Santa Maria dei Monti Offerta Hot and Sour Soup

After over a week in Italy, Significant Eater and I were craving something just a little bit different...food wise. Now don't get me wrong; most everything we've eaten over the past week has been superb. For example, one of the meals we ate (on the night we arrived in Rome) was a 7-course pasta dinner, followed by an amazing cheese plate and finally, panna cotta. That dinner came courtesy of Katie Parla, travel and food writer extraordinaire, and all around good egg, who nabbed us reservations upon my request, after I read about it on her blog.  By the way, if you need to find something out about food or art in Rome, Naples and other far-flung locales, Ms. Parla is your gal.

Where was I? Oh yeah - we've been staying in an apartment in Monti, Rome's first ward, or Rione I. We're literally down the block from the from the Piazza della Madonna dei Monti...

It's the nabe's meeting place - and even on a Sunday night, everyone is out in their finery, meeting and greeting each other, drinking some wine, and just having a grand old time.  Seemingly every piazza has its church; this one is no different, and Santa Maria dei Monti is its name. It's a beauty, too, built in the 16th century...

Interestingly enough, if you turn around with your back to the church, this place is directly across the street, and it was the object of Sig Eater's and my desire...

I know what you're thinking; Chinese food in Rome? But we were craving it, and guess what? It was better than 95% of the stuff I eat in Chinatown. Yes, Chinatown. In NYC. Where I fucking live.

For starters, the hot and sour soup...

It  had just the right amount of chili pepper, if a little heavy on the cornstarch, but tell me about a hot and sour soup in Manhattan that's great, and your next bowl is on me. But the sizzling vegetables were just right, especially after a week of greens that are cooked until any semblance of what they looked like raw is beyond your wildest imagination...

The chicken I ordered wasn't bad either (also on a sizzling platter), and a gingery stir-fry of shrimp with spring onions was  just the way we like it.  Here's what my plate looked like after I was done loading it up...

And the topper?  All of that food, along with a giant Peroni beer and a bowl of rice was about $30. Or 24€, to be exact. Less than you'd pay back in Chinatown. Better, too. A craving satisfied. But - tomorrow's another day, and more great cucina Romana awaits. We're leaving the real noodles to the Italians.

Buon Viaggio!

Significant Eater and I are off on a bit of a vacation; I hope to actually do a bit of blogging while we're gone.

Here's where we are going to be starting tomorrow...

And then, since we wanted to get away from the hordes of people in New York City, we'll end up here...

Of course, if I get too far away from the city, for too long, I break out in hives, so...

Oy, Oy, Oyamel

What happens when one of your favorite chefs, whose restaurants you’ve greatly enjoyed in the past, becomes more and more successful?  And by successful I mean keeps opening restaurants all over the damn place.

Well, I guess on the one hand you can be happy for that chef’s success and be excited to try all of those restaurants.  I mean, there is a chef or two here in New York who have gone on to fame and fortune and I’m pretty happy to be eating in most, if not all, of their establishments.

But what about the other side of the coin, where as your favorite chef opens a new restaurant, one or more of the previously opened ones turns out to be not so good?

Okay, the chef I’m referring to is José Andrés.  You probably know José; a great cook  whose food I've always admired, wildly popular, got a bunch of TV shows, Spain’s greatest ambassador, etc., etc. He has that great accent.  He’s a partner (in Think Food Group) and ostensibly the Big Kahuna Chef of close to a dozen restaurants. He made his bones working in some of Spain’s top kitchens, including that of Ferran Adrià, of…well, you know…that Ferran Adrià.  And then when he embarked to the United States, rather than heading for New York City and all of it’s potential fame and glory, he headed for Washington, D. C. - and whatever it is you go there for.

In José's case, it was to open restaurants.  Jaleo, Café Atlantico, Zaytinya - all good, if not great restaurants, as a matter of fact.  Highly touted restaurants, which gave him and his partners the ability to open more restaurants. These were and are fun, happening places with good food, good times and fairly gentle prices. Then there were more – Oyamel, another location or two of Jaleo, minibar by José Andrés, a restaurant or two in Vegas, one or two in Los Angeles – you get the picture.

Just last weekend, I was excited to try a restaurant of Jose’s that has been open for a while now – Oyamel, in D. C.  Even though I’d be warned off by a friend who knows his food, I was curious ( said friend said it sucked, btw).  But it’s José's place, after all, so off we went. 

Now, to say I was put off a little by being seated in the bar area, even though I had made a reservation weeks earlier, would be putting it mildly.  My mood was made (slightly) worse when my protestations fell of deaf ears, as we were told by one of the 3 or 4 hostetts that it would be another hour’s wait to sit somewhere else (like perhaps in the restaurant), and that they didn’t consider our table to be in the bar area, even though, ummm, it was in the fucking bar area.

I don’t know about you, but sitting in the bar area of a popular restaurant on a Friday night isn’t my idea of fun. Because sooner or later someone’s ass is gonna be about an inch from my guacamole, and at $13.50 an order, I prefer my guac sans ass, especially when it’s the ass of some tourist douche from Iowa.

Be that as it may, I guess all would have been forgiven if the food knocked me out; that way I could prove my friend wrong, which is always fun.  It didn’t…as a matter of fact, other than a really nice fresh hearts of palm and avocado salad, nothing was that exciting - not even the ass guac (okay, the chips and salsa were fine). 

Then it struck me; my last meal at Zaytinya, a place I’ve blogged and raved about in the past, wasn’t that great either.  I mean, sure, it was ok and all, but it lacked a certain zing that I recalled from previous meals. These were both meals, that once were finished and we walked outside, I said to Significant Eater: “We don’t have to go there again!”

So perhaps there are two lessons to be learned. One is for José and that is - don’t forget about all your other restaurants when you’re running around the world opening new ones and flogging yourself on TV.  And the second is for me and that is, listen to (some of) your knowledgeable food friends – they (sometimes) know of what they speak.