Blizzard 2013

"They" are calling for snow in the northeast.  New England is supposed to get pummeled.  Philly may get 12 inches...or nothing.  I remember as a kid how they would predict the weather and get it wrong most times.  It is usually spot on now a days.  Technology is the reason, I assume.

Anywho, when I start to prepare for the shut in, I start thinking about two things.  1.) What am I going to cook all weekend, while we tuck inside and 2.) I wish I were somewhere warm.  I have already decided that I will make short ribs and polenta and I wish I were in Brazil.  Rio to be exact.  I love Rio. A few years back, Manny had the opportunity to go to Brazil and play with the youth academy of the professional Brazilian soccer team, Fluminese.  It was incredible.  He lived with the team on their secluded campus and we camped out in Rio, on the beach.  It was July, but this was their winter.  The temps were in the 80s and it was incredible.  We have a very good friend who's wife is Brazilian.  She's lovely, but I always had trouble reading her.  After a day in Rio, I got her.  She was simply incredibly laid back and warm, not simply quiet and shy.  Brazilians are amazing.  The country is amazing.  The food is absolutely amazing. Amazing.

I could tell you a million stories, but the best was when I accidentally led my entire family into the favelas.  It was one of our first nights.  I had been told by a friend to go directly to one of those churrascarias.  She had recommended Porcao.  I did not have a proper map and took the one from the hotel and determined we could walk there.  Our hotel sat on the edge of Copacabana Beach & Ipanema Beach.  Porcao was in walking distance.  It was a chaotic walk and I determined the path.  As I led my family past the group of teens smoking pot and took the long steps up the hill, you think I would have thought twice.  Nope.  Arriving at the top of the stairs was a different world.  Motorcycles whizzed by, music poured from open windows, small kids ran down the street without shoes or shirts and stray dogs were running about.  Large groups of young men catcalled.  This was not a safe or welcoming place. John leaned in and told me that this was not the way to the restaurant.  I told him that I think we can walk to the end of the block and walk back down the steps.  We reached the end of the block and there were no steps.  A man approached and started barking at us in Portuguese.  We did not speak and just walked quickly away.  John whispered, "Let's retrace and go back."  Michaela grabbed my hand and expressed fear.  I told her not to talk and to relax.  We walked back down and arrived at our restaurant in a few minutes.  All was good.

Rio is like any large city.  Good parts and bad.  The topography is breathtaking.  It is a truly special place.  Brazilians are warm and friendly and their food is spectacular. I love it there and cannot wait to return.  Every day John insisted that we go to a juice bar.  The best one in Rio is Polis Sucos.  We visited at least twice a day.  For juice or a sandwich.  It is exceptional.  You find fruit there that you cannot find here.  My favorite was called Caju.  They translated it to Cashew.  It might have been the fruit that yields cashews.  Not sure and I have never been able to confirm this.  It tastes like if an apple and a grape had a baby.  Truly delicious.

So if you are holed up due to the weather, think of Brazil.  Eating feijoada and acai smoothies.  Think of the Cristo and playing on Ipanema Beach.  Go out and buy a bottle of Leblon Cachaca. Think of the ice cold beer and the gorgeous graffiti.  Have an ice cold Brahma Beer.  Cheers!

Artic Temps = Slow Cooking

It is crazy cold in Philly.  The Schuylkill River has a layer of ice.  A LAYER OF ICE!  Ca-razy.  I look semi-homeless with all my layers.  I usually look semi-homeless.  I am so freaking cold. We have a really old house that does not retain heat well.  It was built when Lincoln was in office and the windows are horrible.  I actually went around a few weeks back with packing tape and taped the "leaks".  We are always wearing hats and scarves and Arcteryx jackets.  It is awful.  On the weekends I tend to cook all day.  The house fills with delicious smells and the kitchen is warm. We start the day and hang about the table as I chop and saute and stir and bake.  In the past two months I have made some real winners.  Duck Confit, Beef Bourguignon, Calabrese Ricotta Dumpling Soup and French Onion Soup.  REAL, 6 hour long, onion soup with crouton and comte.

Let's begin with the onion soup.  I roasted the bones and veggies and made stock.  Very good.  Then the onions.  On low low heat, stirring...stirring...stirring...6 hours later.  Pretty, no?  It was laborious.  We sat down that evening to eat.  I even have those adorable soup bowls with the lion's head.  I have made onion soup before, but not with my own beef stock.  Everyone dug in.  John declared that it was "too rich" and maybe "too herbaceous".  So fucking annoyed.  With me, not him. I think I added too much thyme to my stock.  I don't know about you, but I get super irritated when I spend this much time and effort and a tiny little detail blows the whole thing to hell.  I know, I know...  I cannot help it.  It won't stop me.  I will keep going.

Okay, now duck confit.   It takes three or more days.  I will be honest, I LOVE LOVE LOVE duck confit, but I will have to wait to repeat this effort again.  Having your house smell like duck fat for days and days is awful.  I woke up on the third day and almost cried.  The aroma hung in the air like cat hair on black wool pants, refusing to leave.  I felt like my pores were filled with duck fat and I was breathing duck fat air.  I actually thought about Village Whiskey.  They serve duck fat fries and I was sad for their chefs.  Poor souls smelling that day in and out.  Going home to their significant others smelling like that every day.  Maybe their dogs are appreciative.  Oy.  Anywho, duck confit is a day of herb-saltage (new word that means curing), a day (or overnight) of rendering fat and cooking in fat for what feels like forever.  Then at least a day submerged in fat (preferably a week or more) to age.  Then you sear the skin to crisp and warm it in the oven.  The whole house smells like duck fat again. It is too much.  I love duck confit.  Ample time must pass between confitting (pronounced "kon - feeting").  Our aging in duck fat does seem to bother my kids.  They loved it.  I packed the leftovers in their school lunch the following day.  One friend pronounced it "nasty" and not in the good way.  To each his own.

Last up was a delicate soup of chicken broth and ricotta dumplings.  Lovely and oh so temperamental.  I saved the chicken from the stock and made chicken salad for the kids lunches.  The dumplings were a challenge.  I had to add those little balls to the perfectly simmering broth.  Too lively....disintegration!  A Goldilocks dish.  It was delicious, but John announced that it was not enough to make an entire meal.  A starter.  Too bad people cause that was all I had.

So, next up on Saturday is my oxtail ragu.  Maybe I will make my own pasta.  Have not decided yet.  Spring is just around the corner.  I must get in all these all day dishes.  When the weather warms, who wants to be inside?

Let's Talk About My Obsession

Let's talk....  Mangosteens.  Any idea?  Let me give you some information.

"colloquially known simply as mangosteen, is a tropical evergreen treebelieved to have originated in the Sunda Islands and the Moluccas of Indonesia. It also grows in tropical South American countries such as Colombia, where the tree has been introduced. The tree grows from 6 to 25 m (20–82 ft) tall.^[1] The fruitof the mangosteen is sweet and tangy, juicy, and somewhat fibrous, with an inedible, deep reddish-purple colored rind (exocarp) when ripe. In each fruit, the fragrant edible flesh that surrounds each seed is botanically endocarp, i.e., the inner layer of the ovary.^[2][3]"  

This is from the Wiki.  I am completely obsessed.  Have you had them?  Fresh?  No?  Too bad.  Seriously.  I pity you. 

Story - John and I stole away to jolly old Londontown way way back.  It was a short trip and some of my besties gave recommendations and some arranged reservations.  Being in the fruit biz, so to speak, I am always curious.  Durian, you say?  Illegal in some parts, really?  Give me some of that!  A trip to Brazil was really a fruit hunt.  Some go on safari, I go to juice bars in Rio. Same.Same....  Back to Ripper's stomping grounds.  I was directed to visit Harrods.  "Do not bother to shop for clothing.  Just go straight to the food court.  It should not be missed."  This advice came to me by a very close friend who should be trusted.  We found Harrods and it is a sight.  After some searching and weaving, we arrived to the Willie Wonka-esque site that is the Food Court at Harrods.  Quite a show.  As we sometimes do, we split up.  John wandered off to...no idea.  I found my way to the produce.  The plums, the peaches, the cherries, the....WTF?  are those Mangosteens?!!!!  I leaned in.  "Mum?  Can I be of assistance?" said the poofy hatted young Brit behind the glass.  "Why yes.  Are those mangosteen?"  

"Definitely."  She then reached into the case, pulled a plump purple ball from the pile and dug her nails into its flesh.  She handed me the halved fruit with its gleaming white treasure revealed.  

"For me?"  I took the fruit.  "Do I just..?"
"Just pop it into your mouth and savor.  Just the white part.  Be mindful of the pits."
"Thank you.  I just cannot tell you how excited and scared I am."
"Don't be.  It is enjoyable."

It was a moment.  I should have been alone.  The heavens opened and angels sung.  "AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH........."  

I purchased 10.  No idea how much they cost. Don't care.  I handed over my credit card and took my little sack and searched for John.  London was waiting.  We walked the day away and finished the day at a Kabob shop.  I thought about the fruit all. day. long. We stayed at an adorable hotel in Chelsea.  Our little suite had two floors.  The top floor had a couch with a desk and tv.  Not glamorous, but comfortable.  I sat on the couch and eagerly spread out my booty.  "JOHN!!!  I am going in!"  He sprinted up the stairs.  Five for him and 5 for me.  I demonstrated how to eat the fruit.  He placed the first in his mouth and I awaited his response.  

Me:  "Well?  Thoughts?.....  Come. On!  John...."  He was killing me.
JR:  "They're...good."
Me:  "Shut up."
JR:  "Okay.  Really good.  Cannot figure out their profile, but I enjoy them."
Me: "Really?  I say they are a game changer.  Seriously.  They have changed my life."
JR:  "You really are a freak sometimes."

Yes, I am a freak.  Two days later we returned to Harrods.  John handed me some cash and I went straight to the mangosteens.  I purchased a pint of cherries and 10 mangosteens.  Upon realizing that I did not have enough queens in me pocket, I gave her my card.  I found JR.  I thought I was clear when he simply asked if I had any cash to get on the tube.  When I handed back the original amount he asked the question.  I had paid $60 for 10 mangosteen and a pint of cherries.  You have no idea the hell I paid.  

Dan scored 11 cases of mangosteen from John Vena at the docks.  I took home about 15 individual 'steens and eagerly fed them to my spawn. Michaela pronounced that they looked like Voldemort fetus, but enjoyed them none the less.  The boys requested the fruit for their lunches.  Sev even gave one to his teacher.  She is from Kenya and had never laid eyes nor ears on them.  They will be at all the cafes this week.  Mangosteen Sorbetto.  Get it while it's hot!

Peace Y'all

 Well, well, well....It is 2013.  I love a beginning.  I love an ending, as well.  I thought about y'all and how during the last 10 years, you have been there for Capo.  Your support lead us to be noticed (and named #1) by National Geographic.  It is humbling.  What will the next 10 bring?  The Capo team went to their family and friends' homes for the holidays.  We celebrated with our annual party at Capoyunk. The ending of the year is so emotional.  For some (most), having your family around makes it more so.  We flew to New Orleans, as we do every December.  John's sister hosts the entire Reitano clan.

We hit our usual haunts.  Casamento's, Parkway Tavern, Patois...  We tried some new - Domenica in the Roosevelt.  Patois was my favorite this year.

Surviving the end of the world was pretty awesome.  2013 will be an exciting year for us!  So much in the pipeline.  Recently a friend approached me and wanted to confirm a rumor.  He had heard that we were selling and jumping ship.  Not true.  Although, the banks are not lending and we cannot grow.  We are looking to grow and spread our wings.  Bringing on partners is technically selling part of your business, but we are not looking just for money, we are looking for true partners.  Partners who will share our vision to share gelato to the world!  Partners who understand our passion and share it.  Partners who can help us and love the quirky aspect of Capo and will stick to our Philly roots.  Partners who can help us strengthen were we are weak.  Partners like this are not easy to find.  So much to look forward to.  My farmer wants to buy more cows and hopes that we can help him out.  I hope we won't disappoint him.

I thought about y'all and I was filled with content.  All your wonderful wishes and your continued support.  Thank you.  Thank you for an incredible 10 years.  May the best oyster shucker in the country throw you a Louisiana oyster and you catch it!  Peace y'all.