Antica Foccaceria @ Madison Square Eats

The sight of those mouth-watering Sicilian desserts, cannoli and cassata, displayed at Antica Foccaceria San Francesco's booth at the Madison Square Eats fair made me renege on my vow to jump start my low-carb diet. 

Yes, they do look that inviting. Everyone's familiar with cannoli, those fried pastry tubes filled with creme, but it was the first time I laid eyes on another dessert from Palermo, Sicily - the cassata. 


Of course I had to try both! Lest you think I'm a total pig, I managed to restrain my sweet tooth and did so on separate days - I'm happy to report that both were excellent - the cannoli's creme lighter and fluffier compared to those I've tasted elsewhere, and the cassata's green icing sweetness was tempered by the creme inside. In each case, I polished off the dessert in front of in a matter of minutes, and  adamantly refused to share with anyone.

And whom do we have to thank for these delightful desserts? Italian import Antica Foccaceria San Francesco, quite a mouthful. They have been around in Italy since 1834, and have branches in Palermo, Naples, Rome and even in the north, Milan. If your Italian is up to snuff, then take a stab at browsing their website. 

If you haven't heard of them, well can't blame you since based on my chats with their staff, currently there is no presence in New York. The organizers of Madison Square Eats invited them to participate, and voila! Seems such a long way to come for only a month-long food fair, as I pointed out to the bemused cashier. Perhaps they would consider setting up an outpost here in Italian-food obsessed (or just plain food-obsessed) New York City, I suggested to another crew member, pointing out the success of other Italian food concepts, like nearby Eataly. 

Hopefully my subliminal pleas, along with countless diners' I'm sure, will amount to something, but in the meantime, you have only two weeks to savor their desserts, meat-filled rice balls, pasta and other Italian goodies at Madison Square Eats - get 'em while you can! 

Creamy pastries in Portugal

"So why is it called bolas de Berlim?", I asked Paula, a local Portuguese whom I met at the hostel in Porto. "It didn't come from Germany, did it?".

Paula laughed, then replied "No, of course not. Because it has two halves, with the thick cream in the middle. Sort of like East and West separated by the wall".

This bizarre explanation with outdated political reference notwithstanding, the bolas de Berlim is just one of many sweet treats in pastelarias' display cases that entice passers-by to ogle and stop for a quick snack.

While critics might harp that Portuguese cuisine doesn't rise to the same meteoric heights as their larger Iberian neighbor, in the sweets department it's definitely no slouch. 

My personal favorite is the pasteis de nata, sweet custard tarts topped with burnt caramel and surrounded by a flaky crust. Four cafes lined the seven-minute walk from my hostel in Lisbon to the metro stop, so every day I would venture inside a different one, order two pasteis with cafe con leche, and devour them standing at the counter.  Hard to beat that for a mid-morning snack.

In Aveiro, a traditional pastry called ovo mole still rules. Shaped in different forms such as shells, fish, and clams, these treats have a very thin wafer-like exterior, and a very sweet inside made of egg yolks and sugar. 

I found the ovos moles quite addictive, and found an excuse to pop one into my mouth every few minutes, only to discover to my chagrin that my newly-purchased box of twelve is now empty. Oh well, time to go back to the store for more.

There are lots more Portuguese pastries that I haven't tasted, possibly for the better,  health-wise. Just these three alone brought my sugar intake to stratospheric levels, and only lots of walking offset the calories (how many, I didn't want to know) that were consumed. Don't let anyone fool you into thinking Portuguese food isn't great, but cast your eyes towards the pastelarias.

Yemas de Santa Theresa in Avila

Busloads of tourists congregated at the tiny overlook off the main road, jostling for position to snap photos of themselves with the walled city of Avila in the background.

Avila has long been famous for its association with St. Theresa, the female patron saint of Spain. Her presence in this town is unmissable, with her remains inside the eponymous convent.

Thus, much like the backpacker circuit, this was just a stop on the religious pilgrimage circuit, along with other well-known hot spots such as Fatima, Lourdes and Santiago de Compostela.

I happened to be in the area and purchased a box of yemas de Santa Teresa. In addition to appropriating the saint's name, these sweet egg-yolk and sugar concoctions have been produced since 1860, so they must be pretty good.

Darn good they were. And very sweet. Too sweet. Couldn't resist popping these bite-sized delicacies into my mouth for a quick sugar fix, or just because. After two days, the box of twelve was entirely demolished, with no assistance from anyone. (Not that I offered).

I would have wanted to get my hands on another box to carry me through the rest of the week, but another trip into town was not in the offing. Visitors to Avila should make sure to sample these yemas for a different kind of nourishment after touring all the important spiritual sites.

Porras or Churros - Deep fried goodness at Chocolateria de San Gines, Madrid

The whole world calls them "churros", these deep-fried strips of dough that are eaten for breakfast or a snack, preferably dunked in hot chocolate. However, in Spain, these fat greasy long fingers are called "porras". And the place to be in Madrid to try these is Chocolateria San Gines, tucked behind an alley just off Calle Arenal.

follow the sign to Chocolateria San Gines

Open since 1894, Chocolateria de San Gines is open round the clock, just in case you feel like a midnight snack. Immensely popular among locals and tourists, there is plenty of outdoor seating but like those in a hurry, I stood at the long, marble counter inside and ordered a "chocolate con porras" (3.50 euros, two strips) for a late breakfast. 

The cup of hot chocolate was just to my liking, not cloyingly sweet at all. (A local I met at a tapas bar mentioned a preference for a competing chocolateria, due to its sweeter chocolate, but the name of the establishment esapes me). 

While busy dunking my porras and biting into it, I could peek inside the kitchen where their skinnier counterparts, called churros (this is getting confusing), were being dunked in a huge fryer in long strips, then cut into shorter straws as they came out. These thinner strips came four to an order, and below is a visual (taken at Mercado San Miguel), to illustrate the difference.

If hot chocolate doesn't tickle your fancy, most locals simply dunk their fat or skinny greasy fix into their cafe con leche, and that seems to work splendidly as well. Perhaps I will find out for myself tomorrow. Or tonight.

Eataly's bicerin - non delizioso

There are many reasons to visit Eataly, that mecca of food devoted to everything Italian. One can dine in any of the six restaurants, buy Italian specialty goods or simply dash in for a quick espresso. The hunt for edible confectionery suitable as a birthday gift explained my presence at Eataly on a warm Sunday afternoon.

I fortuitously glanced up at the board above the coffee bar and laid my eyes on the word "bicerin".In a couple of previous posts, I had claimed that this sweet treat from Turin was served only at Pubblico Espresso Bar in the Village - but here was evidence to the contrary.

Eager to sample Eataly's version of bicerin despite the warm weather, I found an empty seat at the counter and took a sip. And another. Whereas my lips expected the taste of cold cream intersecting with hot, robust espresso and sweet chocolate, the layer of cream, alarmingly thin in appearance, was equally overpowered in taste.

A bit of consolation was the Lavazza coffee used in the bicerin, at least that counted for something. I stirred the remains of the concoction, a big no-no, my disappointment apparent to all who cared to notice and my mind racing to find an explanation for this humdrum offering from Eataly.

Compared to Pubblico's bicerin, this was dreadful, or had I just been spoiled? No doubt the ingredients at both places were equally beyond reproach, but the harried baristas at Eataly whom I overheard mixing up customers' orders did not inspire confidence, compared to the sight of Francesca and Alessandro shaking the container of cold cream lovingly.

I did find some pistachio spread and truffles for my friend, so the afternoon wasn't a total waste. Perhaps I'll try a couple of flavors of gelato on a hot summer's day at Eataly, but cozy Pubblico will always be my place for bicerin.

P.S. Excuse the lousy photos taken with a mobile phone.

Bicerin redux at Pubblico Espresso Bar

Bicerin, specialty of Pubblico Cafe

Not quite sure why it took over a month to revisit Pubblico Cafe in the Village for some bicerin, but a blustery un-springlike Saturday afternoon provided the perfect excuse to drop by. 

This time I happened to have a real camera with me, in contrast to my first visit when I used my cell phone to snap a few pics that were quite lousy. 

Strains of Amadou and Mariam's music greeted me as I entered the cafe. It was deserted except for Francesca, the friendly Italian counter person who shared my interest in the blind couple's music, and who managed to convince me to sample two freshly-delivered cookies. Good thing too since my taco lunch left me craving some dessert. 

The tart, intense raspberry chocolate cookie (Francesca's favorite) was to my liking, as well as the wine-infused biscuit with anise. 

But let's not forget what I came for - another taste of bicerin. I recounted to her how I gave in to Alessandro's enthusiasm the first time, and what a delicious surprise my first taste of the specialty from Turin was.
 
I was wary of having built up Pubblico's bicerin in my mind, and being disappointed the second time around. However, I'm glad to report that was definitely not the case - the perfect blend of chocolate, espresso and hand-shaken cold cream, accompanied by the cookies and the New York Times magazine, provided a pleasant late-afternoon interlude. And, I hope the photos are much better this time.
 

Bicerin, a sweet treat from Turin, has pulled into the station

"Quite a number of storefronts have changed lately on MacDougal St.", I noted, as I started walking northbound along the block from the Bleecker St. intersection, "and not really for the better". It seemed that most of the new food establishments were just re-treads of the same tired concepts found elsewhere.

The sign from a new cafe promising the best espresso caught my eye - and given the swirling winds and frigid temps, my growling stomach, and just a general appetite for discovery - before you know it I had climbed up the few steps and stepped inside Pubblico Espresso cafe.

 
 The young, beaming counter person (alas, his name I forgot) greeted me warmly, and suggested their specialty - bicerin, a concoction made of espresso and melted chocolate, topped by a layer of cream and roasted coffee beans, which he claims is "only available here in our cafe - in the entire city!" in heavily-accented Italian. I assented, of course - did I really have a choice? Bicerin was totally unfamiliar to myself, and his salesmanship and bold claim were intriguing, to say the least.

While waiting for my order to arrive, I pondered - given that New York City has been having a love fest with all things Italian - witness the success of many recently-opened trattorias, pizzerias, tavernas, and most notably, Eataly - it seemed inconceivable that some novelty Italian food item that hadn't yet conquered our shores.

Finally, he brought over the glass of bicerin to my tiny, round table - only one of four in the cozy, narrow sliver of a space. With the only other patron deeply engrossed in his newspaper, the server found time to give me more background information on bicerin. "It's from Turin - they make the best there - the best!" (imagine the same accent as the restaurateur Poppy on Seinfeld).

Meaning "small glass" in Piedmontese, bicerin is meant to be drank without mixing the hot and cold parts together - "No, no, no...", warned Poppy, wagging his finger for effect. Feeling the heat as I touched the glass, I waited a few minutes before diving in. The top layer of cream was sweet, but not overly so, countered by the dark, roasted espresso and chocolate - the intersection of these elements as the first taste hit my tongue and lingered there was just perfection.

Further reading:
As recently as 2006, during the height of the Winter Olympics in Turin, the New York Times profiled this wonderful warming drink, and noted that it couldn't find a place serving bicerin in the city.

A Pis of Manneken for breakfast

Breakfast in Japan usually consists of something I pick up from the pastry aisle at the generic 24-hour convenience store. This is mostly out of convenience but partly due to the kick I get out of perusing the hundreds of varieties of cold canned coffee, which in my opinion can be boiled down to exactly two: black and au lait. Oh, and of course, to pick up my daily fix of Pocari Sweat.

One morning, my half-shut eyes spotted what looked like a Belgian...excuse me, a Liege waffle, and true enough, that's what it was. A closer examination of the waffle package showed the Belgian flag proudly displayed on top, as well as one of Brussels' most visited landmarks (read: tourist trap), the Manneken Pis.



I could hardly believe my eyes. How could a Japanese company have appropriated this much-loved Belgian icon, him with the fabulous wardrobe, and plastered the Manneken Pis' image on a cheap snack to be hawked at every 7-11, Family Mart, and Lawson's outlet across Japan? Why isn't the Belgian trade minister screaming loudly at the WTO for sanctions?!



My indignation was short-lived, however. I tore into the package, and pretty soon was munching contentedly on the waffle. Tasted quite good, actually, though hunger can muddle one's thinking.

As I pondered the situation, the more my views shifted to admiration for the business acumen of the company. After all, wasn't it clearly a master stroke to use a cliche associated with a foreign country to market products to the local population? The use of the Belgian flag seems rather dubious and over the top though.

Checking the website for more information led to nowhere, as it was purely in Japanese. (Or maybe the "Click here for English" was also written in Japanese. Hahaha). Anyone care to translate and help shed more light on this?

Starbucks sells French macarons...

in Japan!!! I had popped into Starbucks for a much-needed hot cup of Joe. It had been drizzling all day in Tokyo, and I had unwisely refused to carry an umbrella, thinking that my water-resistant jacket would suffice. By mid-afternoon I was soaked, shivering, and seeking shelter somewhere.

Thus while standing in line the Shibuya branch of Starbucks, I spotted these macarons (not macaroons) and figured, "Why not?". Cold and tired, I was in need of refreshment. Moreover, the macarons were perhaps the last thing I expected to see in Japan, and I was a bit curious why Starbucks sold macarons here, and not in the United States. (New York City has a handful of specialty shops selling macarons, but not Starbucks).



My excitement evaporated upon my first bite of the vanilla macaron, and my face contorted into a grimace. Ugh - the taste was all wrong - too sweet, too artificial. The macaron lacked firmness - the expected chewiness did not materialize; instead, the entire confection crumbled into pieces right in my palms. Thinking I'd have better luck with the citrus flavored macaron proved to be wishful thinking.

On the upside, I was lucky to get a seat on the second floor of Starbucks which provided an excellent vantage point for witnessing the famed Shibuya crossing. Car traffic in all directions comex to a stop, and hordes of pedestrians from five different places scramble across the intersections on the way to their destinations.

Below is the best among the various Youtube videos I found - it was shot on a clear day though.



This scene was immortalized in the movie "Lost in Translation" with a bored Scarlet Jo aimlessly wandering around Tokyo , and I believe Sofia Coppola shot the scene from the same Starbucks vantage point. The crowds on this wet Saturday afternoon were a bit thin, but the sprinkling of colorful umbrellas mixed with the predominantly transparent ones was a sight to behold nevertheless. That provided some consolation for the disappointing macarons which I came across in other Starbucks branches on subsequent occasions, but wisely refrained from buying.

I say Macaron, you say Macaroon

As I was preparing for my trip last year to Paris, a friend alerted me to the sumptuous macarons at the French pastry retailer Laduree, raving about the smooth, creamy fillings of said confections. For some nebulous reason, I absentmindedly thought she was referring to coconut macaroons, which are delicious and which I heartily consumed in the past, and thus although I wandered along the Champs Elysees I neglected to make a visit to Laduree's pastry shop. Six months after returning from Paris, by happenstance I read a blurb about the newly-opened Macaron Cafe serving those tiny delicacies did my mind wander back to that conversation, and I realized my colossal blunder and vowed to rectify this error.

Located in a somewhat nondescript part of Midtown, Macaron Cafe is pretty easy to miss unless you are looking for it, as I was. Once you step inside, however, the vibrant colors of the paintings and inviting couches entice you to stay, relax, have a nice cup of tea accompanied by whatelse? - the lovely macarons, of course - which come in sixteen different flavors. Enthralled at the choices, I stood in front of the glass counter, pondering which varieties to sample, debating inside my head, "I want this. No, I'll try that one instead", all the while conscious of the French female attendant's amused gaze upon me. Couldn't help wondering if she thought I'd say "Give me one of each (all sixteen)". Finally I selected the pistachio and tiramisu, and savored each tender, chewy bite. Sweet, yet not cloying. Why, oh why, are they so small???

If I hadn't been in a rush to get to an appointment, doubtless I would've stayed and noshed on more macarons (not good for someone trying to shed pounds), so I settled for buying a twelve-pack box as a present to my friend. So far it sits inside my refrigerator, untouched. Hopefully, midnight cravings won't hijack the macarons from their intended receipient. As for Laduree, I heard spring time is lovely in Paris...