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

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

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

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

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

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

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

​I returned from Piedmont earlier this month after a short trip that was sponsored in part by the consortium for the Barbera wines of the Asti and Monferrato regions – their name is more lyrical in Italian, of course, Consorzio Barbera d’Asti e Vini Del Monferrato.  The consortium brought around a hundred writers like myself and other wine professionals from across the globe to highlight some of the changes in their appellations and provide information about their wines.  We received some helpful information and some tasty wines, if not complete clarity.  This is Italy, after all.
 
There is a lot from which to choose among the Barberas and easy to get confused.  Among the DOCs and DOCGs, where the best Barberas are found, there is Barbera d’Asti, Barbera d’Alba, Barbera del Monferrato DOC, Barbera del Monferrato Superiore DOCG, Colli Tortonesi Barbera, Gabiano, Rubino di Cantavenna, Piemonte Barbera, and most recently Nizza. Then there are two versions of Barbera d’Asti: Barbera d’Asti and Superiore, which requires six months of aging in oak and cannot be released until January 1, the year after the harvest.  Superiore are the ones that can age.  Barbera is widely regarded to reach its peak with Barbera d’Asti and Nizza, which is actually a subzone of the Barbera d’Asti area: many, or maybe all, of the Nizza producers also make Barbera d’Asti.  Nizza takes its name from the town of Nizza Monferrato near the heart of its production and is meant in part to obfuscate or sever any connection to the cheap Barberas of yore and possibly be the highest expression of the varietal.  One of the reasons for the high quality of Barbera d’Asti and Nizza is that Barbera gets the best locations in these appellations.  In neighboring Alba, the best vineyard settings go to Nebbiolo for Barolo and Barberesco. 
 
Situated in upper, northwestern Italy, Piedmont is, along with Tuscany, the best region for wine in Italy.  Seventeen of the 74 DOCGs, the highest Italian wine classification, are in Piedmont.  It’s home to the famed wines of Barolo and Barberesco; was once widely known for Asti Spumante, and now Moscato d’Asti.  But, it’s Barbera that’s the most widely planted grape in the region, and it was Barbera that was once “consumed in copious quantities throughout northern Italy” we were told.  That was least until the methanol scandal of 1986 in which Barbera wines tainted with illegal methyl alcohol killed nearly two dozen people and blinded almost twenty more.  The reputation of Barbera – and Italian wines in general – have long since recovered from that criminal malfeasance, and Barbera is better than ever.  It’s always been an excellent food wine, the “favorite wine with pizza” and “terrific with pasta with tomato sauce, spicy foods, bitter greens and hearty dishes” for the authors of the very useful resource, Italian Wine for Dummies.  It’s long been one of my favorite wines with a range of Italian-themed dishes, especially.  Barbera wines have evolved over the past couple of decades and it is now a more serious wine. 
 
Barbera produces wines that are relatively high in acidity – hence well-suited for food – low in tannins and often with flavors of cherry, most prominently, and raspberry, dried herbs and that Italian trait of earthiness or underbrush.  My favorite versions have noticeable fruit to pair with the always-evident acidity that usually caused a sensation in the upper front part of my mouth upon first sip.
 
I really enjoyed the Barberas during the trip.  Well, all but the two wines with the consortium’s label (something I had not seen before, but these wines pursued us at every event).  The wines were all well-made and though certainly made to be consumed, they typically drank well alone.  This something that is fairly recent for Barbera, with its high acidity and sometimes missing fruit.  The basic Barberas from the Asti area – those not labeled Superiore – still exhibit freshness that its long been known for, but these are now medium- and full-bodied wines with a fair amount of alcohol.  Thanks to global warming, it was tough to encounter a Barbera that was not at least 14% alcohol.  Most were 14.5% and 15%.  But, the alcohol in every case was well-integrated.  With the added heft, a reduced acidity from years past due to use of malolactic fermentation, and oak-aging of the Superiore wines, I found that Barbera, Barbera d’Asti in particular, is still a very food friendly wine but with different types of foods than before.  In its Superiore form, it might be able to stand up to steak or other hearty dishes.  This was not the case in the past to my tastes.  But these can be big wines these days.  My recommendations are that the non-Superiore Barberas might match a range of dishes as long as they are not too light or too spicy – it worked very well with fresh pasta with or without white truffles recently – the Superiore for hardier fare and beef and other rich meat dishes.  More eating and drinking needs to be done.  And Barbera won’t set you too far back as you can find most for under $25 and usually well under $20 for the basic Barberas.


At a recent Barbera-supported luncheon in Nizza Monferrato.

I had had it a couple of times when I visited the northern Italian region of Piedmont some years ago and was looking forward to it when I was traveling there last week, carne cruda, an appetizer minced raw veal or beef that looks just like a slightly garnished version ground beef wrapped in plastic in your local supermarket.  That garnish was usually an egg yolk, a nicely deeply colored one at that.  It’s a dish that might not work for a lot of Americans, at least when in America, but it can be a wonderful start to a meal in the cooler climes of Piedmont, which is known for the high quality of their veal and beef.  The beef from the Alba area where I stayed, grass fed and as natural as can be, might reach its highest expression as carne cruda according to its purveyors.
 
Served a little cool, each time of the several times I had it recently was clean-tasting, fresh and relatively light, much more so than it looked, with more than a hint of a flavorful and fairly light, good quality olive oil, likely from nearby Liguria, and topped the egg yolk that provided some added richness and another, complementary flavor.  The dish is quite simple to prepare, especially in its most traditional and simplest form.  From a recipe from an Italian site, it’s just a bit of olive oil and lemon juice, salt and pepper, the raw egg yolk to crown each serving, and, of course, “the freshest and highest quality beef” ideally minced by hand – this not increasing the complexity but the time and effort.  This straightforward preparation is how I had it in Italy, if just with a small amount of additional garnish, always green.  Other recipes I came across often included mustard, onions, capers and Worcestershire sauce, with greens popular for presentation.
 
Carne cruda was served several times during my brief trip to Piedmont, always as part of the antipasti array, as a starter. It was sometimes pre-made in bulk – there were well over a hundred needing to be fed – and served in plastic containers.  These worked well, very well, to my taste and were fairly attractive, even in the plastic.  It probably didn’t hurt the desirability that I had it solely, or mostly, at Michelin-starred or -recommended restaurants during my recent visit.
 
But I find it hard to believe that carne cruda will ever get much traction here as appetizer.  It’s too bad, though I wouldn’t blame friends and potential guests who might sample the dish in Italy – at a Michelin-starred restaurant – but would hesitate if I served it, even if I told them it was made with beef or veal from Central Market or the like.  So, maybe not surprisingly, carne cruda or anything similar was not in the several American editions of pan-Italian cookbooks that I have, which were originally published in Italy.  A suitable recipe is easy to find online, though I doubt I will attempt it any time soon.  I trust those Michelin-starred restaurants in the Alba and Asti areas much more than I trust myself.


At San Marco in Canelli in Piedmont last week

Unencumbered much by geography or topography, Houston, the nation’s fourth-largest city, has been sprawling in nearly every direction for decades and has long been without a true city center until somewhat recently. So, it might be a little odd that one of the country’s very best nexuses of interesting and high-quality restaurants occurs along a stretch of road that’s a shade over a mile-long not too far from downtown in Houston; especially odd since Houston is the only major city in the country without zoning and one dominated by the automobile. But, as the growth has occurred along the edges of the metro area, a growing concentration of restaurants and bars has also taken place in the last dozen years or so in the area between downtown west to the 610 Loop, the innermost of city’s three, increasingly distant concentric roadways.
 
Westheimer is one of Houston’s main thoroughfares, and one that runs twenty miles to the west. Soon after its humble beginnings, when Elgin turns, and turns into Westheimer via a name change less than a mile southwest of downtown, is where many of the city’s best and most exciting restaurants, ambitious cocktail bars and worthwhile coffee joints call home.  Awards and nominations from the James Beard Foundation abound on this part of the thoroughfare. The Houston area is known as the most ethnically diverse area in the U.S., and some of that is also on display in the eclectic collection of often ambitious, high quality establishments along this part of Westheimer.
 
Driving west from its start along the nearly-too-narrow four lanes, the old two-story house on the left-side at 219 Westheimer, now the home of a catering business, is where lower Westheimer began as a culinary destination twenty years ago, when the area was fairly dicey.  The address was the home of Chez Georges that served well-reviewed traditional French fare and was one of the city’s best. In the spring of 2008, Feast moved in.  A modern British restaurant known for its superb snout-to-tail cooking with one of the city’s best chefs Richard Knight in the kitchen about which Frank Bruni, the former restaurant critic of the New York Times, wrote had “no real peer in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles and other major cities.” Even with a surfeit of critical attention, the superlative Feast shuttered in 2012, but this part of the city continued to grow as a dining hub.
 
Nearly across the street from the former Feast is a restaurant of note that is actually open, Bistecca, a beautiful, upscale steak joint with central and northern Italian dishes scattered on its menu that is headed by one of the region’s finest Italian chefs, Alberto Baffoni. He might not get the national attention he did years ago when he was at Simposio near the Galleria, but still directs a kitchen that turns out usually excellent fare. Nearly next door is the sleek, brand new Avondale, a unique wine shop-cum-restaurant from the well-regarded Olivier Ciesielski, once Tony’s top toque, which recently scrapped its eponymously-named French concept that might have gone a little stale. A stone’s throw away is two-story outpost of El Tiempo, the city’s top Tex-Mex that excels both with AM and PM fare in numerous guises. Their potent margaritas might flow more freely here than at their other spots.
 
A block further west is Dolce Vita from Marco Wiles, who has other places of note along the way.  It’s easily the best pizzeria in Houston, as it’s been since opening in 2006, whose thin Italianate pizzas, menu of interesting small plates and a well-chosen all-Italian wine list earned it the number three spot among Italian restaurants in the very last of the Zagat surveys. Next door is Indika, an upscale, contemporary Indian restaurant with a flair for fusion that was once named one of the best Indian restaurants in the country by Travel + Leisure magazine among its many accolades. It doesn’t get the press that it once did after Chef Anita Jaisinghani sold it to concentrate on her Pondicheri restaurants in 2017 but the new Nepalese owners have kept things the same, including high quality. The low-slung stand-alone structure next to Indika houses Aqui from Austin’s James Beard Award-winning chef Paul Qui. It does an outstanding job with an array of pan-Asian-inspired refined small plates including sushi in a differently designed, comfortable space with a useful patio that faces Westheimer.
 
A different kind of enjoyment, much lower-key than Aqui but one that’s far easier on the wallet, is found across the street in a strip center typical of Houston, if not of this part of Westheimer. The counter-service Pappa Geno’s is a local mini-chain that serves the city’s best cheesesteaks and some of the best, hot, messy casual sandwiches of any ilk. It’s delicious artery-clogging decadence. After that Westheimer begins to twist slightly right as you continue west, and about a block away is where another small plate place of interest from Marco Wiles, Poscol.  Named after the main thoroughfare in his hometown of Udine in northeastern Italy, this serves dishes, salumi and cheeses, mostly from the provinces well north of Rome. Not incidentally, it was named the best cantina, or Italian wine program, in Houston by the Italian publication Gambero Rosso earlier this year.
 
Not too many steps from Poscol is the busy Katz’s, a present-day rendition of New York deli that never closes. A block away sits a third restaurant whose roots, improbably, also lie in Austin. Serving a creative take on modern Japanese food and known for its sushi and sashimi preparations, Uchi is a version of the most acclaimed restaurant in Austin that won Chef Tyson Cole a James Beard Award several years ago. It quickly became part of the restaurant firmament in Houston soon after opening in early 2012, and remains a top destination for sushi and seafood. Around the corner, at the busy intersection of Westheimer and Montrose, is Aladdin, an inviting and welcoming oasis of very well-prepared and appropriately clean-tasting Lebanese food served cafeteria-style amidst the car and foot traffic, which offers of the best dining values to be found in the Houston area.
 
A block west of Montrose is a trio of establishments that are part of the Underbelly Hospitality restaurant group, a local collective of innovative bars and restaurants led by star chef Chris Shepherd. The first is Blacksmith that occupies a squat brick building and appears in numerous lists of top coffee shops in the nation. In addition to its roasting and brewing capabilities, its savory fare, like Vietnamese steak and eggs, help make it popular brunch stop, too. Travel + Leisure, again, included it as one of its fifteen “Best Breakfast Restaurants in the U.S” a few years. Shepherd won a James Beard Award for Best Chef Southwest in 2014 and he is a big reason for the quality of the food at Blacksmith. 
 
Across from Blacksmith is another one-story building, though bigger, that is shared by the new Georgia James and Hay Merchant.  This is the structure where Shepherd rose to national prominence with his creative cooking at Underbelly that opened in late 2010. Underbelly essentially decamped earlier this year a few blocks away in a smaller space to what is now called UB Preserv while Georgia James took over the original Underbelly with a steak concept opening in October of this year. Houstonians love steak. It got a few-month trial run as the terrific One Fifth Steak a couple years ago. Georgia James is certainly the most interesting steakhouse in Houston and among the very best. It can the most fun, too. On the eastern side of Georgia James is Hay Merchant, a beer bar with an interesting kitchen of its own, and one of the most serious and capable craft beer bars anywhere.
 
Another lauded chef has a place across the street in old Tower Theater at El Real. Bryan Caswell got some national airtime a few years ago as Next Iron Chef competitor and was also one of Food & Wine’s best new chefs before that. El Real is a temple to traditional Tex-Mex largely courtesy to involvement of the city’s best food writers and critics, Robb Walsh. It can be very good, but has been maddeningly inconsistent since opening. Mala Sichuan, a far more attractive version of its original location on Bellaire Boulevard, is about door down. With its traditionally and authentically spicy and vibrant fare from Chengdu and environs, the Mala Sichuan outlets have been regarded as the top Chinese restaurants among non-Chinese, but also a big favorite for folks from China, including my co-workers.
 
Easy for a pre- or post-meal stop from one of these recently aforementioned restaurants is Anvil, a few blocks west at 1424 Westheimer. Almost popular as it is proficient, it was Houston’s first bar dedicated to artisanal cocktails and was a James Beard Award finalist for the Outstanding Bar Program earlier this year. It might be impossible here to order a cocktail that is not terrific – my experience in a number of visits – and there always over one hundred on its ever-changing list. Just around the corner, as Westheimer bends to the right, sits Da Marco and the luxury vehicles that crowd its small parking lot, Marco Wiles’ temple to Italian gastronomy. Very adept at replicating top trattoria and ristorante preparations mostly from the northern regions of Italy like the classic Venetian take on calf’s liver and onions, Da Marco had the top food score from the last Zagat Surveys. Casual counter-service Ramen Tatsu-Ya is across the small street north of Da Marco, about 20 yards and visible from Westheimer, a sister restaurant in Austin was nominated for a James Beard Award this year, it’s possibly the top ramen restaurant in Houston.
 
About a block west is the city’s most accolated Mexican restaurant and on most lists of the best Mexican restaurants in the country, upscale Hugo’s serves modern preparations on a tempting menu that takes inspiration from throughout Mexico. What’s one the plate is serious, but Hugo’s can be fun and loud, especially during the weekend brunches. Led by James Beard Award-winning chef Hugo Ortega, it’s only serious competition for best Mexican restaurant in Houston is its two siblings, Xochi and Caracol.
 
Nearby is UB Preserv, the successor to Underbelly.  Set in the space that once housed Poscol it opened in the first half of 2018 and burnishes the phrase, “The Story of Houston Food” – now also “Without Limits.” Its kitchen incorporates not just products but flavors from the disparate cultures that are part of the Houston mosaic that are combined in non-traditional ways, and it nearly all succeeds grandly. The vast land of Chinese is a bigger component of the mix, as is seemingly the vast dining landscape of New York City. David Wong, an alumnus of David Chang’s kitchens and Grammercy Tavern in Manhattan (and also Cal Berkeley), is the chef de cuisine at this inviting and comfortable, if serious restaurant. With UB Preserv Shepherd had the stated pre-opening goal of creating the best Chinese-style dumplings in the country. They weren’t quite there during an early visit, but the puffy rice salad served during brunch has got to be at the head of the list in some “best of” category.
 
A half-block north of Westheimer from UB Preserv, Goodnight Charlie’s is a contemporary honky-tonk featuring mostly Texas musicians with a clean-lined, contemporary setting that has a partner in David Keck who is one of the city’s top wine professionals, a Master Sommelier, and who is also a former opera singer. Even with that wine expertise, it only has three wines, a red and white on tap, and a rose in a bottle; a great selection of bourbons, though. The food is mostly tacos during the non-brunch times, with the corn tortillas made in house starting with corn – not masa – from a chef who staged for a year-and-a-half at Osteria Francescana in Modena, Italy named again as the best restaurant in the world, before coming to Goodnight Charlie’s.
 
Heading further west just before Dunlavy is One Fifth Mediterranean, the current and third of five 11-month iterations of the space from Chris Shepherd and team. This one is Shepherd’s “interpretation of the flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean and Northern Africa” that features numerous small plates including some of the most incredible hummus and airy pita bread that you will likely ever encounter, larger plates of lamb, fish and chicken, all with light pure flavors in greater complexity than found elsewhere here. The restaurant has struck a cord with patrons who have roots in Levant and Persia, seemingly a testament to its quality and faithfulness in the ethos of the various dishes.
 
Last among the notables is across Dunlavy, is Common Bond, a serious bakery, both boulangerie and pâtisserie in the French tradition, which publicly aired aspirations to be the best bakery in the country and it very well might be. No doubt. With amazing croissants, terrific baguettes and delicious breads and French sweets in a variety of renditions, it’s the best bakery in the city, at the very least, and a nice, popular little restaurant and coffee shop, too. 
 
The best Tex-Mex, pizza, cheesesteak sandwiches, sushi, coffee, beer bar, steakhouse, Chinese, cocktail bar, Italian, ramen shop, Mexican, Middle Eastern and bakery might be found along this dynamic 1.1-mile stretch of asphalt. Though two dozen establishments are highlighted, there are others worthy of a visit here, and there are more on the way. It and Houston, keep getting better and better, and more interesting. And, with a concentration of spots, people can actually be something that is still rare here and visit more than one place on an evening without a car: a pedestrian.

The highlights of lower Westheimer:

1. Bistecca – 224 Westheimer
2. Avondale – 240 Westheimer
3. El Tiempo – 333 Westheimer
4. Dolce Vita – 500 Westheimer
5. Pappa Geno’s – 515 Westheimer
6. Indika – 516 Westheimer
7. Aqui – 520 Westheimer
8. Poscol – 608 Westheimer
9. Katz’s – 615 Westheimer
10. Uchi – 904 Westheim
11. Aladdin – 912 Westheimer
12. Blacksmith – 1018 Westheimer
13. Haymerchant – 1100 Westheimer
14. Georgia James – 1100 Westheimer
15. El Real – 1201 Westheimer
16. Mala Sichuan – 1201 Westheimer
17. Anvil – 1424 Westheimer
18. Da Marco – 1520 Westheimer
19. Ramen Tatsu-Ya – 1722 California (twenty yards north of Westheimer)
20. Hugo’s – 1600 Westheimer
21. UB Preserv – 1609 Westheimer
22. Goodnight Charlie’s – 2511 Kuester (a half-block north of Westheimer)
23. One Fifth Romance Languages – 1658 Westheimer
24. Common Bond – 1706 Westheimer

 

A dish early in Aqui's tenure

​When I was leaving the tasting from the producers of the Grandi Marchi, an association of the biggest and most well-known family own and run producers stretching much of the length of Italy such as Antinori and Gaja, I asked an acquaintance who is a wine educator if he had been to the newly opened natural wine bar.  He said that he hadn’t, and that natural wines he’s had had never approached the quality of nearly all of the nineteen wines that we had just sampled.  So true, I was quick to respond even as I still keep an open mind to those often wild natural wines.
 
The wines we tasted were surprisingly good from start to finish, one from each producer.  Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised.  But, nursing a slight cold, might palate was a bit dulled and in most tasting I have been to, there are always a few wines or more that I find no more than palatable or made in a style that I don’t enjoy.  There were a few wines that I viewed as no more than palate, or just decent, but a surprising fifteen of the nineteen I thought were excellent, including four that were phenomenal.  It was a terrific tasting, one of the best that I have been to.  Complexity and refinement were two notable characteristics found in most of the wines presented.  The only disappointment was from Alois Lageder, a top producer in the Alto Adige in far northern Italy, that decided to bring an obscure wine from its portfolio, a 100% of the very obscure Manzoni Bianco grape, rather than one of its many acclaimed wines.  I thought that they might have been trying to showcase something not currently distributed here in the hopes of some orders for it.  It certainly wasn’t a poor wine, but not one that showed well to me nor as nearly any other wine they might have brought instead would have.
 
Below are the wines from the tasting that you might want to seek out, especially if cost is of little object.  The first four I thought were exemplary.
 
Antinori Badia a Passignano Chianti Classico Gran Selezione 2013 – $46 – Round, long and beautiful and “a richly refined expression of Sangiovese in Chianti Classico” to accurately quote the Antinori representative.
Donnafugata Ben Rye Passito di Pantelleria 2015 – $47 (375 ml) – This famed dessert wine lived up to its billing with its wonderful and strong aromas and a big, mouth-filling presence and flavors not unlike a nice Sauternes whose high sugar content is balanced with a lot of acidity, helping make this “very powerful wine” a gorgeous one, too.
Gaja Conteisa Barolo 2014 – $270 – Refined, beginning with very enjoyable aromas, a beautiful taste with terrific balance including a paucity of tannins that was a surprise for a Barolo so young, and a terrific wine to drink right now.
Tenuta San Guido Sassicaia 2015 - $210 – Big, bold, and polished, this 85% Cabernet Sauvignon and 15% Cabernet Franc blend with well-integrated is a gorgeous expression of a common Bordeaux blend that is something all together different from Bordeaux and more so, the Napa Cabernets.
 
Argiolas Turriga 2014 – $70 – 85% Cannanou that was developed by famed winemaker Giacomo Tachis is had a big aroma, with tannins that nicely fades; a proud flagship for the brand
Carpene Malvoti 1868 Extra Dry Prosecco Superiore – $14 – Balanced with good acidity, and though light was mouth-filling and still very easy to drink
Col d’Orcia Poggio al Vento Brunello di Montalcino Riserva 2010 – $125 – Refined, long-lasting and powerful, but with fairly elegant tannins; what you desire from most Brunello Riservas.
Michele Chiarlo Cipressi, Nizza Barbera 2016 – $25 – With prominent acidity as expected with Barbera, it was a very enjoyed wine with less fruit than the others in the tasting, but certainly a very good wine with many foods.
Jermann Vintage Tunnina 2015 – $60 – 25% Chardonnay, 25% Sauvignon Blanc, 23% Ribolla Gialla and 22% Malvasia, aromatic, and almost luscious with the flavors of Chardonnay and Sauvignon taking duty at the first part of the sip while the Malvasia provided a touch of well-matched sweetness at the end
Lungarotti Rubesco Vigna Monticchio Torgiano Rosso Riserva 2011 – $50 – This fairly refined wine made entirely of Sangiovese nicely paired the fruit and acidity of the grape with a proper amount of oak for an excellent result.
Masi Campolongo di Torre Amarone 2011 – $160 – Very dark, rich with prominent dark fruits and tannins, and also noticeable acidity that was not overly rich nor strong for an Amarone, its 16% ABV well hidden by the expertise of the winemakers, and easily drinkable now.
Mastroberadino Radici Taurasi Riserva 2011 – $65 – A refined version of Aglianico that had a lot going on though with tannins only present and the end of the taste and nicely integrated with the rest.  We were told that this will be even much better in five to ten years.
Rivera 2012 Il Falcone Riserva Red – $45 – Mostly from the less known Nero di Troia grape of northern Puglia, this was somewhat aromatic, round and elegant with enough fruit and some tannins
Tasca d’Almerita Rosso del Conte 2014 – $57 – Over 60% Nero d’Avoloa, this wine was long-lasting and balanced with some ripe fruit that was very pleasant.
Umani Ronchi Campo San Giorgio Conero Riserva 2012 – $70 – This 100% Montepulciano was grapey, mouth-filling with ripe tannins that was slightly chewy, but almost elegant, a refined version of the varietal.
 
There is a reason that these wineries sport many of Italy’s most well known labels.  They often make excellent wines.

​I believe that I have a fairly good knowledge of Italian food, the foods of Italy.  I’ve studied the subject for a while – yes, studied in addition to eating nearly as much of it as I possibly could – and been to a fair swath of the country during ten trips or so.  But, with the Italian lands home to over 60 million people and an amazingly diverse range of geographies and deep regional and local histories and traditions, especially culinary, there are number of dishes and foodstuffs I hadn’t experienced.  Piadina was one of them. 
 
I had heard of piadina and was intrigued mostly since I thought it was the precursor to the grilled pizza in this country, created by the lauded and oft-televised Al Forno restaurant in Providence, Rhode Island during the 1980s.  But, I had never had one, nor seen one, for that matter.  I had never been to Romagna, the eastern portion of the Emilia-Romagna region – where the piadina hails – and only very briefly to Emilia, the western part of the Emilia-Romagna region.  The piadina is also found in northern parts of neighboring Marche, though I did not spot any while there some years ago.
 
So, while in Parma recently as we were wandering around the busy pedestrian streets near the city’s touristy heart, Piazza GaribaldiI on the first afternoon, I was actually excited when I espied the fairly tiny, tidy storefront called La Piadineria that serves inexpensive piadina. 
 
I had expected that the piadina was a flatbread-like pizza, sort of like the ones at Al Forno, but an Italian quesadilla was the apt description for how it looked.  Featuring a (very) flat bread that looked just like a flour tortilla and is folded in half over ingredients that seemingly always include some type of cheese, the piadinas served at La Piadiniera, part of a chain of nearly 200 restaurants mostly in northern Italy, looked a whole lot like an Italian quesadilla. 
 
When we returned for a meal the next day, I found that the flatbread portions of the piadinas, technically the piadinas, tasted similar to a flour tortilla to me.  That is not too surprising, as these are made with white flour, water, salt and wonderful lard, just like tasty flour tortillas are, and cooked on a flat griddle.  Among the thirty or so choices at La Piadiniera, I ordered The Legend that was filed with prosciutto crudo, arugula and something called squacquerone, another Italian foodstuff about which I was not familiar.  In fact, I had never even heard of it, nor was comfortable trying to pronounce it.  I had kind of figured that it was likely a cheese, and it is, a soft, spreadable mild, but a bit tart, cow’s milk cheese that is a common filling in a piadina.  Overall, not just in appearance, the piadina I ordered reminded me of a quesadilla done in a lighter, fresh-tasting Italian-style.  I really enjoyed it.  And, it was just €4.20 or so, tough to pass up when you are in that part of Parma when you want a cheap lunch or are in the need for some sustenance when it’s been a long time between meals.
 
My brother thought so much of it that he returned before we left Parma for a post-meal meal.