsner, Vienna and Munich malted barley leading to a plush mouth feel and a just little sweetness in this Märzen-style lager. Its fairly clean finish stands out among small domestic breweries. Quite nice and quite easy to imbibe and doing Fredericksburg, Texas proud. 5.9% alcohol; 16 IBUs.
 
Samuel Adams Octoberfest  **
Slightly malty aromas were followed by a appropriately malty taste. Smooth and hearty if without the complexity of the Munich beers. Made in the traditional style, Sam Adams has been making this beer for a number of years and knows what it is doing; among the best of the American versions. 5.3% alcohol; 16 IBUs.
 
B52 Brewing Festbier  **
Golden-colored and featuring a different, almost-fruity aroma, this is dry and properly quite pleasant, Bavarian-inflected, well-rendered effort from this Conroe, Texas brewery. 5.8% alcohol; 22 IBUs.
 
Warsteiner Oktoberfest * ½
A yeasty aroma and lighter color for a Märzen, and not officially one, shows that this is a little different for the style. Smooth and soft-tasting, without much noticeable malt on the palate and a drier finish. 5.9% alcohol; 24 IBUs.
 
Karbach Karbachtoberfest  * ½
Lighter in color than nearly all of the others and the most effervescent, this had a long taste that was not nearly as malty or strong as the typical style, and less flavorful. Quite pleasant, if not delicious. Maybe authentic, but this is the Crawford Bock version of a traditional Märzen: something you know that this skilled brewing team with roots in Munich with which it can doing better. 5.5% alcohol; 25 IBUs.
 
Sierra Nevada Oktoberfest Festbier Gutmann Collab Effort * ½
Tastes like a Sierra Nevada with a hoppy finish and less malty profile than the other beers of this season. Different than what you might expect with Oktoberfest on the label, though lighter-colored like a Festbier. Smooth. Yet another high-quality product from one of the country’s best that is easy to enjoy even with the slightly elevated alcohol. 6.0% alcohol; 30 IBUs.
 
Bell’s Oktoberfest * ½
This Märzen offers a some malt and finishing dry and bit metallic; not as robustly flavorful as the best versions. Maybe not in this lauded Michigan brewer’s wheelhouse, it does come across as quite a well-made beer. 5.5% alcohol; 24 IBUs.
 
Galveston Bay Brewing Oktoberfest * ½
Smooth with evident maltiness and largely clean-tasting throughout, this is a satisfying, hearty lager. 6.5% alcohol; 22 IBUs.
 
Southern Star Oktoberfest  *
A bit malty, largely smooth but with a metallic aftertaste; better than most area versions. 6.3% alcohol; 25 IBUs
 
Saint Arnold Oktoberfest  *
Actually an ale, like Shiner’s version, but both looking the Märzen part in a glass. This is maltier and tastier, if not nearly one of Saint Arnold’s best beers, as it has a thin and metallic finish. More alcoholic than it once was, which might be appealing to some. 6.6% alcohol; 18 IBUs.
 
No Label Oktoberfest Festbier  *
Deep golden-colored, this is a richer beer for the style without the dryness or complexity of the Munich-brewed Festbiers but cleaner-tasting than those from most small breweries. 6.0% alcohol; 21 IBUs.
 
Spindletap Festbier  ½
Not much on the nose. Dry finish, mostly smooth. Austere, even for the style. 4.2% alcohol; ~20 IBUs.
 
Eureka Heights Von Wolfhausen Festbier  ½
Bronze-hued, crisp and dry, it is generally inoffensive, if a little unpleasant at the end. 4.5% alcohol; 15 IBUs.
 
Shiner Oktoberfest  ½
Odd with a hint of soapiness then metal. Thin for the style – that it is an ale not a lager might be a reason – and tasting fairly cheaply rendered. Mostly disagreeable. 5.7% alcohol; 18 IBUs.
 
Manhattan Project Beer Co. Oktoberfest   ½
A light brown color is the first hint that this is in the Märzen style as a brief taste of malt that leads to a too-thin and unpleasant, slightly metallic aftertaste. From Dallas. 5.5% alcohol; ~20 IBUs.
 
903 Oktoberfest   ½ 
Identified as a lager and Märzen and with a proper amber color, this Sherman, Texas-brewed beer has somewhat of home-brew aroma and some maltiness on the palate but then to a bit of a rough, dry taste that stays on the tongue. 5.4% alcohol; ~20 IBUs.
 
Texas Leaguer Mr. Oktoberfest Märzen  ½
Amusingly showing current Astros assistant Reggie Jackson in his Yankee days after a big swing (and probably a miss). Nice malty aroma, but with a thinner-tasting than hoped for and a mostly tinny aftertaste. Mo City, Texas. 5.7% alcohol; 21 IBUs.
 
Urban South Oktoberfest   ½ 
Sporting a pumpkin hue and emitting a home-brew aroma leads to an initial hint of malt but then to a harsh taste that lingers for this can labeled as a Märzen Lager. 6.2% alcohol; ~20 IBUs.
 
Equal Parts Oktoberfest  0 
Dark orange-colored, almost there, but it’s the highlight; a DYI homebrew aroma and a rough taste follows. Even salty snacks won’t encourage you to drink much of this. 6.1% alcohol; ~20 IBUs.
 
Paradigm Oktoberfest  0
Unpromising nose then thin and soapy on the palate. Ugh. Appealing clean can design for this lager, though. Tomball, Texas. 5.4% alcohol; ~20 IBUs.

Watching from a café, aperitivo at hand, across a small street from the popular trattoria Scannabue, we saw other tourists gathering at its entrance for the chance of a table that evening, seemingly all without luck. This helped reinforce the thought that this was a good choice for the first meal during my first visit to the charming city of Turin. But I was already feeling fairly confident as this restaurant in the bohemian- and immigrant-accented San Salvario neighborhood near the grand central train station was recommended in the Michelin guide – my go-to for dining in Europe – and had a Bib Gourmand designation to boot, had been cited in a recent New York Times travel piece, “36 Hours in Turin,” and even had a positive blurb from England’s top wine publication, Decanter.
 
Part of the initial seating, we were among the first to arrive in a low-ceiling setting that was homey, comfortable, but quickly filled with the liveliness of a popular, buzzy restaurant. The few diners there at the start, were, like us, seemingly eagerly looking toward the meal and enjoying the evening. Those expectations were to be met, exceeded even. The dinner, with bread, quickly brought to the table, including grissini, of course, then the dishes, was excellent and service was attentive, friendly, and nicely mostly in English. We went with the five-course traditional menu for a comparative song at just 35 euros, for a sample some of the highlights of the rich, often meaty and widely appealing cuisine of this land-locked region. That was, in succession: veal tonnato, playfully topped with a big caperberry; tender agnolotti del plin filled with three roasted ground meats; braised beef in red wine, this with veal cheek and mashed potatoes; whipped baccalà in more mashed potatoes; and bonet, a chocolate panna cotta, of sorts.
 
These were each updated versions of classic local and regional dishes, dishes I’d had in previous trips. These were just done better: more flavorful, richer, featuring evidently high quality ingredients, with considerable experience and skill in the kitchen, and generally presented more attractively. The veal tonnato featured very soft slices of roast veal, nicely tart, as good as any very I remembered having in the area. The pasta pockets that were the egg yolk-heavy agnolotti were tender and the meats, rustic-tasting, savory and hearty. The braise was unctuous, delicious. Even the baccalà, far from a typical order for me, was enjoyable. And bonet, was terrific, even after seemingly more than enough calories by that stage. The portions were hearty, as in a generous village trattoria, but the execution more refined, befitting a what is a top restaurant city like Turin.
 
Scannabue is a trattoria with evident surety in its cooking and also with a sense of more contemporary ideas. We saw the playful and acclaimed vasocottura, rabbit cooked in a jar with a tuna sauce, carried to a few tables. I look forward to a future return for something new, or maybe just what I had. It was that good.
 
As you might expect given its proximity to the famed wine regions nearby, the vinous offerings are numerous and well-chosen, even more so than most local trattorias. I had my eyes on an eminently food-friendly Barbera from nearby that I might not find at home, but the waitress directed us to a Barbera d’Asti from Sette that proved too thin and troppo naturale for my tastes. She was certainly very knowledgeable, but like many younger sommeliers, but had more a penchant for the new, less tried and funky than I do. The list, about 800 labels, was fun to peruse with a number of neat things from more than nearby: Emidio Pepe for just 65 euros and a couple bottlings of the other cult Montepulciano d’Abruzzo producer, Valentini. And couple from Cantina Giardino, a natural wine producer in Campania that actually knows its craft, that I have quite liked in the past.
 
This is a restaurant to visit when visiting Turin, wine lover or not. It’s some more fun if you are though.
 
Scannabue
Largo Saluzzo, 25/h, 10125
Turin, Italy
scannabue.it

The Guancia Brasata al Barbera su Purea di Patate at Scannabue

When discussing heading to the Green Mill in Chicago to hear live music and maybe a few drinks in the late 1980s, my friends were quick to point out that it had been owned by Machine Gun McGurn, a legendary and legendary cruel mobster, several decades earlier. That reputation hung over place, part of its brand, and part of the draw. The mob connection has been an enticement for decades for customers, or a segment of customers, possibly lured by a sense of perceived danger, however small, the notoriety, the assumed raffishness of the spot, or even the attraction to the power of organized crime figures.
 
In an article in the Washington Post with the cheeky title, “A Real Shot in the Arm for N.Y. Eateries” in 1989 quotes a regular patron to The Bankers and Brokers Ristorante not far from his work: “The fact there's a mob shooting connected with the place does sort of add excitement…You feel like you're in the middle of it all,” referring to an organized crime shooting stemming from an incident at the restaurant, which was allegedly connected to a member of the Gambino family. That appeal was widespread and the benefit for the business was noted by Tim Zagat, “It's sad but true that shootings are good for the restaurant business….It's more publicity than a restaurant would ever get through reviews; it's worth millions.” There can be a practical side for this, as restaurants have provided more convenient settings for shootings, as it might the only public spots to find these often reclusive and armed targets. Even these Italian-Americans have had a penchant for Italian-American fare, so the place with the attendant publicity is usually Italian-themed, one of the hazards of doing business for some.
 
The best mob association for an establishment might be to have hosted a sensational murder or publicized shooting, but the appeal is also for those reputed to be mob hangouts or owned by a mobster, even once owned. There’s been quite a few of these mob-connected spots over the years, mostly in New York, where there’s been much more Italian organized crime but also Chicago and Philadelphia, and elsewhere. There is, or was, even another aspect to the appeal of mobsters at restaurants. Star critic Gael Greene, in the early years of her restaurant review column in New York magazine, wanted to check out in 1969 the thought in New York that the “Mafia is widely advanced as ‘the Michelin Guide for Italian restaurants.” Aided in her quest by a “gourmet crew of Mafia Boswells and plumpish law enforcement officers” who had “shared their personal dining guides to Mafia-starred restaurants,” she visited eight restaurants, four of which were in Little Italy, and another just blocks away, each serving familiar local takes on Southern Italian-American fare. Greene was not too impressed with these. That did not have to diminish the draw, though.

Below are a dozen of the most infamous over the years, one with a very memorable name even hosted a couple different murders decades apart.

Photo: Umberto's Clam House - Jerry Mosey/AP/Shutterstock

I’ve been an active participant in Houston Restaurant Weeks again this year. It benefits a worthwhile local charity, The Houston Food Bank, that I support and it also helps restaurants in what was once the slowest time of the year. And that’s even if it’s been my experience over the years that you will not get any restaurant’s best effort. Corners are almost always cut: offerings are limited, preparations are simpler, portions might be smaller, desserts seem have sat in the refrigerator much longer than usual, and there are often add-ons for something that most customers want, etc. I understand the need to do so and have accepted it for a while. If a restaurant impresses with a Restaurant Weeks menu, I am impressed. There are some that do.
In order of the quality of the meals, taste first then value.

Musaafer – B+ – Musaafer wins Restaurant Weeks for me once again and further confirmation that this is the best Indian restaurant in the city. A ceviche of sorts featuring lychees was as artfully presented as it was delicious, which was followed by probably the best version of butter chicken I’ve ever had that exhibited a depth of flavor I hadn’t experienced in this popular dish. It made me overlook the $4 surcharge each for accompanying naan and basmati rice, rather necessary.

Pappas Bros. Steakhouse (downtown) – B+ – My favorite of Houston’s traditional expense account steakhouses, this did not disappoint for Restaurant Weeks, as it never does, offering an impressive amount of tasty, cholesterol-laden calories led by a dry-aged Prime Strip that was actually a decent value. As a bonus, is the indulgence in its expansive wine list and enthusiastic sommeliers who guided us to a nice, very steak-complementary St. Joseph far below that average wine tariff.

Aiko – B+ – Vibrant, flavorful, well-crafted seaweed salad was followed by a crudo and handrolls that were each delicious. The attractive space was also a nice break during the workday, even if the lunch was not so filling.

Winnie’s – B+ – Playful food – jalapeño poppers and meatloaf – done better than most places, not surprising as this fun spot with a serious kitchen has always been worth visiting even when a cocktail is not in mind.

Navy Blue – B+/B – A well turned-out red oak salad with Manchego and a light pistachio vinaigrette prefaced a beautifully presented salmon filet that was a touch overcooked but in a preparation that was still quite enjoyable. It started nicely, with exceptional, crumbly, cheddar and scallion biscuits; excellent baked goods are always a hallmark of top restaurants for me, and Navy Blue is one of Houston’s tops.

Fiori – B/B+ –  At least a couple of Italians said I should give Fiori another try and be sure to have one of its Roman dishes. I finally did, and the vibrant sauce in the spaghetti All’Amatriciana did not disappoint. It more than made up for the dull fried ricotta to start.

Upper Kirby District – B – Four courses and the most food of any Restaurants Week menu started off with a terrific chicken, sausage and okra gumbo followed with a forgettable, simple roll then some juicy, crispy fried chicken wings straight from the fryer coupled with cold Belgian waffles but finished with a neat peach cobbler. Uneven but the highs made it quite enjoyable.

Late August – B – This engaging newish spot in the Ion at the edge of Midtown, a sibling of Lucille’s, that highlights products from their farm near Sugar Land, offered a creative take on the Caesar and fun, crispy octopus preparation that showed a preview some of the appealing things that the kitchen can do.

Ostia – B – A better deal than most, with a good-sized Caesar – a common order for me for this – and one of their full-sized pizzas. Though their on the margherita wasn’t has tasty as the couple others I’ve had there, it was still pretty good.

Carrabba’s (Kirby) – B – The fried calamari with a tangy, lemony and piquant dipping sauce and the richly dressed house salad along with recently baked, crusty bread was good enough for me for the simple, soft pasta with an Alfredo-like sauce with strips of discordant roasted chicken to affect my opinion. Being served quickly and capably, as always there, helped, also.

Da Gama – B/B- – The patty was overcooked a little to my taste in my Lamb Kofta Burger, and the attractive if single-fried fries were well served with an accented mayonnaise to dip in, and I enjoyed the nut-heavy gulab jamen after. This stylish Indian spot is a favorite and even having to ask the waitstaff three times for an HRW menu could diminish a visit much.

PS21 – B- – The croutons were not crunchy, but their take on the Caesar salad with a mustard accent was decent enough. The day’s quiche featured a soft crust that was not what it had been in the past for me there, but the crispy fries were tasty, even if the side of oddly ineptly made mayonnaise that was not quite fully emulsified did not satisfy as much as usual.

Picos – C+ – A duo of noticeably tasty salsas with the chips start a meal here, but both dishes were a little too gloppy. The Nachos Jorge, that are topped with the cochinita pibil, were seemingly not stewed enough and certainly not flavorful enough, just like during a visit last month. And the spinach enchiladas were in a hearty cream sauce that was a little too hearty, though it was all an impressive amount of calories on the plates for a lunchtime.

La Fisheria – C – Dull-tasting ceviche featuring very softly-textured cubes of fishes started the meal. This  followed by decent Tex-Mex-style quesadillas oddly served in a little oval skillet with some thick ridges, and finished with very dull cake that likely had been occupying refrigerator space for a while. And all with ingredients that were far from the best. Unfortunately, this visit reminded me why I hadn’t been here for a while.

At Navy Blue the other day; more attractive than the last salmon dish I made at home.

Wine comes to mind when dining at Italian, and French, restaurants, more so than with other cuisines. With the exception of some inexpensive sandwich and by-the-slice pizza joints, wine is, and has always been, an important part at Italian restaurants in this country – with the possible exception of the dark days of Prohibition, though even then at many, or most. This is because wine was a fundamental, and often needed component, of the daily table of the Italians who emigrated. Wine has been drunk throughout the Italian peninsula, and almost wherever grapevines grew in Europe, for well over a couple of thousand years as an activity of daily life. Largely because the “consumption of wine in the main European winemaking countries was part of the everyday diet largely because it was an important part of the caloric intake necessary to perform work activities,” noted an academic survey, A History of Wine in Europe, 19th to 20th Centuries.
 
That expectation for wine extended to life in America for those coming from Italy, even the calories provided by it was no longer as needed. Viewed almost as a liquid dish, wine had always been served at meals in Italy and continued in the new country. “Wine is food as well as drink to the Italian people,” as a piece in the New York Daily Tribune observed in 1904. It was on the table in Italy and was always found at Italian restaurants in the new country, even if the wine might not have been made nearby as in the home country. That wine served in American restaurants might have been imported from Italy or, more so, shipped from California, which was cheaper.
 
Though wine was expected by the Italians arriving on the shores, the eventual home-grown customers were less versed in the fruits of the vine. Wine was not part of the culture of the United States as it was in the wine-producing countries of Europe. In the U.S., for most of its history until recent decades, wine was the province of the more well-to-do and more sophisticated, as wine was not a widespread agriculture product and not nearly as ubiquitous. Wine was a staple for Italians, somewhat of a luxury for Americans.
 
Before Prohibition…
 
The wine offerings at Italian restaurants were rather limited compared to today in the years leading up to Prohibition, and well afterwards, for that matter. Most were humble table d’hôte establishments with a significant portion of the clientele the recent arrivals from Italy, until recently, peasants or laborers for whom wine was not much more than a requisite part of the meal. These customers were certainly not that fussy about the wine, as long as it was mostly palatable. Wine was almost necessarily included in the price at Italian table d’hôte restaurants, and all Italian restaurants then had a table d’hôte option. Though these have long gone out of fashion in favor of the a la carte menus, table d’hôte was a common type of restaurant and option before the Second World War where a multi-course meal, with no or a very limited of choices, was served at a fixed price.

A New York paper reporting about Italian restaurants in 1905 wrote that the wine “is mainly from California” and “often served with seltzer.” About a decade later, at the popular Buon Gusto in San Francisco, a customer was “served a pint of good table wine” as part of a six-course dinner for fifty cents – a feast for all of $16 in 2024 currency – and this was typical throughout San Francisco, New York and elsewhere.
 
As the grape varieties in the eastern part of country would not yield an acceptable product, that table d’hôte wine and all the most inexpensive wines came from California, sometimes shipped in bulk and bottled at the restaurant. Those might be around 40 cents, less than $10 in 2024, if purchased by the bottle or quart. The nicest domestic bottlings like Tipo, from Italian Swiss Colony in Asti, California, were a $1 a bottle at restaurants, around $30 today.
 
The wines that were imported from Europe were a little sturdier than the young wines that most of the immigrants had consumed at home. These had to last the trip and some additional lag before consumption, and more was to be made from exporting the better wines. These were from the more well-established wineries and regions: Asti Spumante, Barolo and an earlier spelling of Nebbiolo, Nebiolo, which was sometimes spumante, from Piedmont; Chianti in a couple hues from Tuscany; and the once-famous Lacrima Christi from the slopes of Mount Vesuvius – that in red, white, and sparkling in both red and white. The better Italian restaurants also served a fair number of wines from France, Germany and sometimes Spain. These imported wines were usually identified by the negociant rather than the producer, unlike today. Renganeschi in Manhattan had about forty wines on its list in 1916, the noted Guffanti’s, about seventy, each ranging from about nine or ten dollars to $130 in 2024 dollars, the most expensive being from Champagne, labels that are still popular today, Veuve Clicquot, Charles Heidsieck, Pommery. The Champagne region has always found a home at the nicest Italian restaurants, as in the nicest restaurants almost anywhere.
 
During Prohibition…
 
Though Italian restaurateurs thought Prohibition ridiculous and a serious threat to business, nearly all carried on, the popular Gonfarone in lower Manhattan being an exception, shuttering at its onset with the inability to serve wine legally. Wine was still served in most, though, if not so legally. Wine continued to be made, largely by non-professionals, with grapes being shipped from California to points east for manufacture. This home winemaking was not actually lawful; it’s illegality was just not enforced, and local municipalities sometimes even issued permits for it. The demand for grapes, especially from Italians, for this created a boom in grape growing causing an increase in acreage devoted to it by over 23,000 acres in California from the advent of Prohibition through 1924 and peaking in 1926. By mid-decade, the country was consuming about 150 millions gallons of the amateurs’ output. That often ended up in the dining rooms of Italian restaurants; likely not having to travel very far. The most popular grape traveling to the eastern cities was the thick-skinned, attractive and dark-juiced Alicante Bouschet, that made a mediocre wine, at its best, usually worse, as wines were also made after the initial press. But it was wine.
 
And the wine was available. A news service sketch of lower Manhattan in 1929, nearly a decade with Prohibition, describes the area around Eighth and Fourth streets with “Italian restaurants where the wine, if young, is still wine.” Around that time in Chicago, a guidebook describes that the “obscure little restaurants and other similar places all over town, and some not so obscure, that have about as much respect for the Eighteenth Amendment as the eminent Mr. Capone has,” so that “you ought at least to find Dago Red. In case you're more fortunate, however, and come upon a wide assortment of table wines.” Joe Marchetti of the Como Inn, also in the Windy City, recalled years later: ”We had a lot of great years during Prohibition. You could get a glass of wine if you had to have one. What`s an Italian meal without wine?”
 
There was some risk in this, but the rewards seemed to outweigh these by a ways. At least two of the most well-known and highly regarded Italian restaurants in Manhattan were successfully raided by Prohibition agents to some notoriety. Guffanti’s, the first time in early 1922 when agents were able to purchase a quart of wine for a very steep $5. A certainly better bottle of Tipo red was $1 before the Volstead Act. A couple of years later, agents found alcohol there valued at an estimated $100,000 – that’s $1.6 million in 2024. In 1930, a squad of Prohibition agents, search warrant in hand, descended on Leone's – eventually known as Mamma Leone’s – “during the peak of the dinner rush-hour…seized $5,000 worth of wines, whiskies and liqueurs, and arrested Joseph Leone and his brother Celestine, two of the three proprietors, and three waiters,” and startling customers, “many to hurry away, some leaving their dinners untouched.” That wine and other intoxicants were served was widely known and somewhat protected as “admission to the restaurant is by card only” and it was recognized that Leone’s “numbers among its patrons some of the best known professional people in the country.” The raid on Leone’s was caused by a complaint by its neighbor, a Methodist church. Leone’s later purchased the church’s property, demolishing it for expansion in the 1940s. As for Guffanti’s proprietor, Joseph Guffanti, he died in 1929 with an estate valued at a million dollars, not all it from the proceeds of the restaurant.
 
A great many throughout the country still felt the need for some alcohol when out for an evening meal during the 1920s and into the 1930s. “Prohibition, with its lackluster speakeasy cuisine, had led many diners to investigate small foreign restaurants,” according to Michael and Ariane Batterberry in On the Town in New York, their historical survey of dining there. And those foreign restaurants were largely Italian, both in New York and elsewhere. Somewhat ironically, for such a wine-inducive cuisine during Prohibition, “as their prices remained within reason, the popularity of these little restaurants was cemented permanently by the Depression,” that carried on after drinking became legal again.

After Prohibition for many years…
 
The misguided experiment that was Prohibition help to destroy the domestic wine industry and also help to alter, ruin, American palates about wine. The wines made during those years were with far less skill than before and later, largely in basements and warehouses, not in wineries. It was also nearly entirely red. Vineyards in California were devoted to lesser grapes like the Alicante Bouschet – there was not much Cabernet Sauvignon, Zinfandel and Chardonnay planted, with only 7,000 acres of white in the state by the early 1930s – and the taste of wine consumers was toward the inexpensive fortified wines, the poor person’s spirits. These were sold at a ratio of five to one when alcoholic beverages became legal again. Most of those with more disposable income drank mostly cocktails. Just after Prohibition, Americans consumed just over a quart of wine per person. In Italy, 24 gallons were consumed per person – that’s over 90 times more than Americans drank on average. Then the French, who were at their thirstiest at almost 40 gallons and continuing a spree that seemed to begin with the Armistice. It was not until 1967 did the per capita wine consumption in the U.S. hit one gallon. After repeal, three-quarters of the wine was sold in just five states: California, Louisiana, New Jersey, New York, and Michigan, all with large Catholic populations. And American’s were consuming wines that still largely sweeter at that point, not the best accompaniments to the dinner.
 
Italian restaurants began to stock wines again legally in the 1930s, sometimes including those sugary- and different-tasting wines likes Virginia Dare. The lists resumed similar outlines to that before 1920, with better lists in New York and San Francisco, as before, but generally shorter. Wine offerings might not have returned to the breadth of those pre-Prohibition years until maybe the 1980s at most Italian restaurants. Americans still were not big wine drinkers for decades. Piero Selvaggio commented about the early days of his landmark Valentino restaurant that “the few people that drank wine took us by surprise.” It was still the days of cocktails. The order was usually “the martini…in the 1970s that was what people drank with a meal…three of them was standard,” something much more American than Italian. And not the most ideal complement to the food.
 
Things would eventually improve concerning wine at Italian restaurants.

Renganeschi's Saturday Night by John Sloan, 1912 - Art Institute of Chicago

During a visit earlier this summer to Produttori del Barbaresco, the famed wine cooperative in the village of Barbaresco, my host, Michela Cucca, brought up the event that really increased the winery’s notoriety, its reputation, and sales. It was in November 2016 when Wine Spectator announced, to the surprise of the winery, that one of its wines was picked as the fifth best wine released that year, the Produttori del Barbaresco 2011 Asili Riserva, a bottling from a single vineyard in what is probably Barbaresco’s most famous cru.
 
She said that phones immediately began ringing and ringing, with customers around the world hoping to purchase bottles of the wine, which was just $59 on release. It had already sold out, as all of its wines do, with nothing at all left even for the employees, but that great acclaim, from the most widely circulated American wine publication has had a huge residual impact for the reputation of the winery and subsequent sales. Cucca said that Wine Spectator has been the most important for them but some other outlets including James Suckling, Wine Advocate and Vinous influence sales along with the well-regarded British publication, Decanter, if less so. Interestingly, Italian publications have not been as influential in terms of impacting sales. Though the wine is produced in Italy, what Americans think about it – some subset of informed Americans, at least – really factors into the sales success of wines. The US is a rather big market, after all.