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.

It Is That Time of Year

I rarely post anything until after the holidays.  It is such an insane time.  Right now I have a break from packing internet packages and needed to sit down for a spell.  I love that phrase, "for a spell...."  I plan on keeping you updated with pics from New Orleans during the next week.  Although the pictures of my oyster loaf from Casamentos or my gumbo from R&O are enviable, y'all must think we eat the entire time.  We don't.  We also drink.

Every year we rush to put up a tree prior to leaving. This year was no different.  Our tree is not one to grace the cover of some magazine.  It is filled with mementos and gifts - the ugliest being Manny's 1st grade ornament that is simply a piece of wood glued with dried beans, macaroni and straws.  It is super ugly and up there.  Sev gets the "First One To Break An Ornament" every year.  I wish he wouldn't.

When John and I were fresh parents, we took Michaela, who had just started running (15 months) to Neiman Marcus.  We did not own a single ornament.  On the advice of some friends, we were told that NM was the place to go.  We needed to begin to create traditions for our new family.  Our small family packed up the car and drove to the Main Line.  We arrived at NM and went straight to the home section.  Michaela was a handful and therefore our time was limited.  The store was warm and crowded and the smell of cinnamon was heavy in the air.  Loud festive music was pulsing.  The ornaments were gorgeous.  Michaela babbled to no one in particular while bolted into her stroller.  We decided quickly and managed to lasso a sales associate.  We selected about 20 ornaments and a beautiful star for the top of the tree.  All seemed to be going as planned when Michaela started to convulse. Her chest thrusting forward as Kane's did on the Nostromo.  She started to twist her face and body, pulling her knees high, pulling at the constraints and finally bellowing, "OUT!  OUT!!! OUT!!"  Our trusty oblivious sales clerk was lovingly wrapping our precious glass ornaments and placing them in a beautiful cream box with care.  All 20 of them.  Instead of her chest bursting open to release the demon, her face turned red and she full out screamed "MA! OUT!  MA MA MA MA! OUT!"  Running the stroller in circles weaving through sloth-like people was not cutting it.At this point John and I started to discuss strategy.

John, "This is torture.  Should we bail? We are officially 'those' people."
Me, "We cannot.  He has already wrapped about 5."
John, "At the rate he is moving, we are going to be here for.ev.er!!!"
Me, "I am going to take her out and walk around.  Be back in 10."
John, "It is too hot.  Why is it so hot?  Why does it smell like a gingerbread man farted in here?"
Me, "Awesome, I have two toddlers..."
John, "(CENSORED)"

Unwisely, I released the beast from her chains.  Before her little feet could hit that perfectly polished marble floor she sprinted.  From the ceiling hung the assorted ornaments by gorgeous ribbon.  The ornaments were placed at various levels, the lowest falling at knee height creating a split in the room that was wall, really.  The beast had them in her sight.  Her arms stretched above her head and giggling madly ran through numerous people and yes, through the ornament wall, as one would run through strung disco beads.  Her little fingers hitting the delicate painted glass.  I was right behind her.  I gasped.  I frantically tried to stop the swinging ornaments. John ran around to the other side of the wall of ornaments as the beast stopped and turned.  Her face was rapturous, mouth agape in joy and arms stills spread, she slowly and unsteadily turned and readied her self to run back through.  Just as she took her first step, John swept her up into his arms football style, and marched out of the home section calling back, "You wait.  Meet you out front."  The beast roared, "NO NO NO NO NO!!  MAAAAAAA!"

Sev has broken about 25% of those original ornaments over the years.  He is impulsive and well, let's just say it, clumsy.  It drives us mad. We have never made it back to Neiman.  I have started to purchase ornaments while traveling to commemorate our lives.  Hand painted ornaments from Sicily, stuffed dragons from San Fran's Chinatown and glass crowns and martini olives from New Orleans.  About 10 years ago a friend who no longer has a Christmas tree as she travels, gifted a gorgeous ornament that she purchased in the 50s.  It is the gorgeous specimen above with the red rounded flower.  Since then, I search for old ornaments at thrift stores and flea markets.  They are hard to come by.  Gnome Chomsky (get it?) here was a gift from the beautiful talented Kamala.  I miss her.  She made that!  As beautiful as those NM ornaments are, my favorite are the gifts, the kids' monstrous creations and the travel ornaments.

We leave in a few days time for the Big Easy.  I am looking forward to seeing my family and eating large.  My beautiful nephews are growing at a pace that frightens me.  It will be a very short trip this year.  So much going on in the new year.  Cannot wait to share the news.

It's Cold and Damp and I Just Want to BBQ

It is chilly and damp in Philly.  A typical December day.  I keep looking out the back window at my Big Green Egg.  I love that thing.  I cannot tell you how many people around these parts look at my Egg with a puzzled look.  "What the...  What is that?  It looks like an alien pod or ...something."  Oh that!  That's my super awesome BBQ and smoker.  It took John several hours to assemble (he's not all that handy AND he's a perfectionist. Perfect storm).

When the Green Egg first arrived I could not really understand its power, its bravado, its general staggering magnificence.  I smacked some burgers on the grill, maybe some seafood.  Standard fare, really.  Then I accidentally got it up to 800 degrees and melted off the felt gasket.  That blew.  800 degrees prompted pizza.  A little too smoky.  Which got me thinking.  Smoky....  I pulled out my BBQ book.  I read, I studied and I became determined to tame this beast.  It's easy to get the temp up, but how to get it to a slow smolder.  Air was the answer and playing with it was my task.



I was ready.  I purchased a bone in pork shoulder.  Roughed it up and smacked it around with some salt, brown sugar and hot  pepper.  Got the Egg ready and added some soaked hickory chips and produced thick smoke.  In went the shoulder.  Two hours later, out went the charcoal.  Not a complete bust, as the shoulder eventually cooked, although it was dry and squeeky.  Know what I mean?  Some homemade BBQ sauce masked its imperfections and my choice of a brioche roll was not quite right.

After numerous tries, I got it down.  Don't give up, friends.  A promise is a cloud; the fulfillment is rain, said someone smarter than me and I am using it to suit my meaning.  I knew that if I kept at this Egg, it would yield something magical. I did not give up.  Eventually I arrived home, baby.  I used some super squishy yeasty rolls I purchased at a deli in Jersey that had little burnt onion pieces.  So delicious.  The meat was juicy and smoky and well, incredible.  The Egg did its job. It just needed some love and appreciation.  I had a Ferrari in the back yard and I was treating it like a 1985 Toyota Tercel.

R Months = Oysters

The weather has definitely taken a dip.  I woke up the other morning and assuming it was another warm summer day took the dogs for a walk in flip flops.  The air was cool on my arms and toes.  I look forward to the season's changes, but being in the "ice cream" business, I always worry.  The cooling temperatures are challenging, but I love wearing sweaters and we can drink hot chocolate and eat soup.  Fall means apples, pears, quince, pumpkins and black walnuts for gelato and sorbetto. It is a good thing.

John's birthday was yesterday and it was not the usual affair.  He requested (at my insistence, as the "honey, I don't care what you make, as long as we are all together..." line was not cutting it.  Choose motherfucker, so I can get to work) gnocchi and a red velvet cake.  I could not find red food coloring.  Living in Philadelphia limits my shopping options.  I have Whole Foods and corner stores in my neighborhood.  Neither carries red food coloring. I had to drive to the burbs for it.  Additionally, it was "back to school" night, Manny had soccer practice and Michaela had a soccer game.  Not a whole lot of time to bake a cake and make gnocchi.  By 5:45 it became apparent that I could not get it done.  I called John.  "Oysters."  That is all he said.  "Oysters."

Sansom Street Oyster House.  We ordered Kusshi, Fanny Bay and Little Shemogue oysters.  3 dozen.  We each had 2 Bulleit old fashions, and a bowl of clam chowder.  I love this restaurant.  The oysters are excellent, the drinks are excellent, our waitress was excellent and it is really a beautiful space.  Big and square, yet it manages to feel warm and quirky.  The walls are painted brick and covered with antique oyster plates.  We bumped into old friends, who live around the corner from the restaurant.  They are there often. He stated that he imagines that the plates came from some old woman's collection.  I added that she had a drawer filled with small silver oyster forks, that she polished once a week.  I think I may have to add oyster plates to my obsessive mind.  Ebay, here I come....


John and I stepped from the warm oyster house into the cool early fall night air.  We were going to walk home, but realized how exhausted we were.  The old fashions were clouding our heads and our feet seemed so heavy.  It was a nice birthday dinner.  Sev returns at the week's end from his camping trip.  I will make gnocchi and red velvet cake.  Fall is good.  

Now that's a fire!

Y'all know how crazy I am about food.  I live to eat. My family lives to eat.  I will go to just about any length for great food. Which led me to this purchase.  A wood burning beehive oven.  It is from Portugal and I am in love.  Last week I spent three days seasoning it, which involves starting with a small fire and building up to a rager over a few days before you can cook.  This bad boy cannot get wet.  I waited for the weather to be gorgeous and then I was off to the races.  It was the last week before the kids went back to school, so things were crazy.  The oven was slowly burning on the third day when my neighbor (who I really like) snagged me as I was walking to my car en route to picking my daughter up at practice.  "Did you get a smoker or something?  What is going on back there?"  I realized that my little exciting oven may not exactly please everyone.  I quickly pulled out my cracked iPhone (I am holding on until the 12th people!) and revealed my adorable oven.

"You have to admit you are jealous." I said as he leaned in his eyes narrowing in effort to make out the oven image through the splintered glass.  He laughed and told me that he expected an invite to dinner.  Done.  Could it be that the smell of hardwood burning for three straight days as smoke billowed over the high fence for hours on end was not appreciated?  Maybe I should have apologized....

Finally, the oven was seasoned.  It was Manny's birthday and what did he want?  Pizza.....  When the oven arrived on the 22nd, he wanted to know if it would be ready by his birthday.  I told him that if the weather cooperated that it would.  He quietly stated that if ready he wanted pizza in that oven.  I told him that I was going in green and it could be a bust.  He was willing to take a chance.

Just in case of a pizza fail, I fried up some zucchini flowers.  You can get Manu to do just about anything with fried zucchini flowers.  He obsesses about them.  I fry them in sunflower oil.  A few weeks back Whole Foods was out of sunflower, so I substituted my usual for high temp safflower oil.  I did not tell anyone this as it is not important and I continued.  The drill goes like this, as I batter and fry the flowers, my family hovers. As I place the finished flowers on a paper towel lined plate, hands are already reaching.  I fry four at a time, so one person (me) has to wait for the next batch.  I have to say EVERY TIME, "please wait, they need salt."  Salt is drizzled and did you blink?  They're gone.  I am always asked if I stuff them followed by some tale of how they had stuffed zucchini flowers with this or that...blah blah blah.  Never.  I will NEVER stuff them.  I digress...I fried the flowers in safflower and Manu grabs the first out.  Crunch....crunch... "Mom?  What's up with these?  They're...I don't know.  They don't taste as good.  They taste, I don't know.  Heavy?  Something is not as delicious."  John then chimed in that he agreed.  Okay freaks.....  I love them.  I had sunflower for his birthday.

Back to my oven.  We roasted some red tomatoes and some red peppers.  Manu got involved.  Although the laser thermometer seemed to entertain all, poking the peppers and watching the 1/2 sheet pan warp was a good time.  I wanted to drop the peppers directly into the ash, but was nervous.  It is amazing.  The oven was hovering around 600 degrees, but the tomatoes cooked slowly.  The peppers needed more time.  I should have left them in longer.  I will continue to work on it.  I cranked the oven up to 900 degress. It was pizza time and I was up to bat.  The first pie was a bit burned on the edges as I accidentally pushed it into a smoldering log.  Manu smiled big as I slid the pie onto the board in front of him.  He took a bite...slowly, very slowly he smiled.  "This is awesome mom.  Better than all of the regular oven pizzas.  I like the wood taste."  That was it.  Not another word as he was busy.  Manu is a tomato guy. We had tomato salad with some local heirlooms, those roasted tomatoes (which were so good, it should be a crime) and tomato pie.  He finished the night with a lemon meringue pie.  He does not like cake (weirdo).

All in all, the maiden voyage was a success.  I did burn the edges of two pies and completed busted up a third.  I tried to turn it into a calzone, but all was lost.  It is going to be a good fall....

Sweet 16....

My daughter turns 16 next week.  It is a bit painful for me.  Aging....not only her aging, but mine.  It is moving so fast.  Too fast.  It hurts that she is going to be in college in two years.  She is a handful, but is still a hilarious, brilliant, clever, beautiful pain in the ass that I really like to be around.  I am just trying to ride it through the bumpy parts.  She is a teenager.  Need I say  more?  She is the first up in "Birthday Alley."  9 days later her brother turns 14,  11 days later John, then Sev and last up...me.

Our birthday celebrations are quiet family affairs.  They choose dinner, no limits, and I execute.  For years Michaela chose matzoh ball soup, doritos, root beer and a chocolate cake.  After our trip to the UK last summer, she moved to chicken and ham pie, mashed potatoes, mushy peas, sparking cider served in ugly crystal glasses and a red velvet cake adorned with Fez's pic.  Manny changes each year.  Fish and chips, tacos, polpettone, or pasta....and a themed chocolate cake (FIFA, Italian Flag, Russian flag...)  Sev was gnocchi for years and years and a "donut" cake (bundt with sprinkles).  Last year it was linguine alla vongole.  John is gnocchi or osso buco and a red velvet cake.  Me?  I want to go out for Vietnamese food and lychee martinis.  I don't want to cook or do dishes on my birthday.  Oh, I want two Brown Betty's cupcakes.  1 red velvet, 1 coconut.

The kids think about their birthday dinners all year round.  We will be in a restaurant in February and one will ask (usually Sev), "Can you make this, mom?  For my birthday dinner."  I can.  You bet your ass I can.  I love cooking for my family.  Michaela's birthday is next week.  Chicken and ham pie menu for our quiet family dinner.  Sev immediately chimed in, "Can you do a boston cream donut cake?"  The kid likes donuts.

16 is a big deal.  In addition to her family birthday, she will go out with some friends.  They will don their sundresses and wear uncomfortable high heels.  She would like sushi at Umai, but it is so tiny.  Maybe Han Dynasty, but she wants something a bit fancy.  John is torturing her and telling her that as long as her brothers attend, she can pick absolutely any restaurant.  She fumes.  John is kidding, but he will not say so.  Her anger is too funny.  She is running out of time.  She needs to decide.


Sixteen...I only have a few more precious years of her daily laughter and eye rolling.

Mad Men Mourning

I am truly sad this morning.  Rest in peace, Lane.  I have very little time to watch television.  In fact, I only watch sporting events.  The Flyers are out.  Sixers are out.  Serie A is done.  Champions League..over.  I enjoy watching the French Open, but am not drawn to the television.  Around Thanksgiving my brother in law, who is a brilliant guy, asked if I watched Mad Men.  I told him that I did not and aside from Downton Abbey and sports, I have no interest in television.  He told me that I would love Mad Men.  He does not own a television.  He knows my taste in books and told me that I should watch it.  I pulled up Netflix, and there it was.  All four seasons.  I watched the first episode.  DAMN YOU JAMES!!!  That was it.  I was hooked after one episode.


So here I am.  A Mad Men addict.  I rarely am able to watch the episodes when they air.  I watched myrecorded Mad Men episode after cleaning up from dinner and waiting for John and Manny's train to arrive.  This morning I found myself overwhelmed with the thought of Lane's suicide.  I am unbelievably sad.  I found fellow mourners on our Facebook page today.  Thank you.  Thank you.  My irrational grief hurts.  So much so, that I have watched this video of my son three times.   If you find yourself in a similar situation, I hope this helps....

Strawberries..... Need I say more?

Ahhh.... Spring.  I think it is safe to say we are in spring and verging on summer.  I love summer flavors.  We just received our first batch of rhubarb.  Strange, so late for us.

This weekend my brother and his beautiful wife and two hilarious kids came to visit.  Only for one day, but it was fantastic.  I had an entire flat of strawberries.  We make so many varieties of gelato and sorbetto with these berries.  I served them strawberry gelato, sorbetto and even made a tiramisu with the strawberries.  It was a bust.  I have to try that again.  We had strawberry pancakes, strawberries with lunch.  It was glorious.

Anywho, these berries will be gone in a hot minute.  Better get yourself a scoop.  I live for these berries.  I eat them until I have a rash.  

Shane Confectionery

The weather was so gorgeous yesterday, I found myself thinking of the beach. I grew up by the beach and I am extremely fair. As I have aged, I found myself to be increasingly intolerant of the sun's rays. It is quite unfortunate, as my husband is of the mediterranean variety, he lives to bakes in the sun. The mere threat of a sunny day causes a darkening of his skin. It is wonderful. When we holiday at the beach, I sit under a large umbrella wearing large glasses, a floppy hat and a gauzy coverup. Clearly I am happy. My kids are not. They want me in the water. I do not love going in the water. I just want to sit and read and listen to my kids laughter and the sound of the waves and seagulls. Beaches are surrounded by wonderful handmade confectionery stores. Think salt water taffy, chocolate, ice cream....

Back on point; I found myself longing for the beach. I was in Old City for a lunch and realized I was a block from Shane's Confectionery. I was a block away from the beach. Shane Confectionery is the sister store to the Franklin Fountain, the genius child of the Berley Brothers. Their commitment is incredibly admirable, as well as delicious. I love their ice cream and their fantastic soda fountain. The employees are dressed in period costumes. I adore it. They took over Shane's and did not abandon tried and true methods of traditional American confection. Bravo, men! I stopped in and bought an enormous box of chocolates. They were excellent. The creamy centers, crisp centers, filled with peanut butter and coconut. This was artistic and childish. What a wonderful combination. You must go. The storefront is exquisitely restored with attention to every detail. What a wonderful experience.

I am so happy to live in a city that this type of commitment exists and thrives. Capogiro is often mentioned in the same sentence as Franklin Fountain and that makes me very proud. If I can make this about me.....

Cali, Cali, Cali....I think so.

During the holidays we took a family trip to our usual New Orleans. This year we decided to start in San Francisco, on to Tahoe, then to Nawlins. It was a quick trip, just to eat in San Fran. We walked and ate, visited with some friends and then were gone. Being that the trip was so condensed, I had to choose wisely. Where to go?

We arrived in San Francisco late. I hate arriving in the dark. My first impression of color and bustle of a city are extremely important. I remember the first time I arrived in Venice. It was extremely late and dark and deserted and cold and well, meh.... When John and I emerged early the next morning, I was hit with the chill of the November air and the colors! It was amazing. I like arriving in daylight.

The kids were exhausted, it was late and they were starving. We quickly jumped into a cab and made our way to Delfina in the Mission. Being exhausted, we did not notice that the pizza place and the restaurant were adjoined, but with separate entrances. Once seated, we realized that pizza did not appear on the menu. When we asked, they directed us next door. We felt like asses, but they assured us they were not annoyed. We walked through the door at 11:01pm to be informed that they stopped serving at 11. Even though we explained that we were sitting next door, nope, no dice. It was okay. We ran back and were served a most delicious dinner. I am happy we did not miss out. I would have been sad. Our waiter was amazing and the food superb. We would return for spectacular pizza in two days time.

The weekend was filled with the Ferry Building, the farmers market, trips to Bi-Rite (excellent) and burritos in the Mission. We had one of the best meals ever at La Ciccia. Spaghetti with bottarga, lamb, clams, it was divine! We spent our day walking around the city and eating. Chinatown was fantastic and a trip to City Lights was mandatory. I purchased some poetry by Bukowski and the kids each purchased a book, while John checked out the cigar stores on the block.

I have the Tartine cookbook. I use it often. We were about to leave the city to drive to Tahoe and I realized that I had not been able to get to Tartine. I told John that this was important to me. It was closed when we went to Delfina for pasta and I was not sure that I could miss Tartine. He agreed and we jumped in a cab. $28 dollars later (he was not pleased) we arrived at the famous bakery. The line snaked around the block. John looked over at a pizza that was just placed on an outdoor table at Delfina. Pizzatime!!! Why not? So what if we had just had lunch with friends in the Barcadero? As we waited outside for our table, Hilary Swank appeared at the door. I leaned over to my 15 year old daughter, "Bean (we call her bean), Hilary Swank is inside."

Bean, "What? Million Dollar Baby Hillary Swank?"

Me, "Yup. She's inside eating carbs."

Bean, "Cool. Do you think I can ask her about acting?"

Me, "No. Please ignore her. Let her eat."

Bean, "But...she's a million dollar baby."

Me, "Everyone deserves to eat pizza unmolested. It should be a law."

Bean, "You're right."

Our table was set and we walked inside. Our backs were to Ms. Swank and we happily ate our arancini, our salads and of course, our amazing, perfect crust pizza. I snapped pics of the kids laughing and our pizza. Suddenly, Ms. Swank appeared before our table and while looking in another direction, announced that she did not like people taking pictures of her without her consent. Amen, sister. Wait...was that directed at me?!! NO. I was not taking pictures of you. Want to go through my film? I could not have. What was going on? She then rushed behind me to a table and happily posed with them for some authorized pictures. Whew. Not directed at me. Honestly, you may be a million dollar baby, but I would not take a pic of you eating pizza. Not only is it not nice, but I do not worship celebrities. I worship food, architecture, books, travel and most important are my family's faces. Never fear Ms. Swank.

Finally, we walked over to Tartine. The line had not abated. 45 minutes later, we sat outside with a lemon tart, a slice of coconut cake with passionfruit cream, a banana cream tart (I think) and a few bags of cookies and some macaroonie thingies. It was delicious. The lemon tart was my favorite. Perfectly balanced, crisp buttery crust, not so sweet cream...lovely. I am glad we waited, although the service in San Francisco seems to be more about the servers than the product. There was no sense of urgency and absolutely no reason that I should have waited 45 minutes for ready made items. The people behind the counter were having conversations and laughing with each other. I thought, "HEY! GET TO WORK! PRONTO!" I have been told that this is an east coast vs. west coast thing. Cali is laid back and waiting is fine. It was worth the wait. Stay on the east coast! I am told. We waited 35 minutes for a cappuccino at Blue Bottle. It was delicious, but I am an addict. Addicts don't like to wait that long. I counted 14 people ahead of me. Maybe I am being unreasonable. It was very good coffee.

I think I may need more Cali in my life. I should not be so impatient.

Tudor Eating

I am obsessed with Tudor history. I am on my 6th book. I have read one book about Henry VIII, two about his wives, 1 about Anne Boleyn, and 1 about his mistresses. I am currently reading Food & Feast in Tudor Englan by Alison Sim. It is fantastic. I highly recommend it if you have any interest in being as nerdy as me. I went through a Roman history phase and read everything I could get my hands on that was written about on in the first century BCE to 4 century CE. Funny how I moved into English history.

This past summer we vacationed in England and Scotland. It was fantastic. There we are in front of Westminster Abbey. After a week in London, we left for Cambridge. I could not justify paying to enter to just lay eyes on the badge that has Hank and Anne's initials. Funny enough, in Italy they charge you for museums and the churches are free. In England, they charge you for churches and the museums are free. I cannot decide how I feel about that. It seems wrong on so many levels. I saw the queen's jewels, saw where Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard had their heads lopped off and visited a bunch of famous dead people (of which no photography was allowed. How lame is that?)

On to Liverpool...we visited the official Liverpool FC store. People, you have no idea. Beatles tour, which was awesome, curry dinner and off to York. York is lovely. We had a proper tea at Betty's. It was spectacular. I know that British food is not Henry VII style, but we loved our English breakfast of eggs, beans, sausage and toast. The kids had tea and Sev stuck his pinkie out with style. We were so close to Hadrian's Wall that I forced John to travel 30 minutes out of his way to see it. Please people! I cannot travel here and not lay eyes on Hadrian's wall. That would be shameful. Just as John was losing his patience, he pull down some road and bam! there it was. So gorgeous, no?

Off to Scotland. Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aryshire, just to name a few. That is another post. England and Scotland are lovely. I am eager to go back. English food is delicious. Don't say it is because I am half English. Times have changed. Yet, what I would give to go back in time to the 16th century. Henry VIII survived on a diet that consisted of 80% protein, 15% alcohol, 5% fruit. Just to witness that kitchen and to taste that bread. I have always said that I would do almost anything to be deposited back to Rome in the 1st century. It is close. My next book is a beast. Elizabeth I by Alison Plowden. I love to stroll through history. We need to get on that time machine technology. Stat.

It's the little things that matter.

I made pizza dough for the Super Bowl. We had some dough left over and after an extremely hectic day with work, soccer, basketball and one sick kid, I did not have time to cook dinner last night. I was in no mood for take out or a restaurant. I was tired and just wanted a glass of wine. John suggested the pizza. Minimal work, maximum pleasure. I gladly obliged. The pizza was delicious, if I do say so. I asked John to open a bottle of wine and what did he do? He opened our last bottle of Giovanni Almondo Roero. We have a case of 2009, but this is the last bottle of 2008. The 2008 is better than its younger sister. So delicious. I did not want to eat it with pizza. Even if it is homemade pizza. We have pizza wine. We have bottles Ca La Bionda Valpolicella for that. No matter. We had our pizza and our last bottle of 2008 Roero. The men at Moore Brothers always seem to find me the best fit for my tastes, but they cannot seem to magically find cases that are no longer available. WHY? Don't they know how much I love this wine? Ahhhh, life. If I could have an endless supply would it be as good? Probably. It is that good. I must just continue to try new wines to replace our favorite. We did have one that we liked even more. It was the same bottle, but 2007. Imagine that.

I have come to the conclusion that it is okay to drink expensive elusive wine with pizza. Worthy pizza. It was a delicious evening.

Snow? Maybe, possibly, but who cares! Soup time!

They are talking about snow this weekend. I shudder. Yuck. There are some great things about snow. Bundling up, sledding, snowball fights, hot chocolate and soup. One of John's favorite things in the world is a hot bowl(s) of soup. He sits and eats bowl after bowl, rarely looking up, in silence. I pack up the remaining soup in the pot into quart containers to be frozen. As I am washing the pots, John always wraps his arms around my waist and says, "Great soup, baby." and kisses my neck. This is what makes me a soup ninja. I like pleasing my man and this has pushed me to make the best soups ever. I do not give up until John says it is perfect.

Soups should not be overly complicated and should be hearty. Humble ingredients are best. Beans, kale, onions, chicken.... Enter what John and I refer to as "Grandma Chicken Soup". Both of our grandmother's made chicken soup. Same soup with one difference. His nonna had pasta and my grandmother's had matzo balls. It is so simple. Chicken, carrots, onions, celery, bay leaves, salt and pepper, pastina and wait for the kiss.

Melograno...Granada....Pomegranate

Such a majestic fruit. My childhood referred to this contraption as the "Chinese Apple". Anyone remember that? I remember the rare, and it was oh so rare, occasion that my mother would cave to my pleading and purchase one, and only one, at Foodtown. Foodtown.....hee.

Way back in the 16th century when Katherine of Aragon crossed the sea to the "Island" and married Hank (well, first his brother, but that tale is for another time), she brought with her badge (seen here). The pomegranate was to represent the persistence of life, fertility and regeneration. Which happened to be extremely important to a monarch.

Tis the season for pomegranates. Sometimes we are lucky to keep them into March. Right now, we are donning our garbage bags and wacking out the seeds with the backs of ladles. Seed by glorious seed. It is worth it. I love how our sorbetto is filled with small red flecks. I do get calls from puree people telling me how much money we would save buying juice. The POM people can sell me just the seeds released from their prison. Yes, yes I know. I will save money and labor and time! But....it just does not taste as good. No one can tell...they say. I say...You can! You can tell the difference.

Get them while they are here because not unlike Queen Katherine, another young fruit is waiting to replace you...

Winter = Bourbon

John and I love bourbon. We had a delicious dinner in New Orleans at Sylvain over the holidays. Sylvain's cocktails were intriguing. I was torn between Dennis' Sidecar and the Superfly Snuka. I had both, but that is another matter. Our lovely waitress, when asked for her preference, returned with another question, "Are you a bourbon girl?" Why yes! Yes, I am. She stated that I could not go wrong with the Sidecar. I did not. It was delicious. The Snuka was delicious as well, just so ya' know.

John and I use the cold weather as an excuse to drink bourbon. Bourbon just warms your toes, does it not?

This is our favorite cocktail. You may question our mixing really good bourbon with other stuff, but I have found that it is just more delicious with expensive bourbon. It is my opinion and I am sticking with it.

J+S Winter Drink

*Makes two drinks, cause drinking bourbon with a friend is best.

Bulleit, Knob Creek or Woodford Reserve bourbon

1 lemon, cut in half

2 tablespoons of dark brown sugar (Muscovado is best)

• Squeeze half a lemon directly into your glass x 2
• add one tablespoon of brown sugar in to glass x 2
• mix
• fill glass with ice
• fill to top with bourbon
• using a shaker cup, pour contents of glass back and forth until thoroughly mixed

ENJOY! It is tart, it is strong and cozy. Curl up with your favorite friend (John is my mine) and discuss. You're welcome.

And in comes 2012...

It is hard to believe that 2012 is here. I can remember the whole Y2k debacle and I find it funny that time is flying. All those old people always preaching about how life just zooms by. As a young adult you just do not think of these things, nor do you care. Life is to be savored, not ticked off. Well, I guess I am getting old. 2012! I am reeling.

We have had a great year at Capo. I feel energized and hopeful as we approach our 10th anniversary. It's a year away, but it is a big deal. We have always tried to embrace the lifestyle, the feeling, the joy that is our business. Taking things slow and not always the easy way. We think it is worth it.

I want to focus on that. The path of exploration and challenge. Figuring out what works. It can be quite a journey. Capo has always been a place where I can take my time and test the waters. It is a lifestyle that makes us all happy here.

So....we want to share more of that with you. Not just the gelato, but the "una passagiatta". Our daily stroll each day. In Italy, Italians take a daily stroll to the gelateria. The ritual of walking, sometimes alone, sometimes arm in arm, sometimes with a gaggle to get your daily fix of gelato. Whether a cone or cup, no matter. It is the journey and the end.

Last night we had pizza for dinner. It has taken me 6 years to get the crust right. Home pizza is very different from pizzeria or restaurant pizza. The journey was awesome, if not frustrating and the end was truly rewarding.