Back from the Crypt

Hello to each of my fabulous foodie friends. It's been quite a while since I've updated La Flavoriser, but don't fret - my hiatus was only temporary. I've been back in the United States for slightly over a week and I must say, my European days seem unfortunately more distant as time passes. I'm back, however, and ready for some R, R, &R; Rest, relaxation, and restaurants. While I would love to feast upon French fare and bask in the nostalgia that would logically follow, I know that any French restaurant in the Philadelphia Metropolitan area would only be a let-down. I'll have to settle for something that is actually damn good, even off of route 76 West; Bluefin.

Bluefin is a shopping center BYOB sushi joint. From the outside, it doesn't look like much. Even from the inside, it still doesn't look like much. And then the food arrives - flavorgasm. But there's still so much more to Bluefin that makes it one of my favorite local spots. First, it's a definite hierarchy. The "regulars," (my parents included) get treated like royalty. My family walked into the restaurant and was greeted with a friendly, "Hoyyyy," which was all too familiar. At one point in our meal our table was visited by an Asian woman who is apparently the head chef/owner's sister. I didn't know her name, social security number, or credit score, but I did know she was glad but not surprised to see my family on a Wednesday evening. And yes, like most other days at Bluefin, we secured our reservation well in advance. The most frequent visitors have the opportunity to name their own maki rolls -- an ultimate status symbol for the greater Main Line area. I won't blow up anyone's spot, but if you dine at Bluefin, you'll begin to know these families by both name and fish. Everyone within 20 miles of Philadelphia's city center has heard of Bluefin - it's practically legendary among Jews and Gentiles alike.

In Paris, sushi was an extremity. I either ordered below-mediocre sushi delivery, or was forced to pay outrageous prices for poissons frais. In lieu of this harsh reality, it has been almost five months since I've eaten great sushi. Surely you realize, as I do, that this is nothing short of a cuisine crime. There are few things in life I enjoy more than the consistency of raw fish against my taste buds.

I wasn't starving (crazy, I know), so I decided upon an appetizer and a maki roll. I began with an order of shrimp shumai. Call me "safe" and "boring," but I was reminded of what I'd been missing the minute my teeth sunk into the piping shrimp dumpling. This was the start of something good, don't you agree?

Following the shrimp shumai came the Marlee Roll, probably named after some elitist Philadelphia family who's spent an overwhelming proportion of its disposable income on sushi. The Marlee Roll was comprised of tuna on top of a crunchy spicy yellowtail roll with roe. I ordered the roll without "crunchies," as my mother has been pressuring me to eat healthier. I'm sure this made quite the difference. The fish was indescribably fresh, and the roll came with enough spicy mayo and wasabi (I'm a spice fiend) to keep my tongue tingling. The roe was red and green (Merry Christmas?). You really must dine at Bluefin to understand; out of the myriad of sushi restaurants I've frequented in NYC and other reputable locations, Bluefin keeps me coming back.

I'm still unaware of the status of Bluefin's dessert menu, or if there's even one at all, but at the conclusion of each of my Bluefin meals I've been presented with a plate of fried banana with honey, orange slices, and honeydew. The honeydew I could have done without, the orange was secondary, but the banana was the icing on the sushi cake. That sounds foul, but try and picture the metaphor instead of the literal translation. And it worked out perfectly - my mother was sitting across from me, and, as you may recall from earlier posts, she's not usually inclined to eat. This left me with more banana than usual - a situation I was pleased to embrace.

After my exquisite sushi dinner and a few glasses of my mother's 2008 Cakebread Chardonnay, ("very expensive," she claims), I was floating above the clouds. I recommend Bluefin to anyone even remotely close to the Philadelphia area looking for quality sushi in a relaxed setting. The décor isn't spectacular, nor is the service (unless you dine there weekly), but it's consistently delicious and serves the freshest fish in town. No doubt I'll be dining here several more times before my much anticipated return to Atlanta, and, if I'm lucky, I'll earn the rights to a Flavoriser Roll. Contact me with any creative maki suggestions. Happy New Year!

Dine at Bluefin:

1017 East Germantown Pike

Plymouth Meeting, PA 19462

(610) 277 - 3917

Hasta La Gnocchi Siempre

It was a Thursday night, and like most Thursdays, I was hungry. My friends Caroline, Kelly, and I (they've been waiting for this moment) decided to do something a bit different. Although I know I'll regret feeling this way in about a week when I return home, I couldn't have eaten one more onion soup, order of escargots, or steak frites. I needed to diversify my portfolio, but I knew that if I were to branch out, it would have to be authentic and delicious, the first being an obvious prerequisite to the second. After hours of deliberation, and only after I had checked just about every food guide I'd ever heard of, the three of us came to a consensus.

We decided upon l'Osteria - a hole-in-the-wall Italian bistro in the Marais that is known for its alleged "best gnocchi in Paris." The restaurant had no sign or street number - just a small stand outside with a menu reading its name in fine print. If I hadn't searched for a picture of the storefront online before arriving, it's likely I wouldn't have been able to find it. This place was absolutely adorable and très romantic -- a tiny restaurant with about 8 simple wooden tables, paintings of seafood on one wall and antique photographs of Italy on the other. The menu was printed first in Italian, then in French, and the one Italian waiter also happened to own the place. My friends and I were the only Americans in the restaurant, indicating that l'Osteria is still a well-kept secret.

J'avais faim. Beaucoup de faim. And the menu was making my stomach growl by the second - everything sounded fit for a queen. Kelly and I wanted to split the black truffle gnocchi and the mushroom risotto for our entrées; much to our initial dismay, the risotto was only prepared for two. What was a foodie to do in this situation? The answer was clear -- split the gnocchi to start, and order our own risotto after. Too much food? No such thing.

What you're looking at was quite possibly the most heavenly dish to ever grace my tongue. Sometimes with gnocchi, it takes a few seconds to get past the outer pasta before reaching the potato inside. After this meal, I realized that technique is amateur. The "outer pasta," if there was any, practically melted in my mouth, allowing the potato to collide with the black truffle chips and truffle sauce into gnocchi goodness. I am literally overcome with emotion when I think about this dish. Needless to say, these lovely lumps were gone in sixty seconds.

After eating the gnocchi, I knew my entrée couldn't come close. And I was right -- the mushroom risotto was very good, but it would've had to have received a 20 out of 10 to beat what preceded it. I must say, I preferred the risotto to the mushrooms themselves - they were a bit flavorless and drowned in the risotto cream, which you'll notice is quite heavy in the picture. It certainly would have been more climactic to start with the risotto, but we live and we learn.

At this point in the meal, I was stuffed, but I wasn't about to let that stop me from asking for a dessert menu. Turns out, there was no formal menu, but the chef, who had stepped in at the end of the meal because the owner had left (we basically closed the place), recited the four desserts that were offered. We decided on the panna cotta, an Italian dish consisting of a mixture of cream, milk, sugar, and gelatin. Believe me, it tasted better than it sounds, especially with the raspberry and butterscotch reduction. Crème brulée is really the only dessert I can think of that even slightly resembles panna cotta, albeit only the creaminess aspect (for those of you having trouble imagining how the dessert would taste). Come to think of it, this was a rather creamy meal altogether. Remind me to come back here for another fabulous evening when I'm old and losing my teeth.

The next dessert was on the house, complements of our Egyptian/Italian chef (Egyptian ethnicity, Italian cuisine). We were served tiramisu, but not like I've ever had it before. The fluffiness of tiramisu is usually consistent throughout, but at l'Osteria, the tiramisu had more of a tart or jelly consistency with a thick powder on top. I remember Caroline making me laugh while eating it, and I coughed up the powder, which made quite the mess. Although it was extremely rich, I found the contrast between dry and damp refreshing.

Our meal would have been perfect, if not for a slight altercation toward the end. During several moments of our dinner, a noticeably inebriated Lebanese man found it appropriate to sit at our table and ask us penetrating questions. We brushed it off until we were leaving the restaurant, when I was asked by the man if he could "give me his card," in hopes that our one-ended conversation would turn into something more. When I politely replied that I had a boyfriend, he answered that he didn't care, and then pointed out to me his wife, who had been sitting at the table with him the entire night. She smiled and waved, as if somehow this was at all socially acceptable.

I will never forget my evening at l'Osteria, the Lebanese polygamist, the Egyptian chef to whom I gave my blog address (I hope he's reading this right now), or the "dank" black truffle gnocchi, to borrow a term. Our meal was quite satisfying (the best gnocchi in Paris, indeed), and I'm confident I will return to l'Osteria upon my next visit to Paris. You should, too, especially if you're looking for some Lebanese loving...

Dine at l'Osteria:

10 Rue de Sévigné

75004 Paris

+33 1 42 71 37 08

Study Break of Champions

Amidst the not-so-craziness that is abroad finals time, my friends and I decided we needed a break. From what, exactly, I'm not so sure, but I do know I had previously made about three failed attempts to dine at Hiramatsu - an haute French, Michelin-one-starred restaurant in Paris's upscale 16th arrondissement. For those of you unfamiliar with Michelin ratings, here's how they work: one Michelin star deems a restaurant "very good in its category." Two stars mean excellent cooking and worth a detour, and three stars mean exceptional cuisine and worth the journey. Not every restaurant merits a Michelin star -- it's quite a prestigious ranking system, so to receive only one is still very highly regarded.

I was recommended this restaurant by my fellow friend and writer, Guest Star, and wasn't let down. I somewhat underestimated just about everything about Hiramatsu, from the dress code to the quality of the food. The men were wearing jackets and ties, the women in heels, and I was in jeans and an old sweater with my hair a mess from having walked to the restaurant in the rain after doing my investments homework (sounds fun, right?). Despite these "obstacles," however, I couldn't have felt more in my element, as the establishment was still rather small and understated. As my friends and family know, I practically thrive in restaurants like this, regardless of most everything but the food. There was, however, much else to regard; the décor was simple but elegant with slight Japanese accents, like the black and white marble ledge lining each wall. The ratio of of servers to patrons was enormous - I felt as if there was a different waiter for each course of our meal.

My favorite things about haute French restaurants are the little surprises brought out between what you've ordered. Perhaps I've just had good luck, but I have enjoyed virtually every "between-dish" (so I'll call them from now on) I've ever been served. I think their element of mystery keeps them appealing.

When I first arrived, I was greeted with a bowl of honey roasted pistachios (not pictured) and two types of pastries resembling miniature cinnamon buns, but flavored with blue cheese. Sweet and salty -- the perfect combination to begin my French/Japanese meal. I hadn't ordered either of these items, which means they fall into my aforementioned "between-dishes" category.

Our second course was another "between-dish" that included thin slices of smoked salmon served with wasabi cream over a fennel purée. Normally, when given the option of raw fish, I choose tuna, but this salmon was exceptional. It was the perfect thickness so as not to be too fishy, which is often my issue with salmon. The wasabi added the perfect Japanese touch, and the fennel just a bit of extra umph. Delicious.

So, what did I actually order? I thought you'd never ask. I can say with no hesitation that Hiramatsu's agneau (lamb) made a lasting impression in my mind. Though it was no more than a few hours ago, I can still taste the tenderness of the meat against the truffle reduction and the onion confit. And, as an added bonus, I discovered a slender piece of foie gras hidden underneath the slices of lamb. A wonderful surprise, indeed. If I were less civilized (and perhaps if I had spent the semester in Atlanta instead of in Paris), I would describe this dish as "finger lickin' good."

Ah, les desserts. There always seems to be more than one, usually because I dine with others and we like to sample different things, but I have a feeling at Hiramatsu I would have ordered each of these regardless. On the menu, all we saw were "caramel" and "chocolate," so we decided upon the following immediately. We were unaware, however, of the creativity that would follow.

This doesn't look like much (as a result of my excellent photography skills), but what you're viewing here is the Fondant au Chocolat Hiramatsu, which is dark chocolate with dark chocolate mousse inside and a pie-like crust on the bottom. It was served with a side of vanilla ice cream -- typical, you think, but it was all too complementary. This dessert was delicious, albeit one of the more traditional components of the meal. At the end, when there was but one bite left, I took one from the team by eating it -- don't worry, I asked first.

The second of our desserts was incredibly special. Below you can see our "caramel box" (similar in consistency to the top of a crème brulée) with a hybrid of vanilla mousse and vanilla ice cream inside. Next to the caramel box is a scoop of the most divine caramel ice cream (drizzled with caramel sauce) I've ever tasted. Additionally, and quite purposely I'm sure, there were little bits of caramel-ice in the ice cream, adding just the right amount of crunch to my bite. It's almost 2:00 PM in Paris as I'm writing this, and while I haven't eaten anything yet today (I just woke up), I would be thrilled for this dessert as a first meal.

Our last two desserts were complements of the chef. First came a plate of half-truffles (not pictured) -- simple but savory (I could always go for a truffle). Next, we were served pistachio mini-macaroons with white chocolate inside, each with their own spoonful of white chocolate yogurt and a white grape. A bite of the macaroon, then a taste of the yogurt and the grape to balance out the aridity of the pastry. It was an exquisite balance.

My meal at Hiramatsu was absolutely superb. Many times, with haute French restaurants like this, you get the feeling that the chef is trying too hard to be creative with either his food, his presentation, or both. This was not at all the case with Hiramatsu; everything was delicious and paired extremely well with one another. The transitions were smooth and, despite the European-sized portions, I left undoubtedly satisfied. The food was inventive without being excessive, which is just what I needed from my "study break." It was all class from start to finish. And, at the end of the meal, l'addition (the check) was served in scroll-form tied with a ribbon served on a silver platter. How's that for service?

If ever you're visiting Paris for a short time and are looking for one special meal, Hiramatsu should be it. It's delicious but subdued, and you'll leave feeling glad you made the splurge, not regretful. Although I suppose that depends on who's paying...

Dine at Hiramatsu:

52 Rue de Longchamp

75116, Paris

+33 1 56 81 08 80

"The belly rules the mind." - Spanish Proverb

This weekend I went back to Barcelona for the second time during my study abroad experience. I had a small agenda but high hopes - this was not a sightseeing trip for me, as I had done the major to-do's in October. All I wanted out of my weekend excursion was to relax during the day, do a bit of partying at night, and of course, as is the agenda for most of my vacations, eat well. Two of my favorite meals were lunch, which in Europe is generally more celebrated than dinner. I'll write about the lunch where I took pictures to keep things interesting.

Saturday's lunch was at a postcard-sized restaurant called Cal Pep, located in Barcelona's trendy Born district. Earlier that day (but not much earlier) I had rolled out of bed after a long, relatively sleepless night at a beach-front discoteca. It was 2:30 PM when we arrived at the restaurant, our first activity of the day, and I was famished. You can imagine, then, how I felt after an hour and a half of waiting to be seated, pushed up against a wall in a cramped restaurant. For the sake of Zagat and a few friends who had visited Cal Pep, my group and I decided to swallow our pride -- little did we know we wouldn't be swallowing much else for nearly ninety minutes. By the time we were seated I was so hungry I could have eaten anything -- and I did. I was finally placed next to a girl with dreadlocks and a piercing between her two eyes (who knew they could even do that?), so what excuse could I have had to eat conservatively (not that that's ever an issue)? I had to one-up her.

As you can see by the picture below, which I received many awkward glances for taking, the restaurant is extremely narrow and has a bar with only about 15 seats. If you look closely, there is a door with a round window in the back that leads to the "main room," which has about three tables, all of which are reserved for those smart, non-masochistic customers who decide to call in advance. I had obviously left either my brain or my means of reservation-making at home. And my phone was in my pocket, so...

My group and I opted not to view the menu, so the chefs were free to do their magic. I generally prefer meals like this, as they should be reflections of the chef's artistry and not necessarily of what you're craving at any given time. Our first plate was a toasted roll served open face with tomato and olive oil. It was good -- not mind-blowing, but good.

Next, arriving simultaneously, were the fried green peppers and fried seafood (calamari, anchovies, and prawns). Needless to say, it was the perfect meal after a long night out...

I couldn't bring myself to eat the anchovies as I'm usually not a fan (I tend to ask for them on the side of my caesar salad or forgo the salad altogether if they're mixed into the dressing). The calamari and prawns were both tasty, although in my state of restless hunger I was a bit too impatient to unwrap and devein each individual prawn.

You may think I'm finished, but I'm just beginning (keep in mind this wasn't all for me - there were four of us at lunch). After the fried everything, the chef prepared for us tuna tartare with sesame seeds. This was one of my favorite parts of the meal, and although it sounds Asian, it didn't taste anything like teriyaki or soy. It was very well flavored; the perfect ratio of salt to fish.

Our next dish I enjoyed just as much if not more than the tuna. We received a bowl of clams in a mouth-watering white wine and butter sauce with bits of bacon (not to be confused with bacon bits). I dipped the bread we were given into the clam sauce after the clams were no more -- it was fabulous.

Next came the "traditional" (for Spain at least) Spanish omelette, which consisted of potatoes, sharp cheddar cheese, bacon, and a bit of mayonnaise on top. It was quite good, definitely the most memorable of the omelettes I've eaten in Spain. We were seated about five inches away from the stovetop, so lag time for the food was next to non-existent. As a result, the omelette practically melted when I stuck my fork into it.

After the omelette came the most interesting dish I've eaten abroad. Below is a picture of our cuttlefish with chickpeas. I still can't decide how I feel about this dish -- it had a rubbery texture against the tongue but a similar consistency to the chickpeas after chewing it. This fish had a duller taste than most, which can be a positive while experimenting with new foods. It's doubtful that I'll ever order cuttlefish in a restaurant again, so it's a good thing I got my fix.

Still going...

The pulpo followed the cuttlefish. I didn't know this until I googled it, but pulpo is Spanish for octopus. It was served over baked potato slices with vegetables and paprika. I tasted the fish but managed to exclude the tentacles from my bite. It, too, was rubbery and chewy, but not necessarily in a good way. I won't be eating pulpo again.

And last but not least (if this were pulpo, it would be least), we ate grilled calamari with assorted vegetables. I preferred the fried version, but perhaps that was just as a result of my morning-after state. This calamari was, however, one of the freshest components of our lunch.

Forgive me for the quality of these pictures, but hopefully you get the idea. Overall, I would describe my meal at Cal Pep as one that seemed like it would never begin, then seemed like it would never end. The food was tasty overall, with several standout dishes like the tuna and the clams. Had I not taken pictures and diligent notes on my blackberry, the rest might have faded into my memory. Next time I'm in Barcelona, which I'm certain will be sooner rather than later, I will probably not return to Cal Pep unless a reservation is made in advance. While I enjoyed my experience and got the chance to sample new creatures of the sea, there are very few restaurants, in my opinion, that merit a 90-minute wait. I would recommend this spot for any seafood fan looking for authentic Spanish fare. And the fare, not too pricey but quite filling. The only things I needed after this lengthy meal were a napkin and a few more hours of sleep...

Dine at Cal Pep:

Plaza Olles 8

08003 Barcelona, Spain

+34 933 107 961