By Thursday my fridge becomes significantly uninteresting. The enticing bits and pieces from the Sisa delicatessen would have disappeared by then and come Wednesday I would have eaten the dishes I had prepared for myself on the weekend. So, last Thursday I thankfully accepted a dinner invitation from the InterConti and together with other hacks and hackettes I went to meet the new chef and try out his ideas at the Carissa bar. Well Jonathan Lee comes from New York and from what he told us, has been immersed in cooking right from the beginning of his life. He is American born but has been in the catering industry since he was 14.
He has created a new concept for the Carissa Bar, on the 7th Floor – that of a Southern European bistro – somewhere you can eat a good meal in a comfortable ambience. It is open on Friday and Saturday evenings.
The menu Jonathan and his team prepared last Thursday evening can truly be described as magnificent. We went into serious action, after a glass or two of bubbly, when the Amuse Bouche, an oyster accompanied by an interesting concoction arrived and was accompanied by Nicolas Feuillatte champagne. This is the No. 2 selling in France and No. 7 worldwide. Then a Smoked Cod Vichyssoise – a potato and leek soup infused with bakkaljaw and topped with poached egg followed. Vichyssoise is normally served cold but this was properly warmed up. According to Larousse Gastronomique the original Vichyssoise was created in the United States by a French chef.
Next came Roasted Quail stuffed with fig, Fois Gras and finished with a spiced pear and port jus. A friend of mine who refused to eat Fois Gras, on those rare occasions when it was flown in from Strasbourg to Prisunic in Mauritius, would tell me: ‘It brings to mind farmers, squeezing geese between their knobbly knees and ramming vast quantities of maize down their throats till they die. I cannot eat it without this coming to mind.’ But then she would cheerful go on to eating a huge steak without batting an eyelid. I had to continually remind her that even a cabbage has a pretty rough time when boiled and that she was forgetting, for some reason, when chewing through her steak that some poor cow had perished.
Anyway, a little rest and onto a Champagne and poached fruit sorbert – a word which originates from the Arab xarab – drink. Well, we know that.
Pappardelle con Lepre and Tartufo came next. I liked the truffle cream sauce best…Not too keen on Pappardelle and certainly the pièce de résistance was the Lamb Osso Buco with Gorgonzola Polenta – the most tender Osso Buco I have eaten in the last ten years – well maybe eleven. The dessert was delumptious and the cheese table legendary. I mean what can you say to Brie with Berry compote, Warm Gozo cheese tart and Stilton with Port honey, a variety of cheeses, crackers and bread and accompanied by Fonseca Vintage Port 2000. Nobody wanted to leave and some of us stayed on and on. One colleague told me that he and his girlfriend left at 2am.
After this feast we were given a goodie bag which included olive oil and balsamic vinegar and unbelievable but true a small portion of foie gras.
And so to the carpark. I gave my teeth a holiday put on my Little House on the Prairie nightie and dived under my quilt and snored the night away. All that food and wine had had its toll. My size 16 is still only in my dreams.
My sister-in-law called to tell me that she had a special zalzetta for me. ‘I’ll pop in on my way home,’ I said, by way of encouragement for I did not want her to part with it. So I popped in. This is a silly word to use for with family there is no popping in and out efficiently. There is much lingering. Yesterday was Ash Wednesday and by way of sacrifice she was having Apricot tea or something equally nutritious. I wanted a proper mug of tea…and milk please, second childhood is almost upon me. One snug corner of her kitchen was laden with goodies. She said she was not going to offer me a slice of anything as it was Ash Wednesday. Did I want some toast? I protested and said I did not believe that I was going to finish up in Hell because of a slice – or two of cake, panettone, panino or a biscuit or three. She was adamant and said I could have some on the morrow. I am too polite to assault her pantry and after some chit chat and catching up went home to have a slice of my very own cake.
This morning she sent me a message to say that she had left some goodies on my door knob since I could eat them now. I gave up sweets for Lent for years on end but at present I feel that my whole life is one big self sacrifice and there is no giving up anything anymore for Lent. I’m older and wiser. I know the feeling of an American woman who came on BBC News the other day and said that one of her seven or so children went to fight in Iraq. They are a family of practising Catholics. She had told him not to go but to plead as a conscientious objector – but this young lad wanted to serve his country. After five months his family received the news that he had been killed. ‘When they returned his things to us,’ this good woman said, ‘there were 14 rosary beads in his haversack. I now look at religion very differently.’ She, and he, obviously believed that this young man would be protected. She sounded like the Italo-Irish woman I met on a plane recently who told me that her last prayer every night is: ‘Dear God, look after my children. Protect them, they are good children.’ The good, the bad, the indifferent. Who is protected and how does it work? I think the Bible says somewhere that it rains on the good and the bad. I must ask Phyllisienne Brincat, she would know the exact quotation. But that is the way it works. All haphazard. The young American’s mother is now more down to earth and is lobbying for an end to the war in Iraq. Blair is slowly withdrawing British troops – there are important local council elections ahead. But Bush is threatening to send some 21,000 more innocent youngsters to make certain that the oilfields of Iraq stay under American control. Do I sound disenchanted? But only about some things.
One of my sisters had just messaged: ‘I have just left some kwawrezimal on your
doorknob.’ But I have barely finished my prinjolata…