Everything Old is New Again

When we were in Spain, I noted on more than one occasion how traditional dishes were the springboard for creative contemporary dishes - a new-age variant of a Gilda pintxo at Akelaŕe, an apertivo of puding de kabrarroka at Arzak. This is hardly a new idea. There's a long line of chefs who play with variations on classics. Here is just one local example from here in Miami - oeufs à la gelée, inspired by Fernand Point's Ma Gastronomie. The use of classic combinations in conjunction with contemporary techniques, or alternatively, classic presentations with untraditional ingredients, is often an effective way to mediate the tension between neophilia and neophobia* (or, to skip the fancy lingo, "I want something new" vs. "I want something familiar") inherent in any dining experience.

Indeed, there seems to be plenty of looking backwards these days, with Zagat sponsoring a series of "Vintage Dinners" - including this magnificent offering from Thomas Keller and Jonathan Benno of Per Se from a few months ago (salmon coulibiac; lobster thermidor; veal a la maintenon; grand kugelhof - we're going to party like it's 1899!).

But in a recent post on the new Atlantic Food Channel, Grant Achatz of Alinea (as usual) takes it to another level. In "New Fusion: Making Old Modern," instead of using old recipes as a jumping-off point for the use of new techniques, he talks instead about the incorporation of classic recipes, lock stock and barrel, into contemporary menus, for purposes of contrast and comparison:

Can the juxtaposition of modern and classic preparations within the same menu elevate each by giving a clearer perspective of evolution? Or does it show how little cooking has really changed? Can it fulfill different emotional aspects through the contrasts? Will people even notice? Is it a moment of gastronomic time travel?

Most of these questions probably can't be answered until it's experienced, but they are all good questions to be asking. I've generally always been of the belief that there's a lot less that separates the "modern" and the "classic" than many people seem to think, but perhaps that assumption is off the mark. Are we ready for a Quantum Leap dining experience? And how long until Michael Mina comes up with a "time travel trio"?

*Borrowing a concept from Michael Pollan's great book, "The Omnivore's Dilemma", and redeploying it in a slightly different context.

El Carajo International Tapas & Wine - Miami

One of my colleagues, after seeing the Robert Rodriguez movie "From Dusk Till Dawn," described the scene in the Mexican bar, when Santanico Pandemonium (Salma Hayek) is dancing and ultimately reveals herself and the other bar denizens to be vicious vampires,* as the most dramatic paradigm shift since the transition from black and white to color in "The Wizard of Oz." That might be a stretch. But there's a comparable, though much more pleasant, paradigm shift when you walk into the gas station on the corner of US1 and S.W. 17th Avenue. Seemingly just an everyday gas station (used to be a Citgo, think it's now BP), once you go past the sodas and beers and sundries, you'll discover in the back a remarkable little wine shop and tapas bar which goes by the (apparently laden with double-entendre in Spanish) name of El Carajo.

The wall of wines lining the back holds a number of choices you'd never expect to find in a gas station. I just happened to be sitting last time in front of the Australia and South America sections, and glimpsed multiple different releases from Mollydooker, some Achaval-Ferrer Quimira, Montes Alpha Folly, and many other intriguing bottles. While the prices may not be the cheapest in town, here's a good deal - take anything off the wall, have it with your tapas, and you'll pay only $10 corkage.

The menu lists a surprisingly deep (for a gas station) selection of cold and hot tapas as well as paellas and more substantial entrees. I've stuck mostly with the tapas. On a recent visit I tried boquerones, very nice Spanish white anchovies in a pungent vinaigrette loaded with onion; fresh sardines, grilled and bathed in olive oil and lemon; and a tortilla de chorizo, a substantial slice for $4, redolent with the paprika-spiked sausage but a wee bit dry for my taste (though you rarely see here in the U.S. the more oozy tortillas you often find in Spain). On other occasions I've had their gambas al ajillo (decent), chistorras al vino (bright red little sausages cooked in wine, the wine and oil making a fantastic dipping sauce for their good bread), and a decent if somewhat oversalted caldo gallego.

When I first started to visit El Carajo, they used to have what I thought was possibly the finest tapa I'd ever eaten in South Florida - piquillo peppers stuffed with a bacalao mousse, lightly fried, and topped with a squid ink sauce. However, as a result of a chef change, the dish is now a shadow of its former self. When I last ordered it, the codfish stuffing was unpleasantly dry, and the sauce was just a nebbish red pepper sauce. This used to be a dish I'd actively pine for - it's now no longer worth ordering.

But there's still plenty else good to be had, somehow made all the more enjoyable by the incongruous location.

El Carajo International Tapas & Wine
2465 S.W. 17th Avenue
Miami, FL 33145
305.856.2424



*Now that I made you think of it, let me save you the effort: here's the trailer, and here's the dance scene in its entirety.

I'm all aTwitter ...

... and I don't know why. Surely there's a point to Twitter, and eventually I suppose I will figure out what it is. My present impression is that it is a curious mix of exhibitionism and voyeurism (a fortuitous pairing, no doubt), sprinkled with a healthy dose of banality. If you want to be there when the "eureka!" moment comes, follow me here.