HOT N' HUNGRY

Today I submitted as story to The Miami New Times after taking an interview for a sales position I had no interest in and charming the advertising director who just so happens to share his taste in serial-killers with me. After denying the position with a witty letter mailed to him along a Dexter bobblehead that I gave up from my apartment, and recently re bought, I got what I wanted: my writing handed to the Editor-in-Chief of the risque publication, Chuck Strousse.

And after attending Iron Fork under the pretense of stalking him and sending him various e-mail I got him to respond …

And so this is the story I submitted and what will decided whether I get one step closer to being the Carrie Bradshaw of food and of Miami.

Giorgio Rapicavoli: Chef or Carpenter?

Today kicks off the most overindulging week of the year as millions of Americans gear up for the Thanksgiving holiday, which combines no work, football, and lots of food. Thank you pilgrims.

And while many restaurants are getting ready to close their doors for the weekend, one in particular is getting ready to open … permanently.

Former pop-up restaurant Eating House will open its doors this Friday November 23^rd with a ribbon cutting ceremony celebrating all they have to be thankful for: a fresh new look, soon-to-come lunch service, and Henry Hane.

When Eating House closed in late September nobody anticipated a permanent return, not even owner and head chef Giorgio Rapicavoli. With a month to go to his 27 birthday (he’s a Scorpio ladies) Rapicavoli decided to give himself a splendid birthday gift and buy out Café Ponce. He also took a 20-day trip to Chicago and California in which all he did was eat. “This trip really influenced me in ways I have never been before. I’m really taking notice of molecular gastronomy. Done right it’s really sexy,” says the young barely 27 year old chef. He was able to get reservations (months in advance) at Alinea in Chicago where he had the dish that made the biggest impression of  his whole trip: a razor clam. “It was hidden in this crazy concoction of seaweed and other creatures of the sea, but it was shining, almost talking, singing to me, and I listened.” That’s deep.

Eating House, set to open this past Friday, got a bit delayed due to the chef’s I-do-whatever-the fuck-I-want-attitude, which goes perfectly with his camouflage cargo shorts and tattoos. “And whoever doesn’t like it can go fuck themselves.” His words, not ours, but don’t let that scare you. There’s much to like in the new Eating House. Its new look resembles that of a street, one that’s under construction, but with lots of promise. Ghost wood and muted gray walls with industrial lighting give the feel of a place that could very well have cows, pigs, or even a ram just outside waiting to be caught, cooked to order, and served for dinner – on handmade tables.

Yes, Rapicavoli has used his hands for something other than dicing tomatoes to make whipped gazpacho, which he’s officially adding to the menu, and breaking eggs to make his pasta MY WAY carbonara. Handmade tables made his way add just another rustic touch to create the setting he and partner and long-time friend Alex Cassanova are aiming to create for EH.  “One table top would cost us over 100 dollars each. We were able to make the all the tables exactly how we want for $250,” says front-of-house expert Alex Cassanova. “They’re fucking edgy,” adds Rapicavoli. He sounds sexy cursing while operating heavy machinery. “We’re sticking to the same premise as when we popped up, just a bit refined. We still don’t have expensive china or even plates that match.” Beautiful rock-like plates from Crate and Barrel will serve as the cold surface for raw and earthy like tartars and his citrus tomato staple, while charcoal colored bowls and eggshell plates from Ikea give the chef ways to play around with colors like that of his green brussels sprouts and fried egg. A great color contrast  to match the graffiti on the walls and concept they started out with – if food is art then we’re making graffiti. “Food is still art, so we’re still making graffiti. Now you’ll just have tables and food made by me, and graffiti that’s going up on the walls for good. No more of taking it down during the day shit.” There he goes again.

EH will be bringing back their Sunday brunch dubbed Wakin’-n-Bacon, where they’ll be bakin’ (captain toast crunch pancakes, what else?), but will be opening for lunch come the new year with a more casual, over the counter type service, and a different menu. “I want to do more grub food for lunch, you know things you can eat with your hands.” Expect to see different and more refined dishes from him, flavor-wise and texturally … sexy. That’s what his food will be like – sexy, just like him and his new Sous Chef Henry Hane.

Former Señora Martinez Sous Chef, Hane has known Rapicavoli since cooking school. After Señora Martinez closed its doors Hane left to Spain and has now come back to the states to form part of the culinary team Eating House. With Rapicavoli’s Italian and Mediterranean influence and experience from working in Spanish restaurants (Olivos and Por Fin) and Hane’s passion and execution for Spanish food, it will be very interesting to see the things that the two of them will get their hands on.

Giorgio Rapicavoli? Chef or carpenter? Right now as he sits on the floor surrounded by tools and a hammer instead of knives slicing wood and not wearing his apron it’s hard to tell. One thing is clear. This Friday won’t be black, as we’ll have one more thing to be thankful for after leftovers: a house built to eat and to last.

The verdict?

Stay tuned …

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As a self-proclaimed foodie, I should have something in my apartment that represents my food personality. Since I don’t cook and have yet to publish my version of Kitchen Confidential dubbing me the girl version of Anthony Bourdain, I have to resort  to old school methods. Stealing…

I actually blame this on my mother who forced me to steal the soup spoons and bowls from Benihana at a far too early age. If I got caught, she could blame it on the child. Only problem, after stealing of course, is deciding which one of us was/is the child.

The first and only time I got caught shoplifting I was nine and had been stealing from the local Sanrio store in Key Biscayne for months. Who could resist Pekkle, Keroppi, and Batz Maru? Not me … Hello Clepto.

I made a killing selling these stolen goods to my fellow fourth graders. But like all good things must come to an end, so  did my part-time as a Sanrio sales representative. They (the owners) never saw it coming – they loved me. I was their best client. In order to go unnoticed I  would use some of  my earnings towards buying my own Sanrio stuff. The rest went to Sir Pizza and the underground arcade at The Sonesta (that I got banned from, but that’s another story). My parents got called to the scene of the crime, and when asking me the million dollar question ‘why did you do this?’ I responded mommy makes me do it at Benihana.

This was when I realized how good I was with my mouth…

My parents paid off my debt and then some to cover the months of losses the store had been tracking and had no explanation for. My parents threw away all the Sanrio stuff I had worked so hard for, and my mom made sure to tell me that it was wrong to steal anything that had a price tag on it or belongs to someone else – restaurant plates and the such is OK because a lot of people use those. Clearly I was raised by wolves …

Momma-wolf’s advice came in handy when thinking of how to decorate  my kitchen, which rarely gets used since I can’t cook a damn thing. I’ve decided on a menu wall- menu’s from iconic places and the restaurants that mean something to me.

And I almost have all the pieces in place.

My most current acquisition: Serendipity. Having recently opened a location here in Lincoln Road on South Beach, Serendipity is a special addition to the pile because for starters the menu is huge, and quite impressive to steal unnoticed, and second it’s the main location for one of my favorite movies (Serendipity, duh) and my next tattoo.

What does it mean? Fortunate accident.

The word actually derived from a Persian tale titled the ‘The Three Princes of Serendip.’ The heroes of which ‘were always making discoveries by accidents and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of … much like my life, or at least I like to think so.

And just when I wasn’t in quest of this menu I had the perfect opportunity to take not one, but three. Gave one back, so I have two – since like Serendipity I too am serious about food. One for the opening page with the great word and what it stands for, and the other open for its various and greatly named menu items.

I’ll go into the food another time, as well as the rest of my great wall of restaurants…

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So about a year ago I wrote about a first date gone wrong where I compared my date to the walrus in the story of the walrus and the carpenter from Alice in Wonderland.

Today watching this at work I remembered that date. Truth be told, looking back it wasn’t all that bad as I, the carpenter, painted it out to be…

But you be the judge of that if you didn’t get a chance.

http://hotnhungry.com/2011/09/17/its-a-meat-market-out-there/

I’ve yet to try the oysters at Meat Market though…

And so the point of this is that I have left this blog long abandoned and without a valid excuse seeing as how I eat daily to you know … LIV.

So I am coming out from the bottom of the rabbit hole and attempting to do the impossible and open the next door. “Wait no, impassible. Nothing is impossible.”

Question is where will that door take me?

Hopefully to a dozen oysters…

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So tonight I find myself in new yet somewhat familiar territory. New because I’m wearing a dress to a place I usually wear pants to. That’s me, always likes to wear the pants, which could explain why I scare every guy off and since tonight I wanted to attract instead of scare I decided to change up my strategy.

So when we (the team) got invited to a private dinner party at Mansion my first thought was “they serve food at Mansion?” How did I not know about this? The five W’s that I so thoroughly learned about in journalism and learned to live by (who,what,when,where,why, and the magic h-how) immediately came to my head.

Who? Promoters and those they so desire to invite. Normally these are their own friends, people who can benefit while at they same time they benefit, and the best part? Everyone has a good time. Isn’t this the dream?

What? Red Steakhouse catered the dinner in family style dining fashion. Ten people to a table is much more than is intended to be fed by these plates, but then I remember not everyone is a fatass like me. And while they come for the music, the free alcohol and entrance to DJ booth aftermath I am here for the food, at least tonight. A simple mixed green salad with goat cheese (yuck) and raspberry vinaigrette was the start to this meal. I hate picking cheese off my salad, especially blue since it leaves strays, but when you find yourself at a dinner party of this caliber you shutup and eat anything, even blue cheese. Main course offered something for all tastes: fish, chicken, and meat. In this case you try all three. See, here is the number one rule at any dinner party as well as in life: try everything once, twice if you like it, and if you love it then well, quite honestly you’re fucked. The salmon only got one bite out of me, the chicken was worth a few thighs, and the meat? I had to get more from another table. Let’s talk side dishes. Grilled green asparagus and mac and cheese. Again, when served cheese at a party you eat cheese. In this particular case I liked it I just don’t know if that’s was the champagne’s influence or the simple fact that I find myself trying new things every day. Maybe a little of both. We sadly missed dessert since we just had to go to the bathroom. Lesson learned here: don’t break seal till after dinner.

When? Right now. Well actually dinner is over, but the party is very much going on. Barely starting …

Where? No other than Mansion nightclub, which recently renovated their boom box sound club for one million dollars to compete with LIV and the other high end clubs including their very own. So what better way to up the ante than to throw dinner parties and then follow it up with an actual party. Makes me never want to leave. If only they would do breakfast… Then i would really never leave.

Why? In a city like Miami the best reason for a party is no reason and Mansion exemplifies this midweek on a Wednesday because, well we all have to relax throughout the middle of the work week. Ten girls to a table also make for interesting conversation. Tonight’s consisted of circumcision. Talk not action. Pros vs. cons. Learn something new every day. Apparently there is less need for circumcision now and so people are going to stop undergoing this painful, and according to one of the girls at my table, castration like process. I guess she has a penis. For someone who has experience with the Jewish and the normal and is currently on her who knows what glass of champagne I’m going to hold back the urge to say what i feel and hide under my shell. No pun intended.

And lastly, how?

I don’t know. No, actually I have no effing idea. It’s a combination about being in the right place at the right time and making moves. And so in honor of my own advice and the champagne bottle that just arrived I have to keep making moves an burn off my dinner from Mansion at Mansion.

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I’ve been told I make things awkward. Truth be told I thrive on awkwardness, and so when I got invited out on a second date with someone whom my first date with was the epitome of awkward I immediately thought this ought to be good.

I even planned on recording my date with a nice little incognito USB recorder I bought. We’ll call this research for my book, and personal life of course. My plan didn’t work because the restaurant although nine floors above ground level and with Miami Beach as its backdrop was just as loud as any New York City restaurant. In fact, I kind of felt like I was in New York City as I entered the private psychedelic looking elevator that was barely big enough for my date and I, not to mention the group of French who rode up to Juvia with us.

Doors open and you’re greeted by a 22 feet plant wall and three very different looking hostesses who just so happen to speak French, cause doesn’t everyone in Miami, and looked so incredibly happy to see some of her fellow Parisians. A walk through the outside area first with totally open seating looking out onto Miami Beach makes you wonder how nobody thought of opening something here sooner. I was wishing our table would be here, but it wasn’t. This outside area leads to an inside that’s equally as open with glass windows all around and because they realize they took the everything you wanted away from you by putting you in here the creators of this place give you something worth looking to inside just as good: an open kitchen.

The living plant wall stretches through the entire restaurant and limestone tabletops and hand-woven chairs to give you the feel that although you are nowhere near sea level or below sea level as we are in Miami you are definitely at the beach. If this isn’t enough the servers are in khakis and white button downs with just the same amount of buttons open as my date. Miami is all around you.

Dates are always awkward especially when you’re 24 and going out with someone significantly older than you, but how much more awkward can it get after you coincidentally bump into his ex-wife on your first date? This is how I found out he was previously married. For me the most awkward part is always that initial moment when you get sat and handed your menus. You don’t know what to do. Do you read the menu but you’re not really reading cause you’re thinking you should be talking. Do you let him order because he’s older and he should be in control or do you want to show that you have a mind of your own and selective about what you put in your mouth?

Juvia’s menu is long and heavy and offers everything on one page just how I like it. No need to flip back and forth pretending to be reading. It’s much easier to just pretend you’re staring blank at this testament looking menu wondering what the fuck do I do next? My indecisive nature let him take charge not only because I can’t decide what I want since I want it all but because I want to see what he’s made of. Chivas on the rocks with sprite. So far so good. I got some sort of fruity whiskey drink with ginger and mint. It worked just as well.

The menu is exactly what you would expect from the people behind this: the Boulud and Nobu family. A blend of Asia executed  with classic French techniques infused with Peruvian flavors and Japanese textures.

Kumamoto oysters. He would order an aphrodisiac. Clever. Any guy that eats oysters likes it raw  and is by definition fully exposing himself like a sore or a wound. These were on a bed of seaweed and had some beautiful crisps on top for a crunch after the slime of the oyster.

A rock shrimp tiradito with aji amarillo alioli, red onion, and cilantro not to mention sweet potato. Appetizers are encouraged to be eaten with chopsticks as the the Japanese use for family style dining. The purpose of this is so that you eat with one end and flip them when you are going to pick at the plate at the center of the table. I’m dirty so I choose to just stick to one end of the stick.

As my entrée I chose the sea scallops plancha with maitake, shiitake mushrooms, garlic chips and what I think was bok choy. The garlic chips added the perfect balance to the softness of the scallop that was dripping of sea flavor and the buttery and garlic taste of the slimy shiitake.

He ordered the veal chop with lemon confit, parsnip puree, and dried fruit sauce. Since I have to have it all he cut me a giant piece of the chop for me to try. I couldn’t help but feel like I was being tested to see just what I could fit in my mouth and upon calling him out on it happened the best moment of the night: he choked on his piece of meat. While I had no problem with the veal he seemed to be having some difficulty with his steak knife. I cut his same meat with my regular wimpy knife. This is good though. It ensures that he doesn’t know how to use a knife and I don’t have to be scared of him killing me after I write this.

The only sad part of the night was when the desert came, which I found to be a bit bitter nothing like my date or the overall feel of the night. An apple tarte with some sort of ice cream. I had trouble even cutting it and sent a piece flying elsewhere. To think I almost got away with being smooth the entire meal.

As we walked out I wondered all the men who bring women here to woo them and use Juvia as a stepping stone for their “move.” Why wouldn’t you?  It sets it up perfectly. Miami at your fingertips, drinks that do the job, and food that screams at you to be eaten. We exited in the same elevator, which was way more psychedelic now after I ate shiitake mushrooms and was drunk. This was the perfect moment I thought, and what broke my chain of thought was the moment itself. A kiss. Oh. This guy is good.

But Juvia, or Yuvia as he called it is better.

Juvia. A place to seduce and be seduced, by the company, the environment, and the food.

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In a  world where everyone is looking for a story I have found that the best stories usually happen to those who seek to do, find, and experiment with the world around them. Now the key component to my theory is the world itself. This means what world you choose to live in because let’s face it, we don’t all live in the same reality, but as humans we have one thing that is inescapable to all of us and yet we forget it every day: you create the world around you.  

As an only child I was told since childhood that I was alone. Only child says it all. Everyday my mother reminded me of how alone I was, and that should they die at that precise moment I would have no one or nothing else and therefore have to produce everything for myself. Little did I know the impact this would have on me years later or how it would traumatize me for life and give me the idea for my book Only Child Syndrome coming circa 2025, or at least this is what my witch predicts.

I used to cry as a child thinking about this and visualizing the world as empty and pitch black with nothing but land and water and me in it, kind of like Wall-e, only Carla or whatever I would decide to call myself since no one is around to name me. How would I eat? What would I wear? Who would I talk to? And most importantly how would I have fun? Money never crossed my mind.

Children. So innocent…  

Eventually I realized that if there existed nothing for me I could create everything and it would be there for me to take and only me.  This is the way I see the world today even though I am not alone since thankfully my parents have yet to die, but in reality I am. We all are, and yet we turn to people on a daily basis to resolve things for us, make us feel loved or reassured, or simply keep us company. It’s bullshit. An illusion. What isn’t an illusion, however, and has become very real and the only tangible thing in this empty world is money. Money makes the world go round and 20 years later I find myself asking one question which answers all the others. How do I make more money than humanly possible to feed myself, buy myself clothes, surround myself with amusing people, and have more fun than I can possibly imagine?

This becomes a conflict when you don’t like the real world, which I don’t. It sucks. Corporate America is a joke. If it were up to me I would travel everywhere, eat what I want, say what I feel, and do as I please, but we have rules, morals, structure. Or so we think. Also an illusion. Who’s to  say what you can and can’t do? What’s good and what’s bad? What’s real and what’s more or less real?

We study our whole lives as part of a school system to learn what? And to get where? To graduate and then have to find a job in a well-known company or somewhere that has “promise and security.” Corporate America is the school system for adults, and we just can’t wait to get accepted to the best whatever the fuck you want to call it (we might as well call it prison) where you continue to do work assigned to you by someone else as it’s been done your whole life.

So how do you beat the system? Be radical. Create your own world with the elements around you that are already in place for a reason, and when you are as self-absorbed you believe that the reason is for your own success.

See I personally believe that everything that happens to me is so that I can write about it because, well I need to let other people know how crazy I am, and so I think I have this gift where I can write about nothing as I have been for the past 20 minutes and yet I am writing about everything that embodies the human experience, which is food, sex, drugs, emotions, and most importantly finding yourself in this world where you are ultimately alone.

And because this is a “food” blog (fucking structure) I’m posting something about “food”  tomorrow.

Maybe Friday. I’m a rebel.

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