Hello Moto


In March, I visited Mike and Joannie in Chicago. Originally, I planned to take them to Alinea for dinner, but it hadn't opened yet. Fortunately, Chicago hosts more than one "post modern" or "avant-garde" cuisine restaurant (this food movement has yet to settle on a term for itself, and molecular gastronomy is not the most appetizing of terms). Chef Ferran Adrià is widely credited with founding this movement with his restaurant El Bulli, situated a few hours north of Barcelona and voted best restaurant in the world by Restaurant Magazine just a few years back. Besides Alinea, Chicago also hosts chef Homaro Cantu's Moto and Graham Elliott Bowles Avenues. I opted for Moto.

I'm not an expert on post-modern cuisine, and this was my first experience with it, but some of the tenets seem to include the following:


  • Dining out should be an event in and of itself, a show both fun and intriguing

  • A meal should appeal to senses other than taste to a greater degree than they do today

  • Taste buds deserve something new, too

  • Distinctions between highbrow and lowbrow food are artificial and should be bridged

  • New technology can help to create new dishes with unique flavors and textures

  • Food can appeal to the intellect


Located on Fulton St., Moto is a bit cool in atmosphere, and on this Wednesday night (Mar 16), the austerity was amplified by the emptiness. We were one of just three tables occupied, and the hushed silence caused the three of us to whisper subconsciously. I killed my cell phone even before reading on the menu that "moto is a cell phone free environment unless we issue one to you" (italics theirs). One data point can't be extrapolated in any direction, but the restaurant is a bit out of the way for a Tuesday night feast for working folk. The lighting is quite dim inside. The website explains: "the minimalist decor of the main dinning room allows our guest to focus on the main attraction: Chef Cantu's food." I maxed out the ISO on my digital camera and still could have used a tripod for pics (as some of the blurry shots below will attest). I'd love to see mini spotlights at each table, perhaps on telescoping arms, or from mini table-standing lamps, or even hanging on long cords from the ceiling, to highlight the colors of the food. Ones eyes can't make out the color and texture of the food as well when everything is bathed in dim lighting.




Moto offered three tasting menus. The base menu includes five courses for $65, the next step up includes ten courses for $100, and the grand daddy is the Grand Tour Moto (GTM), eighteen courses for $160. The GTM is described on the menu as "the best way to experience our vision in the post modern movement," but my wallet's appetite could only stretch to the ten course taster. Our waiter told us that all three tasting menus included the same amount of food, and the thought of the portions in the GTM gave new meaning to molecular gastronomy.


Our first course was the sushi cartoon, one of Moto's more famous dishes. Homaro Cantu had devised a means to feed food dyes through an inkjet printer, and this roll of sushi included photos of the fish printed on the outside of the rice paper wrapping. Novel, but more interesting conceptually than taste-wise. Cantu has a patent out on this method of printing on rice paper, and our waiter noted that Cantu hoped to enclose flavored rice paper in plastic for distribution in magazines and other outlets in the future. The culinary equivalent of perfume samples in magazines, it might be a way to market a restaurant directly to diners' taste buds.







Course two was champagne & king crab. The grapes in the photo had been carbonated somehow (with a syringe?). Each bite provided a fruity fizzling in the mouth that took me by surprise, and the dry champagne and sweet-tart grape complimented the salt and seafood flavors of the sturgeon and king crab nicely. See the piece of plastic below? It housed another of Cantu's inkjet creations. In this case, he had printed a piece of rice paper with the flavors of the dish below. After eating the dish, we were told to put the "negative" on our tongue for "developing." The result, if executed properly, was to be a reminder of what we'd just had. Cantu named this concoction deja vu. I didn't follow directions and got the negative stuck on the roof of my mouth where, presumably, humans have few if any taste buds. Joannie's negative stuck to the roof of her mouth also, suggesting that the deja vu idea needs tweaking. The result was more of a fuzzy Polaroid than an Ansel Adams print, but I still loved the dish.




Course three: French onion soup with a hot - frozen crouton. The waiter added a cube of liquid nitrogen at the table to cool the soup, causing smoky plumes to emanate from the bowl. The waiter explained the reasoning behind the liquid nitrogen, but I don't recall the details. Perhaps rapid cooling locks in the flavor in a more concentrated fashion?




Dish four: lobster with freshly squeezed orange soda. The orange is to the right in the photo below. The lobster was served over pureed celery root with brown butter icea cream. The orange, like the grapes earlier, had been carbonated. I'm a fan of the carbonated fruit. It adds a playful touch to the traditional palate cleanser. The lobster was magnificent. I love lobster, and any dish that incorporates lobster has to let the lobster be the center piece. Let lobster be lobster. This dish did.




Dish five: sunchoke, lemon, thyme, & kalamansi. Our waiter filled in the details: sunchoke (Jerusalem artichoke or sunflower bulb) sorbet, lemon and thyme jelly, and kalamansi foam. Kalamansi is a Japanese citrus fruit. The foam texture is said to deliver a more concentrated dose of Kalamansi flavor, but I'm not sure I've ever had Kalamansi so I can't comment on the success of the technique.




Before bringing out dish six, our waiters brought out a thermal polymer box heated to 400 degrees. Inside rested a raw piece of monkfish, soon to be dish number seven after it finished cooking on our table. Until then, dish six: french fry potato chain links with sweet potato pie. The potato links were carved from one potato. To the left below: porcini mushroom ragout. To the right: fennel and cabbage topped with juniper marshmallow.




Below, Joannie demonstrates that the potato links indeed formed a continuous chain. This is something I did not learn in my knife skills cooking class. The cook learned the technique from Andre Soltner of the French Culinary Institute in NYC. I'm quite certain it's something I'll never attempt.




Dish seven: monkfish bouillabasse. The waiters removed the monkfish from the thermal polymer box and placed it over bouillabaisse made from powder and the juices of the monkfish itself.




Dish eight: prime dry aged beef with braised pizza & garlic. What makes the dish noteworthy is not the democratic inclusion of pizza but the utensils. The top of both the spiral metallic fork and spoon speared a grilled(?) clove of garlic. Before each bite, we were to smell the garlic. This, the waiter explained, would fool our taste buds into tasting garlic without actually having to eat it. The effect was mild, but I had a stuffy nose. I have no problem with garlic breath, so I'd prefer my garlic in my mouth, but the beef and pizza combo was still a winning one.






Dish nine: doughnut soup. The blurry shot below is just a bit below actual size. We each received an espresso-sized shot of this dessert, and it was my favorite of the night. I don't have the adjectives to describe it, but just imagine drinking a Krispy Kreme glazed donut. The liquid had the consistency of skim milk, and the flavor was just the right level of sweetness. This is a shining example of where molecular gastronomy goes right. It's as if the flavors and smells of a donut had been magically distilled into liquid form, delivering something that tasted more like a donut than a donut itself, if that makes sense.


I had to know how the dish was made, and our waiter provided a brief description which has blurred over the passage of time. I believe they boiled a few Krispy Kreme donuts in milk, then strained the liquid and added sugar. Then they pureed a few Krispy Kreme donuts, mixed it all together, and strained the liquid out again. I hope Cantu (or is this the work of pastry chef Ben Roche?) releases the actual recipe someday because this is something I'd try and make at home. I hope to attempt this soon, and if anyone wants to trade recipes or secrets, do e-mail me.


Avant-garde cuisine has spiced up the dessert canon with its willingness to tap fast food and school lunch snacks. Another Moto dessert is Kentucky Fried ice cream (tastes like fried chicken!), and chef Bowles at Avenues incorporates Rice Krispie treats in one of his dishes.




Lastly, manjari chocolate cake with hot ice cream. The flourless chocolate cake was covered with walnuts and filled with maple syrup that gushed out once I breached the outer wall with my spoon.




No, wait, another dish, courtesy of the kitchen. Packing peanuts. The texture was that of, well, packing peanuts (when avant-garde cuisine succeeds, dictionaries fail because the food tasted just like it's named), the taste was that of popcorn, complimented by a caramel dipping sauce. We also opted for tea to conclude our three hour plus meal, having as one of our selections a tea called Iron Goddess of Mercy. Our waiter shared its history.


This reserve grade oolong tea was made from a 1400 year old tree. It gained its exalted status after curing a Ming Dynasty emperor and was made from only the middle leaf of the three leaves on the end of each branch. Why only the middle leaf? I don't know, but it makes for a good story.




Our waiter, coincidentally, had trained under Grant Achatz (of Alinea fame). He had nothing but praise for Achatz and was training to open a place of his own in the future. All waiters at Moto work in the kitchen as well, and our team of two or three waiters were trained in the techniques of high-end dining service. All our dishes touched the table at the same instant, and all wine labels were rotated towards diners while being poured. Occasionally, a waiter would even come over and adjust the placement of my wine glass which was too much attention for my taste. The timing of the arrival of each course was precise, so I can't imagine how long the GTM might take. One might be at the restaurant for four or five hours.


One last surprise remained. Our waiter had noted me jotting notes in my notebook and snapping the occasional photo, and he'd fielded many more questions from us than the other diners. When our check arrived, he brought with it a laminated copy of our menu, dated March 16, 2005, signed by chef Homaro Cantu! A perfect memento of an already memorable meal.


My lasting impression of Moto and avant-garde cuisine is a positive one. I'm as much a fan of simple cuisine as anyone (especially in my own kitchen), but letting my tastebuds experience sensations and flavors they've never been is the equivalent of traveling to undiscovered countries. The mixture of familiar cupboard favorites (A-1 steak sauce, e.g.) and childhood favorites (PBJ, cotton candy, e.g.) with expensive ingredients (foie gras, lobster) is not just playful but often successful, and many of these dishes are not just gimmicks but successful attempts at extracting flavors in their purest forms for seamless and intriguing integration.


This food movement is still young, and as such, some of the chefs' attempts will be unsuccessful. However, we have enough restaurants that know how to crank out steak frites, braised lamb shank, or Chilean sea bass, and only a handful of offshoots of El Bulli experimenting at the frontier of cooking. At this point in the movement, the risk-reward ratio for both the chefs and a foodie like me is still far in favor of experimentation. Foodies already treat meals as events, and they're the target audience here.


Those of you wishing to sample some avant-garde cuisine need to travel to Chicago, New York, Washington, D.C., London, or Barcelona (and you'll need more than a dose of good luck to score a table at Alinea or El Bulli):


El Bulli, Roses (Girona) 972150457 (reservations)


Minibar at Cafe Atlantico 405 8th St., NW, Washington, DC 202 393 0812


Alinea 1723 North Halsted Street, Chicago, 312 867-0110


Moto 945 West Fulton Market, Chicago, 312 491-0058


Avenues Peninsula Hotel, 108 East Superior Street, Chicago, 312 573-6754


WD-50 50 Clinton Street, New York, 212 477-2900


A few more pics from Moto...










Feel Good


Eat fat to lose fat

Now there's a headline I can get behind.


Party Ben mashes Gorillaz and Cake: "Never Feel Good" (MP3)

Gorillaz "Feel Good" is the catchiest single I've heard this year. Not sure how long until the new Apple commercial spoils it for me, but not yet. It stands alone better than it does mashed up. Ironically, it sounds best played large, on a full-size sound system. I love my iPod, but it's not the best device for really showing off music, and people who only listen to music on the iPod are missing out on something good (and possibly damaging their hearing)


Alinea, the latest entrant in the avant-garde food movement, debuts

Let's hope the food is better than the website. Grant Achatz is widely regarded as a prodigy in the culinary world. I wanted to go there when I was in Chicago earlier this year, but it hadn't opened. Instead, I took Mike and Joannie to Moto. I've been meaning to write up my meal there. Before I do, though, let me summarize: I'm a fan. My dessert at Moto was donut soup. It tasted like a liquid Krispy Kreme donut. Awesome.


Eliot Spitzer brokers a deal b/t Time Warner and Cablevision so Mets and Yankees games can be seen by Time Warner Cable customers (like yours truly)


Two thoughts: how ridiculous is it that a huge portion of NYC, the largest baseball market in the world, couldn't see their home teams on TV, and what doesn't Eliot Spitzer do?


Is their a way to get Mac OS X Tiger's Dashboard widgets to persist? If not, there should be, especially for the multi-day weather forecast widget.


Roast pork, docile elephants


After reading a stellar write-up of this joint in The New Yorker, I had to try Tony Luke's. Headed up towards Central Park, I stopped in along the way for a sandwich. It's most well-known for importing its cheesesteak ingredients (and a chef who apprenticed with Tony Luke himself) from Philly, but I opted for its other claim to fame, the Roast Pork Italian sandwich. With variations of just three basic sandwiches on the menu, Tony Luke's sticks to its specialties.


The restaurant itself is nothing to speak of, though people who know give it props for an authentic Philly atmostphere. White tile floor, fluorescent lights, and a counter and bar stools on the right and left lead to an ordering window at the rear of the shop. The woman behind it slid the window open, took my order, and slid the window shut. I felt like I was at a Western Union waiting for money to be wired over from family on another continent. A short while later, a different window opened, and a pair of arms passed me my sandwich.


The roast pork Italian is $7.95 and offers roast pork, provolone cheese, and broccoli rabe on foot long, soft-baked bread. They don't cheat on the length--I think mine may have been a foot and a half long--and they also don't cut the sandwich in half or offer any utensils. If there's an elegant way to eat the sandwich, it's likely limited to people with Michael Jordan-sized hands. I just stuffed my face with it, pork and rabe and provolone and grease spilling out in all directions.




Simple, and effective. The bitterness of the rabe, the sharpness of the provolone, and the saltiness of the pork form a beautiful love triangle, delivered on a plush bed of dough whose starchy taste stays out of the way. My one grips is that the restaurant offers only napkins. You need a sink with soap or at a minimum three wet naps to clean the grease off your hands afterwards.


Tony Luke's is on 9th Ave. between 41st and 42nd St. Next time I visit (after my arteries clear)? Cheesesteak.


Before stopping for a sandwich, I stopped at the Ashes and Snow photography exhibition (at Hudson River Park's Pier 54 until June 6). The exhibition is housed in a "nomadic museum" building designed by Shigeru Ban and built out of shipping containers and paper tubing (Ban is famous for building all sorts of structures out of cardboard tubing).






The photographs and 35mm film by Gregory Colbert reveal elephants, whales, cheetahs, falcons, and other animals living in peace and harmony with humans. In many of the photos, man and animal seem to be meditating together. Having lived without pets and in cities most of my life, the photos seemed fantastic, even artificial in the empathy depicted, but nothing I read at the exhibit indicated that the animals were anything but wild, or that the photos were manipulated in any way. In fact, one text said that the man free diving with the humpback whales was Colbert himself.


The 35mm film featured slow motion footage of the same subjects, but in motion they're even more mysterious. One shot showed a young girl lying asleep in a canoe, drifting down the river. The shot was from overhead and followed as the canoe passed below an elephant standing in the river. Was the elephant wild? How did they film some of these scenes? The large crowd of onlookers stood in rapt attention, like pilgrims in a temple.




If you're in NYC and looking for a peaceful way to spend an hour or two, Ashes and Snow is well worth a visit. If you're not in NYC, perhaps the nomadic museum will stop near you in the future, or you can check out more of the photos online or purchase some of the work here. A few more Colbert pics after the jump.











Media bits


iTunes 4.8 released, offering playback for Quicktime videos

After ogling the H.264 codec clips in Quicktime 7 on my G5, I can finally envision paying for video downloads through the web, for viewing on my computer. This new version of iTunes could be a step in that direction. People have speculated that Apple might focus on video downloads for a device like the iPod, but they could easily start with downloads for playback on laptops and desktops if those are the only devices capable of hurdling a minimum quality floor.


A torrent of New Order's May 5 concert in NYC at the Hammerstein Ballroom (and a bonus Peter Hook DJ set at Hiro in the Meatpacking District from that same night)

Hearing Peter Hook's bass riffs and New Order's distinctive guitar melodies makes me feel nostalgic.


The next song to be featured in the iPod commercials: Gorillaz' "Feel Good Inc" (iTunes Music Store)


Catchy tune.


Editing 101

Reality television shows might not have any resemblance to reality, and their intellectual value is debatable, but one thing many of them have mastered is editing. The typical Mark Burnett reality show seems to be shot with multiple camcorders, following all the contestants from multiple angles, acquiring hundreds of hours of footage.
The magic happens in the editing room, when all that footage is condensed into forty minute episodes packed with drama and a storyline. I wouldn't be surprised if the shooting ratio is something like 20:1. Need a villain? Find a moment when one of the contestants lets his guard down and lets loose with a snide remark, then toss in a few angry responses from some of the other contestants.
Or highlight two rivals who don't particularly care for each other. Start with a few old clips where the two clashed. Interview each of them and ask pointed questions about how they feel about their rival, but don't show or reveal the questions. End the episode with a challenge pitting the two rivals against each other.
Days and days of footage are condensed into 40 minutes of non-stop action and conflict, set to a military soundtrack from Hans Zimmer. It's conflict concentrate, and one suspects that many minor conflicts are transformed into epic clashes in the editing bay. Whether you accept that or not, it is a model of efficient editing, straight out of the Michael Moore playbook.
This latest episode of The Contender was one of the better ones, pitting the easygoing good guy Jessie Brinkley against uptight, intense, cutthroat reality show contestant Anthony Bonsante, who lied about who he was going to call out in an earlier episode so he could challenge someone who wasn't prepared to fight. In Bonsante's defense, he's a single father of two who works as a K-Mart Overnight Production Supervisor, and he didn't break any contest rules.
The episode's fight build-up a confident, fit, and focused Bonsante, while Brinkley seemed mentally distracted, overweight, lazy, and a bit unsure of himself. Jessie had to lose eight or nine pounds of water weight in one day to make his fight day weight requirement of 161, going out for a jog in the sunshine in black, plastic sweats. Even then, he had to hop back on the treadmill in sweats again a few hours before the fight to drop an additional half pound. Brutal.
[As an aside, I was shocked to find out these guys weight just a few pounds more than I do. TV really does add 10 pounds and about six inches.]
The five round fights in The Contender are also examples of ruthless editing. You don't see much of the fighters circling each other. The edited footage of each round includes only flurries of punches, spliced together with reaction shots from the crowd: Sly and Sugar Ray tossing mock punches and cringing at big hits, the wives and mothers and children screaming bloody murder or gasping in horror, and occasionally a token celebrity guest like James Caan or Sharon Stone clapping and enjoying the life of leisure of a celebrity.
Bonsante won the first two rounds, Brinkley the third. Then Bonsante went into his frenzy mode in round four, throwing about five hundred punches in a row like Agent Smith pounding on Neo against the subway wall. Brinkley was down 3-1 with one round remaining, so he had to have a knockout. Bonsante came out in frenzy mode again even though he only needed to play defense to win the decision. For more than half the round, the aggression worked, and it looked hopeless for Brinkley. Then, suddenly, the camera went into slow motion, always a cue in The Contender that a momentous punch is on the way. Brinkley tossed a huge uppercut that had Bonsante spinning, and when the spinning stopped, Brinkley lined up another huge right uppercut that displaced Bonsante's head about a foot. The edited fight footage cut from a slow mo of the uppercut immediately to an overhead shot of Bonsante falling back onto the canvas with an audible thud, arms and legs sprawled in all directions like Wile E. Coyote running into a rock wall. A beauty of a cut.
Though Bonsante got back up, he was loopy, and Brinkley pounded him as Bonsante's daughter looked on with tears, screaming. Bonsante's mother ran to the ringside screaming "Stop the fight! Stop the fight!" I have no problem with boxing, and the violence is beautiful, almost lyrical, but one of the more uncomfortable aspects of The Contender is watching the fighters' really young children at ringside watching their fathers sustaining bloody beatings.
We need to sic the world's reality television show editors on the hundreds of thousands of hours of home videos around the country.
Footnote: Bonsante on Sly: "Sly's had three marriages and God knows he hasn't made the best movies, but he capitalizes on everything."

Children's fantasy on the big screen


Two fantasy franchises teased online this weekend, both in Quicktime:


I remember the event of reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe but not what happens in the book itself. I think I was in third or fourth grade, and we were over at a family friend's house in Naperville (before we moved there ourselves, many years later). The adults were playing Mah Joong or something like that, and I, being a shy and somewhat antisocial youngster, wandered the shelves of the library with my eyes. The Chronicles of Narnia paperback boxset stopped me for some reason.


By the time the adults had finished an entire four rounds of Mah Joong, I had finished the first volume. As a child, I always had a soft spot for books about children who travel alone to fantastic lands to deal with unimaginable problems. As children, we never feel that anyone, especially adults, understands the daily challenges we work through. These books use fantasy as a metaphor for these feelings of alienation, transforming rites of passage into larger-than-life confrontations with mythical beasts. It's no coincidence that the mysteries in the Harry Potter books/movies are never solved by the teachers at Hogwarts, some of whom seem incompetent. Adults may appreciate the books/movies, but they are written from a child's perspective, with a youth's sensibility.


Wicked


Either Wicked or Spamalot is the hottest musical in town. Wicked has been running over a year now, and somewhere along the line it blew up. I receive e-mails from Ticketmaster offering tickets for Wicked shows six months from now. Most shows from now until then are sold out. A friend walked up to the box office and managed to score good seats to last Thursday's show, and while I'm not a musical aficionado, I look forward to heading out on the town for a show.


The Gershwin Theatre, one of the larger I've been to in NYC, was packed. The atmosphere was that of a rock concert. Everytime Elphaba (Shoshana Bean) finished a solo, dozens of young girls stood up and screamed their support. Depending on your frame of reference, it had the atmosphere of a Beatles or Justin Timberlake concert. Usually an overzealous audience is a drawback, but perhaps for a musical it helps to energize the cast. Most shows that have been running for a long time go stale which is why it's often worth the price premium to see a show while it's fresh and hot.


I didn't know much about Wicked going in except that Kristin Chenoweth (most familiar to me as Annabeth Schott from The West Wing) had originated one of the leads before leaving in July. As soon as the musical started, though, it was clear that Chenoweth had played Glinda. As played by Jennifer Laura Thompson, Glinda sounded and acted like, well, Kristin Chenoweth as a peppy, ditzy blonde. Either Chenoweth had made the part her own, or it was perfect casting. Probably somewhere in between, especially when I recalled the movie version of The Wizard of Oz and recalled that Glinda was indeed a bubbly and spacey fairy. If Phoebe Buffay was your favorite character on Friends, Wicked's Glinda makes this the musical for you. Her comic performance and plenty of faithful references to characters, events, and dialogue from the movie provide most of the humor and a-ha pleasure in the show. The production value of the set is top-notch; the giant animatronic wizard has an impressive mechanical grandeur.


Wicked is the back story of The Wizard of Oz, but it also spans the entirety of the movie. It's a canny concept, just the right mix of familiar and foreign that musical productions favor. None of the music stuck in my brain, and the surprise ending is awful, but musical fans will embrace it for many years to come. I suspect I'll leave New York City before Wicked does.


Tiger...just did it


Finally got my copy of Mac OS X Tiger from Amazon but haven't played with it much. My first thought is that it includes a lot of functionality I used to get from third party shareware. Spotlight takes the place of LaunchBar, and the Dashboard includes a weather widget that replaces WeatherPop. And multi-person video conferencing sounds cool, in concept, though who would I use that with?


Huffington Post launches, with blogs from a diverse group of 250 people from Mike Nichols, Ellen DeGeneres, John Cusack, and Warren Beatty to David Mamet, Norman Mailer, and Walter Cronkite.


The latest performance enhancer: MaxSight contact lenses

Made by Nike and Bausch & Lomb, they're used by, among others, Brian Roberts who is currently hitting the tar out of the ball in Baltimore.


Seattle's Space Needle to be converted into a giant wi-fi antenna [via Boing Boing]


Panasonic AG-HVX200

The camcorder that combines a lot of the features amateur filmmakers and videographers have been looking for--HDV, 16:9 CCDs, 24p, 1080p/720p--has been announced. It uses solid-state P2 memory cards as HD media rather than tape, and while it will improve quality, the cost of the camera with two 8GB P2 cards will be just under $10,000!

The exclamation point reflects amazement in both directions. The camera is cheap for what it can do, but my eyes (and wallet) are bleeding already. JVC also announced a new HDV camcorder at NAB. Can Canon be far behind?

2005 James Beard Foundation Awards

The Oscars of the restaurant world were announced. NYC is the Miramax of the restaurant world, or at least when Miramax was in its prime.
NY winners:
  • All-Clad Bakeware Bakeware Outstanding Pastry Chef Award: Karen DeMasco of Craft, NYC - if I were a flying squirrel, I could jump out my window and glide to the doorstep of Craft. I really should go.
  • All-Clad Cookware Outstanding Chef Award: Mario Batali of Babbo, NYC - is that the trophy Batali is holding, or is he about to bludgeon one of his foes on Iron Chef? I like a chef with a little heft; it's visible confirmation that they like to eat.

  • American Express Best Chef, New York City: Andrew Carmellini, Caf

Mini reviews


I consume and accumulate more media (DVR, Netflix, Amazon.com, RSS, e-mail newsletters, movie theatres, concerts, plays, the Sunday NYTimes, magazines) than I can write about, so perhaps a few impressions or mini-reviews will prove a more manageable format to clear the logjam in my head.


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The Interpreter is cool to the touch, much as I imagine Nicole Kidman's porcelain skin feels. She has a unique beauty, but it is a distancing type of beauty. The camera gazes at her in this movie from up close. She hides behind her bangs (so much so that it becomes a distraction), but even without the bangs, no camera can penetrate her statuesque features.


Sean Penn's character is given a needlessly tragic back story. An actor of Penn's skill is quick to expose such plot contrivances; it's like giving a Yo Yo Ma a metronome for a live performance. His furrowed brow makes for a nice visual contrast to Kidman's flawless complexion, and some of the most interesting scenes are those in which the two of them converse.


The trailer ruins the movie's centerpiece, a cat and mouse game that ends on a New York city bus. Anyone who has seen the trailer knows how it ends. It's a serious movie, with righteous indignation, tears, and impassioned speeches about the dream that was the United Nations. What I wanted more of was Catherine Keener's FBI agent. She receives two lines of note in the movie, and both are zingers.


If The Interpreter had been made by Hitchcock with, say, Cary Grant as the FBI agent and Grace Kelly as the interpreter, sparks would have flown by movie's end. It wasn't, and they don't. The most that Kidman grants Penn is a hug, and that's what the movie gives its audience, a polite hug when we want a hot kiss or a slap in the face.


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In the first Fenway Park scene in Fever Pitch, mannequins are clearly visible in the upper right of the screen in the crowd. Not enough extras willing to volunteer to sit at Fenway? Perhaps Red Sox diehards were too appalled at the idea of Jimmy Fallon playing one of them to lend their support. Were my eyes fooling me? Did anyone else see those?


Fallon's line readings, as with his on Saturday Night Live, seem effortless. Not in a good way. He never seems to try all that hard, and it comes across as a rehearsal. Contrast that with Drew Barrymore, who enunciates her thoughts in romantic comedies with the measured deliberation of someone reading a difficult foreign language exercise, as if the precision of her wording is critical to the incantation that will transform one of the many doofuses cast opposite her into an adult. Now that Meg Ryan has been face lifted into oblivion, Drew is America's new movie sweetheart, with her forgiving smile and child-like wonder (see, I've never met her and we're already on a first name basis). Her charm is the opposite of that of a Nicole Kidman. Drew is one of the very few actresses who can be cast opposite a gawky guy like Jimmy Fallon or Adam Sandler and make the audience believe she could actually fall for them. For a while Jennifer Aniston encroached on this territory, but then in real life she married Brad Pitt instead of Tom Green.


The movie has some clever meet-cute banter, and the Red Sox fandom caricatures are tolerable in doses. When the movie makes Fallon's love of the Red Sox the centerpiece of their conflict, though, it's such a reach that I lost all interest. The fans in Fallon's section of Fenway don't feel like real people. They're almost as much mannequins as the actual mannequins I saw on screen, there to recite some expository dialogue for non sports fans who aren't aware of the Red Sox's tragic history.


Of course, the movie would have been far more poetic had the Red Sox actually lost the World Series last year, but me thinks that Red Sox nation will hang on to their memories and kick the movie to the curb.


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Last last last Sunday, Ken took me to the concluding game of the Washington Nationals (formerly the Montreal Expos) opening series at RFK Stadium, against the Diamondbacks. RFK Stadium is not going to win any design or aesthetic awards--it's in the vein of Busch Memorial and other concrete flying saucer stadiums built before HOK came along with its red brick "old is new" aesthetic--but it's perfectly suitable for watching baseball. We sat down the first base line, giving us a good view across the stadium at the seats behind third base. When the Nationals rallied to take the lead, the fans in that section started jumping up and down, and that section of the stadium visibly bounced. Why I don't know (temporary bleachers set up in the conversion from football to baseball stadium?) but it's cool.




One of the downsides of the stadium's construction is that the outfield seats are way up above ground level. Most home run balls will fall into uninhabited space behind the outfield wall instead of into a fans' hands.




The stadium wasn't full. It seats over 56,000, so I suspect that good seats will always be available. I don't have any feel for D.C.'s appetite for baseball, but I can't imagine it will be worse than that of the Montreal faithful (though to be fair, much of the blame should be pinned on the old ownership).


My one game there has me suspecting that home runs will be at a premium. A few balls that looked to be crushed died short of the warning track. That's unfortunate for one of my fantasy baseball teams that counts Vidro and Wilkerson among its starters.




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Since moving into an apartment with paper-thin walls, I've had to keep the volume on my stereo system down. That means most music I listen to now is piped in from my iPod, whether I'm listening at home on my computer or strolling around town. The Apple earbuds that come with their iPods are nothing special, and they don't fit my ears. For all these reasons and others, I felt justified in investing in Shure E3c Sound Isolating Earphones.


No regrets so far. The E3c's sound a whole lot better than the Apple earbuds and my old over-the-head sports headphones. They're not noise canceling, but they do an amazing job of sealing my ears from external noise, of which there is an abundance in NYC. When I saunter down the sidewalk with the E3c's on and music blasting, all of NYC seems like a massive music video playing out just for me (in which the citizens of NYC shoot condescending stares my way for daring to saunter).


Search the web; lots of online stores carry E3c's, and good deals can be found. No need to buy direct from Shure at full retail price.


The killer app of podcasting


I've been waiting for the killer podcast to lure me into that technology, and now it has arrived: the Paris Hilton podcast. Fashion, home videos, television, Tribeca Film Festival, movies, and now podcasting. Paris Hilton is a multi-channel multimedia mogul.


This was my first year at the Tribeca Film Festival. I'm not sure what to think of the fact that House of Wax showed at the festival. How does that movie, which already has distribution, fit with any of the themes of the Tribeca Film Festival? At Sundance this year, we ran into Jenny McCarthy and her husband in Park City. They were surrounded by an entourage of guys dressed in Moviefone jackets. I thought, "Oh cool, she's here to see some movies." Turns out she was the star of a movie playing at Sundance. It's both a democratic and a humbling business. Interestingly, IMDb reports the weighted average user rating of the movie as 2.6 out of 10; when you look at the actual vote breakdown, the arithmetic mean is 6.9, but IMDb says that "various filters are applied to the raw data in order to eliminate and reduce attempts at 'vote stuffing' by individuals more interested in changing the current rating of a movie than giving their true opinion of it...the exact methods we use will not be disclosed." Jenny McCarthy and friends stuffing the ballot box? Wouldn't be the first thing she stuffed to get ahead in life.


In all seriousness, though, I do enjoy dropping a few podcasts on my iPod in the morning before heading out around town. Sometimes I need some background music for a subway ride, but other times I'm in the mood for something like, say, The Leonard Lopate Show (podcast link). In this post-Tivo age, podcasts suit my temperament because the moment they lose my interest I just fast forward or skip to the next one. I find myself wishing that some of my music buff friends would compile podcasts of their favorite new music, though I suspect the licensing rights for something like that are in favor of the labels. Does anyone know for certain?


Star Wars Episode III..Trailer #10

Well, more of a music video/trailer, this being half a music video for John Williams "A Hero Falls" from the Revenge of the Sith soundtrack. Some new saber-fu footage.
Having seen Star Wars Episode IV and all these trailers now, it's fairly clear how each of the jedi fights in Revenge of the Sith will end up, but I didn't have the restraint to avoid the onslaught of advertising and promotion.
On a related note, if you consider John Williams scores to be classical music (Amazon.com, for one, classifies soundtracks in its popular music catalog instead), then John Williams might be the top selling classical music composer alive today. If recorded music existed way way back in the day, would that title have belonged to Beethoven, Mozart, Wagner, Strauss?

Capogiro riso gelato




A few years back, while visiting Florence, I tasted riso gelato (rice gelato), and ever since I've been an addict. But back here in the States, not too many gelateria's offer riso. Perhaps the production is too onerous. Perhaps the demand isn't there. It should be. Riso gelato, made right, is sweet, but not too sweet. The rice is soft but offers just enough resistance to the bite (firmer than tapioca, softer than a rice krispie treat).


Here in NYC, my gelato of choice is Capogiro which can be found at Garden of Eden. They also sell gelato online, though. Recently, I wrote in requesting riso gelato, and Stephanie, one of the gelato queens there, obliged. Friday's daily flavor list e-mail even called me out on it:


Buon Giorno!!



fior di latte

lemon yogurt

burnt sugar

bourbon butterscotch

basil

banana

riso milano (for eugene)

lemon

crimson grape

tarocco-siciliano orange

champagne mango

caped gooseberry

lime cilantro

granny smith apple with chervil

avocado

kiwi

thai coconut milk

espresso

irish coffee

chocolate

mexican chocolate

bacio

cioccolato scuro

nocciola piemontese

macadamia nut

toasted almond

pistacchio siciliano



ciao!



www.capogirogelato.com


If you enjoy gelato, a six pint order from Capogiro is an excellent investment. If you order six seasonal gelati and want riso included, make a request for it in the comments section. And tell them I sent you and Stephanie will choose some winners for you. She mentioned that this week she's going to whip up some violet and possibly nasturtium, and perhaps some crimson grapes, rambutans, and cherimoya (paired with lime and thai coconut milk). I don't know half of the ingredients she mentions to me, but they all sound amazing.


On set of The Sopranos


Wednesday I took a tour, led by Phil's sister Rebecca, of Silvercup Studios out in Long Island City. Its most famous tenants in recent years have been The Sopranos and Sex in the City. I strolled through the backroom of Bada Bing and sat in Tony's chair while admiring the voluminous collection of porno posters. We took a walk through the base level of Uncle Junior's house, gazed into Artie Bucco's Vesuvio's restaurant, and toured the inside of Tony's house. The exterior shots at Tony's house are shot somewhere else. For the view of the outside world as seen from inside Vesuvio's, the production designers use a long transparent curtain on which is painted a street scene. When backlit, the screen (its name eludes me) is indistinguishable from a real street scene backdrop.


I may soon be sleeping with the fishes in the Hudson River for publishing this photo, but I think millions of people are already familiar with Tony and Carmela's kitchen. I peeked in the refrigerator and was disappointed not to find any leftover ziti.




Sopranos fan eagerly awaiting the next and perhaps final season of the show shouldn't get too worked up. Filming on that season hasn't begun yet.


Wash D.C. photos, Adobe ImageReady color shifts


I uploaded a batch of new photos to Flickr, pics from my visit to DC. I tinkered with the white balance and exposure of the RAW files before using ImageReady to convert them to JPEGs for upload.


When I looked at the photos in ImageReady, the colors looked washed out as compared to the more saturated RAW files I had been working with. I should have stopped and investigated then. It wasn't until today that I found the source of this problem. Sigh. Perhaps they won't look washed out for you Windows PC users. I changed my Mac display gamma to 2.2; I like my world's color palette rich and saturated. Sometime I'll have to go back and correct these photos.