Tony Packo's Cafe -A Toledo Gem

Looking back through my blog, one might think I stick to pretentious foods. In the past few months, I’ve written about steak houses, eating in New York or Chicago or Miami, hundred dollar dinners for one etc. But if you dig deeper –I talk about cheese steaks and hamburgers and ribs too. What I really try to do is find whatever I think is terrific and if it’s a slice of foie gras atop veal with shaved truffles or if it’s a juicy cheeseburger, I’ll eat it, love it and write about it. I have found terrific food from coast to coast –small towns like Owensboro, Kentucky (where you have got to visit the Moonlight Bar-BQ and try the mutton) to the big city (South Beach’s Puerta Sagua has a Cuban pig’s feet stew that I just can’t resist when it’s on the menu), there is no one fare that inspires me more than the other.

Tony Packo’s in Toledo, Ohio is one such place. Food, atmosphere and history all in one perfect hot dog joint –and they don’t even serve hot dogs! Let me explain. In 1932, a Hungarian immigrant named (you guessed it) Tony Packo borrowed a few bucks from family. This was no small feat during the great depression. He then opened what would go on to be a successful family business. His “hot dog” was really a type of sausage called Kolbász, which tastes a lot like a cross between a hot dog and a kielbasa. About twice the size of a hot dog, he sliced it in half so it wasn’t like eating a sausage. Today’s versions are no more creative than other hot dog joints, but the fresh dog, house made chili and other offerings, such as pork and beef stuffed cabbage in sour cream sauce, keep Tony Packo’s bustling year round. Toledoans know their Hungarian food.

While Tony Packo’s might have been well known to the folks in Toledo, it might have remained another tasty but obscure little local treasure had it not been for the 1970’s and 1980’s hit TV show M*A*S*H*. For those of us who grew up watching this still-to-be-outdone comedy, one might recall Tony Packo’s being brought to the spotlight by Cpl. Max Klinger. In the character’s never ending quest to be kicked out of the ARMY and move back to his beloved Toledo, he referenced Tony Packo’s numerous times in the series. In one episode, they ordered sausage casings from Tony’s so they could be used as blood filters (crude dialysis) when the ARMY requisitioning process was too cumbersome. Jaime Farr, who played Klinger and is also a Toledo native, suddenly made Tony Packo’s a national sensation.

Since then, they have opened numerous locations in and around Toledo, but it’s the original, albeit expanded, restaurant that has the sense of nostalgia brought to light in the TV show. Hanging stained glass table lights and dark paneled walls reflect the origins of the place. The 1930’s and 40’s don’t seem so long ago. What is newer are all of the signed Hot Dog buns on the walls. There are hundreds of glass encased buns signed by every celebrity and politician that have passed through these doors since the first bun signing by Burt Reynolds in the 70’s.


For my meal, I ordered more than I could eat but I had to try what they were famous for on several fronts. Like a poker player salivating at a royal flush, if I see fried pickles on a menu, I’m all in. Served with 3 different dipping sauces –notably a spicy ketchup, their house made pickles are perfect for frying.

Tart, vinegar-y flavors layered with that welcoming fried texture and unique ketchup, I thought these were some of the best fried pickles I’d ever tasted. Next came the chili. It was pretty good but also pretty standard. Nothing jumped out at me flavor-wise, but I have to admit, I’m jaded with Chili. Still, it was perfect for dog topping. By now I’m starting to get full and I have 2 more things to taste. The stuffed cabbage was next. Braised and reduced in sour cream sauce, this Hungarian-spiced, meat-filled roll was terrific. My grandmother’s family was also from the “old country” and this food reminded me of my childhood. Sweet cabbage leaves filled with savory pork and beef is an art. I only finished a small portion of this because I knew the dog was coming. I ate the rest the next day. Lastly came the chili laden half sausage with mustard and onions (always my choice for toppings) and cheese to be layered on top.

One bite and I could see what Cpl. Klinger was homesick for. Not completely a hot dog and not completely a sausage, this creation that is cased on premises is so unique and delicious, I don’t believe I can find anything like it anywhere else.

I don’t expect anyone will head off to Toledo just to try Tony Packo’s but if you are ever in the area (30 minutes south of Detroit and 30 minutes west of Cedar Point –roller coaster capitol of the world), you have got to stop in and try this one-of-a-kind establishment. Thank goodness I have family not far away, because I will be visiting this gem-of-a-find again.

Stone Crabs

Stone Crabs are one of the real jewels from the gulf coast. Until I started traveling extensively, I didn’t give much thought to how lucky us Floridians were to have these delightful creatures in our backyard. If you enjoy seafood, you must love this crab too. Harvested from October to May, Stone crabs are fished in a unique way. They are caught in a standard crab trap whose buoys dot the shallow gulf waters. Only the claws (usually one) are removed and the animal is returned to the briny deep. There they will grow another in 12-18 months. This is quite a sustainable model. The claws are then cooked at the docks before being shipped to restaurants or fishmongers. Any delay in cooking would make the meat stick to the claw and very difficult to eat. This process makes for a consistent delicacy no matter where you eat them. For this reason, it would be difficult to write about the best place to eat Stone Crabs but there are a few tips I can offer so that you have the best possible experience.

There are 3 things to keep in mind when deciding to invest in a meal of Stone Crab. They are, after all, one of the most expensive pound for pound products the ocean has to offer. First, and most important, is freshness. Whether you are buying them from a fishmonger to eat at home or going to a restaurant, you should ask when they came out of the water. For me, a few days are max to get a great tasting fresh meat. Anything longer and the meat begins to take on that frozen taste. In my experience, though, it’s not difficult to find fresh Stone Crabs. Most places I‘ve been turn their product over very quickly so freshness isn’t usually an issue. I stay away from the grocery stores. Even if the guy behind the counter says they came in that day, he has no clue about the lag time from the water to his cooler. Too risky.

Then there’s size. This can be a bit tricky. They come in a few different size varieties from medium to jumbo. I’ve heard people say that a particular size produces a sweeter meat but I have not found this to be true. For this reason, I say get the biggest claw you can. The amount of work to get meat from a smaller claw is less worth it for me. Restaurants will always serve it with the claws already cracked. If you are taking the claws home from the seafood store, you’ll have to do this yourself. This video can help get into this thick shelled armor.

Lastly, I have to mention price. Cheaper is not always better but neither is most expensive. The above mentioned size and freshness play into the cost but so does abundance and demand. A season with heavy winter storms drives the price up as harvests are reduced. What I can buy for $12/lb one week can be $25/lb the next. You should be flexible if you can and not expect consistent prices.

If you are lucky enough to live on or visit the Gulf Coast anywhere from Texas to Key West, you can snatch up this amazingly sweet crab claw which is my all time favorite seafood. In restaurants it is usually served with some sort of remoulade, butter or Dijon sauce; all of which I adore. Cocktail sauce would be heresy, in my humble opinion. My favorite place in Tampa Bay is Frenchy’s Rockaway Grill on Clearwater Beach. They have their own fleet of fishing boats and the claws are always succulent and perfect. The rest of their menu is pretty awesome too, by the way. There supply has been limited at times, but otherwise they are some of the best. In the Miami area, I recommend Billy’s Stone Crab (that’s where I snapped this photo) on Hollywood Beach.

A bit too formal of a place to eat Stone Crab (I prefer the seaside shack environment), I still found their claws to be superbly fresh and the view of the mega yachts that travel the adjacent waterway is pretty cool. Probably the most famous place to eat Stone Crabs would be Joe’s Stone Crab on Miami Beach, but there you are truly paying for the name. Let the Euro-tourists drop their currency there. You don’t see too many locals.

I hope some of these tips help you with an amazing gastronomic experience.

Hiatus

For the few folks who have emailed me wondering where I've been, I apologize for no updates. Life is good; great even. I started a new job in November and have relocated to Ft. Lauderdale (during the week). There just haven't been enough hours in the day. Still, I continue to explore, cook and meet new people. The coming months should be promising with the upcoming South Beach Wine and Food Festival (February) and a pending celebrity chef collaboration. Please, bear with me and most importantly, Have a happy health and prosperous New Year. Stay tuned.

Whatever your tradition, Happy Thanksgiving

3:30 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning and I’m wide awake. I’m writing this from a little town dotted in the middle of a cornfield (literally) in Northwestern Ohio. This is where Lisa’s family lives and where I’m thankful she escaped from. If I wanted a life partner that hails from some romantic far-off shore, I looked in the wrong place. Her family is as pure bred mid western American as it gets. All are hard working with a do-the-right-thing mentality. They were warm and inviting when I met them for the first time – 10 Thanksgivings ago –and they are no less today. Lisa’s Dad is an interesting man. He’s a guy that can fix anything and he is quite accepting of the fact that I can fix nothing. Instead of lecturing me on how I should possess some of these qualities, he just brings his tool box down to Florida a couple of times a year and swings his hammer around my house until the jobs are done. He’s fixed soffits, rewired rooms, built gates, installed lighting and generally picked up the slack for his inept son-in-law. His conversation is intelligent and engaging. I love when this guy visits and I love visiting him. So here I am.

Earlier this month I wanted to get a traditional Thanksgiving recipe up since I haven’t written a new recipe in a while. I’ve come to realize that wasn’t going to happen. It turns out my life isn’t very traditional. Currier and Ives has no colorful depiction of my last 43 years. Now this isn’t a complaint, mind you, just a fact. I’ve travelled for a living for the past 7 years and I now have an apartment in Ft. Lauderdale where I spend my weeks as my family continues their life 4 hours away. As a very young boy, I recall a family steeped in tradition. We all gathered at Grandma’s house (on my mom’s side) in Erie, Pennsylvania and sat at one very long table that ran the entire length of their formal dining room. I remember saying grace then passing around platter after platter of very traditional fare. From a foodie point of view in the 21st century, most of you would have been appalled. Boxed, canned and processed was considered en vogue. In the 1960’s, canned foods were in their adolescence and the idea of opening canned corn and canned cranberry sauce was way more appealing than making it. I was well into my 30’s before canned vegetables disappeared from my own pantry. Still, it was these moments that I remember from my earliest Thanksgivings and Christmases that are the only remnants of true traditional family holidays.

When I was 6, we moved to Florida permanently. Like many others, my folks really needed to escape the cold weather. Winters in Erie could be brutal. My dad’s parents had already made the break to the south some years earlier and we had spent a year there when I was about 3 before returning to the snow. We actually rented a place just a few blocks from where I currently live on Lake Tarpon while my parents had a house built. We returned to Erie a few more times over the years for occasional holidays and family get-togethers. Our last big family gathering was when I was 16 for my grandmother’s 90th birthday. All my cousins and aunts and uncles celebrated her joyous life. She was humble and ladylike in all she did. She never wore pants, only skirts or dresses, and her hair and makeup were always done just subtly perfect. I was her youngest grandchild and she paid me every bit of attention that a youngest grandchild could ever hope for. The next year, grandma died. She left with me, though, the memory of a striking woman who took her matriarchal responsibilities very seriously. Now that mom and her siblings are also all gone, I’m glad I had those times.

After those early years, holidays became a hodgepodge. When we didn’t go up north, we would have Thanksgiving and Christmas with just the three of us. It was caring and loving and I was oh-so-thankful that I could ride a new bike on Christmas morning without the cold, but there was something missing without the family all gathered together. When I started my own family, I was in the military where tradition is hard to maintain. Then my colorful 20’s produced a couple of marriages and 5 kids. This made it even more impossible to make holiday gatherings consistent. Make no mistake, we’ve had spectacular holidays. It’s really about surrounding yourself with those you love and not who’s house you gather at. My kids and I have managed to be together most holidays and for that I am grateful.

Being with Lisa’s family transports me back to a time when I was a child. Her dad’s house has the same creaky floors that grandma’s did. They use a tea kettle that whistles and the coffee is instant. When we gather later today at Aunt Linda’s house, the cranberry sauce will come from a can and I will eat it. The green bean casserole will be topped with canned fried onions and I will eat it. There will not be one dish from Bon Appétit magazine or The Food Network or anywhere else other than the 3x5 card index that Aunt Linda has been using for as long as she’s been making the holiday meal. I can’t wait for the raspberry pie (made with raspberry jell-o, sugar, cornstarch and frozen raspberries). The kids will run around like mad, the ladies will gather and chat and the guys will gawk at the always lopsided Thanksgiving football games. Later, a friendly card game will develop in the basement where I plan to clean out Aunt Betty yet another year. While I’m not with my older kids this Thanksgiving, I am helping my 5-year-old Olivia form her future tradition with Lisa’s family. My wish is that she grows to cherish that as I did.

Sorry for no Thanksgiving holiday recipe this year (it is a food blog after all), but instead just a hope and wish for you to be surrounded by loving family. I do plan on cooking for Christmas and I do plan on playing with a few new recipes for the holiday meal, so I will be sharing that in the coming weeks.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!!!

An American Institution

I know I’ve written a lot about steaks lately so let me apologize right up front. I have no greater affinity for steak than I do other foods; I love it all. It’s just that I’ve been to a couple of places lately that commanded my attention and last week was no different. On my second trip to New York City in less than a month, I was planning to have at least one great meal. On my first trip, I worked too many hours to really seek out anything other than the great neighborhood food that Chelsea has to offer. While I wasn’t even remotely disappointed with that idea, I wasn’t afforded the opportunity to look for that special destination that I always look for. This time would be different. My hours were a bit more normal at work so the evenings were mine.

After reading about and seeing several TV spots dedicated to Peter Luger Steak House, I wondered how far my Long Island hotel was from the place. Turns out, Great Neck, NY (just outside the city) had a location 12 miles from me –so off I went. I was pretty excited. I knew that this place had been in business for over a hundred years. I knew they had a unique way of selecting their prime beef (only certified family members could select the meat). I knew they were rated New York’s #1 steakhouse time and again by many publications. I knew I had to eat there.

Walking in to the restaurant was a bit unimpressive. Dark beams running in the walls, dim colors and stained glass windows inspired thoughts of lederhosen, oversized blond women sloshing steins of beer and large Oktoberfest banners draped across the ceiling. I’m a firm believer in preserving tradition, but I have no need to sit beneath a dimly lit sconce to look at my menu. Plus this is a newer location (there are only 2) just a short ride from the original. They could have fast forwarded at least a few decades, if not a century, from the original.

While many of the reviews I read citied overly rude host and wait staff, I was greeted by friendly people and served by a wonderful waiter who wanted to make sure my first experience here was great. He succeeded. If the décor was unimpressive, the menu is less so. There are only a few choices to select from and there are no real choices on the cut of steak. Everything is “Steak of one”, “Steak for two”, etc. There’s a fish of the day, roast chicken, pork chop, a few sides and appetizers. It’s obviously about the steak. Steaks are always porterhouse. Unfortunately for me, “steak for one” is just the NY strip without the adjacent filet but after watching a few steaks go by, there was no way I could down the two-finger thick “Steak for two”. I settled on the classic Peter Luger meal: a tomato and onion salad, a slice of grilled bacon, creamed spinach and “Steak for one” with hash browns. The salad was chuck wagon style. Thick sliced onion and thick sliced beefsteak tomato and that’s it.

The waiter said it is eaten with the house made Peter Luger steak sauce. While there was nothing special about this, the steak sauce was great.

It has the requisite smoky, vinegary, tomato-y flavor of most steak sauces with an added horseradish kick. I took a bottle home. The bacon slice was unique, delicious but a little unnecessary.

The creamed spinach was also just… um… well, creamed spinach. Tasty… good… but creamed spinach. I’m not even going to talk about the hash browns.

But the steak! This is what makes Peter Luger famous. Set before me was still a sizzling, pre-sliced NY strip that couldn’t have looked more magnificent. The contrast of dark outer char and pink medium-rare center were only topped by the beefy smell and buttery drippings that are drizzled over the meat tableside.

This could be a post card, a greeting card or a screen saver. The flavor was packed with perfectly dry aged lightness. It was tender, succulent and frankly, the best steak I’d ever eaten.

Seared under an 800 degree broiler just like they were 120 years ago, Luger found a magic that persists. Any disparity about my salad and sides melted away just like the rich mineral-flavored beef did as it passed my lips.

While the critics pan the cash only policy, boring side dishes and marginal service, there are few businesses that have thrived since the late 19th century. Just like the sizzling steak that is set before the guest, that says something. I wouldn’t change a thing. Well, maybe a few things but, hey, this is Peter Luger’s legacy.

Second City -out and about in Chicago

What a boring week I expected. The call came asking me to journey to Madison, Wisconsin. In my 43 years, not one soul has ever mentioned a reason I should visit Madison, Wisconsin. I know it’s a college town but since I’m not of college age, I saw no intrigue in this trip. Oh well, after the previous week in New York, a little down time in a boring place was welcome. I guess I could try some cheese. I landed late on a Monday night and grabbed a quick hotel next to the airport. Tuesday morning, I was at work at sunup. By noon, my phone was blowing up about an emergency in Chicago and I needed to get there ASAP. Chicago… Madison… Chicago… Madison… Chicago it is. Showing my geographic ignorance, I had to look at a map to see where the hell I was. Turns out, it’s only a 3 hour drive but if you’d have told me it was a 4 hour plane ride, I’d have believed you. By early afternoon, Madison, Wisconsin was clearly in my rearview mirror. If I missed any wonders that town had to offer, I’d have to settle for some dining experiences in Chicago as a consolation.

After a few hours getting some work done, I found myself in a downtown Chicago hotel on State Street. Everything was in walking distance, it seemed. Some short steps from my door was a restaurant I’d driven or walked by on previous visits. I’d always said I wanted to eat there but never had. Tonight I was going to the Weber Grill Restaurant. Chicago is famous for its steak houses and Weber is famous for its grills, so the marriage of the 2 has to be the perfect gastronomic love affair. Deciding to give this place a try was not an easy call though. Also in walking distance were Gino and Geogetti’s as well as The Chicago Chop House. Both of these restaurants set the bar pretty high for a great steak in the city of great steaks. Still, I wanted to stay true to the commitment of trying something new and the opportunity was ripe.

Usually the experience of a great Chicago eatery comes with an aura of dining in a 1930’s backdrop. Dark, hardwood walls with dim protruding sconces and dark paintings of men in suits. White tablecloths and crystal glasses with middle aged men having late night business meetings over a porterhouse and baked potato. That’s the Chicago I think of. You can toss that idea out the window at Weber. The clientele on the night I visited was a mix of youth and tourist. The room was large and open. The length of the restaurant is an open kitchen and the back wall is a row of stainless kettle grills under massive ventilation fans.

Conversations were loud, beer seemed to be the drink of choice and wait staff were running fast to keep up. The bar where I wanted to eat was packed 3 deep so I ordered a drink and proceeded to wait. I would not be deterred. Once I finally elbowed my way into a seat, I got a menu and ordered the French onion soup and a hand cut, dry aged New York strip. The soup was exceptional with a rich blanket of Gruyere cheese hiding the luscious, sweet onion laden broth below. My steak followed. It was perfectly seasoned, perfectly medium rare and perfectly unpretentious. There’s something about steak in the Midwest. As the cuts are being shipped to butchers shops around the country, there must be some clandestine gatekeeper whose job it is to reserve only the best beef for Chicago. While they did provide me with a steak knife, a butter knife would have done the job. I had a fantastic meal at a fraction of the price I’d have paid at one of the aforementioned steak houses.

On the second night, I strode out into the blustery wind that gives the city its nickname. The day had been unseasonably warm for October, but after the sun set and the wind picked up, fall was making its presence known. My plan for dinner was to find a corner bistro or pub or whatever looked good without looking too hard. I walked a few blocks down Rush Street then doubled back toward State Street. I walked by an Italian place with no intention of stopping in initially but the wind was beginning to wear me down. Ok, at the very least I would have a cocktail at the bar at Osteria Via Stato. The décor was slightly haughty and perhaps a bit pretentious but the bar was warm and inviting. I asked to see a menu while sipping a Manhattan –a bartender recommendation since they make their own sweet vermouth. I was blown away by their inspired offerings. This was one of those places that I wanted to try everything and I almost passed it by. This is not your typical family style Italian fare of lasagna and manicotti. While there were traditional dishes on the menu such as classic carbonara and pappardelle with a signature 3 meat ragu, there were less conventional dishes like a hunter’s stew made with quail, rabbit and housemade sausage or the slow cooked pork shank with Tuscan kale and white beans. This was a fortuitous find.

With too many wonderful choices, I asked the bartender if the kitchen could present a few small plates in lieu of full entrees. That way I could taste more. She checked and it was no problem to get a side order portion of anything –so to ordering I went. Grilled baby octopus with roasted fingerling potatoes was first.

Exquisitely tender and bathed in butter and lemon, the octopus had that ideal texture and flavor and the potatoes were an unexpectedly wonderful accent. Great dish. I’m going to have to try to work with octopus. Next plate was the special for the night: beef short rib risotto. Need I say more? Decadent, creamy and rich are the only words that come to mind. I’m rarely speechless when it comes to food but this is close.

Last was the cavatelli. There are several different pronunciations for this, none of which sound like the spelling. “Gav-a-deel” is the one I’m most familiar with. Hand rolled pastas about an inch and a half long made with ricotta cheese then sautéed in butter with a wild mushroom broth, these are the best cavatelli I have ever eaten.

Simple and sumptuous with a pan roasted rich flavor, these were the star of my dinner. I can’t imagine a better meal. I left this almost-passed-by restaurant completely satisfied.

Chicago is a city full of life and wonders and the great food is only one of its draws. If you pass through town, I also recommend The Green Mill –Al Capone’s old hangout, which looks much like it did in the 20’s. The booze is legal now, there’s usually some live blues playing and the atmosphere is engaging. Kingston Mines is a one of a kind blues bar where the artists are always noteworthy and they have two stages so that when one band ends, another begins. Passing-through-town celebrities frequent this unique bar and I’ve had some great times here.

It wasn’t such a boring week after all.

Start spreading the news -New York

New York City. What can anyone say that hasn’t already been said? If you’ve been there, you already know and if you haven’t, you can only imagine. I’ve visited the city maybe a dozen times. I’ve eaten deli sandwiches so big that there is a difference in air temperature from the top to the bottom. I’ve mopped up amazing Ethiopian spiced meals with the spongy flat bread they serve. I’ve wandered the amazement that is Chelsea market, marveled at the unending choices of street vendors, sampled dim sum in Chinatown, picnicked in Central Park and dined at The Four Seasons. Yet, I haven’t even scratched the surface. The city holds so many culinary wonders that thousands –thousands, of books, articles, periodicals and blogs are solely dedicated this one-of-a-kind city. The sensory cacophony is overwhelming. That’s why I love it so. It’s the rush.

I was in town on business during a crisp, fall week recently. My work kept me much busier than I’m used to and I really only had late night dinners to enjoy and unwind. That’s fine by me though, because the best food you’ll ever taste is only 2 blocks from wherever you’re standing in the Big Apple. In most cities, I turn to the internet for guidance on where to get the best local fare, but not in New York. The best way to experience food culture of this metropolis is to simply go for a walk. You won’t travel far. My first day there was a bit of a blur. I worked late; very late. I didn’t get to my hotel till around 9:30PM after a 14 hour day. I was pretty exhausted. In these situations I typically order in and keep my expectations low. Greasy and poorly flavored Chinese food or some chain restaurant pizza is my standard. But here, in the world’s most diverse gastronomic town, I’m just as excited to order in as I would be to dine in any fancy restaurant. On this night, it’s pizza.

A trip to New York without eating pizza would be like going to the beach on a hot summer day and not even putting your feet in the water. It’s anti-American. It’s heresy. I ask the guy at the desk for the number of the closest place that delivers and he gave me the number for Tostino’s Pizza. I didn’t ask him for the best; just the closest. I didn’t have to. Any sub-par pizza place in New York would last about 3 hours. An hour later, a perfect pie was sitting in front of me and I was in heaven. Notice those black, crunchy bits yet each slice was designed to be folded in half and eaten in messy fashion. Not laden down with heavy ingredients or thick sauce, this pizza represents Americana, New York style. Of course you can get good pizza around the country (although every good New Yorker will argue that –they say it’s in the water), but what you don’t get is the volume. If you accidentally pass the pizza place on your left, the one a block down on the right is just as fantastic. Had I gone home the next morning, this pizza in my hotel room was all I would have needed to be satisfied.

The next day was just as grueling at work. I got back to my room pretty late and pretty tired. Still I had to venture out. I was in the mid-town neighborhood of Chelsea and I knew there was food to be had. In mid-town alone, there are around 2500 restaurants. I didn’t have to go far. Stepping out into the cool night, I walked all of a block before an Italian bistro caught my eye. Restivo’s has a patio out front (for the warmer days) and an inviting bar just inside the front door. The room was a bit dark –just soft lighting, and I thought I caught a glimpse of Frank Sinatra sitting at one end. The smell from the kitchen permeated every corner of the room. I could smell sauces, garlic, pasta and spices. Perfect. This looked like a great place for a late dinner. The menu was exactly what I expected. Classic Italian fare with few frills.

No one sits at a bar in New York without talking to your bar mates. It’s just a simple rule. So I began chatting with the two guys next to me and it turns out I was chatting with the owner, Joe Restivo. Joe embodies every bit the part of a New York Italian bar owner. Thick accent, perfectly combed black hair, a little on the heavy side (I’m not one to talk) and ready to strike up a conversation at the drop of a hat, Joe explained the Menu to me. Tonight I was having Ossobuco over a mushroom risotto and for an appetizer, I went with escargot (not really Italian but a favorite of Joe’s). The snails were buttery and tender and had none of the slight toughness that I’m used to with escargot. Just another testament to New York that the quality of the ingredients here are superior to just about anywhere else I’ve been. Of course, the Ossobuco was perfectly braised and super tender with a rich, silky flavor infused with the tomatoes and spices it was cooked in. Another perfect meal.

I spent an hour or so chatting with Joe. He’s owned this restaurant and the apartments over it for years. He talks of hard work and I learn a lot about what it’s taken him to be successful. Joe owns a corner of New York City and that is no small feat. Nowadays, he spends much of his time on a farm in Pennsylvania but his passion for his work and his city come through. If I had only a few hours in the city, it was Joe I really wanted to meet.

There are so many reasons to visit New York, but as a foodie, the culinary experience is my favorite. But the museums, shows, shopping and pure amazement at the concrete jungle would make for a fantastic visit and with the holidays right around the corner, the city becomes pure magic. I’m not sure when I’ll be back but I’ll be just as awed the next time.

Note: I was so exhausted on this trip that I forgot my camera. These photos were the result of internet searches. I can't take credit for that.