| XXX |
|
|
Two Thumbs for Three Glasses.
A basket of house made bread is brought to the table. I am informed in a soft tone, which hides the inaccuracies of English pronunciation, that there are no menus to read from. I nod my acceptance of the confession. The restaurant had recently taken holiday and a new menu is being concocted daily from the chef's rejuvenated mouth and mind. I listen, distracted. I haven't eaten all day and my hopes were for the waiter to remove himself from the table so I could consume the first slice of warm bread and devour the large, leather bound wine list. The restaurant is Tre Bicchieri, "three glasses." Named after the highest honor a winemaker in Italy can receive for their outpouring of passion in every bottle. The restaurant bolsters the ground floor of my apartment building with its fine dining and fabulous wine list. The Benanti's, the owners of the restaurant, not only fill the wine list with Northern-Italian notables, the obligatory Solaia and Sassicaia, but also with the award-winning wines from their Sicilian hectares on the slopes of Mt. Etna. The restaurant contains a front barroom and eatery, a blue print for any bistro or wine bar in New York. The room has an old-boys-clubby feel. There is a wrap-around, mahogany bar, glass encased bookshelves, a piano in the corner and a well suited, multi-lingual staff. American music floats down from speakers in the ceiling and air ducts lift smoke from ashtrays situated on thick wooden tables. This establishment has invested heavily in its clientele; it is one of the only public places that passes the government's respiratory regulations that allow a patron a cigarette inside. Pleased with my surroundings, I order. Grilled vegetables - squash, eggplant, zucchini, peppers - anchored in extra-virgin olive oil by a succulent, mozzarella cheese and topped with shavings of pecorino. Accompanied by an aromatic, white wine - one hundred percent Carricante, from the rock-ridden soil of the Benanti estate in the Etna region. The pale, yellow wine is poured into the finest Reidel stemware. The grape juice started tight in the mouth with a pinch of acidity, but complemented the earthy appetizer with green apple freshness. Arriving next was a pasta dish. Large tubes, silky smooth on the tongue, but enough traction in the bite that made for a pleasant fork-filled experience. The sauce was light, thickened only with the chunks of eggplant, tomato and ricotta cheese. The natural oils of the eggplant left a warm and lasting texture on the roof of my mouth after every bite. I nod my approval to the waiter who whispers by and removes the remains of the dish. My silverware is replaced. Followed by a glacial peak of tuna surrounded by a pesto sauce spewing oil. Toasted bread acts as boats to quartered, cherry tomatoes and green olives that look like overgrown capers. The chef ordered the tuna direct from a pair of fisherman who supply the restaurant daily. This deconstructed tuna salad didn't last long on the plate, nor would it last in one's refrigerator the next day. Completely content, I suck a second wind through the filter of a Dunhill cigarette and listen to dessert opportunities. Mascarpone cheese mouse drizzled with a dark chocolate sauce. The mounds of mascarpone are separated with almond biscuits. With child like enthusiasm the plate is a mess before the sweet wine is delivered to the table. Two hours have passed and I found a place as close to home as I could have hoped for, even the prices are a reminder of the oft luxury of eating out in the Big Apple. I Took a Bite
Wine Post - July'05 Back to home...
|
|
|