Si vous avez 100$ à dépenser pour le goûter, alors ce donut est pour vous. The Manila Social Club, un restaurant new-yorkais haut de gamme basé à Brooklyn, a dévoilé une nouvelle création, un donut glacé au champagne Cristal Louis Roederer et recouvert d’or 24 carats, fourré d’une mousse à l’igname rose et d’une gelée au champagne. À table !
Lebanon, home to some of the world's oldest olive trees, has been producing olive oil since the Bronze Age, or 3500 BC. Mild winters and temperate summers yield outstanding oils, some of which are available in the U.S. From left: Founded in 2012 by a restaurateur whose grandfather farmed olives in Lebanon, Oliver's Table Extra Virgin Olive Oil ($29 for a 17-oz. bottle) is wonderfully spicy, with a lingering, pungent, peppery finish. Litani Extra Virgin Olive Oil ($25 for a 29-oz. jug), pressed from olives from 600-year-old trees, has a subtly fruity flavor. Zejd Premium Extra Virgin Olive Oil ($22 for a 17-oz. bottle) has grassy, nutty notes that shine in tabbouleh, while Eliunt Ahiram Extra Virgin Olive Oil ($45 for three 2-oz. bottles), an unfiltered oil from the Zgharta area in northern Lebanon, is intensely fragrant, with an aroma that hints at banana.
EnlargeCredit: Demetria Provatas I remember my mother wiping her sweaty face with the ends of her sari, her gold and colorful glass bangles clinking against each other as she ran to and fro from that tiny kitchen to serve every one with divine love during the holy month of Kartik.
Virtually the entire population of Odisha becomes vegetarian during this period, when the pious and peaceful Odia people celebrate the destruction of evil by Lord Shiva, and as we grew up in our beautiful maternal home, for my family and our neighbors it was also a month long celebration of my mother’s kitchen which turned out the tastiest and most flavorful vegetarian Odia foods.
It was usually late afternoon when everyone was back from school or work before she started the day’s puja (prayer) and first offered the foods to the Gods. We sat down expectantly on little hand-woven mats before the puja room while she laid out large banana leaves before us. On the extreme right corner of the leaf would definitely go a tiny heap of course salt, a quarter slice of green lime and two glistening green chiles. Next, at the very center, would land a big heap of piping hot arua, basmati rice, that would make the leaf grow deeper green around the edges. We were cued to quickly make a moat of the rice mound to contain the watery moong daal, yellow lentil, garnished with finely scraped coconuts.
The heavenly aroma caused of the ghee and tulsi leaves, a kind of basil, which garnished the traditional Odia food habisanna, literally ghee flavored rice, filled the room. Around the mound of rice, she spooned servings of daal koshala saag, lentils with green vegetables, sprinkled with badi chura, small balls of crushed dried and fried lentils; green banana fries; ghanta tarkari, mixed vegetable curry without onions, garlic and the ubiquitous turmeric; all topped off with ou khatta, sweet and salty elephant apple or Dillenia indica chutney. When it all lay before us, like a necklace studded with diamonds, we dug into it with our fingers.
EnlargeCredit: Michael Kraus On an October morning, as the first frost crisped the pastures in east Tennessee, I drove from my home in Knoxville to the little town of Monterey to visit Pete Guenther and his family. By the time I arrived, Pete and his family had been up for hours harvesting sorghum, a cereal crop domesticated in Africa some 5,000 years ago. The Guenthers have grown the plant, Sorghum bicolor (L.) Moench, since 1981 on ridge-top fields overlooking Muddy Pond Road, their mill’s two-lane namesake. They grow it not for its grain, but because the stalks flow with a watery, lightly sweet sap that, when boiled down, yields a thick table syrup redolent of dark caramel and wood smoke.
Up until the post-WWII spread of cheap refined sugar, sorghum syrup was the primary sweetener used in the South. Now, after nearly a century of decline, the revival of small-scale sorghum production in the southern Appalachians is a symbol of cultural continuity and a boon for those eager to get their hands on the stuff. "It used to be hard to find sorghum many places," said Guenther, "but it’s making a comeback. A lot of young chefs are beginning to cook with it."
Sorghum is often confused with molasses, but there are fundamental differences between the two. True molasses is made from sugarcane—Saccharum officinarum—a tropical grass that has a year-round growing season but is limited in range by frost. Sorghum bicolor grows any place corn will, as far north as Michigan. Planted in late spring, it reaches gangly maturity—some 12 to 14 feet tall, looking from a distance like corn that’s vaulted to basketball-player stature—in early fall. While true molasses originally flowed from the Caribbean’s vast sugar plantations, sorghum is a quintessential product of the small American farm.
"Sorghum came with the African slaves," explained Muddy Pond’s Craig Whitman, who looks the part of community elder with his faded overalls and snowy beard. "With the Civil War, both governments realized they had a shortage of sugar, so they encouraged people to plant sorghum. Within a generation, about every farm in Tennessee had a patch of sorghum cane."
A hundred years earlier, refined sugar had been relatively scarce in colonial America. It wouldn’t become an everyday staple until the waning years of the 19th century. During that same period, American sorghum production grew to a peak of some 24 million gallons a year in the 1880s, and huge quantities were shipped north to manufacture rum and molasses beer. In Southern kitchens, sorghum was prized as an everyday luxury. "I could make a meal on sorghum with butter and a biscuit," said nonagenarian Don Hemphill at an annual sorghum-making event, which is held each year by the McEntire family in Old Fort, North Carolina.
"It's important to keep the art alive," said Gerald McEntire, one of nine siblings born on the 150-year old Peaceful Valley Farm family farm, which also produces heirloom white corn for cornmeal, grits, and moonshine. "We want the kids to see what you can do with corn and sorghum. This story is important."
The McEntires make enough sorghum annually for their own use, with surplus to sell for $5 a pint to the hundreds of neighbors and visitors who come for the day’s festival atmosphere.
"Making [sorghum] is not about the money," said Gerald’s brother John. "It’s about liking it."
Sorghum is often confused with molasses, but there are fundamental differences between the two
The work to produce a "run" of sorghum will usually begin on Friday, when a crew goes to the field to strip the mature cane of its leaves and top the seed heads, a few of which will be saved for next year’s planting. The following morning, the cane is cut at ground level with a swift chop of a hatchet-like cane knife, and milled between heavy rollers to extract the juice. Mills were once turned by horses or mules that trudged a circular path at the end of a long swing arm. These days they are usually run on engines. The collected juice is strained and reduced at a steady boil in a shallow steel pan. Because the pans are homemade, their construction reflects local habits and traditions. In Sharp's Chapel, Tennessee, the Houston family cooks in a pan that is about the size and shape of a sleeping cot and rests on a clay-lined fire pit. Dogwood provides the best coals, according to Jim Houston, who took over as sorghum boss after his Uncle Willy passed away a few years back at 101 years old.
"You reduce it ten to one," said Houston, as a light green sorghum juice trickled from his tractor-powered mill to slowly fill a zinc tub. "You think this is slow? You should have seen it when we used mules."
Examples of sorghum's antique technology can be seen at Cades Cove, an open-air museum in the Great Smokey Mountains National Park, where the Guenthers keep a pair of draft horses hitched to their original mill for demonstration purposes. Today, however, they rely on machinery scaled to their annual production of some 9,000 gallons, harvesting and crushing their 60 acres of sorghum in the field, with a tractor-drawn contraption assembled from a corn harvester, a concrete mixer and a thousand-gallon tank. Inside the cooking shed, clouds of vapor rise from a steam-heated pan the size of a swimming pool; a labyrinth of metal fins channel the hot syrup back and forth as it runs down the pan’s gentle incline. When it reaches the bottom, the syrup is sparkling brown and clings to a chilled spoon. The Houston family’s sorghum, by contrast, is nearly black and, on a cool day, solid enough to sit on the tines of a fork.
"There's really no set way to make sorghum," said Guenther, for whom the only ideal is a "clean" taste. "Nobody is doing it exactly alike."
Among sorghum-making families, the younger generations participate to the extent their age allows, with the smallest skimming the boiling syrup with long-handled strainers. The old men keep watch: They issue directions, judge when the pan is cooked and, perhaps most important, share what Gerald McEntire calls "the story." At the McEntire gathering in Old Fort, Hemphill told bystanders about one year's memorable sorghum harvest at his farm, which was built by his great-great grandfather in 1846. "My wife and I went in about five o'clock in the morning, and about five o'clock the next morning we were still at it," Hemphill recalled. "When everything is going good, I just can’t find a stopping place. I'd rather make sorghum than eat when I'm hungry."
Like a raw pie sliding into the mouth of a 900-degree Acunto oven. That’s how I felt stepping outside the Lisbon airport in early July. I had been warned of Portugal’s aggressive summer temperatures, but even the Lisboans proclaimed the weather grotesque. “We never experience heat like this” cried the cab-driver, later echoed by the hotel receptionist and confirmed by Anabela Bártolo, the manager of the Altis Belém Hotel and Spa who greeted me upon arrival.
Approaching the hotel from the highway, the low-slung building on the bank of the Tagus River and steps from the Doca do Bom Sucesso marina, appears rather benign, inspiring neither giddy anticipation nor disappointment (a too-frequent experience when selecting lodging off the internet.) Closer-up, however, my impression changed. Walking past the gleaming hotel letters in elegant typeface, I was cooled and calmed in temperature and spirit, by the serene, stone lobby; floating, white staircase, and walls of sparkling glass. After a few minutes speaking with the amiable staff, memories of the volcanic heat outside drifted off.
A quick spin through the property led me to the waterfront cocktail lounge, a hip indoor/outdoor affair with a view redolent of San Francisco and the Golden Gate: Lisbon’s vermillion-colored suspension bridge. Although not the only comparison drawn between Lisbon and America’s West Coast city (steep streets and trolleys), the Ponte 25 de Abril was in fact built by the same company that constructed the Bay Bridge.
The hotel views emphasize another asset–its ideal location sandwiched between two impressive, must-see landmarks: the Monument to the Discoveries and the Tower of Belem. The interior designers, Margarida Grácio Nunes and Fernando Sanches Salvador, embraced the theme of “discovery,” weaving into the hotel’s design references to the height of Portugal’s global empire during the 15th and 16th centuries. This is most evident in guest rooms; each one is singular, embellished with a bespoke wall mural depicting a different territory touched by the Portuguese.
The theme of my room was Moçâmedes in Western Angola, a former colony that achieved independence relatively recently in 1975. Although abstract in its regional reference, the snaking lines of green, white and ochre on a black lacquer backdrop were both striking and clever—the graphic adorned a series of closet doors, lending a seamless, artful appearance to the wall. My generous-to-the-point-of-indulgent bathroom was walled in glass—while showering or relaxing in the detached tub, I could still scope the yachts docked next door. However, would-be voyeurs couldn’t return the gaze due to ingenious external folding shutters, laser-cut in an organic pattern reminiscent of sea grass. These concertina shades were operated by push button (as are the blackout curtains), however, and could be fully opened if you prefer your view full monty. The pillows were plush and the bed a true king—not two twins pushed together posing as royalty, as often done in Europe.
Given the weather, a case could be made for staying at the hotel the entire day. Café Mensagem serves a lavish breakfast buffet, sparkling Portuguese wine and fresh-squeezed juices included for impromptu mimosas; I took mine outside in the shade overlooking the river. Afterwards, I dropped down to the spa and seemingly into the crevice of a marble quarry. The complimentary pool, sauna and hammam, finished top-to-bottom in beautiful white marble, are equipped with lounge chairs, towels and robes. The attached Karin Herzog spa offers a multitude of treatments with a focus on oxygen skincare. I sipped a late afternoon cocktail (try the excellent caipirinha) at Bar 38’41 overlooking the Tagus, while contemplating my upcoming dinner at Feitoria, the hotel’s Michelin-starred restaurant helmed by Chef José Cordeiro.
Arriving for a 9 p.m. reservation, the host led me past an arresting gold and black Namban mural—Japanese art from the 16th century depicting early commerce with Portuguese traders known as nambans (“southern barbarians”). The artwork set the tone for a culinary adventure that originated in Portugal but drew on global flavors and textures to create thoughtful dishes. I enjoyed the 6-course tasting menu with predominantly Portuguese wine pairings. Highlights included a foie-gras “cherry” amuse-bouche, cleverly presented atop cherry wood; a delicate scallop tartare playfully dressed with crunchy and sweet mini-macaroons of beetroot, beetroot dust, and ripe, wild strawberries; a tender scarlet shrimp from the Algarve; pungent, fresh oregano flowers on smoky, grilled sea bream; and a perfectly pink pigeon breast draped in honey, lavender and fig. Servers provided attentive service, never failing to refill my wine glass should it dip too low before finishing a course. The main flaw in the evening was dining on the warm outdoor terrace—a wedding party had reserved the entire dining room. Otherwise, the short post-dinner walk to my beckoning bed was a perfect conclusion to a first day not spent in Lisbon. —Lauren Mowery
IN THE AREA
Monument to the Discoveries: Constructed in 1960 after an earlier, temporary version was erected for the 1940 world fair. This composite of 33 navigators and other historical Portuguese figures was built on a 160-foot high foundation shaped like a ship’s bow. Avenida Brasília, 1400-038 Lisbon, Portugal, 35/12/1303-1950
The Tower of Belém: This 100-foot rook, once the gateway to Lisbon on the mouth of the Tagus, is now a dollhouse of a castle, beautifully preserved and impossible not to photograph. Avenida Brasília, 1400-038 Lisbon, Portugal, 35/12/1362-0034
Jerónimos Monastery: One of many impressive architectural and historic marvels of the area, this may be the most substantial—the grounds, courtyards and displays will satisfy a diversity of interests. Praça do Império, 1400-206 Lisbon, Portugal, 35/12/1362-0034
Palácio Nacional da Ajuda: With the controversial and conversation-worthy Joana Vasconcelos solo exhibit unfortunately concluding on 25 August 2013 [obviously have to take out—insert whatever exhibit is showing at the time of publication?], you’ll still have much to explore over its two floors of decorative arts. Largo Ajuda,1349-021 Lisbon, Portugal, 35/12/1363-7095
Confeitaria de Belém: Just five minutes northeast of the hotel is this confectionary, justly famous for its egg custard tarts. If you only have one while in Lisbon, have it here. When still hot, your first bite through the caramelized top and flaky crust into the gooey center will be revelatory. They are on par with, if not better than, the world’s other famous egg custard tart from Lord Stow’s bakery in Macau. Rua de Belém no 84 a 92. 1300-085 Lisbon, Portugal, 35/12/1363-7423
The wedding cake consisted of three bespoke hand-painted cakes, each embellished with individual gold leaf geometric shapes
The wedding cake was a glamorous gold art deco design
White and Gold Wedding. White wedding cake with gold.
Enlarge Credit: Michael Kraus On an October morning, as the first frost crisped the pastures in east Tennessee, I drove from my home in Knoxville to the little town of Monterey to visit Pete Guenther and his family. By the time I arrived, Pete and his family had been up for hours harvesting sorghum, a cereal crop domesticated in Africa some 5,000 years ago. The Guenthers have grown the plant, Sorghum bicolor (L.) Moench, since 1981 on ridge-top fields overlooking Muddy Pond Road, their mill’s two-lane namesake. They grow it not for its grain, but because the stalks flow with a watery, lightly sweet sap that, when boiled down, yields a thick table syrup redolent of dark caramel and wood smoke.
