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THE ELEGANT ART OF DINING
In the Heart of Italy
What a relief it is sometimes to have a good waiter say: "You do not
know what you want? Will you let me bring you the best there is in the
house?" Sometimes, you know, you really do not know what you want, and
usually when that is the case you are not very hungry. That is always a
good time to try new things. It is also possible that you do not know
what you want because you do not know how to order. In either instance
our advice is, if the waiter gets confidential and offers his assistance
you will certainly miss something if you do not accept his good offices.
This was the case with us, one day when we were over at 1549 Stockton
street, near Washington Square, at the Gianduja. The proper
pronunciation of this is as if it were spelled Zhan-du-ya. This is one
of the good Italian restaurants of the Latin quarter. At the Gianduja
you get the two prime essentials to a good meal--good cooking and
excellent service. It matters not whether you take their thirty-five
cent luncheon or order a most elaborate meal, you will find that the
service is just what it ought to be. We asked Brenti what he considered
his most famous dish, and like all other proprietors, he shrugged his
shoulders and said, with hands emphasizing his words:
"We have so many fine dishes."
"Of course we know that, but what do you consider the very best?"
"There is no one the 'very best'. I could give you two."
"Let it be two, then," was our immediate rejoinder, and here is what he
gave us as the best recipes of the Gianduja.
First, let us give you an idea of the difficulty under which we secured
these recipes by printing them just as he wrote them down for us, and
then we shall elaborate a little and show the result of skillful
questioning. This is the way he wrote the recipe for Risotto Milanaise:
Risotto ala Milanaise
"Onions chop fine--marrow and little butter--rice--saffron--chicken
broth--wen cook add fresh butter and Parmesan cheese seasoned."
What was embodied in the words "wen cook" was the essential of the
recipe and here is the way we got it:
Chop one large onion fine. Cut a beef marrow into small dice and stir it
with the chopped onion. Put a small piece of butter in a frying pan and
into this put the onion and marrow and fry to a delicate brown. Now add
one scant cup of rice, stirring constantly, and into this put a pinch of
saffron that has been bruised. When the rice takes on a brown color add,
slowly, chicken broth as needed, until the rice is thoroughly cooked.
Then add a lump of fresh butter about the size of a walnut, and sprinkle
liberally with grated Parmesan cheese, seasoning to taste with pepper
and salt. This is to be served with chicken or veal.
The second recipe was for Fritto Misto, and he wrote it as follows:
Fritto Misto
"Lamb chops and brains breaded--sweetbreads--escallop of veal--fresh
mushrooms--Italian squash when in season--asparagus or cauliflower--
fried in fresh butter--dipped in beaten eggs--lime jus."
"Fritto Misto" means fried mixture, and the recipe as we finally
elucidated it is as follows:
Take a lamb chop, a piece of calf brain, one sweetbread, a slice of
veal, a fresh mushroom, sliced Italian squash, a piece of asparagus or
of cauliflower and dip these into a batter made of an egg well beaten
with a little flour. Sprinkle these with a little lime juice and fry to
a delicate brown in butter, adding salt and pepper to taste.
At the Gianduja, as at all other Italian restaurants not much affected
by Americans, you will find an atmosphere of unconventionality that is
delightful to the Bohemian. There is no irksome espionage on the part of
other patrons, all of whom are there for the purpose of attending
strictly to their own business, and the affairs of other diners are of
no consequence to them. There is freedom of expression and
unconsciousness, most pleasing after having experienced those other
restaurants where it seems to be the business of all the rest of the
guests to know just what you are eating and drinking. There is little of
the obnoxious posing that one finds in restaurants of the downtown
districts, for while Italians, in common with all other Latins, are
natural born poseurs, they are not offensive in it, but rather impress
you with the same feeling as the antics of a child.
One of the little, out-of-the way restaurants of the Italian quarter is
the Leon d'Oro, at 1525 Grant avenue, and it is one of the surprises of
that district. Lazzarini, he with the big voice, presides over the tiny
kitchen in the rear of the room devoted to public service and family
affairs. Soft-voiced Rita, with her demure air and her resemblance to
Evangeline, with her crossed apron, strings and delicate features, takes
your order, and soon comes the booming sound from the neighborhood of
the range, that announces to all patrons, as well as to some who may be
in the vicinity on the street, that your order is ready, and then
everybody knows what you are eating. As you sit, either in curtained
alcove or at the common table in the main room, little Andrea will visit
you with his cat. Both are institutions of the place and one is, prone
to wonder how a cat can have so much patience with a little boy. Andrea
speaks Italian so fluently and so rapidly that it gives you the
impression of a quick rushing stream of pure water, tumbling over the
stones of a steep declivity. He is not yet old enough to understand that
it is not everybody who knows how to speak Italian, but that makes not
the slightest difference with him, for he talks without ever expecting
an answer.
Lazzarini understands the art and science of cooking, and some of the
dishes he prepares are so unusual that one goes again and again to
partake of them: Possibly his best dish is the following:
Chicken a la Leon D'oro
Cut a spring chicken into pieces. Place these in a pan containing hot
olive oil, and season with salt and pepper. Turn the chicken until it is
thoroughly browned, and add finely chopped green peppers. Let it cook
awhile then add a finely chopped clove of garlic and a little sage. Put
in a small glass of Marsala wine, tomato sauce and French mushrooms and
let simmer for ten minutes. Before taking from the pan add half a
tablespoonful of butter and serve on a hot plate.
Lazzarini also makes a specialty of snails, and they are well worth
trying while you are experimenting with the unusual things to eat. The
recipe for these is as follows:
Snails a la Bordelaise
Put ten pounds of snails in a covered barrel and keep for ten days. Then
put in a tub with a handful of salt and a quarter of a gallon of
vinegar. Stir for twenty minutes until a foam rises, then take out and
wash thoroughly until the water runs clear. Put in a large pot a pint of
virgin olive oil, four large onions and eight cloves of garlic, all
chopped fine, and a small bunch of parsley, chopped fine. Put the pot
over the fire and when the onions are browned stir in some white wine or
Marsala and then put in the snails. Cover and let simmer for thirty-five
minutes. While cooking add a pint of meat stock, a little butter and
some anise seed. When done put in a soup tureen and serve. To remove the
snails use small wooden toothpicks.
The Elegant Art of Dining
Contents
Foreword
The Good Gray City
The Land of Bohemia
When the Gringo Came
Early Italian Impression
Birth of the French Restaurant
At the Cliff House
Some Italian Restaurants
Impress of Mexico
On the Barbary Coast
The City That Was Passes
Bohemia of the Present
As it is in Germany
In the Heart of Italy
A Breath of the Orient
Artistic Japan
Old and New Palace
At the Hotel St. Francis
Amid the Bright Lights
Around Little Italy
Where Fish Come In
Fish in Their Variety
Where Fish Abound
Some Food Variants
About Dining
Something About Cooking
Told in A Whisper
Out of Nothing
Paste Makes Waist
Tips and Tipping
The Mythical Land
A Good Bohemian Dinner
Restaurant Famous Recipes
Appendix (How to Serve Wines, Recipes)
Art of Dining Index
Mailing Lists
Forums
Webrings
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