Zuppardi's: You've never had sausage like this.

Question: if you've planned a weekend trip that involves a four-hour drive each way, what is the first thought that goes through your mind?

a. Can I fly instead?

b. Cue up the soundtrack, it's going to be a long drive.

c. Sweet! Let's figure out where to eat along the way.

Needless to say, like any self-respecting food obsessive, I am firmly in the "C" camp.  So as soon as we booked a Vermont ski trip for last weekend, I set to planning our rest stops.  As it turned out, a(nother) big snow dump last week scuttled our plans for the drive up, and we were forced to take the western route up the New York Thruway, a culinary wasteland if ever there were one.  But on the way back, we drove down through Massachusetts and Connecticut, pulling into New Haven just in time for dinner.

Having done my due diligence, we headed to Zuppardi's for pizza.  Or "apizza," as it is known in Naples, and, apparently, in Connecticut.  Zuppardi's is an easy-going pizza parlor in a easy-going residential neighborhood in West Haven.  There may be bigger names in the New Haven pizza universe -- Pepe's, Sally's, Modern, Bar -- but we figured that Zuppardi's would be just the right speed for two limping ski bums in long johns and boots who didn't want the hassle of waiting for a table.

And right we were.  We grabbed a table right away, no waiting, and within fifteen minutes were throwing back a couple of beers and some pizzas -- one a white clam pie, and the other a mozzarella pie with half sausage.

In my exhaustion-addled brain, I made the rookie mistake of ordering a regular clam pie made with canned clams instead of the fresh clam pie made with steamed littlenecks.  Rats!  But the regular clam pie was still great -- super garlicky and covered with salty little clams on a crust that had crispy edges but a nice soft interior.  We devoured this pie, knowing that those clams wouldn't make for good leftovers, and resolved to come back to try the fresh clam pie.

As for the other pie, we ordered it half plain because there is no better way to judge a pie -- if it is truly great, there is no need to gild the lily with toppings.  This one, though, was underwhelming.  Although the crust was nice, the sauce was nothing special and the cheese was applied with a heavier hand than I prefer.  The sausage half, though, more than made up for the lackluster plain half.  Zuppardi's mades their sausage in-house, and I don't know that I've ever had more wonderfully porky, flavorful sausage on a pie or anywhere else.  It was so good I'd happily eat that stuff straight.

So, the upshot:  while the plain is nothing to write home about, the sausage is out of this world, and the regualar clam pie was promising enough to warrant a return trip for the fresh clams.  Well damn, I guess that just means another ski trip in our future!

Prime Meats: Worth it.

As soon as the rave New York Times review came out, my BFF and I started scheming to get a little group together for dinner at Carroll Gardens' Prime Meats.  After a few false starts, five of us spent a Friday evening enjoying a dinner for the ages.  And then, a few weeks later, J-P and I returned for a slightly more subdued, but no less delectable, birthday dinner for my brother-in-law.  On both occasions, we left entirely satisfied, and certain that Prime Meats was the perfect choice for that group, for that dinner, for that night.  Prime Meats is like that.  It's one of those restaurants that dresses up or dresses down, where you can have an intimate dinner or a raucous one, spend a little or spend a lot, as you wish.  But one thing is certain: after two visits, both on Friday nights, I can say with authority that the sweet spot for getting a table without waiting is six p.m. to six-thirty.  Any earlier, and you'll be eating in an empty dining room; any later, and you'll be waiting three deep at the bar.  

On our first visit, we missed the sweet spot by barely ten minutes, but managed to secure bar frontage while we waited.  And thank goodness -- our perch gave us a bird's eye view of the cocktail artistry behind the bar, and gave me and J-P a chance to pick the brain of our agreeable bartender about everything from his preferred brand of gin to retail sources for quality bar supplies.  We also slurped down some perfectly briny raw oysters and sampled broadly from the cocktail menu while we waited.  The cocktail I kept coming back to (and am working on perfecting at home) is the Seelbach, a heady combination of bourbon, bitters, and champagne.  Other popular choices included the Rubens Cooler (bourbon, st. germain, lemon juice, and cucumber) and the Jasmine (gin, campari, cointreau, and lemon juice), although the knowledgeable bar staff is more than happy to whip up an original concoction, as you wish.

And then there is the food.  Among the appetizers, the Vesper Brett is a must-do.  A crowd-pleasing platter of house-made sausages, cured meats, and the like, it serves as a perfect introduction to what this kitchen can do with a pig, some salt, and a little bit of time.  Another starter of note are the marrow bones.  Here, they are thoughtfully split in half lengthwise, making it easier to extract the marrow, and are served with toast, radishes, salt, and parsley.  But, although marrow bones are one of my favorite delicacies, I was glad to have four others with whom to share the generous portion, and I can hardly imagine how a group smaller than ours could possibly tackle the dish without courting immediate cardiac distress.  Other meaty starters include the steak tartare and a special of steamed clams -- both very nicely done, but neither especially inspiring.  Salads are simply prepared, and the clean, bright flavors serve as a nice foil to all of the saturated fat in the rest of the meal.  A special tomato salad featured a few early-season gems, with barely a whisper of yogurt, basil, and lemon, and the celery salad is a bracing combination of celery, celery root, and radishes, with a dash of vinegar and sunflower oil.

It is the entrees that make the restaurant's Germanic leanings most apparent, perhaps none more so than the Surkrut Garnie, a platter of knackwurst, bratwurst, and pork belly nestled on a bed of sauerkraut.  If the Vesper Brett is a club-hopping student with a pink mohawk, than the Surkrut Garnie is an old man who wears lederhosen and plays the tuba: completely different, but no less German, and endearing at that.  The weiner schnitzel also deserves mention as the only schnitzel I've ever had that was neither rubbery nor dripping with grease, and the sauerbraten was flavorful, if a little heavy for the summer months.  As for the spaetzle, it is served either with cheese or mushrooms (which really begs the question, why not cheese and mushrooms?), and a bowl or two to share makes a perfect side for any of the entrees. 

The less-obviously-German main dishes were also winners.  The cote d'boeuf for two is extravagant, tender, and cooked well, and be aware that you can ask for a cut on the either the smaller or the larger side of the 32-to-42-ounce range advertised on the menu, as you wish.  The chicken earned rave reviews for being flavorful and not at all dry, due to the pickle brine, no doubt.  And the special lamb sirloin I enjoyed on our second visit remains one of the best things I've eaten in recent memory.  Cooked to a perfect medium rare, served with green beans, and topped with marrow butter, the dish had me wondering why we don't just go ahead and top everything with marrow butter.  

After all that meat, the dessert menu barely registers.  I know that we had dessert on one occasion, but I'd be hard-pressed to remember what it was, let alone what I thought of it.  I do know that we were suckered in by the mysterious golden cocktail glasses behind the bar and finished both meals off with a character-building round of Underberg -- a German digestif served in individual bottles that boldly declare that their contents are "Not A Beverage."  As you wish.

A little local flavor

One of the great advantages of living in our neighborhood, with its sizable population of Caribbean immigrants, is the easy availability of Caribbean produce, fish, and grocery items in the regular old supermarket.  A half-dozen different kind of yams, mangoes upon mangoes, fresh thyme conveniently pre-portioned in ziploc bags, Scotch bonnet chilies, plantains, a selection of hot sauces that could practically make you sweat just walking down the aisle, not to mention catfish, butterfish, redfish ...  you get the idea.

Shortly after moving in, we took advantage of this bounty and cooked up a fantastic Caribbean-inspired meal.  We started with two catfish filets (although you could use any kind of fish filet, I'm sure), which I marinated in a little olive oil, lime juice, cilantro, garlic, and a commercial blackened seasoning rub (although any spice rub or homemade spice blend will do).

After about thirty or forty-five minutes in the drink, I dipped each filet into a mixture of flour and coarse corn meal, and then fried the filets in a bit of oil in a hot cast iron skillet.  This worked perfectly -- the marinade imparted great flavor to the fish, while the coarse corn meal didn't flake off at all, and formed a nice sturdy crust for the fish.  

To go with, we had some sauteed kale, and J-P made fried plantains, one of his specialties.  (Which are probably deserving of a guest post, now that I think of it.)  

We topped everything with a hot sauce that we picked up locally.  As for a beverage, what better accompaniment to a Caribbean meal than a couple of Dark 'n' Stormys?  Delicious.