Regular We Are Never Full readers out there may have noticed that we’ve been less than active in the new posts capacity of late — some of you may even mourn the loss of our chirpy and spirited voices from your weekly web-browsing, though we expect many might find it welcome relief. Either way, we’re on temporary hiatus from blogging at the moment due to being in the process of finding a new apartment where we can cook, be somewhat more physically expansive, and hey, even entertain guests (!). All in all, a tricky proposition in a city where 700 square feet apartments are listed as “luxurious” or “roomy’, the description “sun-drenched” equates to the presence of a single window, and “galley” kitchens are advertised as being something to get excited about.

Still, we remain confident that we’ll find somewhere appropriate soon and will be back-up and blogging in our familiarly grating tones by early September, at the latest. In good time, we hope, to regale you with the still-fresh tales of our recent trip to Québec City, and the delicious comestibles its citizens introduced us to.

In the meantime, we wish you an enjoyable remainder of August, and look forward to hitting you all up when we’re back.

Such was my mood then upon reading the latest issue of the magazine that is quickly overtaking Rachel Ray as WANFs bête noire. You see, the January edition of Bon Appetit focuses on what is calls “the new trend” of everything a cheval, or mounted by an egg, as it were, and quite apart from having spent a good part of our 2007-2008 oeuvre (pun intended) posting recipes and photos of various foods dressed in this way, we, quite pathetically perhaps, like to think of ourselves as in the comparative culinary vanguard and hate to be thought of as simply following a BA trend. So, before we go on, I would like to state, in no uncertain terms, that we not only made the subject of this post dish in October (towards the end of our self-indulgent egg sluttishness), but that our posting this now is influenced in no way by the food magazine zeitgeist.

With that off my chest, allow me to introduce to you one of the most wonderful ways of cooking eggs – uova in ragú, or eggs in a Bolognese sauce. Not to be confused with the well-known Tex-Mex breakfast staple of eggs in hell, this is essentially a Bolognese sauce version of the Tuscan classic Uova e Spinaci Cotti alla Fiorentina which we posted during aforementioned egg-focused period. And, not only does it allow one to indulge a fetish for eggs and meat, but the visual contrast on your plate of the white and yellow of the egg against a reddish-brown background of ragú is one to please children of all ages, even those in their 30s.

Less research than we typically do suggests that this is not an authentic Bolognese dish, and in fact, our inspiration came from a menu item - Uova al Pomodoro (eggs baked in a marina sauce) - at a small local trattoria called Apertivo. Nevertheless, we feel that it should definitely sit among the greats in the canon of Emilia-Romagna cuisine, utilising as it does the king of sauces, the ragú.

The main key to success, then, in this stupidly simple dish, apart from some (forgive the pun) good eggs, is clearly the quality of your ragú, so we strongly encourage you to read at least some of the marathon post that is A Tale of Two Sauces: It’s A Traditional Ragú Bolognese Deathmatch from last year to get a sense of the time, effort and joy involved in creating this wonderful thing. Then, once made (and you will have plenty leftover), simply add sauce to a large saucepan, heat until simmering, and crack in as many eggs as you like (two per person seems about right). Then, either cover with pan lid and reduce heat to medium-low, or slap the whole thing into a 350F (180C) oven and bake until eggs are firm, about fifteen minutes. It can be served over pasta (think pappardelle or tagliatelle) or simply as a main course with some bread and salad on the side. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be upset if I was served this for breakfast either.

With our recent post on the free boudin selection, I felt like we might be getting dangerously commercial at We Are Never Full, but that was nothing compared to last night’s dinner at The GreenTable, sponsored, as it was, by those corporate behemoths, Visa Signature.

How strange, we hear you cry, that you folks (i.e. us), who are constantly bucking trends and chipping away at established norms (note the irony), should be so craven and would sell-out to big business so quickly! Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Though happily for us, the only thing that we “sold” was a few delightful hours of our time with some very stimulating company, including fellow bloggers, food writers and, of course, the kind and generous representatives from Visa, chatting about the food scene in NYC.

In return, Visa provided a magnificent organic and sustainable dinner featuring a host of delicious products grown, for the most part, within a couple of hundred miles of the city. The wines pairing all three courses were also magnificent and again, were either organic or biodynamically-grown. All in all, a real treat for a Monday evening.

And so, if you weren’t already sickened by our association with big business, you better click away now before the name-dropping begins. For not only did we see everyone’s favorite “food dude” Guy Fieri stroll by during dinner, complete with peroxide-do suitably immovable with gel, and recent Top Chef finalist Dale (Food Network is located in the Chelsea Market above where we were eating), we also chin-wagged with the real stars of New York gastronomy, including: Sara Kate Gillingham-Ryan at TheKitchn; Cynthia Sin-Yi Cheng at Cravings; Tina Wong at The Wandering Eater, and Mona at Mona’s Apple. We thank them all for their company and a really enjoyable evening, and look forward to keeping in touch.

We literally just walked in after spending our Labor Day afternoon at the annual WIADP (West Indian American Day Parade) on Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn, but to describe what we just witnessed as simply a parade would be akin to saying that scotch bonnet peppers are sometimes a little spicy, i.e. an enormous underestimation. The parade is the largest in New York City with upwards of 2million people flocking to it annually.

It was an unbelievable assault on the senses - the sights (thousands upon thousands of dancing people all decorated with their national flags and some astonishing costumes), the sounds (hundreds of different sound systems all turned up to 11 and all competing with one another as they slowly rumbled by on floats, accompanied by the ever-present encouragements for the dancers from some very vocal MCs), the smells (a myriad stalls selling Caribbean favorites, some better known that others), and the atmosphere (it is about 90F here today and there were some enormous smokers pumping out clouds of jerk-scented smoke, as well as many other “personal” smokers pumping out clouds of the other kind of smoke Jamaica is famous for).

Of course, apart from soak up the atmosphere, we did our best to sample the wares from as many of the stalls as possible. Sadly, our eyes were bigger than our bellies, and we frequently had the unfortunate experience of having to walk past many a stall not physically being able to eat anymore. Let’s face it, Caribbean food is not exactly light at the best of times, and on a scorching summer day, goat curry with roti, fish cakes, bake and salt-fish, all smothered in fruity hot pepper sauce, and washed down with spicy ginger beer, then shaken up and down with booming soca and dance-hall, is a recipe for a lot of sweating and the need for shade and a sit-down. Intense. Seriously intense.

My only touchstone for a carnival like this, is, well, carnival – the Notting Hill Carnival in London to be precise. And, not to offend anyone involved with that fun, enormous, crazy and, occasionally, violent Caribbean festival, the WIADP is a major step-up. The food, the sounds, the people, the culture, it’s all as much as you can take and more. It’s as close to being in a foreign country as I’ve ever experienced in America (note that, for me, America is a foreign country). It’s such a radical departure from what the area around the Brooklyn Art Museum usually looks like and where you usually see white couples jogging along behind three-wheel baby-chariots, that at first it takes you aback. Then, and suddenly, it just sucks you in, but, just as quickly, it spits you out again. It’s a lot to take and we had to retire for some shade and cold water, but we’ll be back. You should check it out next year, for once a year is enough to last you a while. That said, we’ll definitely be exploring more of our local Caribbean restaurants and trying to recreate some of their dishes and the ones we ate today now we’ve got a taste for it.

My question to you, dear readers, is what do you think about Babbo being named #1? I have eaten there once and I still remember the meal I had – amazing Ostrich ravioli. You know you’ve hit a great place when, years later, you still remember your food. Have you had a memorable meal at Babbo or anywhere – if so, where was it and what was it?

I’ll leave you with a quote by the lovely Italian Stalion fire-crotch that he gave months ago when word was out about him leaving/being asked to leave the Fool Network (his wit and frankness bring a smile to my face ever time I read this):

“They don’t need me. They have decided they are mass market and they are going after the Wal-Mart crowd, [this was...] a smart business decision. So they don’t need someone who uses polysyllabic words from other languages.” -Mario Batali

So, again, what are some of your most memorable meals?

How many of you out there in We Are Never Full-land have never heard of Broccoli di Rape? Anyone who has heard of it but never saw or ate it? I ask this only because, after researching this delectable, delicious and healthy green, I discovered that it’s U.S. roots (or that the vast majority of the broccoli di rape crops) come mainly from the lovely state of New Jersey. Whoa-Whoa We’re Livin’ On a Prayer, Jersey? You talkin’ ta me, Jersey? Tony Soprano’s hometown and my home in the summertime, NEW JERSEY? Yup, that one. Hey, you learn something new every day.

It seems as though this leafy green descendant of a wild herb and close relative to the turnip is slowly gaining popularity in the US. Why a slow gain in popularity, I wondered? I guess I’ve taken this for granted being an Italian-American and growing up on Broccoli di Rape in the home and in my family’s favorite red-sauce joints all over Philly, Jersey and New York City. In fact, I think that sauted broccoli raab with lot’s-o-garlic and peperoncino would be part of my father’s last meal if he was on death row… Dad, if you’re out there, am I right?

Also known as cime di rapa in Italy, broccoli di rabe originated in the Mediterranean and China. In fact, it is one of the most popular vegetables with the Chinese (another “aka”- Chinese Broccoli), which is less bitter and looks a tad different than the Italian version. If you do a side-by-side comparison of regular broccoli to broccoli di rape, you’d notice that the latter is much leafier with smaller florets. You eat the entire thing, leaves and all and the taste is also much (in my opinion) tastier and a bit bitter. Supposedly the most bitter part is the stem, but I would never dare think of cutting those lovely stems completely off! Some people just don’t like broccoli di rape. I really can’t imagine why! If you’ve only had it a few times, give my recipe below a whirl. Adding lots of garlic, spicing it up and eating it with some slices of Italian sausage may change your mind. If that doesn’t tempt you, why not consider how unbelievably healthy it is for you? Rich in calcium, vitamin A, C, B2, protein AND fiber, broccoli di rape is also cancer-preventing and contains something that protects the heart, lungs and intestines.

Soooooo, maybe the four pieces of fatty, Italian sausage counter-acts that? Take it out if you’re a vegetarian and it’s still an amazing side-dish. Whatever you do, I beg you to just give it a try. I’m on a personal mission to convince more people to eat it – none of this ’slowly gaining popularity’ in America! Some people prefer to boil or steam their broccoli raab, but after my many years of cooking it up, I’ve decided that the best and tastiest way of doing it is to follow my easy recipe below. You can eat this alone with some bread, slice up the sausage links and make it as a side-dish, or cut it up and throw it over some pasta (replace the kale in this earlier recipe with broccoli raab and you’ll be golden). Try it with our gnocchi, too. In posts to come, look out for more delicious broccoli di rape recipes!

I have also submitted this to Real Epicurean’s March “In The Bag” challenge. He was kind enough to let me slide by not using the purple-sprouting broccoli the contest calls for. Hey, broccoli di rape is pretty similar! Thanks, Scott.

That day, my friend and I popped into said pub and sought something warming to take the chill off. The specials’ board told of a “South African hot toddy” – something I had never heard of. I was familiar, as many of us are, with the typical hot toddy – whiskey or brandy, with hot water, sugar and lemon juice, (and there are many variations on that theme – some including tea, some not) but this one contained brandy, hot water, ginger, rooibosh (red bush) tea, honey and lemon juice, the rooibosh tea making it particularly South African. It was delicious, simultaneously intoxicating, soothing and warming. The ginger and lemon enlivened the sense and the palate, the red bush tea is a restorative, the honey offered energy, and the brandy rounded everything out with a boozy smoothness that engendered warmth and relaxation. After two, or was it three, of them, we were ready to venture home in the cold, but instead, and very mistakenly, decided to have a go at ice-skating. We didn’t break any limbs or endanger anyone with our drunken attempts at toe-loops and salcos (we were the only ones on the ice), but when the alcohol wore off and the bruises came through, it became clear that it had been a mistake.

However, the drink really is a treat if you’ve got chill in your bones you just can’t shake, just please don’t go ice-skating afterwards. Before perhaps, but definitely not after.

South African Hot Toddies Recipe (serves two):

4oz brandy (doesn’t have to be good stuff ’cause you’re adding lots of flavor to it)
10oz boiling water
2 bags or 2tbsp red bush tea
4oz lemon juice (juice of 2 or 3 lemons)
4tbsp runny (clear) honey
2tbsp ginger root (stem ginger), sliced into thin rounds

Divide brandy, lemon juice and honey into two mugs. Toss in the ginger and red bush tea. Fill mugs up with hot water and stir vigorously until honey has mixed in and you can smell the ginger. Allow to steep for three to four minutes before removing red bush tea bags (or tea strainer with loose tea), put your feet up and enjoy!

P.S. – in case you were wondering, like I was, why it’s called a hot toddy, here’s what I found the explanation to be. During the British Raj in India, the British came upon a sweet sap, and a liquor fermented from the sap, from tropical Asian palm trees (the so-called toddy palm – genus Borassus), called toddy by the locals. The British then added this sap to their cups of tea as a sweetener, making it a hot toddy. In many cases, the fermented sap (which was alcoholic) was also added to these cups of tiffin. British sailors (who are not famous tee-totallers) picked up on this idea and began making their cups of tea in this way, substituting the sugar and their rations of rum for the toddy. Quite how whiskey or brandy became involved, I didn’t discover, but there you are, a little history with your recipe.

Our end of Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn (one of the two main thorough-fares in the neighborhood Architectural Digest recently named the best in America, Park Slope), is festooned with restaurants of all kinds. In fact, there are more restaurants, I would say, than there are any other kind of stores on the street. An average of perhaps two and a half eateries per block. Many of these have sprung up in the last few years and are of a certain type – dim-lighting, dark wood interiors and “fusion” menus – catering to the newly-arrived, brownstone-purchasing, high income-earning folks that used to only inhabit the upper west and upper east sides of Manhattan . Since the advent of these restaurants, many of the neighborhoods’ original retailers have left – in fact, just this past weekend, we noticed that the shady-looking storefront selling Articulos Religiosos had gone, probably to be replaced with some joint with a menu trying to emulate Tyler Florence. Anyway, in the midst of all this change and gentrification sits Los Pollitos II, a small, noisy Mexican restaurant specializing in rotisserie chicken, a few northern Mexican staples (fajitas, burritos, etc.) and some more Caribbean-coast inspired dishes, that has remained a constant in the culinary landscape of our changing neighborhood.

Last night, my wife and I were feeling a bit under the weather and decided we wanted Pollitos’ chicken soup, some rotisserie chicken, rice and beans and a salad. A very basic, wholesome meal without too many flavors. A large soup (more than a pint), half a roast chicken, a small rice and beans, an order of tostones (starchy, fried, smashed plantains) with garlic sauce, and a large house salad was ordered. We were told we might have to wait 45 minutes to an hour for our order, but we were undeterred — Pollitos has become a go-to restaurant for us (one month this year, when we were crazy busy organizing our wedding, we went there nearly twice a week) and when you want Pollitos, you can’t have anything else. So we settled in to bear our hunger pains until the food arrived. Not only did it arrive in less than half an hour, but the bill was $19.23 for enough food for two meals for two people, or maybe more because we eat too much. $19.23!! Worringly, it’s almost cheaper than buying ingredients and cooking it ourselves, but this isn’t unhealthy food. It’s not low-calorie and it’s certainly not fat-free, but rice, beans and chicken with a side salad is what most of the world would call a good meal and would eat more often if only they could afford it.

Their chicken soup is frankly, a triumph. Never before have I had chicken soup with more flavor and less fat. It arrives with carrots, potatoes, chicken (half a breast and a whole wing, in this case), onion and cilantro, and is, or might be, a meal in itself. Perhaps because they have so many bones from all the rotisserie chickens, their stock is just that bit richer than elsewhere, or perhaps it’s the cilantro, I’m not sure, but I would strongly recommend you try it whether you’re feeling a bit rough or in perfect health. I could rave on at length about how tasty their rice and beans is (something that a lot of people underestimate how hard it is to make tasty), how delicious their tostones and garlic sauce are (really amazing) and how much crisp, fresh salad they give you, but instead I’m going to devote my final words to their rotisserie chicken. It is succelent and juicy – even the white meat, the skin is crisp, salty and almost sweet, and the bones are chewable because of the slow-cooking. It may be the the finest rotisserie chicken in the city and you can get a whole one for under $8. I rest my case.

Indeed, we are not the only ones who have discovered Los Pollitos II, however, I think we may have the distinction of being two of its most regular customers. In the past year, we must have eaten there twenty times, and call me a pikey if you like, but I took my wife there for her birthday too! (They gave us a free dessert, a weird, sweet shot of something, and five of the waiters took an old warped guitar off the wall and serenaded her with “feliz cumpleanos a ti”. How’s that for customer service?)

CHECK OUT OUR OTHER RESTAURANT REVIEWS, FOOD COMMENTARY AND RECIPES.

I remembered a place I had saved to ‘My Menu Pages’ a few months ago (NOTE: Menupages is like the locals NYC directory of restaurant menu’s and reviews) called Cacio e Pepe.  The name of the restaurant struck me because it is one of our favorite Roman dishes – simple and tasty.  Cacio e Pepe, the dish, is simply pasta (traditionally it’s with spaghetti), still piping hot, mixed with a bit of the pasta water, a good heaping of freshly grated Pecorino Romano (this is key – Romans would rarely ever use Parmigiana Reggiano since Romano is, well, Roman), a LARGE helping of freshly ground black peppercorns and there ya have it.  When made correctly, it is delectable.  After reading a bit more about the restaurant, I discovered that not only was Cacio e Pepe their signature dish, but the presentation was supposedly very creative. They mixed the piping hot pasta in a whole carved out wheel of Pecorino.  Nice!  I decided that I want to try the restaurant, so we let our friends know to meet us across the street at Bar Veloce, a small, mellow, not-too-pretentious wine bar across the street (HIGHLY recommended!).

We arrived to Cacio e Pepe to a full house, busteling with people laughing, chatting, eating and drinking merrily away.  It was a scene reminiscent of most restaurants in Italy. It just had that same feeling, smell and atmosphere. Then I heard the staff all speaking Italian to each other.  They warmly greeted us with a “Buona Notte” and told us they would have a table ready in ten minutes.  Although I thought they were just pushing us off by telling us this, we soon found out they weren’t lying!  Our four-top was ready precisely ten minutes later.  Our waiter was affable, attentive and ITALIAN.  Hearing “prego” after almost every sentence brought me back to our three weeks traveling around Italy this past summer.  It made me happy and I smiled, then I started to groan as I was reminded that our trip was actually long over (that’s my way of dealing with it….I am kind of manic about our big trips being over. Reminicing initially makes me happy and then it soon makes me very depressed!).  My funk lifted as I heard the specials – beef tartar with arugula, veal with a black truffle sauce, fettuccine in a porcini cream sauce and bucatini with sardines, raisins and pinenuts.   We ordered the salami and cheese platter, the beef tartare special and the cuttlefish stew over polenta to start.  Each starter was not only amazingly authentic in taste, but the portions were pretty hefty (the prices aren’t cheap, but they do give you a good amount of food)!  The beef tartare was delicious and more simply prepared than the one I ate at A Voce.  It was over a bed of peppery arugula greens and dressed with some lemon juice and extra virgin olive oil - this all went splendidly with the tartare.  The cuttlefish stew was excellent – tender in a beautiful tomato sauce with pecorino and over a delicate, smooth polenta.  Highly recommended!  Finally, the cheese and salami platter was delish. Our guests ate most of it, so I only had a few bites. It was a big platter and could’ve been shared by all four of us!

Finally, our entrees were just as expected – authentic and phenomenal.  I had the special pasta with sardines, raisins and pinenuts, topped with breadcrumbs - a very Sicilian dish.  It reminded me a bit of the Bucatini with Pistachio Sauce we recreated from a meal we ate on Elba Island, Tuscany.  The pasta was perfectly al dente, the sauce just perfectly balanced - a delicious special.  My husband enjoyed his veal with truffle sauce, although he believed the sauce lacked a little something (perhaps not enough truffle flavor? Black truffles are not as strong as white, so this could possibly be the reason for the mildness).  Nonetheless, his large pieces of veal were extremely tender.  Our guests ordered the same thing – the pasta special of fettuccine in a porcini cream sauce.  Although I only ate a bite, it was heavenly.  The fettucini tasted homemade and the cream sauce wasn’t too heavy.  Also, they used real porcini’s… not the re-hydrated kind.  Excellent.

We topped off our meal with espresso’s and laid back, belly’s full, with a smile on our face.  The staff at Cacio e Pepe never rushed us, allowing us to sit, eat, drink and chat for over 2 1/2 hours.  Just like real Italians!  You don’t find that type of thing often enough in New York City.  It was an all-around excellent experience and Cacio e Pepe comes HIGHLY recommended.  I only wished we brought our camera so you could see the dishes for yourselves!  Ah, well… you’ll just have to trust us and check it out for yourself.

Check out our other recipes, food commentary and restaurant reviews!

This review won’t be long, and I won’t make it fancy. It’s been almost 24 hours since I left A Voce, the upscale modern Italian eatery in a strange part of the Flatiron district of Manhattan run by a former chef at Cafe Boulud, Andrew Carmellini. My body may have left there at 11PM Saturday, but my mind is still there right now. A Voce actually took my voice away at moment. Only long enough to concentrate on each delicious bite of food.

We are not a couple who are able to afford many of the trendy/upscale restaurants in Manhattan. When my parent’s decided to come up for the weekend and treat us to dinner, we decided on to pick a place that we probably wouldn’t be able to afford alone. The reviews online of A Voce were mixed. So mixed that I was very close to canceling the reservations I made over a month ago. See, my father has a slight bit of a hearing problem (one he likes to think he doesn’t have) and about 85% of the review I read online talked more about the stupid chairs and the noise level of the restaurant instead of the food. Now, I know that city restaurants are loud, but the way some of these reviewers talked about the “insane noise” and (my favorite quote from a Chowhound.com user) how the “noise level is horrendous and conversing in normal tones becomes nearly impossible”, kind of scared me. Conversing in normal tones almost impossible!? Dem some strong words! I even read a review that talked about one of them losing their voice after a night eating there. If the food is excellent, how important is the conversation? To me, well, I’m Italian American. In my family, silence at the dinner table is worse than not going to Confession after you’ve talked back to your mother. Anyways, I am happy to report that even my partially deaf father conversed just fine with the three of us all throughout dinner. Maybe it was our table, maybe it’s cause we’re a loud family? Regardless, the noise level at A Voce was similar to any bustling NYC joint on a busy Saturday night.

Now, on to the food. I could cry thinking about it. I’m salivating thinking about it. It was excellent. Unfortunately, we only sampled a very small bit of the menu because both my mom and dad weren’t super hungry. It’s white truffle season and a few moments after we were seated, our waiter came around with a box containing three medium-sized ones to view, smell and ogle over. My mom told me she almost took one and put it in her mouth like an appetizer because she didn’t know what it was. Gotta love her (but I would’ve slinked under the table if she did that!). Supposedly, truffles are going for $3000/lb these days. HA! I’ll take 2 pounds, thank you very much.

There were some additions to the menu that were not listed on their website. One was the starter I had – Steak Tartare. I can not explain to you how beautiful and delicious this dish was. It was chopped meat, lightly seasoned and flavored with some white truffle and shaving of fresh Parmigiano laid on top. On the side was two toasted pieces of bread with a piece of lardo melting into it. I think I closed my eyes and moaned with each bite.

My husband started with the Coppa di Testa (or sliced headcheese). It was basically like a thinly sliced chunky pate cut in rounds. He enjoyed this thoroughly. My father had a side order of broccoli rabe sauteed in garlic. He’s basically a connoisseur of broccoli rabe and thought it was excellent. The antipasti sizes were pretty large, although prices aren’t low. Mine cost $17, the husband’s was $9 and my dad’s side dish was $8.

For our mains, my mother and I had the Pappardelle with Lamb Ragu. The ragu was sweet and chunky with some carrots and onions. The pasta was fresh and the portion size wasn’t too bad ($24). There was a dollop of homemade ricotta to round out the dish. My father had Crab Ravioli in a light tomato cream sauce. Fresh, homemade and excellent. Finally, my husband ordered the Country-Style Tuscan Tripe. This was presented in a beautiful copper pot with a fried duck egg on top. It was hearty and reminded us of the many tripe dishes we ate this summer in Tuscany. The egg was a really nice touch and the sauce was ‘chooped’ up with lots of the fresh bread they kept bringing to the table.

I can not wait to go back (after we save some money) to A Voce and try some of their other dishes like the octopus, tonno bianco and the duck. Their meatballs are supposedly top-notch as well. I highly recommend A Voce!

**Sorry these pictures are such crap, all we had was our camera phone.

Check out the rest of our restaurant reviews by clicking the tab above.