Ef̱charistó̱ Chef, Merci Mon Amis

 Being away from the work i hold dear to my heart has been a bit trying, to say the least.  The last few months of nursing my knee back to health and having nothing but time on my hands has given me a great sense of gratitude and appreciation for what i do and who i do it with. The out pouring of lunch and dinner invites has astounded me. My co-workers and people i call dear friends have kept my spirits high and allowed this blog to flow from me. They have warmed my heart and my stomach. Ef̱charistó̱ (thank you) to you all and latest  adventure was the greatest so far.

room with THE view

I ventured to the river front of Brooklyn yesterday on an invite from my darling friend and Maitre'd who said there was a meal i couldn't miss out on. She said her boyfriend, lets call him the Greek, was going to be cooking. No simple things either. Courses and courses she promised. This Astoria boy was still weary about the locale. I hardly ever venture to Brooklyn (no disrespect, i used to live there I'm just a bit more lazy than i was in my twenties) and I wouldn't know but the two of them and there seemed to be quite an invite list. Then i got the postcard picture that sealed the deal. A view like no other view I've ever dined with before...my city in all its glory. time to make some new friends.

Mr.&Mrs. Billyam Goatington III

I walked in to the Greek, standing over the sink hammer in one hand and lamb head in the other. Most Americans would (and will be) be taken aback by this. I on the other hand started to salivate thinking of the great meal to come. This was also something i had seen a few times before over the years with the Greeks, Turks, and Italians in various kitchens and back yards. The greatest lesson i learned is to pay homage to the animal in its life and its death by using every part of the animal and not being disrespectfully wasteful .We'd be enjoying a offal tasting menu this evening.  Brains and eggs, cheeks and kidneys, livers and bacon, and my favorite sweetbreads would all grace our plates and palates.

cheek and kidney purses

The thanks of this blog is not just for the food, which shone on its own. Its for what the coming together around a huge table does to people. Forging lasting bonds between strangers. The conversations flowed from beyonce; the next pepsi and the new commercials we'd be pitching them; if a rose can grow in black and spanish harlem why couldn't you find a decent bagel there; and if god had a day off why couldnt the seventh day adventists. What an enchanting mix of people and venue. There were restaurant industry, government officials, wall streeters, models, lawyers and the Greek feeding us all against the back drop of the best city on earth. Sublime.

burbon chicken liver with quail egg

For two months i haven't lifted more than a fork or served anyone anything, but when i saw those plates lying there my eyes lit up and i felt a surge of mojo. it was on. I grabbed 3 plates and then 3 more and finally the last 3 and then i described the dish to the table. From the outside looking in it didn't seem like much I'm sure. The feeling i got on the inside however contradicted outward appearances. The only thing in my mind was that i have to start clearing and wash these plates for the next course and so on and so on and so on. A deep rich smile was planted on my face from that moment on and now comes anew with just the thought of getting back to where i thrive.
To all my new friends merci from me for letting me be the one who got to serve the Greek's food to thee.

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THE ENLIGHTENING OF THE QUAIL

Yet another busy Saturday night. I walk over to an elegant woman of distinction, whose favors I always seem to be in, with her granddaughter to my left. They both have the look. The look I see over and over and over and twice as much on Saturday. Amateur night at the Apollo so to speak .

How to delicately explain we aren't a northern or southern Italian restaurant. We don't have any veal scallopini or chicken parmigiana, two dishes I adore and don't smite anyone for looking for, mind you. But thats not what we do here.

Its my job to be an ambassador our menu's culinary genius which uses all the flavors Italy has to offer from the very north to the southern shores of Sicily and how they play with the local seasonal fare and the traditions of Italy.

Back to the look. 

The woman, who was making her yearly pilgrimage to her collegiate granddaughter, had the look and she had it hard. What she needed asap is to be comforted and reassured that this menu (which must have seemed as foreign as Arabic because the items are written in Italian boldly and the English description are below in a small and light font)has exactly what they need to bring them to another place. A culinary vacation is here for all to enjoy, now, if they just sit back and follow my lead.

It starts with the eyes and soft approach. Eye contact, a slow blink and reassuring  'yes' nod  reels her in. This night our lady has forgotten her glasses at the hotel. Perfect for me. Some would go search for readers at the hostess station and let her sit there for another ten minutes of confusion with awkward zebra or leopard printed glasses on.

This is my time to strike with precision and ask what her pleasure would be tonight. Even though I know she's a beet salad and fish lady I go through with some other options verbally first.

Here is where this textbook approach took a turn to another place all together.
I get to my favorite meat dish the quail. De-boned breast stuffed with mozzarella herbs breadcrumbs swiss chard and wrapped in panchetta. The legs lolipopped and glazed with a touch of marsala over a parsnip vanilla puree and salsify roasted on top. All of the tings that make quail an annoyance to eat ,the bones, are taken out of the equation making this dish a delightfully fun and an uninterrupted joy.

Now Ive been known to be a touch dramatic and long winded at times with my descriptions but all for the pleasure of the guest.

Tears were not something I expected. The woman was in full on water works. Sobbing quietly not to be so embarrassed but also not being able to stop. She grabbed my arm whilst crying trying to apologize for the tears. If there is one thing in life we should never apologize for are our tears. I see them as a gift and a channel for growth. So I immediately let her know there is probably not a better persons shoulder to be crying on in all of Manhattan than mine. Let her cry I did. I assured the girl not to be embarrassed of her grand mother's tears and that everyone is pretty much oblivious to anything thats not in a 2 foot radius to them on a Saturday night. Even sometimes to my dismay, me their captain trying to take their order.

The woman quelled her tears to tell me her husband loved quail. He hunted it his whole life, he recently passed and left her alone and sad. He would have enjoyed my description and she was positive that's what he would be eating tonight if he were there.

I shared with her I had just lost my dear grandmother months prior. I use this food as my connection to her. When chef makes a pasta con le sarde. A tradtional Sicilian dish. It takes me back to her kitchen and me piling the extra fried breadcrumbs on top with a table of family and friends who have long passed or moved away. To a simpler time when life was fuller than we possibly knew. Because only through loss do we see it. It brings me to a joyous place now with every bite and I hold my grandmother with me in my heart. Thats how lucky we are to have had them. That we have these foods to enjoy their memory can be so fulfilling.She grabbed my arm again and asked if she could pray over me as the granddaughters eyes rolled. 

She said "Lord keep your blessing over Anthony and all that he does this year and protect him from evil and other such things..."

Not forgetting I have a job to do that she was keeping me from she says with enlightened grace and charm, 

“We'll share the Beet salad and the Branzino”. Can I pick 'em or what?

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