Author: Mara L.

My last entry to this blog ended on a somewhat unhappy note regarding the vexed issue of good coffee in New York. In my first months here, I used to cite one of Jens’ expatriate friends as if he had discovered one of the first principles of reality: That after every trip to Europe, it takes roughly two months to sufficiently forget the taste of real coffee, in order to then be able to enjoy American coffee. But I’ve come around—he’s not right! There is good coffee to be found.

Of course, good coffee needs more than imported Italian espresso and an ok machine. It needs, first of all, good water, which, unfortunately, seems to be very much a matter of what one’s used to. So here’s a point where a tiny bit of open-mindedness doesn’t hurt, or rather, it really doesn’t help to get caught up in quest for water that tastes like home. The pragmatic way out is to go for latte. Which of course brings up issues about milk. However, somewhat more resolvable ones. Of course, there’s the Starbucks type of latte, and it should (grudgingly) be admitted that they do a quite good job. But what about atmosphere? Our task is genuine latte in the right kind of setting, i.e., a real café––as opposed to ‘room where Americans sit with their laptops and large paper cups’.

I’ve only found one such place in all of Manhattan: The Sant Ambroeus on 1000 Madison Avenue (near 78th Street). It’s totally overpriced and you should better wear a fur coat when you’re standing at the bar. And, of course, speak Italian. Don’t go in the touristy season, when all kinds of Europeans come, desperate for something they recognize as a café. On dreary, rainy days in the middle of the week, that’s when you’ll be alone with rich Italians. If you can take the disapproving stares at whatever you’ll be wearing that falls short of high fashion (the elegant, understated Italian kind, not the flashy, tight-jeans-high-heels U.S. kind), you will happily drink creamy (meaning: full “fat” milk which is probably flown in on a daily basis, hence the prices, and hence a bit of a bad feeling regarding global warming), strong and delicious latte macchiato.

Coming up: Fresh Vegetables, Or: Giving Up On ‘Green Values’

Remember: When you came to Manhattan before, as a tourist, you kind of enjoyed the odd meal at a diner, and you even went so far as to get some pommes frites, which they call french fries, when you were in a hurry. You thought that this was part of the local flavor, slightly adventurous, and it didn’t matter, since very soon you were going to sit in front of your nice plate of ravioli again. You actually did get meals at so-called delicatessens, which serve ready made dishes, prepared in a less than delicious way.

But now you are here and suddenly things are serious: Is this how you are going to live? Emphatically No. Without as much as a conscious decision, none of these touristy treats seems even conceivable. You are going to search for real food.

I shall spare you the frustrations, and immediately jump to a first find. A tiny café, somewhat French. Not, of course, French enough to spare you the usual offer of muffins, but French enough in other ways. The Ansonia café on 74th street, around the corner of Broadway, home of many Europeans, and regular meeting place with Jens and a companion of his (whom I shall introduce to you at a later point). Here they serve a truly amazing clafoutis au cerises (this is a cherry tarte which I used to bake—still in the lands of real butter and milk, where baking was actually an option—according to Lenôtre’s recipe, learning from his book that it originated in the lovely planes of the Limousin). There are drawbacks to the location, such as a less than French-tasting café au lait. But that’s not their fault, you tell yourself, they can’t be expected to import French milk (which even *you* have not yet begun to do).

Coming up: Real Latte Macchiato

Perhaps culinary survival for an expatriate in New York is after all possible, and there might even be a bright side to it. Isn’t it true that you, like all Italian gourmets, used to live with a conflict between the two major values in your life?
(1) Be thin.
(2) Eat great food.

So, for the past 30 years of your life (1) had to be sacrificed. Not completely, for Milan you look quite ok, and in London people actually think that you are thin. But not so in Paris, and certainly not in Manhattan. So, if (2) enjoyed its rule for 30 years, why not, for a change, let (1) rule for the next 30 (or perhaps three) years? Decide that starving actually has its advantages. You will be thin. You can eat as much as you like when you go home to Italy. Since you are here most of the time, even limitless indulgence over Christmas and the summer holidays is not going to hurt.

However, here’s the rub: In the 30 years of the rule of (2), (1) wasn’t simply given up on. Recall, you did manage to meet the relaxed standards of thinness in northern Italy. Giving precedence to (2) doesn’t mean that you stop caring about (1) (and the other way around). So what about (2), eat great food, while you are here?

This is what my entries to this blog will be concerned with. Like a pig which finds truffles in the deepest forest, I am running through New York, stopping at the faintest smell of something tasty. No matter how much I find, it will be little enough to stay thin. Thus, this is the time of remorseless pleasure.

Coming up: Fruit Tarte in New York