It’s not often that a great chef happens by to chat over the garden fence. But that’s what happened a few weeks ago as Dave and I worked out in the veggie plots.  Mike Sweetman and his wife and daughter were out for a walk and found us with dirt under our fingernails. We ended up in a long conversation about food, all of us more than a little pleasantly surprised to find serious foodies just three houses apart on the same street!

So when Mike got a job at the River House in Pulaski (north of Syracuse, NY, for you international readers), he started sending us emails detailing the evening’s specials and we just couldn’t resist. We travel for food, and 40 minutes on 81-north isn’t too much of a sacrifice for a meal like the one that awaited us.

River House is smack dab in the middle of little Pulaski, so you can’t miss it even if you try. It’s sitting on a spot that has had one hotel, tavern or restaurant after another, each one burning down in turn. Well, we hope this one doesn’t follow suit! It’s a new building with ample parking, a ramp and stairs up to the front door, and three separate rooms for the public. The first is the bar, a casual place for dining and/or drinking. Then there are two distinct restaurant rooms, one of which you see here – look at the picture over the mantle to see one of the earlier iterations:

We were seated in the next room over (didn’t get a picture of it) and, after looking over the menu, decided to go with the specials that Mike had put together for the evening:

The appetizer:  SURF AND TURF- Pan seared tenderloin and scallop medalions – shitake mushroom – white truffle butter:

I don’t quite know how to convey the series of sensations that this dish caused to take place in my mouth. Every bite was a descent into the depths of every flavor Chef Mike could bring out of the simple ingredients. I do not remember ever having had a scallop so expertly prepared, incredibly moist and tender, the caramelization and black pepper contrasting so pleasingly with the tender textures and flavors of the interior. Amazingly, the tenderloin provided the same experience, in its own beefy way. Even the bit of greens was an eye-opener. Heavenly.

Dave ordered the pasta dish, described by Mike thus:

PASTA – Shrimp & Angelhair al’ Arrabbiata – Seared jumbo shrimp – house-made arrabbiata sauce – aglio spinach.

“Arrabbiata sauce is made with whole plum tomatoes, garlic, basil, sugar, olive oil. It has a very faint spice and is sweet and just a nice hint of garlic. I know it may sound a bit strange; arrabbiata means angry. It was made by an old Italian chef who got pissed off one night and threw a pan of sauce that landed with another; someone tried it and loved it. There is nothing angry about how it tastes.”

Again, expert handling of the seafood, and this time a sauce that was certainly not angry-making, but indeed surprising. I don’t like sweet stuff in my dinners, yet in this case the wee bit of sugar was used like a salt or a spice. It just brought out the best in the sauce. Dave was very kind to let me have as much of it as he did.

My own meal was something I haven’t dared to order in decades, literally. Delmonico steak. I have fond memories of one of these from back in the’70′s, and every other one since then has disappointed. Well, not tonight. Mike managed to coax out all those deep, dark layers of flavor that a good Delmonico should deliver.

Delmonico steak – caramelized onions – white truffle butter – wild mushroom risotto:

The caramelized onions were the deepest brown I’d ever seen. I asked Mike about this some time later and he said that those onions are in the pan for over an hour. It takes that long for all the chemical changes to take place. This is dedication to an onion ideal.

The wild mushroom risotto was as good as my own. I don’t make a lot of really outstanding food (most of it is good to pretty good), but I’m picky when it comes to risotto being done right. I make a good one. But this one was every bit as good… okay, it was better. It was sooo good! When I need comfort food, this is what I want.

Most meals fall into one of three categories:

1. It’s pretty bad, but we’re traveling in upstate New York and there’s no good food for fifty miles so we’d better just shut up and eat.

2. It’s a decent meal. You know, most of it is average but one or two items are really good, worth considering a return trip.

3. It’s memorable. Everything is right – the lighting, the service, the food, the beverage selection. One or two items are truly outstanding and the rest is quite good. But mostly, you’re glad you came and will return some day.

But then there are those meals that just build, one course at a time, from one excellent experience to another. The care that the chef or cook takes, the feel that they have for what treatment would make these ingredients really sing, is evident in every single bite.

We’ve had two other experiences like this just in the past few months; once at Amada Restaurant, chef Jose Garces’ place in Philadelphia. We were eating their tapas menu and at one point, overcome with sensation, I simply started weeping. I couldn’t help it! Fue superior a mí.  It bested me.

The next time was at the home of a couple we happened to meet at an art opening in Albany. They guided us slowly through course after course, and at one point that feeling of overwhelm started to bubble up. Trying to look like a rational human being, I dabbed daintily at my eyes and admitted that it was all so delicious I was moved to tears.

And wouldn’t you know, it happened again at some point at the River House Restaurant – probably during the steak. You don’t get this with just one great dish. It’s like a symphony – every instrument has to be in tune and every movement has to be played not only expertly but with feeling and even love. If you have never cried at some point while listening to the Ode to Joy, then you might not know what I’m talking about.

But you might give it a shot at the River House. Tell them you read this blog and you want Mike’s suggestions for the evening. I’d be interested to know how it goes for you.

That’s Chef Mike Sweetman. Actually, he’s adamant about introducing himself as co-chef along with co-chef Sam Carpenter, whom he dragged out of the kitchen so we’d know who was responsible for part of the meal.

The RiverHouse Restaurant is at 4818 Salina Street, Pulaski, N.Y. 13142
Phone: (315) 509-4281

Steaks of Cheese

It would almost be unfathomable to experience Philly cuisine without mentioning the venerable cheesesteak.  We tried some early in our trip.  For our first taste, we went to the famous Jim’s on South St.  I ordered a steak “prov wit”, which, I was led to understand, means added provolone cheese with onions.  Amusingly, the cook said “with what?”, so there went my attempt to use the local jargon.  He probably felt he had to ask that because they get so many out-of-towners there.  Anyway, the steak was finely chopped and quite tasty, and on that day the one steak was plenty for both of us.  A couple days later we tried Tony Jr’s, and this time I ordered “wiz without”.  Despite my cheese snobbery, I decided to go with Philly tradition and get Cheese Whiz.  This proved to be a good decision – the whiz melted better than the provolone had at Jim’s, and this made for a nicer texture.  I also left out onions, because I like them carmelized, and the onions at Jim’s had been barely cooked.  Finally, we thought the bun was better at Tony’s, a nice slightly chewy Italian roll.  So this was my preferred steak.  It was fun doing the steak thing, but we had, oh, 10 more national cuisines to work on.  It’s worth noting that Philly residents do not agree on which cheesesteak place is best, nor do they even agree on what’s the proper method of preparation.

Pizza

I had heard very good things about Gianfranco Pizza Rustica.  Near the end of our stay (sniff!), we happened to be right near the one on 11th street.   It looks quite modest, very much like your typical pizze takeout place with a few tables.  Not needing a full meal, I asked them what they’d recommend.  They were non-commital, saying everything was good, and I ended up choosing a slice of broccoli pizza.  They heated it for me, and just like the decor, it looked like any other broccoli slice.  But then, whoa, the crust!  Delicious, light, thin, just slightly crunchy without being at all carbony, a perfect texture in your mouth, I’ve never had better.  The cheese and topping were excellent, and we both loved it.  Next time I’m there, I’m going to have to get a very large pie. Or two.  Or three.  Those people were right!

This is a small restaurant that has a clean, modern, attractive design. The lighting was excellent: not the fluorescent glare so often found in Asian restaurants but rather the soft golden light usually found in more upscale restaurants. Service was quick at the beginning, but “mistakes were made.” No notice was taken of some unfolding unhappiness.

We started with the Crispy Spring Rolls, in part because we’d learned to love the crispy New Century’s Shrimp Rolls (Syracuse) that have had us enthralled for years. The spring rolls were crispy as advertised, hot and flavorful. But they still couldn’t touch the lacy crunch or the sublime spicing of the New Century version.

I ordered the Crispy Noodle Tofu, looking for something akin to the crispy noodle dish that used to be served at Syracuse’s Pho Saigon (sadly, it’s gone out of business). The noodles I was served were crispy and mildly flavorful; the vegetables were cooked just right. But the tofu was not special in any way and the sauce left me wondering if anyone in the kitchen knew anything about Vietnamese spicing. It was tasty in the way that Chinese-American food is tastier than McDonalds, but it left me searching for ways to brighten it up. I tossed in some of the dipping sauce left over from the appetizer. I put dots of Sriracha sauce all over it. I tore up mint leaves, again from the appetizer, and tossed them about. Bit by bit, I coaxed some flavor from it. But it wasn’t the exciting dining we’ve come to expect from any Vietnamese restaurant.

Dave ordered the Shrimp Sate Sauce, and his experience was even worse than mine. Dave adores Vietnamese food. He’s usually capable of making vast quantities of food disappear in a short period of time. But I soon realized that, incredibly, he was picking at his food. By the end of the meal, he’d left half the shrimp on the plate – a first! – swimming in an insipid sauce that he said lacked the snap and vitality that he enjoys in Vietnamese food.

Partway through our meal, a very smiling waiter came to let us know that it was “last call” for food as the kitchen was going to close. This was a new one for us, but we feel for chefs and didn’t mind. Still, service basically stopped at that point and no-one noticed that the gentleman at the corner table wasn’t eating his dinner. It wasn’t that it was bad – he would have sent it back – it just wasn’t good.

It was at that point that I looked around.  “Dave,” I said, “What’s missing from this restaurant?” He glanced up.

“Vietnamese,” he replied.

And that was the problem. The Vietnam Cafe seems to be catering to the clientele: Caucasian students.  There was not one Asian person in the place, unlike at Pho Xe Lua in Chinatown, where we had eaten some of the best Vietnamese food we’ve ever had.  Nope, no Vietnamese here, not the people and, sadly, not the food.

The ladies who waited on us were very sweet.  We asked them which beans were freshest that day, and ordered the two that they named, Sumatra and Brazilian Santos.  We had fun watching the “scientific” brewing method, and then we were treated to the most elegant coffee presentation I can recall – each of us received a decorative small tray with a delicate china cup of aromatic brew.  Next to the cup were a tiny spoon, a cookie, and an adorable tiny pitcher of cream, all sitting on a little circular doily.

The flavor of the coffees had a very clean aspect, with the Sumatra being a bit smokier.  Both were totally delicious without being heavy.  It got Lonnie thinking about refinements she could make in her vacuum pot brewing technique.  And all this for prices comparable to some of the fancier Starbucks offerings.

After this delightful prelude, we went down the street to Rangoon Restaurant.    We love food from the Pacific Rim, but this was our first chance to have Burmese food.  Lonnie ordered Coconut Chicken, and I went for Beef Kebab.  The lunches included gently aromatic chicken soup and fried rice.  We were dazzled by the vibrant, savory flavors, with the beef having a stronger spice kick.  How much for each of these stunning lunches?  For about the price of a cheesesteak, a full meal in a fine atmosphere served by extremely pleasant staff.  Like anybody visiting Philly, we’ve enjoyed multiple cheesesteaks, and have been given amusingly contradictory advice on where we should go to get them, not to mention admonitions about how our choices were wrong.  Let’s see, I’m thinking about it… cheesesteak or Burmese full gourmet lunch with exemplary service??   Hmmmmmm… thinking, thinking… I think I’ll take Rangoon.  Sorry, cheese claim-steakers!

On our way out into the brilliant sunshine, we talked about how fortunate we were to sample a cuisine for the first time, and how phenomenal the food is all over Philly!