Portable Mind: A sort of travel guide

Miracle on Bleeker Street, Nor'Easter on Commerce

Last Sunday might have been the first perfect spring day in New York, and we - along with many other tri-state area residents - chose to spend it wandering the sunny streets of the West Village.

In search of an easy place to meet some friends, we stumbled upon a small Southwestern restaurant called Miracle. It was warm and welcoming, a neighborhood cantina, and we ordered small plates - tilapia tacos and calamari (mine paired with a French rose, perfect for the spicy kick). The food was mouth-watering, flavorful and perfectly prepared. Unfortunately, we'd had dinner at Dos Caminos a few nights earlier and had spectacular margaritas, so Dan's Miracle version didn't live up; but the food beat Dos Caminos hands down, and the prices are far more reasonable.

On the way home we stopped in at Commerce, a neighborhood place tucked away on Commerce and Bedford, occupying the former Grange Hall. We settled into a corner for early evening cocktails amidst a small group celebrating a co-worker, and bartenders eager to make us whatever drinks we wanted. I tried their version of a mint julep - smooth, refreshing, and cut with ginger, while Dan had a Nor'easter, a drink highlighted in NY Mag. He followed up with a Brunswick, which was so good he Twittered about it. A solid recommendation if ever there was one.

Pickpockets in Barcelona, part II

Dan finally provides his own account of the pickpocketing incident in Barcelona. Well, sort of.

In the WD~50 Lab

People travel for all sorts of reasons, but one that truly resonates with me is the pursuit of great culinary experiences. Food, whether it's intimate and homemade, a dish created by a master chef, or purchased at a street fair, can undoubtedly alter an experience for better or for worse, particularly when away from home.

Liz and Noah arrived in New York last weekend from Boston, to dine. Liz is passionate about food, and she planned their weekend around several locations in the city, most of which I'd never heard of. We were invited to join, but not to alter their plans; and having seen her in action, I understand why. She clearly knows what she's doing (hint: please write a blog. or a book. or Twitter).

Saturday was reserved for WD~50, Wiley Dufresne's much-ado about molecules restaurant, on Clinton street, LES. The interior begs casual chic, but it doesn't feel pretentious - it's almost whimsical. Which is counterpoint to the food, which was, well... complicated.

We'd decided on the tasting menu, with wine pairing ($200pp - but, when you can let the chef choose what you eat, it's usually the best option ). The effort begins with the first second dish. The first was a clean and simple starter paired with a wine I recognized, so I felt ahead of the entire experience. That lasted until the next dish, which was, um - pizza pebbles. Four delicate balls placed on a crisp white plate, with slices of pepperoni and shitake mushrooms in between. The consistency was doughy- but the flavor was rich and satisfying. That is, until Noah commented that they tasted like Pizza Combos - which, they kind of did.

The eggs benedict was a much anticipated dish, as it took Dufresne three months to perfect. It is eggs benedict as a shot, delicate pieces of bacon arranged around a column of egg yolk and cylinders of deep fried hollandaise sauce. It was a spectacular punch of breakfast, but I was more intrigued by the choice to serve Pinot Noir with it. Hello, new brunch drink.

Crab tail with cinnamon dashi was next, and outrageously good. The powerful cinnamon scent floated around the creamy texture of the crab, sweet and spicy, like an exotic dessert. It was the crab and the next dish that really stood out for me, along with the fantastic wine pairings throughout. Mom, hold onto your seat - the next dish was chicken liver spaetzle, with pine needle, radish and cocoa nib. It was delicious, and I am not even sure why I liked it so much. It tasted like... chicken, but better?

If WD-50 is to be taken seriously - and, I'm not sure that it is, because Wiley Dufresne certainly plays with his food - it would be a restaurant with only ten tables, individual servers for each, talking about the food the way sommeliers talk about wine. Our server did tell us about the dishes, and he gave each of us a copy of the tasting menu, but it didn't help as much as it should have. At times, I felt like Violet Beauregarde, handed a piece of Willie Wonka's gum and told to chew through all of the different courses. Still, it was one of the most memorable dining experiences I have ever had, and perhaps that's the point. It is food that inspires you to think about how it was prepared, forces you to taste, then describe it by using more words than 'yum'. A rare indulgence.

(I know, I should have taken photos of the dishes. You can find many of them on Flickr, which is where the top photo is from.)

adventures in wine tasting

Vineyards at Chateau de Vie

The aroma of fresh coffee woke me sometime around 8:30 on Sunday morning. It had been placed outside our door on a tray, fully serviced with the proper accoutrements.  The temptation to sleep in was strong, but I'd read so much about the fantastic breakfasts prepared by Phillip that we forced ourselves awake, and joined the other guests in the dining room. Cranberry corn muffins and eggs benedict with an orange hollandaise sauce were on the menu that morning.

There were eight of us at the table. A mother and daughter from the South, and two couples. I was eager to ask everyone for wine tasting recommendations, but no one wanted to get a conversation going. A B&B risk I'd forgotten about - awkward silence at the communal table.

Peter, who'd served breakfast that morning, had suggested several places; and so we began in Sonoma at Ledson. It is family -run winery housed in a 16,000 square foot faux-French Normandy "castle" with a gorgeous view, although compared to rustic Charbay, it felt like a wedding hall. Nonetheless, it was lovely and the wines were outstanding. Of note, the 2004 Reserve Redwood Valley Old Vine Zinfandel and an exquisite Reserve Pinot Noir that I couldn't buy, because it was a Future release. I seriously thought about joining their wine club so I could purchase it, and am still thinking about it. Ledson wines are only available for purchase at the winery, a very select group of wine shops and restaurants, or via the online store.

From there we stopped in at Kunde, which was forgettable; then Mayo Family Winery in Glen Ellen. We had to try the "Adventure Tasting", of course, which featured 12 wines. I have since decided that 12 wines in one tasting is too many to process. Thankfully I had my notebook, and jotted down things like " '05 Page/Nord Syrah, lucious plum, delectable, tastes like dessert", and  "the Sangiovese... walking through the vineyard on a late summer afternoon"... my notes became more colorful with each glass.

The 2002 Syrah we tasted at Merryvale was glass number 25. I love Merryvale reds, particularly the Cabs, so it's always a stop for me when I am in Napa. It was the end of the day, and our server had lost track of which tasting we had ordered (we'd kind of lost track as well), so we ended up tasting 6 wines in total, including the pricey "Profile" flight and a fantastic Cabernet 2004 Reserve.

The only wine we purchased that day, oddly enough, was the Libertine from Mayo. My notes about LIbertine read: "Libertine, an easy evening wine". Not so much, it turns out.  The wine is indeed true to it's name - and probably the reason we ended up outside in the hot tub, in the middle of the vineyards, at midnight.

Another Perfect Weekend

Napa afternoon

A woman in the elevator at Hotel Rex in San Francisco told Dan that she hadn't slept during her entire stay. It seemed as though she was implying that there was a strange history to the hotel - ghosts, perhaps? An idea I brushed off until after I'd had two restless nights, and then had to agree - as nice as the hotel is, perhaps there really is something strange going on. Regardless, it was the beginning of another perfect weekend in California

Every time I go to San Francisco, I have a desire to linger. It is a result of being on the west coast in a city where being outdoors is part of the everyday experience, and culinary pleasures are found in every neighborhood. This time, I created an itinerary that would take us to Napa and Sonoma for the weekend which, after a few busy days and sleepless nights, was a much needed break. But before we left, we made sure to hit a few key spots - drinks at the Big Four, dinner at Chouquet's, and brunch at Beach Chalet for a Ramos Fizz and some fresh Pacific air.

I'd sifted through Trip Advisor before we left for California, and chosen a small but highly recommended inn called Chateau de Vie in Calistoga, a small town at the northern end of Napa. CDV, as it's called, is known for flawless customer service and incredible food provided by hosts Peter and Phillip - and the reviews are exactly right. The inn had a calming effect that we didn't even know we wanted until we arrived. Warmly greeted by Phillip, we got our room key, dropped our bags and headed off to our first wine tasting, at Domaine Charbay in St Helena.

Up winding Spring Mountain road, Charbay is located in an area reminiscent of the way things were back in the 70's, when the California wine scene was starting to bloom (I was told, and it's easy to imagine). And, that's exactly when the winery/distillery - "the still on the hill", as it was described to us - was founded. Charbay is owned and operated by the Karakasevic family, who have been making wine and spirits since 1750. Based on our afternoon tasting, they clearly know what they're doing. I had originally chosen Charbay because I wanted to taste their whiskey, which a friend of mine raved about - but, our timing was off and they were doing wine tastings that Saturday. It did not disappoint. Lara Karakasevic was our hostess, and she sat with us for over an hour, telling us about her father Miles, their family history, and stories about the more interesting visitors they receive at Charbay. Miles was working in the lab next door during our tasting, and I was secretly hoping he would join us because he'd just returned from Mexico where he had been making tequila - I knew there were probably some good stories there. (no such luck)

It was late afternoon when we wrapped up, and we took with us a Chardonnay dessert wine that Lara served over ice, but can also be served in a brandy snifter; and a really delicious Port, which is unlike any other I've tasted.

Charbay is a refreshing departure from the stripmall-esque scene that Napa's Highway 29 can resemble on a Saturday afternoon. Still, beginning a wine tasting journey there sets the bar fairly high. A sense of adventure from that point forward, is required.

Losing control

A sign...

I returned to the hotel and approached the front desk to tell them what had happened to us, hopeful that they would be able to advise me on what to do; or, at the very least, give me a free glass of rioja to make me feel better. No such luck. The front desk attendant gave me a weak smile (dare I say, disdainful?), and said he was sorry to hear about our trouble. When I remained at the desk, he asked me if I wanted to call the authorities? I didn't really, and resigned myself to what had happened. He said to me that it is a common story, being robbed in Barcelona, as if that was supposed to provide me with comfort. Anger changed hands with concern, and I began to wonder whether Dan would return or not.

He had taken off from where I left him to find the neighborhood ring of thieves, in the hopes that someone would lead him back to his wallet. He asked around, and it didn't take long before he found himself in the Arabic section of Barcelona, in a plaza where I'd taken his picture a few days earlier. For 50 Euros, he was told he could get his wallet back. Someone handed him a key and led him to a building, where he waited outside for further instructions. There was an argument, followed by confusion about why he was there, and when he was asked 'where's your girlfriend, the blonde?', he decided that entering the building and continuing on his quest was no longer a good idea. (this is my version of the story - Dan, feel free to fill in the details...)

Almost two hours later, he returned to the hotel in one piece with an adventure story buzzing in his head, which became even more interesting when this story broke, not a month after that night.

Despite the distressing first hours of new year, we managed to recover the next day.  At sunset, we found a place in Port Vell with a view of the harbor and the sea, where we sat outside under heat lamps. It was our first meal on New Year's Day, and over rioja and a gorgeous paella, we recounted the unexpected adventure and astonishing beauty we'd found in Barcelona, and decided to keep it on our list. Of places to return to.

Trouble in Barri Gotic

New Year's Eve started out like any other day, really. It was Monday and Barcelonians were up and working, stores were open, the city was buzzing. We began with one of the better meals of the trip, at Flash Flash Tortilleria. Flash Flash opened in 1970 and apparently hasn’t changed since. It's style is once again of the moment, a lounge decorated entirely in white with black Twiggy-esque murals on the walls. The food was terrific and not expensive, bustling at 2 in the afternoon with families and couples enjoying, I imagine, their first real meal of the day as we were.

In the evening, we wandered back to Ciutat Vella in pursuit of some of the small bars we’d seen on our strolls. As usual, we hadn’t made plans for dinner so we thought we’d get lucky if we tried to get into a restaurant early – and we were right. We passed by several places that had a prix fixe menu, but chose a tapas place in El Born. It was perfect, low key and reasonable.  As we dined, the place filled up rapidly. Lucky indeed.

After dinner we wandered around until we stumbled upon the Sub Rosa bar. It was a tiny place in an ancient building, and we found a corner table where we would sit and drink until ’07 became ’08. People came in and out, including a guy who seemed to zero in on us – he entered the bar and immediately approached our table, holding one rose and wouldn’t leave us until we paid him something for it. It cost 1 Euro. Thinking back, it may have cost us more.

After midnight, we left the bar and started down one of the alleys. We ended up in an enclosed courtyard, and before we knew what was happening, a young guy was on top of us, pushing us together, yelling fervently for us to kiss one another. I had a sense that something wasn't right, but couldn’t get my bearings before the guy was gone. And so was Dan’s wallet.

Yes. We should have known better.

It happened really fast, and it was maddening. My opinion was to return to the hotel immediately and call the credit card companies, maybe even call the police? I didn't know. In all my traveling, I'd never been robbed before. We started walking, and when we reached La Rambla - still packed with people celebrating the New Year - Dan announced that he wanted to try to find the guy that robbed us so he could get his wallet back. Full stop.

We didn’t argue about it for long. I tried to convince him that he wouldn’t find anything but trouble, running after thieves in Barcelona, but he didn’t waver. I spun around and started walking back to the hotel, thinking - of course he’ll follow me. He wouldn’t let me walk all the way back to the hotel by myself in a foreign city at 1am on New Year’s eve. (full disclosure: this was a calculated move to win the battle. I wasn’t worried about walking back to the hotel)

He didn’t follow me. Two blocks later I figured it out, and it was too late to turn back.  I had to keep going and leave Dan behind, to do whatever he wanted.

Sunday sermons

in Santa Maria del Mar

The city is an intermingling of gorgeous deterioration and grandiose modernism. Wander deep into the alleyways off of crowded La Rambla and you’re in eerily quiet pedestrian lanes that recall medieval Spain. We found ourselves exploring the Ciutat Vella quarters later that night - Barri Gotic and La Ribera. They are at once charming and sepulchral, and every lane beckoned us towards a new adventure.

Without any direction, we followed the alleyways and got caught at Basilica de la Merce, a gloomy church overlooking a quiet, desolate plaza. It was a dramatic contrast to the warm afternoon we’d had - the well-meaning drunken stranger had been replaced by shadier characters and an unexpected, darker Barcelona.

I fixated on La Merce and tried to capture its gothic architecture with the camera before we finally continued on, winding back through the gothic quarters to Plaza de Santa Maria and the basilica, Santa Maria del Mar. It seemed odd that we ended up at three different churches that day, each one extraordinary in its own way. Santa Maria del Mar was, by far, the most beautiful, humbling and serene; but there is no denying the significance of Gaudi’s brilliance – or obsession, perhaps – and the powerful presence of La Merce. It was La Merce that would stay with me - it became the scene for the nightmares I had during the rest of my stay.

Sunday sermons

Sagrada Familia

It was Sunday, and crowds were lined up outside the Sagrada Familia. We shouldn’t have been surprised, what better day to visit the famous church? We’d gotten coffee, and made a plan to try to see at least one important landmark that day. But he crowds deterred us, so we roamed around the building, took photographs, and gazed in awe at Gaudi’s extraordinary building. A solid attempt.

In search of a meal, we strolled through the quiet streets of L’Eixample and found what seemed to be an unpretentious, if benign, neighborhood restaurant redolent of cigarette smoke and heavy food.  We sat by the bar and ordered a perfect state of mind - café con leche, beer and Catalan bacalhau.

Deep in conversation about creating the perfect online travel guide, we were interrupted by a man who looked like Santa Claus, sitting at the bar with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His name was David and when he’d heard us speaking English, felt compelled to say hello. He pulled up a chair and over several beers, told us his colorful tales – he was a Canadian ex-pat working for a company that may or may not have been legal, had lived in Morocco, had been homeless, and had mysteriously destroyed a marriage somewhere along the way. Tears in his eyes and full of regret, he passed along his wisdom: Live in the moment, be passionate, hold onto the people you love.

Wonderland

Barcelona is a cool beauty. A city borne out of exotic cultures with a gothic quarter that dates back to the Roman era, juxtaposed with some of the world’s most incredible modern architecture. Exciting and glamorous, a beloved destination for many travelers and yet, it was not as warm and convivial as I’d imagined it would be. It seemed impossible to get beneath the surface of this multifarious place. Still, we tried. We referred to our guidebooks and made plans, but in the end they were of no consequence. The city would reveal to us only what she wanted us to see.

It didn’t take long. Our first day began after dark, and as we headed into the heart of L’Eixample, extraordinary architecture spilled onto the streets around us. First, Fundacio Tapies, a museum and library upon which the striking Cloud and Chair sculpture sits like an apparition (and was an odd foreshadowing of what was to come), then Gaudi’s Casa Batllo housed on the corner of Arago and Passeig de Gracia, amongst mosaic covered benches and gorgeously ornate lampposts designed by Pere Falques. We had landed in Wonderland.

On sidewalks tiled by Gaudi, we wandered until we found Laie Libraria Cafe, a restaurant located on the second floor of a bookstore.  It was 9pm, about an hour shy of prime dinner-time in Barcelona and probably the only reason we were seated fairly quickly. Considering that it had been about 12 hours since our last meal, the quality of the food was almost of no importance, but we got lucky. Our meal was a somewhat hearty, if interesting, fusion of flavors inspired by different regions in Spain and, more importantly, the Rioja was perfect.

The evening rounded out in our hotel neighborhood, at a bar called Outside. A late night place, the bartenders drank more than the customers and kept our glasses filled with cheap Spanish wine until our tastebuds finally protested. To cleanse our palates, we grabbed a bottle of Cava from a bodega and ended the day at 4am, gazing at the lights and toasting the city from our balcony.

The next day opened slowly and we ventured out mid afternoon to Café Zurich, located at the top of La Rambla. A prime location for people watching, we thought we’d write while we sat and drank café con leche, taking in the sunshine and 60-degree winter weather. Instead, we were too stimulated by the city and the desire to keep moving, so we immersed ourselves in the crowds and walked La Rambla until we found Columbus and the sea. We picked through an open air market by the waterfront, a garage sale set under several tents, and I found stacks of old postcards from Spain and France written in the most beautiful handwriting. I was tempted to buy them all, at 3 euros apiece, but they seemed too personal. Stealing letters.

At sunset, we turned our backs on the Mediterranean and headed into evening, in search of tapas.