Estia’s Little Kitchen: Welcome Simplicity

For years Mom and Dad have talked about Estia’s Little Kitchen, an unassuming little spot on the Bridgehampton-Sag Harbor Turnpike and a favorite of theirs. Some how we have never managed to get there in the nearly ten years since they opened. This time the planets aligned and the four of us made a last minute reservation for 7:30 p.m. On a Saturday night no less. And it was nice to spend time with Mom and Dad without the little darlings. Now that I think of it, it must have been even nicer for Mom and Dad no matter how much they love them.

Estia’s is basically a tiny two-room shack with a small bar and fish-themed artwork. Local ingredients abound and there is a strong Latin American influence on the dishes. We ordered a bottle of “Grapes of Roth” Riesling (that’s right) that Sylvain and I had sampled at the Sag Harbor farmers market earlier in the day (okay, it was about 9:30 a.m.).

For appetizers Dad and I had the Mexican Mussels which were steamed in a lightly spiced tomatillo broth and topped with narrow strips of fried tortillas – a surprising combination that worked really well. My mouth is actually watering at the memory! I am going to work on reproducing it. Sylvain had a Crabmeat Napoleon, interpreted with generous dollops of crabmeat and guacamole layered on three stories of large tortilla chips. Mom had the Ensalada de Casita in citrus vinaigrette which clearly was assembled from local veggies. I wish that our restaurants in New Jersey would get on the local foods bandwagon at least in the summer when we also have an incredible variety of seasonal produce available.

Mom and I ordered the Striped Bass with Arugula as a main course served with large roasted yellow tomato halves, a sweet counter balance to the peppery arugula. Dad had sautéed ocean scallops served with pesto over home-made fettuccine and Sylvain ordered the Paella. Later I was thinking that it seemed like each dish had no more than three primary flavors, very simple and very pure.

 

The dessert selection didn’t have much that appealed to me as most involved wheat which I must now avoid. I did feel that we should try the vanilla flan, hoping for the eggy, burnt sugar flavored authentic version that I enjoyed first in Brasil and then over the years in different countries. It was sweet and very tasty, but for me it seemed a bit dumbed-down for American palates, lacking the bite I was hoping for.

In all, the food was simple and quite good with most dishes made from a minimum of ingredients, all of them incredibly fresh. The service was warm and the setting was wonderfully and refreshingly unpretentious all things considered!

Estia’s Little Kitchen

1615 Sag Harbor Bridge Hampton Turnpike Sag Harbor NY - 2 miles West of Village
telephone: 631 725 1045

http://estiaslittlekitchen.com/index.htm

http://estiaslittlekitchen.com/blog.htm

Almond: Beautiful Food in Bridgehampton

It is only infrequently that we eat out over our summer vacation in Bridgehampton. Generally we try to avoid the crowds as much as possible and hole up at home where we enjoy wonderful meals gleaned from local farmers markets, farm stands and fish markets. I have written in the past about the growing local foods movement here (A Week in Bridgehampton), a great boon to those of us who come for the beauty of the spot and not the beautiful people.

But especially on vacation, a night out is a welcome break from cooking for twelve! One evening Mom and Dad offered to feed the kids so that Sylvain, Clara, Dan and I could enjoy dinner out. Almond has been around for years. In the 80’s it was The Woodshed and served basic seafood (I remember the steamed mussels and the soft shell crab) but was more known as a watering hole than for its food. Before that it was hippie central and actually called The Grotto of the Purple Grape, a name that really impressed me and conjured up imagined exotic grooviness that I was too young for. The 00’s incarnation strives more for French farmhouse than hashish den, and it tries only a tiny bit too hard. Out of respect for my late mother-in-law Jeanette, I must say that French dish towels do not napkins make and croque monsieur does not belong on a restaurant dinner menu. But these are minor details noticed by a Frenchman that have no bearing on the good food prepared with ingredients come from the rich array of local North and South Fork sources.

We started with glasses of rosé for the women and beers for the men and a round of appetizers. After much internal debate involving the charred squid, I ended up choosing the citrus-marinated sardine salad with hearts of palm and avocado. It was tasty, but based on the description I was expecting fresh sardines cured with lemon juice, a simple and perfect summer recipe that I love. At first I couldn’t understand why the fish wasn’t soft enough to pull apart with my fork and required a knife! The flavors were all good but I was a little disappointed. Clara ordered the charred squid salad that came with a tapenade crouton and other goodies that it was too dark to identify properly. Dan had a salad of mixed greens served with some nice-looking chèvre croutons and Sylvain had a Greek salad of all local ingredients topped with soft, caramelized red onions. He ate half of it before I could get a photo and never offered me even a small taste. I am operating on the assumption that it was good! Sharing food has long been a sore spot in our marriage but I acknowledge that we have made some good progress over the years.

There were several tasty-sounding fish main courses on the menu to choose from. I ordered the Wild-Caught Grilled Shrimp - five large, meaty fellows skewered with woody rosemary stalks served over a salad of diced cucumbers and tomatoes, sylvetta greens (a relative of arugula I am told by chef Jason Weiner) and dried chickpeas drizzled with a dill yogurt sauce made from local goat’s milk. The shrimp were perfectly cooked with just the right flavor and heat from harissa. I was happy and as I looked around the table felt neither regrets about what was on my plate nor envy of other people’s choices. I love when that happens.

Clara had the whole striped bass, a special. Striped bass is available locally this time of year and seems to be on every menu. It strikes a nice balance – delicate but meaty, flavorful but not oily- can handle a savory marinade and takes well to grilling. Dan can vouch for the quality of Almond’s traditional Steak Frites which by all appearances he thoroughly enjoyed. Pork or duck on a menu attract Sylvain with a powerful, apparently irresistible pull. He ordered the Pork Belly which, after much discussion, we agreed was a cut similar to bacon. I’ve never had it before, imaging more fat than lean, but it was good (I was permitted a nibble) and not at all what I expected, served with gorgeous, falling-apart tender roasted red onions.

In a strange twist on the usual theme, Sylvain and Dan skipped dessert and Clara and I ordered Chocolate Pots de Crème. Our desserts arrived in cute Italian espresso cups. It turned out that they were not really pots de crème, which are baked in a bain marie and have the consistency of an intense custard. These were far lighter and had the texture of a mousse. I didn’t mind because they made for a less gluttonous end to the meal and they were delicious, topped with light whipped cream and sprinkled with chopped salted almonds. The flavors of deep chocolate, sweet cream and salty nuts worked beautifully together and the textures were just as pleasing. Fortunately I did not suffer through the watery, tired decaf as Clara had to, and enjoyed the perfect end to a very nice meal.

http://www.almondrestaurant.com/

Strawberry Distraction

It has been a tough year in the world where I spend the majority of my time and in the other worlds that are squeezed into the rest of my waking hours. And sometimes the non-waking ones as well. Often, the overall stress is just too much and I just want to get as far away as possible from conferences about the impact of the economy on non-profits and how to survive it, emergency meetings about raising money to keep the school open, stress at home about paychecks and bill-paying, funerals for loved ones at the natural end of their lives and funerals for beautiful boys who should still be with us, worried conversations with teachers and guidance counselors and therapists, back pain and stress and the myriad attempts at relief. I WANT IT ALL TO STOP.

Deep breath.

Strawberries.

They are not even my favorite fruit, but something about them is different, special. Something about strawberries takes me deep inside myself where it is quiet and things are simple and have not yet become complicated. It is late spring in Brookside, N.J. and there are tiny wild strawberries on a small hillside above the little brook that flows through the backyard. They appear each year and bring with them the beauty and reassurance of the changing seasons, and their own innate delicate sweetness. They will not be cheapened! They cannot be purchased!

It occurs to me now that over the years I have always had a couple of strawberry plants bearing these tiny Alpine gems in pots or beds and fraises des bois continue to have a place in my life to this day. We have several plants in a sunny bed where we live now and they bear fruit around the time of Nora's birthday. She is sure that they are just for her. There are precious few and they are more valued because only one or two ripen each day, and then there is an end to it. Sometimes there is only one and we share it.

I've never had much success or put any real effort into growing the larger varieties of strawberries. We buy them in season at local stands in Changewater, Pittstown and Oldwick and at the supermarket when all else fails. But there is a firmness, a toughness and tartness to the supermarket varieties (surely required to survive the truck ride from California or Central America) compared to the local straws that are so wonderfully fragrant, soft to the bite and unbearably sweet on the tongue.

When Maxwell's self-service stand started selling strawberries earlier this month, I got over there quickly. Too often my timing is off and they are cleaned out. I was going to buy a quart or two at $5 each but only had a $20. When this happens, I usually write crazy notes to the farmer (who I have never met) about how much I still owe him and when I'll come back with cash or how much he owes me in produce because I have overpaid. Instead, this time somehow I ended up leaving there with four quarts of strawberries.

I found a recipe in Anna Pump's "Summer on a Plate" cookbook that called for two quarts of strawberries. It was unbelievable - the reddest dessert ever with intense, intense strawberry flavor. I will never think of "red" in the same way again! Sadly, I did not take a picture so I will have to make it again. We melted a bar of semi-sweet Ghiradelli chocolate and made chocolate-dipped strawberries with the third quart and kept the fourth on hand for eating plain. I made batches of chocolate-dipped strawberries several more times in June. Oddly, I had never made them before this year. Nothing is easier or tastes better. We had them again for Nora's birthday along with a Strawberry Shortcake made by Mom.

Chocolate-dipped Strawberries

1 bar (4 oz.) semi-sweet Ghiradelli chocolate or your favorite

1 quart local farmstand strawberries

1.) Wash the strawberries by filling a clean sink with cold water and soaking them in it a bit. Swish them around to remove all grit. Lift the berries out of the sink and onto a dish towel spread on the counter. Dry gently by placing another towel over them.

2.) Place a sheet of waxed paper on a cookie sheet.

3.) Melt the chocolate in a small double boiler over simmering water. Stir with a wooden spoon until melted and glossy.

4.) Hold the strawberries by the stems and dip them in the chocolate. Place them on the cookie sheet and let cool or refrigerate for 1/2 hour before eating. They are best eaten the same day.

Pamplona: a night out with "the girls"

Long-awaited and yet worth the wait, I spent the evening with Martha, Marisa and Julie Saturday night. We came from different points and met at Lillie’s on 17th Street, a new “Irish Victorian” bar. It is named for the famous British actress and renowned beauty Lillie Langtry who was nicknamed the “Jersey Lily.” This is a brand new, gorgeous space where a ton of money was spent to make it look as if it has been there forever. Their tagline is “celebrating friendship the old-fashioned way,” which apparently means drinking beer and watching soccer, seemingly incongruous activities for the feminine-leaning surroundings. But we were four women reunited for a night out, drinking beer and watching the Preakness so maybe they are on to something? I had a tasty Belgian Leffe Blonde. We toasted each other and all agreed that for a variety of individual reasons, we needed this night out and we welcomed the gift of stepping through a very small window into a space away from daily stress.

From Lillie’s we headed north to Pamplona on East 28th Street for modern Spanish bistro fare. From the street there is not much to catch your eye. The narrow front is all glass but it looks dark within. I admit to feeling an awful discouragement when we walked in at 7:15 to a quiet and nearly empty dining room. It was the sinking feeling of a former restauranteur on a deathly slow Saturday night and of a diner fearing she has made a poor choice of restaurant. Fortunately for all concerned, the place was noisy and packed to overflowing by the time we left a couple of hours later.

After a brief discussion of the merits of red vs. white wine and red vs. white Sangria, we ordered a pitcher of white for the table and then chose a selection of tapas and a couple of media raciones (medium plates) to share. Sliced baguette rounds arrived in short order with a dish of delicious garlicky, bright green olive oil. We dove in while debating the merits of Facebook. The initiated (Julie and I) regaled the resistant, non-converted with stories of our Kenyon “friends.”

We had no trouble at all choosing from the small menu – almost everything sounded good – but did struggle to divide some of the small dishes four ways. Marisa gave it a true College try but was just not up to the task. Thankfully Martha was there with her ample tennis muscles that left her able to slice right through the skewers on the pinchos without breaking a sweat! Julie was not asked to do any tasks requiring the use of two hands as she needed to clasp one at the neck of her too-revealing sweater at all times to keep public sightings of “the girls” to a minimum.

In no time the dishes started arriving and there really wasn’t a dud among them. We started with a thick wedge of Tortilla de Patatas with slices of Jamon Serrano. I need to find out how they make this. It is described as a “frittata” on the menu but was so different from one. We also had Buñuelos de Queso, fabulously airy fried little balls of Iberico and Manchego cheese, and Pincho de Datiles, a personal favorite. I had them at a party this week and would eat them constantly if given the chance. Like all of the best food, they are deceivingly simple in terms of ingredients but complex in flavor mixing sweet and salty with textures that are meltingly soft and crispy. We all loved these!

The Pincho de Chorizo y Gambas (chorizio and shrimp served on those pesky skewers)came resting on goat cheese toasts – another great combination of tastes. Bocadillo de Pato was like a grilled Panini filled with braised Duck and creamy chevre. The Gazpacho was a show-stopper and unlike any I’ve ever had. The broth was pale green with puréed avocado. Hidden beneath the surface were the more traditional cubes of cucumber, tomato, etc. and in the center of the bowl was a large dollop of a tangy yogurt sorbet. Yum.

Pulpo was one of the media raciones we ordered. I don’t like pretentious food and foam of any kind tops that list for me. That said, I will let Pamplona off the hook for two reasons. 1.) The chef (Alex Ureña) worked with foam king, Ferran Adria, himself. This is as good excuse as any I suppose but had the dish not been good, that fact alone would not have been enough. That brings me to the second reason. 2.) The dish was delicious with perfectly tender octopus served over a thick bed of lemony and tender potato confit. Yes, there was foam, but it was spring garlic foam that served a real purpose in the dish.

Finally, as we all agreed that we had little experience with Spanish cheese beyond Manchego, we ordered the Plato de Queso. There was one sheep’s and one cow’s milk cheese and two made from goat’s milk. The menu lists them as Mahon, Ahumado de Pria, Murcia al Vino & La Peral but honestly I do not know which was which. All were good but our favorite was the very aged, very moldy blue goat that’s flavor lingered on in the mouth. The cheese came with triangles of dense raisin nut bread and slices of fruit confit – was it apricot? quince?

If this seems like a lot of food, it was. And it wasn’t. We ate and ate but mostly in tastes and mouthfuls. This meant that there was room for dessert. We dipped long fried Churros y Canela in Valrhona chocolate sauce and shared an order of Tarta de Turrón, a chocolate and almond mousse tarte with an unusual consistency that came with creamy chocolate ice cream. The meal ended with two espressos and two cappuccinos and then it was into the night for the walk back to our vehicles further downtown.

Yes, the food at Pamplona was great, but it only enhanced what would already have been a great evening. Conversation flowed comfortably and touched on work, husbands, joys and concerns about our children and a discussion of what we were like at their ages (mostly worse in many ways), College classmate updates and of course, some exposé of former romantic adventures. Twice I laughed uncontrollably until I was near tears. I have to say that, in my world today, that outranks any meal.

http://newyork.timeout.com/articles/restaurants-bars/73685/lillies-union-square-bar-opening
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lillie_Langtry
http://www.pamplonanyc.com/

Life and Death in Champagne

My father-in-law passed away recently and Sylvain and I quickly got our affairs in order to arrive in time for the Saturday funeral. Roland was sweet and loyal, loved his family and his Jeanette, laughter, Champagne, telling stories, and any excuse for food and fellowship. Like his father before him, he worked from young age as a "Caviste" in the cellars of Mumm Champagne. He was 87 when he died in his sleep at the home of his girlfriend, Reine, with whom he had recently been reunited after a separation of over 60 years.

It was a whirlwind weekend that combined activities that were practical, ceremonial, funny, uncomfortable, celebratory, and very sad, and an almost unending series of gatherings that centered around food, Champagne and reminiscing. Roland had said, "Quand je meurs, il faut boire du Champagne," and I am quite sure that he would not have been disappointed. As part of his retirement from Mumm he received 40+ of Champagne a year, so there was more than enough of the bubbly to go around.

Most of our meals were taken at the home my sister and brother-in-law, Marie Claude and François, where we were staying - they were simple meals. But this is France and the simplest meal far exceeds the American equivalent. After the Protestant funeral (general Catholic consensus deemed the church oddly austere but the service and pastor nice) everyone came back to the house to toast Roland with glasses of Mumm accompanied by sliced brioche. Nothing could have tasted better! Afterwards, the family stayed on for a late lunch of celeri remoulade, grated carrot, and cous cous salads, followed by platters of sliced hard sausage, ham and pâté, and finally by a selection of cheeses (Gruyere, Camembert and Munster). For dessert, plates of thick wedges of flan were passed around the table.

On Sunday we dined with both of Sylvain's siblings and their spouses at La Taverne de Mâitre Kanter, an Alsatian restaurant chain found throughout Europe. I admit that because I knew it was a chain and had seen it just off one of the many rond points in the industrial zone surrounding the city, I was not predisposed to like it. Call me a snob, but I had scary visions of TGI Friday and Ruby Tuesday. I couldn't have been more wrong. I should have known it would be good when François (a true connoisseur) recommended the oysters. With it's Tudor-style exterior, strategically-placed storks, tiled table tops and green-stemmed glasses, it is what the French call a restaurant théme.

I started with a half dozen n˚ 3 Fines de Claires oysters from the Atlantic served on two tiers, the oysters on ice above and slices of brown bread, butter and the traditional sauce mignonette below. Accompanied by a Pinot Gris from Alsace, they perfectly hit the spot. Sylvain had a green salad with chevre toasts that were obscenely voluptuous and trying very hard to distract me from my oysters.

For our main courses, we switched to a light and yummy Pinot Noir, also from Alsace. Though my own French ancestors came from Alsace Lorraine in the 1800's, up to this point I had been completely ignorant of this culinary region and what I knew of it was never enough to tempt me. Now that I had no choice, I decided to try Flammeküche, a flat bread with a very, very thin crust topped with chunks of pungent Munster cheese, tiny slivers of ham and thinly sliced tender white onion. There were many other variations, but earlier in the weekend I had rediscovered the joys of good Munster. Okay, so now I love Flammekϋche.

François had steak (rare) and everyone else had either the traditional or the seafood Choucroute. I don't know what it is, but I can't even bear the thought of Choucroute. Now that I am unburdened of that dark secret I can freely admit that I have smelled it many times over the years as it is a popular dish for family meals in Champagne and throughout France, and based on that alone I did my best to avoid it (successfully until now). But here I was surrounded by four plates of the stuff. Talk about pungent! I sampled Sylvain's Choucroute aux Fruit de la Mer and to put it politely, it was not my favorite.

For dessert I went (uncharacteristically) for "Tout a la Framboise," a plate of raspberry sorbet, raspberry meringue, raspberries themselves and lots of plump squirts of whipped cream all drizzled with raspberry coulis. Francois had the profiteroles and everyone else had Creme Brulés.

After lunch we wandered through the cemetery, visiting the graves of family members from a variety of branches of related family trees. We stopped to see where Jean-Claude and Claudette will finally rest (ready and waiting and already engraved with their names and birth dates), and visited Roland's grave that was now covered with a riot of big, bright and beautiful floral displays, and a small heart of pink roses from his girlfriend.

From there we all returned to the house where we were joined by Sonia and Claire, two of Roland's granddaughters, Sebastien, Sonia's boyfriend, and Elsa, his great-granddaughter. By now it was now late afternoon and high time for les aperitifs! Out came dishes of salty snacks and eventually more Champagne - this time a magnum from 1993. And once more we raised our glasses to Roland.

http://www.mumm.com/

Bank34 with Old Friends

Last night we had a great time and a fabulous meal at Bank34 on Division Street in Somerville. Life now is more often than not a point to point race, the points being work, school, sports, the kids' friends' homes, doctors' offices, etc. We parents cross paths briefly at the dinner table and at parent-teacher conferences and are subconsciously aware that someone else is asleep in the bed, our limited, hurried conversations dominated by the schedule ahead. Too often important things fall aside, things like old friends.

Somehow we were able to break the cycle and almost spontaneously met up with Larry and Martha after far too much time had passed. We caught up on families and friends and laughed. A lot. Bank34 is housed in an old bank building that has been transformed with color, light, flowing fabrics and large tropical fish into the perfect temple of Pan Asian cuisine.

I started out with an "oyster shot" which arrived in a tall, narrow glass garnished with a tiny lemon wedge. It looked a little like something out of a laboratory -swirling, cloudy and mysteriously tinted - but it smelled heavenly. I took a tentative sip before tossing it back. My mouth rejoiced in an incredible combination of flavor, scent, texture and temperature that brought together cold, spicy, fruity, smooth, and crunchy sensations with ponzu sauce, wasabi, oyster and roe -an auspicious start to the evening! I would go back to Bank34 even if the rest had been mediocre, just for more oyster shots. But the rest was just as good.

For an appetizer I ordered scallop and shrimp dumplings. They were so delicate-sweet-tender that they melted in my mouth. Their lightness was balanced by a dark and pungent, spicy dipping sauce. Yum. Martha had a delicious mountain of mango salad, clearly a riff on the traditional Thai Green Papaya Salad, something I always order when it is on the menu because I love it so much.

For dinner I chose the Baked Branzini which Larry recommended. I am afraid that something may be lost in translation with the menu descriptions because none sounded as good as they were on the plate or on the tongue. Everyone was pleased with their choices and the presentations were beautiful. My dish consisted of two fillets of branzini slathered with a spicy red coconut curry, baked in a banana leaf, and accompanied by sticky rice in its own small leaf packet and some grilled veggies.

I was too full to make a push for dessert and ordered a matcha green tea latte instead. It arrived frothy and sweet in a small ceramic cup. For me it was the perfect, dreamy end to my meal. The others savored desserts of green tea gelato, banana fritters, and mango and sticky rice with coconut milk.

Probably as a symptom of the times we live in, Bank34 was sadly empty for a Friday night. Check it out - it's a keeper!

http://www.bank34.com/

Bank34

34 Division Street

Somerville, NJ

(908) 722-9995

Da Filippo with my Figlio

Yesterday Sylvain and Nora disappeared into the March blizzard, he for France and she for New York, leaving me and Thibault with a night of our own. Where to go and what to eat were the pressing questions. Because of the bitter cold we ruled out sushi in favor of comfort food. I reccomended Da Filippo (Autentica Cucina Italiana) in Somerville as the only good, authentic Italian restaurant in New Jersey. Like many New Jersey Italians, Filippo is Sicilian, but his food reflects several regions of Italy.

For me it was a great treat to return to Filippo after several years, and for Thibault it was an initiation into true Italian cuisine. He has a wonderful love of food (his favorite sandwich as a two-year old was black olive tapenade and chevre on focaccia) and enjoys sushi, Indian, Thai and of course French cuisine, but his experience of Italian has been limited to what is available locally. Can you say, "standard Italian American?"

To get into the mood, we started with the bruscetta de la casa - simple toasted Italian bread with sliced tomatoes, garlic, basil and fresh parmesan - and a big bottle of sparkling Abruzza water.

For appetizers, Thibault ordered the braised artichoke special and I had the fritelle di rughetta - pan-fried arrugula with a creamy sauce of anchovies, garlic and parmesano-reggiano. Mine was unbelievably good as I knew it would be. Crispy but creamy, pungent but sweet. A heady and auspicious start to our meal! Thibault dispatched with his artichoke without complaint and with an audible groan of pleasure.

The appetizers tempted me more than the main courses, or maybe I had had one bruscetta too many. For dinner I ordered a double portion of the Sarde Fritte a Linguata, delicate, lightly battered and fried fresh sardines with a squeeze of lemon, and a side of meltingly tender but still bitter escarole with garlic and olive oil, and rosemary roasted potatoes. So good! Thibault has been on a gnocchi mission lately and ordered the hand-made ricotta Gnocchi con Sugo Bolognese which he happily devoured.

No dessert for La Signora but Thibault managed to find room for a plate of Profiteroles. He said liked the contrast of the cold cream filling with the warm chocolate sauce. I had a taste and he was right on.

In all, it was a great meal, good conversation and a lot of welcome laughter in the company of my son. As a parent, it is so satisfying to arrive at this place in time where my child and I are nearly peers and can enjoy each other's company as equals. And we listened to The Clash, nice and loud, all the way home.

http://www.dafilippos.com/