They’re from South Jersey. They’re from Queens. They’re from Bari, from Brindisi, they’re visiting relatives in Hollywood. They speak Brooklynese. They speak no English at all. Or only a leetle. They know enough to read this menu: Orecchiette means one thing in any tongue. Pasta e fagioli they know. Saltimbocca,…
“Little birds nest according to their size,” goes the Thai proverb. Or as King Bhumibol Adulyadej of Thailand has repeatedly cautioned his people: Don’t live beyond your means. We Americans could take a page or two from the Thai book, eh? My own addendum to the famous proverb goes like…
I have a friend who’s known among her circle as “The Dream Crusher.” Confide your long-held desire to take singing lessons and she’ll warn you about throat polyps. Announce your pregnancy, she’ll calculate the cost of raising a child to maturity, wondering aloud how you might otherwise have spent that…
If an alien from the planet Persephone landed in Bordentown, New Jersey, and found herself hungry after her light-years’-long journey, she might wander into Mastori’s Diner for a little something to take the edge off. But she might not have the faintest idea what to order or how to eat…
Regular readers of this space know that my territory is roadside taco trucks, fluorescent-lit noodle shops, and little mom-and-pop ethnic restaurants. Celebrity chefs? Subdued lighting? Shirt and shoes required? That’s Shepherd’s turf. Which doesn’t mean I don’t go out for a nice meal sometimes. As a matter of fact, just…
At noon, if you happen to be sitting at the bar inside Capri Blu with owner Amadeo Tasca; his wife, Gracie; or their old friend maitre d’ Mauricio Berni; if you happen to be sipping coffee and watching Italian game shows on the little TV while you’re waiting for the…
There must be several hundred restaurants like La Cigale dotted around South Florida — elegant, upscale eateries that appeal to diners of a certain age and class — but few of them serve foie gras. Duck’s liver is under siege by animal rights activists at the moment (see last week’s…
I spent the day recently reading M.F.K Fisher’s 1942 book How to Cook a Wolf, a text devoted to the proposition that you can live and eat decently even under war-time rationing, without butter, sugar, or any cut of meat worth a damn. Fisher offers tips for stretching a couple…
They’re shaped like an awkward string of pale pearls. And they taste of mushrooms, a whiff of the faintest musk, a visceral, mysterious flavor like black magic — with a texture as soft as the inside of a lover’s mouth. They’re richer than butter, denser than cream, wrapped in a…
Maybe you agree with famed postmodern architect Robert Venturi that this kitschy pink wave of a building on Lauderdale Beach is “an architectural masterpiece.” Or, like owners Kathy and Andy Mitchell, you’ve got it in your head that Ireland’s Inn Beach Resort has outgrown itself and suffered millions in irreparable…
I’ve been on a mission lately to find out if waterfront restaurants are really as bad as South Florida urban mythology has it. The good news: They aren’t. I’ve finally given up trying to have anything like an edible meal at my local fish-camp-cum-sports-bar Intracoastal hangouts and ventured further afield,…
For as long as Germans were in America, they ate sausages with mustard and sauerkraut bare, off a plate. Then, about a century ago, it occurred to someone in Brooklyn to put them on a matching roll, and the hot dog was born. America is where pizza became the thin-crusted,…
I’ve never forgotten hearing a radio interview with Patrick O’Connell, chef/owner of the Inn at Little Washington, one of the world’s great restaurants. He didn’t say much about his cooking. He wanted to talk about his philosophy of service. When a customer walks into his restaurant, he said, the staff…
In Billy Wilder’s saucy comedy, The Seven Year Itch, a gray-flanneled schlub who works for a Manhattan publisher kisses his wife and kids goodbye for the summer, promising he won’t smoke or drink, and silently abjures himself to keep his trousers zipped. But back in his empty apartment, he finds…
It has been many months, if not to say years, that we have been as agreeably impressed with a restaurant as we were this week with the Capriccio. There are few restaurants in New York that might surpass it, and it is probably the finest restaurant on Long Island… A…
When male chimpanzees in Gombe National Park want sex, one surefire method of having their amorous way is to offer their intended some freshly killed monkey meat. They’re no dummies either. The female has to put out first. Mr. Romance dangles the carcass, Ms. Withholding says OK, and once the…
Edna Lewis is dead and I am in need of comfort. She spent her life cooking and eating Southern pan-fried chicken and hominy with cream, biscuits made with pork fat in the form of pure lard, deep-fried corn pone, greens dotted with chunks of ham, and whiskey cakes laced with…
It’s tough to imagine what might have convinced a handsome Parisian chef (and sailor) and his chic American wife to give up what sounds like an idyllic existence on Saint Bart in the French Caribbean — where they presumably spent their days slathering themselves with Bain de Soleil and popping…
There are some things you should know before going to Taqueria Doña Raquel (793 S. Dixie Hwy., Pompano Beach, 954-946-4490) for the first time: 1. They don’t have burritos. 2. Well, they might, but they’re not on the menu. 3. They don’t serve margaritas. But they do have beer. 4…
Let’s pull our heads out of the sand for just a minute, shall we? Let’s rip the rose-colored glasses from our mugs and contemplate — clear-eyed and sober — the vast expanse of endless blue, that parallel universe that exists right at our doorstep, home to our weird and watery…
I fell for an older man, and I fell hard. The night we met, I was in my office, chewing on the toothbitten plastic filter of a Tiparillo. Our first conversation went like this: Brrrrrring. Brrrrrring. Brrrrrring. Him: “Good evening, Ruggero’s Bistro and Martini Bar…” Me: “Yeah, hi. You open…
Trace the family tree of South Florida’s serious superchefs and you’ll find that our local restaurant scene is as incestuous as a Renaissance monarchy. And the Merrie Olde King who’s had relations with just about every member of his culinary family is a dude named Dennis Max. Maybe you’ve heard…
