Christmas with Barbie

Our gifts were never wrapped. We’d run out in flannel pajamas to an always somewhat tilted Christmas tree – gifts on the left were mine, the right my sister’s. A lineup of Barbies always headed the front row with uniform boxes of flaxen blonds and brunettes, their plastic frames our crack addiction at the time. We needed them all -Day to Night Barbie, the Rockers (Barbie’s band mates) and the coveted international Barbies (looking back, Oriental Barbie probably wasn’t Matel’s most politically correct model.) We were like kids in a toy store (who needs candy stores!) and it never crossed my mind that “Santa” didn’t have money for wrapping paper.

It’s funny the perceptions you have as a kid. For some reason I thought we had a real tree, even though I saw it put down in the basement every year and it had a thick, green, metallic pole running through the center. I guess I was a little dense, but there was magic at Christmas. Who was I to judge if this tree could live in pieces, in a box, in the basement?…alright, I was dense.

But it was one of my favorite times of year. I thrived on the fact that my family was different. We didn’t have turkey like everyone else. We made homemade raviolis through a family assembly line in my grandparents’ basement, where even I was given simple jobs like forking the corners shut or scooping filling, but it made me feel important.

My grandfather, Pop, was from the same school of thinking as “The Little Red Hen.” If you wanted to enjoy the spoils, you better join in on the work. The first time my aunt went to my grandparents' house when she was dating my uncle, they finished dinner and Pop asked, “Did you eat here?” She nodded. “Then you can help clean up.” It sounds gruff, but in actuality it was an invitation to be part of the group. And for some reason, it was always fun washing the dishes and making raviolis, but mostly because we were all doing it together.

This year I’d be trying out my family’s pasta recipe for the first time, since my husband and I were celebrating Christmas at our home in San Diego instead of heading back east. The plan was to make manicotti (like an Italian burrito stuffed with ricotta), along with meatballs, sausage and garlic bread. I wasn’t sure if I was up to making the braciole (pounded flank steak, rolled up with garlic, parsley and parmesan) and was definitely going to save the cannolis for next year (without a Fry Daddy, making the shells is a torturous process.) One recipe at a time I guess, and this year pasta and sauce would be the focus. But even as I tried to master these lessons, I was already missing the teachers who taught me their tricks.

Buon Appetito- San Diego Restaurant

Ciao Boun Chow
Hey-a, do ya want a spicy meat-a-ball-a? Buon Appetito (1609 India St) is by far my favorite Italian restaurant in San Diego with its authentic staff and ability to transform simple ingredients into a Rubik’s cube for the palate.
A cup of crushed tomatoes, basil and garlic arrive with a basket of bread and I think they must put heroin in this mixture- a clean and strong finish that coaxes me back again and again like a struggling addict (a minimum of two cups necessary.)

Duck salad: MUST ORDER!! I’m not usually someone that remembers salad as a favorite entrée, but this one has me thinking green. Their stand-out, balsamic vinaigrette sinks its kung-fu grip into the leaves with distinct thickness from the syrupy, aged vinegar. Sliced duck, lumps of goat cheese (in no way do they scrimp) and roasted pine nuts only up the ante to make it an official winner.

Homemade cheese ravioli: MUST ORDER!! The difference between homemade vs. storebought pasta is like fishsticks vs. fresh sushi. There's no contest and these raviolis exemplify what pasta should be - filling warmth that remains light. It amazes me every time how something so simple can make my mind do cartwheels. Memories of their pink sauce won’t be forgotten.

Meat lasagna: an edible high-rise arrived front and center with layers of ground beef, pasta and cheese. Though delicious, my scorecard still rated the salad and ravioli as the heavy hitters.

Things can get a little pricey here with pasta dishes around $20 and wine about $10 a glass, but well worth it when in need of a true Italian fix. Sidewalk seating, window tables beneath the wine case and expressive Italian dialogue amongst the wait staff instill a feeling of dining abroad while only minutes from home.*

*They also have a market next door that sells the pink sauce, "tomato heroin" and even the duck salad to-go.

Los Angeles restaurant- Osteria at Mozza

Mozz-art for the mouth

Aperitiv: My mind kept wandering off the road and down the avenues of possibility that sprang from the words, “mozzarella bar.” I was still trying to wrap my brain around this myth-like monument featured at Chef Mario Batali’s, Mozza (6602 Melrose Ave), when my aunt and uncle’s overnight layover in LA gave me the perfect excuse to insert myself into this culinary conundrum.

After pre-ordering a bottle of wine by phone, Mozza called back to inform me it would be $4 higher than originally quoted. It was a minimal difference, but their attention to detail gave me a firm handshake of a first impression before I even stepped through the door.

Amuse bouche: With all the giddiness of a school girl, I replayed the Osteria menu (vs. the Pizzeria, next door) in my head as we dipped into dark chocolate woods (including wine racks creeping close to the ceiling), contrasted by cloudless sky colored walls. Cherry red, meat slicers gleamed with all the appeal of a new bike and porcelain pedestals laden with caramelized leeks and asparagus flaunted roasted sugars like the Willy Wonka of vegetables.

We managed to scalp front row seats at the marble-topped mozzarella bar, manned by the legendary Nancy Silverton (expert cheese maker/restaurant partner) wielding her curds and whey. Our waiter, James*, fiddled with my uncle’s new camera and after telling us he had been a photography major at NYU (“Get out, we’re from NJ”), that was all we needed to create an instant bond (bond with James = James bond). *all mozzarella and pasta decisions were made upon James recommendations.

He handed us our first, complimentary bite of the evening that spread goat cheese, black olives and greens on a toasted baguette. Can taste-buds become fluent in Italian? Si et grazie.

Cheese course: Though many campfire tales had been told of Burrata mozzarella, nothing could prepare me for the reality. Slicing it was similar to the effects of biting into a Cadbury cream egg, but the oozing center was composed entirely of fresh cheese. Caramelized leeks and sturdy garlic bread only intensified this mild rendition with some sweetness and substance ($15.) To say I was blown away is an understatement.
Proscuitto and Burrata ($15, pictured above) also played its game of dismantling my pre-conceived notions of “mozzarella” like gazing into a funhouse mirror with a rearranged sense of the familiar. I couldn’t get over the texture. Two golf sized balls of mozzarella sat on a plate, wallpapered with proscuitto, but their consistency reminded me of a poached egg with a thin, outer layer that peeled back from the “yolk” (ham and eggs- Mozza style.)

Octopussy: James swore up and down that the octopus ($18) was like no other and repeatedly mentioned its tenderness with tourettes-like intensity, so again we listened to our James bond, our own 007 (yes, he speaks Italian and scuba dives) and if I hadn’t known it was octopus, I would have guessed it was a buttery pork chop. This was a must order item 1,000 times over, and though I'd never been a fan, this easily scored a ten(tacle.)

Pasta course: A giant ravioli with ricotta and egg yolk center ($18) might have been my favorite dish of the evening. Skeptical about a runny yolk (but reassured by James), my doubt was washed away with sage brown butter, homemade pasta and parmesan. My only complaint was that I wished I were at home, so I could have licked the plate.

True comfort food blended orecchiette pasta ($18) with the artery slowing serenity of sausage, swiss chard and the panko-like crunchiness of fresh breadcrumbs.

Meat course: Their crispy half duck ($29) achieved multiple awards from this judgmental jaw:
1) #1 crispiest skin on a duck
2) #1 juiciest meat on a duck
3) #1 original accoutrement*

*Wasabi pears were just another imaginative and complimentary dynamic to this dish served atop a wooden cutting board with a large enough knife to reenact carving Thanksgiving dinner all for myself.

My aunt “mmm-ed” over her thinly sliced steak ($26), candied with aged balsamic and tart from sheets of parmesan resting amongst mixed greens. My uncle’s monkfish ($29) in a red diavolo sauce was tasty, but my duck easily earned top billing.

Dessert course: Olive oil gelato and rosemary cakes with rosemary brittle ($11)- need I say more. I was suddenly a judge on Iron Chef. This was a whole new realm of dessert and I reveled in its savory, sweet seduction. Olive oil gelato ingrained rock salt sprinkles, while the brittle consisted of a sprig of rosemary encased in a clear piece of crystallized sugar and tasted as if eating the sprig itself (without the stem.) Mini cakes were pillows that fluffed my palate for satisfied exhaustion after a job well.

In a word: Memorable.
In a few words: I go to bed dreaming of the yolk/ricotta ravioli.
Final words: absolutely worth the trip (or several); ask for James.