Matters of Taste

THREE-PEAT: Cocktails at FIG, Charleston, S.C.

When was the last time I found myself in a bar downing Manhattans three nights in a row? Like, ah, never! Much as I love a good drink, hanging out in bars and belting back hard liquor is not my normal M.O.

But, I guess there’s a time and a place for everything, and last week in Charleston S.C. with about 50 fellow members of the Association of Food Journalists was clearly that time and place.

We were in the picturesque coastal town for our annual conference, four days of seminars, speakers, business meetings, tastings, field trips and fabulous meals. Straight off the plane on Tuesday night I headed to FIG (Food is Good) with two West Coast colleagues. We all knew about chef Mike Lata (who won “Best Chef Southeast” at the 2010 James Beard Awards) and our mouths were watering for such Lata specialties as Carolina Shrimp Escabeche and Tomato Tarte Tatin.

But the cocktail menu turned out to be a serious speed-bump.

For starters there was the list of Proprietary Cocktails that included the Marfa Daisy (Espolon Blanco tequila, elderflower liqueur, aquavit, grapefruit juice and grapefruit bitters) that was the sassy super-model of margaritas; and the Greenthumb (Cathead Vodka, green Chartreuse, lime, mint, cucumber and celery bitters).

Then there was the Make-Your-Own Manhattan extravaganza featuring 15 bourbons (and a few ryes), eight types of sweet vermouth, and 13 types of bitters, mostly homemade. Feeling like a kid in a candy store, I poured over the lists, then picked Old Overholt Rye (new to me but Lata' favorite), Dolin Rouge Vermouth (another new friend), and Angostura orange bitters. Served straight up in an old-fashioned “champagne” glass it was a delicious swirl of sweet, smoke, herb and tang.

The third page featured riffs on the Negroni, a classic Italian aperitif of Campari, sweet vermouth and   gin that was invented in Florence in the early 1900s. Calling it the “short and perfect aperitivo,” the menu lists nine versions including the Rhubarb Negroni with Farmer’s Gin, Zucca Rabarbaro (syrup) and Dolin Rouge vermouth;  the Negroni Sbagliato with Campari, sweet vermouth and Prosecco; and the Hummingbird (Beefeater, Campari, elderflower, Nouilly Pratt and crushed ice). (This photo is from a cool Website called Cocktails in Charleston that seems proof positive that I am not the only one who has spent time tippling in this historic town.)

Reporters being reporters, word about FIG’s creative cocktails and lively bar scene spread fast among AFJ members, each of whom by definition is obsessed with finding delicious things to eat and drink. So it was that I found myself back at FIG for nightcaps the next two nights, with colleagues who were equally smitten by the talented mixologists.

I’m now a big fan of subbing Prosecco for the gin in a regular Negroni (the sparkling wine makes for a lighter aperitif with no bite); and injecting a bit of the USA in the Italian drink with a splash of Buffalo Trace Straight Kentucky Bourbon. 

I'm also intrigued by Basil Hayden's minty bourbon; Blanton's "Original Single-Barrel Bourbon;" and Elmer T. Lee, the guy who makes Buffalo Trace. I now know that most sweet vermouths sold in the U.S. are Torino-style, and that there are a whole lot of new ones, such as Cocchi and Carpano, that I need to try.

And, I'm about to jump on the bitters bandwagon. There's been a surge if interest in these alcoholic sidekicks that are flavored with herbal essences and have a bitter or bittersweet flavor.  Today, homemade or small-batch orange, cherry, rhubarb and Aztec chocolate bitters are giving the old-fashioned Angostura a run for its money.   

Oh, yeah. FIG’s food. Fabulous.

The tomato tarte tatin (left),  “salted” with tapenade and smoothed with fromage blanc, managed to taste like mid-summer even though the season is just about over. The escabeche featured plump, tender fresh white Carolina fresh shrimp with the usual marinated vegetables and the unusual addition of grated ginger. 

We also flipped over the cloud-like ricotta gnocchi with Bolognese sauce; the local triggerfish with roasted cauliflower and caper; and the Coddled Sea Island Farm Egg that, when pierced, quickly swirled itself into the accompanying red wine-braised mushrooms and celeriac cream. On the side was a dish of chewy, pea- and prosciutto-dotted farro from Anson Mills that was so good I ordered packages of the grain on-line as soon as I got back to San Diego.

Dinner and drinks at FIG was a perfect introduction to Charleston, a town with only 300,000 people but a whole lotta knock-your-socks-off restaurants.

 

Bin 941 in Vancouver, B.C. --- Worth A (Bike) Journey

As you may know from my earlier posts, flank steak pizza and bumbleberry pie kept me going on the two-day, 200-mile RSVP bike tour (Ride Seattle to Vancouver & Party). But the biggest treat of all was the dinner awaiting me on the other side of the finish line.

After celebrating with fellow riders in the garden courtyard of Coast Plaza Hotel in downtown Vancouver –- the “Party” included live music and icy Molson Canadian draft (no beer has ever tasted better!) ---my son Nicholas and I got back on our trusty steeds and biked to the Fairmont Hotel. I had stayed at this grande dame during a food writers’ conference about a decade ago and really liked it. This time, after being in the saddle for 2 days and overnighting in a stuffy subterranean room at a Bellingham Best Western, I LOVED it ---the spacious room, the huge window overlooking bustling Georgia Street, the elegant bathroom, enveloping bathrobe, and comfy bed.

After a long shower and a short nap, I was ready to meet Bin 941, a restaurant my kids have been raving about for years.

It lived up to all the hype…and then some.

Since Bin 941, officially dubbed a “Tapas Parlour” doesn’t take reservations, we settled in at the eatery’s bar and celebrated our accomplishment with gin and tonics and the Goat Cheese House-Dried Tomato Salsa appetizer. One taste of the tangy spread, scooped up with outtasite Navajo Fry Bread, and I knew this meal would end up on my Best of 2011 list. (Photo by Bonny Makarewicz for The New York Times.)

Once seated at our Lilliputian, bare wood table, we opted for  “British Columbia Coastal Mussels, Fresh Daily” that were swimming in a sea of spectacularly flavorful coconut milk, lemon zest and garam masala. (Just thinking about this dish again right now is making me crazy.) The mussels were succulent; the hunks of dunked grilled focaccia were lip-smacking good. Forget Seattle, hell, I’d bike from San Diego to Vancouver to eat this dish again.(Photo from ShermansFoodAdventures.com.)

Equally impressive were the “Original Tijuana Caesar” with luscious grilled crouton; and the Angus   Beef Short Rib that was so tender I thought it might fall apart even before I prodded it with my fork. Served with parsnip puree, mushroom-studded spinach salad and a smooth but spunky peppercorn Cabernet jus, this was a unique take on a ubiquitous dish.

Bin 941 is a weensy place, with no more than 7 or 8 tables along with a dozen or so bar stools. The “décor” is funky; the attitude friendly and no-fuss; the food, fabulous.  (Salad & Such average $8; all main Tapatisers are $17.) It’s best to visit with a small group…that way you can order a greater variety of dishes. It's also wise to visit with a fun-loving bunch since this place turns into party-central later in the evening.

We wanted to order more --- fresh Pacific halibut with wild mushroom risotto; crab cakes with burnt orange chipotle sauce; olive-crusted lamb sirloin with potato latke; golden beets with truffled honey glaze. But the portions were large, the flavors intense, so we called it quits, leaving a lot of reasons to visit Bin 941 again.

 

Bike and Bumbleberries --- A Winning Combination

Bumbling idiots, I know all about. But bumbleberries?

It was a new one on me when I came upon Bumbleberry Pie on a breakfast stop during the RSVP Bike Tour from Seattle to Vancouver. If you read my earlier post you’ll know how much I loved the strawberry-rhubarb pie at Snohomish Pie Company, a delicious milepost on the 112-mile first day of RSVP Bike (Ride Seattle to Vancouver & Party) that I did with my son last month. Seems that fruit pies are one of the top tourist attractions in this area.

After overnighting with the other 1,198 bikers at motels in the town of Bellingham, we headed out under bluebird skies to complete the nearly-200-mile ride to Vancouver.

Nicholas and I opted to skip the lame “continental breakfast” offered by our motel, setting our sights instead on the town of Lynden, some 20 miles away, where the highly touted Lynden Dutch Bakery awaited.

For about an hour and a half we pedaled through a broad valley dotted with dairy, raspberry, strawberry and blueberry farms. I was more than ready for breakfast by the time we rolled, uphill, into Lynden, a charming hamlet whose claim to fame is its Dutch-American community – one of the largest in the U.S.

Front Street, the main drag, was dotted with a few cheering residents and an official RSVP stop featuring snacks and drinks.  But the riders-in-the-know headed to the Lynden Dutch Bakery, where friendly women in traditional garb manned the overflowing pastry counter and seated guests for the all-you-can-eat buffet brunch that draws tourists from all over.

Having no desire to A. spend a lot of time indoors on a glorious day or B. schlepp extra pounds of bacon and scrambled eggs along on the ride, Nicholas and I bought slabs of pie in to-go containers, tucked them precariously into the pockets of our bike shirts and biked a mile further to the inviting Woods Coffee shop where we got excellent lattes to accompany our pie. (Photo of the Bakery's Bumbleberry Pie is from Yelp.)

I had opted for Bumbleberry Pie, largely because I had never heard of such a thing. Must be some special berry grown only in the Pacific Northwest I speculated as I gobbled the luscious blend of flaky pastry and fat, juicy berries swimming in shiny, lightly thickened juices.

Only when I sat down to write this post did I learn that bumbleberry is a Canadian term, widely used in the Pacific Northwest, meaning a mixture of fresh berries, usually blackberry, raspberry and strawberry, but sometimes blueberry and boysenberry too.  It’s the most popular pie at the Dutch Bakery, which I guess means that it’s the best…made from whatever’s really, really good out there in the fields and woods.

 

 

My, My, Pizza Pie

Before I did the 200-mile RSVP bike tour from Seattle to Vancouver, I thought of Bellingham, Washington as an old-time shipping port whose greatest claim to fame today is its proximity to Mount Baker (a ski resort that holds the world record for snowfall in a single season).

Now I think of it as a pretty waterfront community, a welcome sight for sore butts, and the home of some of the best pizza I’ve ever eaten.

OK, so maybe there’s a little bit of hyberbole there. In all honesty, Pizza Hut would have tasted damn good after 112 miles, with non-stop uphill from mile 91.6 to mile 101.9.  But, in fact, the pizza at La Fiamma Wood Fire Pizza in downtown Bellingham is really, really good.

We arrived at the homey, family-oriented eatery at about 7:30 pm and found all the tables, inside and out, packed, with a wait of about 40 minutes. My son, who had eaten there before (on the way home from Mount Baker!), said it was worth the wait, so we strolled the downtown streets and arrived back just as they were calling our name.

The folks at La Fiamma aren’t content to offer superlative crust cooked in a wood-fired oven. They also aim to please with a staggering 40 or so toppings, including some very inventive numbers. My half of our large pie was the Grecian Formula, with an “herbed white sauce,” fresh spinach, red bell peppers, tomatoes, Kalamata olives, feta and mozzarella, and “marinated and grilled flank steak.” It was delicious, a perfect combo of chunky veggies and satiny cheese, with the steak adding a subtle heft.

Nicholas’ half of the pie was piled with fragrant rosemary-roasted red potatoes, caramelized onions, sensational homemade fennel sausage, gorgonzola and mozzarella cheeses and a fancy squiggle of balsamic glaze. It wasn't the most beautiful pizza in the world (nor was it photographed by the most competent photographer), but it was a supremely satisfying pie that I'm still thinking about 2 weeks later.

 

 

 

Pie On The Fly

Two weeks ago today, I was rolling through the countryside of northern Washington and into the dazzling B.C. city of Vancouver along with 1,200 other cycling aficionados. We were part of the annual phenomenon known as “RSVP” -- Ride from Seattle to Vancouver & Party.

Sponsored by the Cascade Bicycle Club, the event sells out in the first few hours of on-line registration each January. Last Christmas my son gave me a membership to the Club and suggested we do the ride together this year. Oh, yeah. Did I mention that it’s a 200-mile route? Covered in two days? Or that the most I’ve ever ridden a bike in one day was 80 miles, and that one-and-only experience was a few weeks ago?

On August 5^th we joined a highly enthusiastic group in the University of Washington’s parking lot at 6 a.m. under a threatening, heavily overcast sky. Riding across the Start line was indescribably thrilling. In spite of some cold drizzle and a last-minute route detour that necessitated a one-mile climb smack at the beginning of the ride, the first couple hours were a piece of cake.

Then came the piece of pie. 

I had heard about the great bakeries along the route, and we encountered the first batch in the picturesque little town of Snohomish, 28.7 miles from the starting gate. Now, I don’t normally go for big slabs of pie before 9 in the morning, but the bumpy, well burnished pies lined up on counters and racks at the Snohomish Pie Company were too tempting to resist. The selection was awesome – fresh rhubarb and strawberry-rhubarb, peach, blueberry, and a lot of other berries native to this part of the world. I opted for strawberry-rhubarb and was blown away by the oodles of sweet tender fruit and the flaky, crisp-edged crust. We also appreciated the comfie seating in the spacious café, and the pleasant servers who seemed unfazed by dozens of wet bikers lined up for a sugar or caffeine jolt.

There’s no Website for Snohomish Pie Co. (though they do have a Facebook page). But you can check out Yelp.com (where I found these mouth-watering photos) or SnohomishCountyBlogGirl to read more about this detour-worthy spot.  You can learn more about the totally fabulous RSVP ride at Cascade.org.

By the way, I grew up hating rhubarb. During rhubarb season, my maternal grandparents, born and raised  in Nova Scotia, turned out handsome homemade rhubarb pies for every Sunday  dinner. Though I loved most of the veggies my Grandpa pulled from his little garden, I wouldn’t touch the rhubarb, or parsnips. Then, in 1981, my adored Nana died, and my cousin Wendy brought her own homemade strawberry-rhubarb pies to the house following the funeral service. Maybe it was out of respect to my grandmother…maybe it was being polite to my cousin….for some reason, I had a piece of that delicious pie and I’ve been a huge rhubarb fan ever since.

For the record, I still don’t like parsnips.

 

Magical Wolfgangsee

Think Austria…Think sausages, pork chops, venison and goulash loaded with meaty chunks. 

  But, all of a sudden, the spotlight is on vegetables. During our two weeks in Vienna and the last couple nights in the Salzburg countryside, we’ve been amazed at the creative vegetable-based dishes and the extraordinary flavor of the local produce.  Some menus have offered a separate section of vegetable entrees, others simply added them to the regular line-up of Wienerschnitzel, Tafelspitz and Backhuhn.

We hit the jackpot at Gasthof & Hotel Fürberg on the Wolfgangsee (Lake Wolfgang), south of Salzburg. The hotel, straight out of a fairytale, is tucked away in thick woods, smack on the banks of the lake and accessible only by a single lane, twisty road that ends at the inn.

After a 3-hour drive from Vienna, we stretched our legs on a two-hour Wanderung (hike/walk) along the edge of the lake to the nearby town of St. Gilgen. At dinnertime, we settled ourselves at a table on the outdoor terrace and watched as dusk gave way to a string of twinkly lights along the lake’s jagged coast.

Just when I figured life couldn’t get any better, along came the first course, a glossy Thai-inspired soup of coconut milk and pureed vegetables, ingeniously seasoned, and served in a pretty glass tumbler. Austrians are not known for their experimentation in the kitchen --- soup usually means Speckknödelsuppe (clear soup with big dumplings), Fritattensuppe (clear broth with pancake strips) or Griesnockerlsuppe (clear broth with little dumplings…you get the picture --- so we were particularly thrilled with our good luck.

Entrees were equally exciting.  Spinatknödeln (spinach dumplings) were light and airy, with more  spinach and less bread than the traditional rendition, and the bright green flavor of  fresh spinach. The two Knödeln sat in a shiny pool of melted parmesan cheese, surrounded by roasted cherry tomatoes that exploded upon first bite.

Gemüselaibchen, a mouthful that translates into vegetable patties, were fashioned from topfen (a cheesy wonder known as quark in the U.S.), minced veggies from local gardens, and fresh herbs. The discs were sauteed in plenty of butter and set afloat in a light cream sauce loaded with fresh local mushrooms. Deep-fried arugula leaves crowned the simple but stunning dish.

The next morning we worked off the calories with a hike along the wooded path that leads to the town of St. Wolfgang (where a ferry takes hikers back to Fürberg and other villages). The periodic peeks out to the lake were jaw-dropping, the path was steep but wide and fairly smooth, and the history lesson we got at Falkenstein, an ancient Celtic site midway on the path, was fascinating.

It seems this path was a popular pilgrimage route centuries ago and is today full of myth and legend. At the imposing church (formerly a monastery) that’s built into the side of the stony hillside, hikers can go inside and recite a popular prayer to St. Wolfgang and hear him respond (it’s all about the echo effect). At another tiny chapel, we discovered a spring gushing from a rock. Legend has it that blind voyagers could see after splashing the water in their eyes. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I gave it a try. I’m still waiting for the sign from St. Wolfgang that I can throw my Costco multi-pack of cheaters away.

Check out Hotel Fürberg on line. It’s one of the most captivating places we’re visited. And check back here in a week or so for the recipes for the spinach dumplings and veggie patties.

Caffe Affogato: The Hot New Way to Cool Off

As a longtime fan of this delicious coffee-and-ice-cream concoction, I was happy to see the recent Wall Street Journal blurb encouraging us to “embrace the affogato – the Italian version of a grownup soda-fountain drink.”

“The caffeinated wonder combines hot espresso with cold gelato to create a melty, spoonable (or gulpable) treat.”

The potion has been popping up on restaurant menus in New York where stratospheric temperatures have ensured it an enthusiastic reception. I’m hoping that the WSJ photo of pastry chef Sarah Cox’s single shot of espresso over “homemade double chocolate stout and milk chocolate ice cream” will rev up yet more interest in this Italian triumph of multi-tasking (dessert, coffee break, even breakfast, all in one).

I have fond memories of the first time I tasted an Eiskaffee, the German/Austrian cousin of Caffee Affogato. It was a layered production of cold brewed coffee (instead of espresso), vanilla ice cream and freshly whipped cream in a tall parfait glass. It was more than 30 years ago but I can still see the tiny café tucked away a cobblestoned alley in Innsbruck, Austria, and I can still taste the dark-roasted coffee, creamy ice cream and impossibly light whipped cream.

A more recent memory is of lunchtime last September at an outdoor café in Beame de Venise, France where my husband and I were biking with a Backroads bike tour group. The cranky waitress insisted she could not serve us caffe afogato or  eiskaffee, even though the restaurant featured a free-standing ice cream shop, and espresso, well, godssake, the French make an art of drinking espresso and smoking Gaulois. After listening to her emphatic “No, no, no, ce n’est pas possible,” I ordered a dish of vanilla ice cream and an espresso and, while she watched with an apoplectic stare, created my own affogato.

Here in Vienna I’ve found what is surely the most memorable take on this high-voltage brew.  At Pfarrwirt, a magical inn first established in the 14^th century (it’s said to be Vienna’s oldest restaurant), I was fascinated by the clever riff on Eiskaffee pictured here.

The tiny demitasse cup contained a shot of espresso crowned with freshly whipped cream; the silky panna cotta was flecked with vanilla beans;  crushed pistachios garnished the sphere of  soft vanilla ice cream; and, on the side, homemade cookies. Dark-roasted coffee beans dotted a decorative squiggle of buttery caramel sauce. It was a yummy surprise in a country where traditional usually trumps trendy.

We’re heading today to the Südtirol, Italy’s northernmost region and home of the imposing Dolomite mountains where we’ll trek for the next 8 days. Caffé Affogato will be our mid-afternoon coffee break each day.

If you’ve found a great version of this “energy” drink anyplace in the world, or concocted a great one at home, please do let this coffee-crazed writer know about it.

 

So Many (Delicious) Events, So Little Time!

In about 2 weeks, I’ll be heading to Austria and northern Italy for our annual adventure of Danube-biking, Dolomite-trekking and an eating frenzy of fat white asparagus, Wienerschnitzel, strudel and oceans of whipped cream.

Sadly, I’ll miss out on a couple of very cool events being staged at two of my favorite U.S. hotels. If you’re looking for your own early summer adventure, consider the following:

The Park Hyatt hotel in Washington DC, which I adore for its sleek, supremely comfortable rooms, walker-friendly location, and fabulous Blue Duck Tavern, will put on the Park Hyatt Masters of Food and Wine from June 2 to 5.  (I was very impressed with the festival when I peeked in on it two years ago.)

The event celebrates local wine and food with farm-to-table dinners, tastings and excursions led by the region’s top chefs and culinary experts. The weekend kicks off with a cocktail party on Blue Duck Tavern’s sidewalk terrace, followed by a five-course dinner orchestrated by Barboursville Vineyard winemaker Luca Paschina and the Duck’s executive chef Brian McBride. I have happy memories of such McBride dishes as bourbon-glazed pork chops; polenta with blue cheese; crabcakes with frisee and fennel;  a creamy, dreamy cheesecake; and the BDT "triple fries" pictured here.

The Masters weekend will also feature guest chefs such as Brian Huston of Chicago’s The Publican.  And wine and cheese tastings will be conducted by the Washington Post’s columnist Dave McIntyre and local cheesemakers. There’s also an excursion to the historic Virginia winery Barboursville Vineyard. Events are individually priced, starting at about $35 for the seminars/lectures. A special Hyatt package deal includes an upgraded room, tickets for the cocktail party, the “Taste of America” dinner, breakfast and valet parking for about $500 per room. For more info check out the Website or email masters.phwashington@hyatt.com.

By the way, I like to peruse the Duck’s readable blog for recipes and inspiration. McBride and his team do the all-American classics with great flair and imagination. Even if you don’t get there in June for the festival, put this Park Hyatt on your radar screen for future DC visits.

I’m also crying that I’ll miss the Burger, Bourbon and Beer shindig that runs now through the end of June at San Francisco’s Fifth Floor restaurant. Located in The Palomar Hotel, Fifth Floor is the domain of chef David Bazirgan who won my heart years ago when he cooked at Chez Papa Resto. (Fifth Floor received 3 ½ stars, our of 4, from the San Francisco Chronicle’s Michael Bauer.)

Earlier this year I got to sample Bazirgan's food in his new digs and loved what I found, including a salad of “heirloom chicories,” which means ruffly little lettuces that tickle the tongue, tossed with Pt. Reyes blue cheese, hazelnuts, pomegranate seeds and a Chardonnay vinaigrette; and a succulent risotto done with slow-braised oxtail, fresh horseradish and winter savory. (I also loved my hotel room which was spacious, stylish, comfortable, quiet and, in my opinion, one of SF’s best bargains at about $200. The Palomar is part of the Kimpton hotel group.)

But, back to the burger (shown here in a photo by Grant Marek Thrillist). Served only in the restaurant’s lounge (which is a sophisticated, beautifully lighted space), it's a patty of short rib, ground chuck and skirt steak. It’s topped with Comté cheese, bourbon-braised onions and tomato-tinted aioli. In contrast to the Burgers and Burgundy pairings that are showing up around the country, Fifth Floor teams this meaty masterpiece with a shot of Eagle Rare bourbon and a Firestone IPA. The tempting trio costs $25.

 

 

 

Look, Up in the Sky....It's...Scrambled Eggs????

Normally I would have skipped over the article on page 2 of today's New York Times special "Business Travel" section.  Entitled, "Ground-Level Tastings of the Best Food in the Sky," it sounded like a re-hash of all the other articles I've read over the decades that tried to convince me that there really IS good food up there at 30,000 feet.

But today I took a second look at the story because, based on my flight from San Diego to New York last week, I think there may actually be something better being whipped up in the airlines' kitchens. Last Thursday, the breakfast menu in American Airlines' First Class (thank God for frequent flier miles) included scrambled eggs. I said "no, thanks" and dove into my zip-lock bag of Kirkland Cashew Clusters from Costco (I never leave home without them.)

But my husband ordered the scrambled eggs and we were blown away by the fluffy cloud of eggs that appeared. Whipped up with cream cheese and fresh chives and served with perfectly grilled asparagus spears and a smooth goat cheese sauce, it was the first of two lovely surprises AA had for me that day. (The second surprise was our checked bags appearing within 15 minutes of touchdown.) This photo, a little grainy but you get the idea, is from a site called Smugmug.com.

The article, by Mickey Meece, recounts the efforts of major airlines to woo new customers with "roving trucks and pop-up lounges that offer passers-by a taste of what's being served in the air." It recounts how Air France rolled food trucks through Manhattan recently passing out free sample of the buckwheat crepes and French macaroons served on Air France flights. Next week, according to Meece, Austrian Airlines will dispatch chefs on bikes through NYC to hand out wedges of guglhupf, a type of bundt cake.

"The airlines’ deployment of food trucks with social media is an example of what is known as experiential marketing, Mr. Kollau said. “As people are bombarded with marketing messages,” he said, “real-life interaction with products and brands has become increasingly valuable for airlines to get their message across.”

Even if your normal mode of transport is coach, and the skinniest rows of coach to boot, this is an interesting phenomenon. Check it out at NYTimes.com.

 

 

 

You CAN Go Home Again -- Cannoli at Mike's Pastry

Yesterday my sister and I went on a nostalgic walking tour of Boston’s North End, poking our noses into the Cantina Italiana where we had our first Shirley Temple “cocktails” many decades ago; into the firehouse where our uncle Tom worked; and into Copp’s Hill Burying Ground for a quick brush-up course on the Colonial era.

We also made the obligatory trip to Mike’s Pastry shop on Hanover Street. No one goes to the North End without at least a peek into Mike’s….and most people emerge with powdered sugar on their smiling faces.

When I visited Mike’s as a kid, the bakery was already known for its excellent cannoli. In those days there were, maybe, two or three kinds – plain cream, cream mixed with chopped dried fruits, and maybe cream with chocolate chips. Yesterday I was blown away by the variety of cannoli and the over-the-top exuberance with which they are now decorated.

We’re talking pecan caramel cannoli, Oreo cannoli, espresso, hazelnut, and chocolate mousse cannoli. There’s even a peanut butter cannoli, forpetessake. Sixteen kinds in all. Some rather simple, just the fried pastry shell filled with flavored cream. But others drenched in chocolate, drizzled with icing, and pressed into chocolate chips and bits.

Frankly, I figured these tarted-up versions of the Sicilian staple would be too sweet, too artificial, too, well, just too-too. I asked the woman behind the counter which one I should try and she recommended the Limoncello cannoli. I’m not a huge fan of this popular Italian liqueur, but I gave it a shot.

One bite, and I was one of those smiling faces, dusted with powder sugar, walking out of the shop. The shell (said to be handmade) was admirably light and crisp; the voluminous cream filling was subtly sweetened with just a hint of Limoncello fragrance and flavor.

For folks who can’t get to Mike’s in person, there’s now a cannoli kit available at Mike’s on-line. I can’t attest to the quality of cannoli that are shipped hither and yon. But, at $30 for a kit of 10 shells, creams, chocolate chips, real pistachios and powdered sugar, it’s a fun adventure.