"Irish Peasant Family Discovering the Blight of their Store" by Daniel MacDonald  (1847)


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IN THIS ISSUE

THE ALLURE OF ALSACE, Part One
By John A. Curtas
 

NEW YORK CORNER
THEO'S
By John Mariani



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THE ALLURE OF ALSACE

Part One

By John A. Curtas 

    It is impossible not to fall in love with Alsace. Once you see it for the first time, resistance is futile. Once you taste and drink its many delights, stroll its cobblestone streets, and walk among the candy-colored, half-timbered houses, you might as well resign yourself to a life-long love affair with Franco-German France. Alsace is a region, but it is also a culture: a battle-born civilization of freedoms hard won, peoples cross-pollinated and gastronomic traditions firmly entrenched. It also happens to be one of the most delicious places to eat and drink on the planet.
    Alsace is also a place of contradictions, and more than a little schizophrenia. Wars have been fought for centuries over this fertile farmland. Germany -- never a bashful sort when it comes to staking a claim -- has always considered the Vosges Mountains to be the natural border between it and France. The French--by nature more accommodating--have always maintained that the Rhine River is nature's way of separating the two countries, and besides, they say, we like our white wines fuller, more aromatic and alcoholic than you do. So, to each his own choucroute. (These differences in taste, which are taken very seriously in these parts, have thus been the basis for those dust-ups known as the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, WWI and WWII, or at least that's the way I like to think about it.)
     As a result of changing hands -- between two countries of very different personalities, not to mention sauerkraut -- five times in eighty years, there is a certain split personality in Alsace that I find glorious. Call it Teutonic efficiency mixed with French joie de vivre, if you will, but never, ever make the mistake of calling anyone there German, even though they all have names like Klein, Becker or Weinbach. "We are French!" they will say proudly, in French, with a German accent, and they will scowl (in that friendly/bemused French way) if you dare suggest that a spätlese Riesling from the Mosel is even in the same league as a Grand Cru Tokay Pinot Gris. And don't even think about comparing the charcuterie of the two countries in polite company.

    I like to think of Alsace as very, very French with a few German accents, and from the gingerbread architecture to the love of white wine to the gingerbread itself, you can revel in the similarities while enjoying the differences. All of which you can drink in when you are strolling the streets of Strasbourg.

      You begin in Strasbourg (above, right), of course, because it is both the capital of Alsace and the gateway to the wine country. But this international city is also a gastronomic gem in its own right.

    The best place to start your Alsatian education is in the Petite France section of the old city, and the best place to stay when doing so in Le Bouclier d'Or (left), a four-star hotel perched right on the edge of all sorts of gastronomic delights. Turn to your right as you exit and you will find yourself right in the heart of the most picturesque part of the city; turn a gauche and you'll be on a street filled with shops featuring all sorts of local delicacies, from the great cheeses of Alsace (Tomme, Cantal and Munster) to the local pain d’épices, baked into giant loaves weighing as much as a cinder block.

    Cross the canal that circles the old part of the city and walk a few blocks and you'll find yourself smack dab in front Au Pont Corbeau (below), a local favorite for its cuisine Alsaçienne and wine list chock full of small, local producers at gentle prices. Just like Alsatians, we eschew the avant garde when we're here, opting for choucroute garni and tripes à la mode, both of which were as soul-satisfying and of-their-place as food can get. (Contrary to what you might think, tripes à la mode does not come with ice cream.)

    After lunch, it's best to walk around, do some shopping, take in a museum, and visit the Strasbourg Cathedral with its single spire (the tallest in the world until 1874) and the technological marvel that is its astronomical clock. The clock is really more of a primitive calculating machine than a clock, but its 60-feet height, intricate beauty and advanced, 19th Century technology make it a wonder of artistry and engineering.

    If all that sightseeing doesn't make you hungry, I guarantee that a stroll down the Rue de Orfèvres will. Here you will find the upscale Frick-Lutz, (below) and various other traîteurs, confectioners and sellers of Alsace specialties.

     The regional delight not to be missed is foie d'oie, silky, delicate, almost pink-hued goose liver, more refined than the earthier, amber-colored duck livers you find in America, and, to my taste, more compelling. If gazing upon a black truffle-studded loaf of this food for the gods doesn't make you hungry, then I suggest you retire to the ascetic monastery whence you came.

    By now it should be getting close to dinnertime. You can pop into almost any restaurant in the Petite France quartier and be assured of having a good meal of local specialties; there's even a few newer places popping up with menus that hint of young chefs spreading their wings, e.g., 1741, Umami, but traveling to Strasbourg in search of the cutting-edge is like going to the Royal Philharmonic for some Philip Glass. Where we like to get a healthy dose of old Alsaçienne is at L'Ancienne Douane, whose name literally translates to "Restaurant at the Old Customs," located as it is in an ancient structure that dates to 1401. Located directly on the canal, L'Ancienne is the perfect place to while away a summer's day watching the boats go by as you tuck into hearty platters of  jarret gratiné,  a knuckle of ham with grated Munster cheese that's the size of a small football, or a tête de veau sauce ravigôte (veal head).

    Speaking of football, the choucroute here -- garnished as it is with six separate meats, including two types of bacon and three different sausages -- could stymie an NFL linebacker. In chillier seasons, the cozy, wood-paneled dining rooms are the perfect places to drink in the local atmosphere and sip local wines, all  served in those gorgeous, green-stemmed glasses.

    But man does not live by choucroute alone, and a couple of days in Strasbourg means a chance to revisit the gastronomic institution that is Au Crocodile,  a restaurant that hasn't lost its fastball, no matter what the Michelin Guide says. This venerable establishment held three Michelin starts between 1989 and 2002,  but no longer holds any, much to the chagrin of former chef/owner Emile Jung, who compared the loss of a star to "a pain that eats at our hearts and that has killed our spirits."   He sold the place to chef Phillipe Bohrer in 2010, and all we can hope is that Bohrer, like Alain Senderens at Lucas-Carton in Paris and others, has decided not to play the Michelin game anymore,  preferring instead to cook food his way, without constant fretting over Frette linens or other frippery -- details  that must be fussed over if the coveted stars are to be maintained.

    Michelin inspectors are infamous for their fussiness and, more recently, their trendiness, so Au Crocodile's decidedly old-school charm might cost it a few points, but there's nothing overtly stuffy about the food or the service.  The service was warm and welcoming, and the food was à point and all you could hope for in a fine French meal: gorgeous foie d'oie (right), roasted lobster with corral butter served with a fricassée of vegetables, and a pigeon de la ferme "Théo Kieffer" that was La Cuisine Français in all of its subtle-yet-intense glory.

    Being no stranger to Michelin-starred establishments, we left our meal here scratching our head. If this place doesn't merit at least one star, then something is amiss in the world's once respected food guide. Regardless, if this is what no-star cuisine tastes like in France, then we could die happy eating nothing but. Bully for you, Monsieur Bohrer! Stay the course and keep on cooking, and we'll keep on coming to Strasbourg.

Part Two will appear next week.

 

 

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THEO'S

1048 Third Avenue (corner of East 62nd Street)

917-475-1721
theosny.com

 

    Just three months old, and despite one change of chef and a re-casting of the menu, Theo’s has emerged as one of the best seafood restaurants in Manhattan.  That it is owned by a good-looking 21-year-old Greek named Theo Katsihtis (his father is in the upscale café business) makes it all the more remarkable and lends the spacious, swanky restaurant a youthful vibe, which includes a DJ later in the evening.  The interactive open kitchen (with a few counter seats for a tasting menu each night) adds light and some dramatic cooking pyrotechnics. The waitstaff is fleet-footed and very attentive, as is Theo himself, who visits all the tables to make sure all goes well.

    The high ceilings, shades of gray and silver (despite what the photo above shows), antique acid-etched mirrors, slate-topped bar and tables set with tulips and votive candles make a stylish, comfortable ambiance, perhaps a bit more like Las Vegas than the East Side of Manhattan. Of course, there is the requisite long list of “signature” cocktails ($14), and the adequate wine list has a number of bottlings at decent prices that go with the kind of food served. 

   While Theo’s is described as a “Mediterranean restaurant,” the menu now includes a number of meat dishes that don’t quite fit that description. But, by sticking with the seafood, you will have no doubt that Theo and Chef Nicholas Poulmentis are trying to stay true to their commitment to seafood, from the array of East and West Coast oysters (market price), glistening in a splendid presentation, to a Spanish brown turbot, a species that almost never shows well in transport across the Atlantic but that here is as fine an example as I’ve had in NYC. 

Poulmentis, from the island of Kythria, had been Executive Chef at Kellari Taverna, and the TV show “Greek Kitchen,” so you know where his heart lies.

    You’ll receive small popovers instead of bread; unfortunately, ours came dried out, with no butter on the table. 

To begin, my party enjoyed a lovely carpaccio of octopus dotted with caviar, and skewered grilled shrimp that had a good briny flavor to them. Light, generously proportioned lobster and citrus salad came with creamy avocado, frisée, fines herbs and red leaf sorrel ($22).  We had a choice that evening of either Manhattan or New England clam chowder ($17), and I thought the latter would be a better test of the chef’s talents.  I was rewarded with a textbook version of what New England chowder should be: creamy but not thick, seasoned but not over-spiced, with the right amount and size of tender clams with diced purple potato, bacon, celery leaf and purple shiso. Equally impressive was a pretty dish of crab and ricotta gnocchi ($24), al dente as they should be, with a touch of aji amarillo pepper, basil and a little paprika for color.

    I have already mentioned the fine turbot, whose excellence was clearly due to its freshness; it was a special, indicating it was the day’s catch, not always on the menu. A tuna steak ($28) was nicely cooked and rendered but lacked fatty flavor and richness.    But a Dover sole  (left) revealed just how delicate a difference there is between a too-meaty, overcooked example and the tender, juicy, buttery one at Theo’s, where all the plates are heated to keep the food warm, essential for a fish like sole that is best filleted at the table.  I prefer to perform that function by myself, and the kitchen smartly removed the boney edges, which facilitated the flesh to come off the spine with ease.  I haven’t had Dover sole this good in this country in quite some time.  Also, at $48 it was a bargain by comparison with what you may pay elsewhere in NYC.

     Prices for meat dishes at Theo’s can be very high, however, almost as if they’d prefer you didn’t order them. And it is a shame, given the high quality of the rest of the ingredients on the menu and given his Greek background, that Katsihtis is serving inferior Australian lamb.

But even the French fries ($9) were close to the way they make frites in Europe, triple fried and cooked through, golden brown and crisp outside. Brussels sprouts ($9) were all right but nothing special, as if the chef felt he had to have them on the menu without really wanting to.

Desserts ($11-$14) were far from the usual: rosewater-flavored panna cotta; avocado semi-freddo with cream caramel and crushed pistachios;  and gold-foil brushed chocolate cake with layers of chocolate soufflé and vanilla semi-freddo; and an English pie called banofee, with caramelized bananas and a waffle cup.

    My friends and I were gone before Theo’s got into its post-nine p.m. swing, but while we were there, the noise level was wholly conducive to good conversation, and it’s worthwhile to have one with Theo himself. Within seconds you’ll sense how proud he is of what he’s trying to accomplish here, and his youthful exuberance is as fetching as the conviviality of a night at Theo’s.

 

Theo’s is open for dinner seven nights a week; Lunch is served Mon.-Fri. ; brunch Sat. & Sun. 

 

 

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LUCK BE A LOBSTER TONIGHT

Inside Edition reporters visited 28 restaurants, including   Red Lobster and Nathan's in the Coney Island, ordering  dishes supposed to contain lobster, then sent the meat off for DNA testing, finding that 35% of the samples had cheap fish substitutes like whiting or pollock.  At Nathan's, the lobster-salad sandwich was all whiting.  Red Lobster's lobster bisque turned out to contain either cheaper langostino or a mix of part langostino, part lobster.  Red Lobster responded that the bisque has several types of fish because lobster's seasonality "can fluctuate," so that soups lacking any lobster at all what termed  "what we call 'the luck of the ladle.'"