Pizza.

Let me preface this entry with a disclaimer:
I, David Mattera, am, in actuality, not a cocky person. When I say things that come off as arrogant, it's a product of my ironic disposition. If I were to say something like, "Statuesque, like this guy?" pointing to myself, it would be out of the irony that I am not statuesque. In this instance, however, the meal I made tonight really did turn out pretty bangin'...ly.

Allora, that being said let me tell you about it.

I finished up with my last class of the night around 6:30 and from there, went to the bus stop to catch the first bus down Broad st. towards my apartment. I caught a bus that was going to the bus depot figuring I could get off at Robinson and Park, about 4 blocks from my apartment (I hope I haven't given away too much private information). However, the bus driver, seemingly out of spite, took me all the way to the depot, about 12-15 blocks from my apartment. I mention this only to give context to my hunger. Oh yeah, and I hadn't eaten since breakfast, which was wonderfully filling chocolate chip pancakes. Thanks Erynn and Grace!

On the way home, I had more than expected time to think about what to eat. "Chinese? I could cook something but it's late to do anything intricate. I wish I had a big pot of soup ready but I'm sweating and that wouldn't help" I said in my head. At least I hope that was in my head. I was getting a lot of strange looks, come to think of it. Nevermind. Long story...still long, I arrived at the decision to look at what we'd bought the other day before deciding anything. That was my decision until I reached Arianna's Grill, at the end of my block (oh geez. That IS way too much information). "I'll get a pizza crust and use my sauce and cheese and make a pizza!"
"What?" said the guy smoking a cigarette outside the door.

I bought a small crust worth of dough, $3, and rushed home. I flattened the dough into a rough pizza shape with plenty of flour on my cutting board so it wouldn't stick. I threw on some of my homemade sauce, which is:

-Canned, whole tomatoes, rinsed and blended until pleasantly chunky
-onions, sweated in oil and a little bit of butter
-a few leaves of basil at the end
-8 hours in a crock pot on high

On the sauce I put some sliced up Polly-O whole milk mozzarella. It's no "di bufala", but it's good for pizza. Not too much either. I left some spaces. In those spaces I put ricotta cheese and sprinkled on some Parmesan. On to that, I added some basil leaves and a squirt of olive oil. I was ready to put it in the ove...THE MOST IMPORTANT INGREDIENT.

Black Truffle butter.
A few little wedges of what has become one of my primary staple food items and into the oven it went. Now, the key is heat. That's how cooking works...

But in the case of pizza, you want a ton of heat under the crust, like you'd get from a pizza stone. I don't have one, but I have a pizza tray and a gas oven with a broiler. I layered the bottom of the oven with foil so I didn't have to clean anything up and cranked the oven to broil, leaving it for ample time to get really hot. When hot, I put the pizza, on the tray, on the floor of the oven, directly over the flames.

In about 6 minutes I had, ready to go, a scorching hot, molten pizza. So hot, in fact, that I felt the heat quite plainly through my silicone oven mitt. I let cool for a moment and then dug in.

Here goes with the aforementioned cockiness. I can only compare it to two pizzas I've ever had. One, the pizza my brother made when he came home from France after culinary school. The other, from Pizzeria Brandi in Naples where the Margarita pizza was invented. The crust on my pizza was beautifully charred on the bottom and perfectly soft on the top. The sauce was sweet but not cartoonishly so and not over spiced with weird things like some sauces tend to be. The cheese was melty and smooth but thin enough that there was no pulling off a sheet of cheese leaving tomato stained flat bread. Separating the mozzarella with ricotta made each bit a mixture of flavors and consistencies. The basil was frozen fresh and didn't get soggy or too dry and hit a spot on the palate that would have gone wanting otherwise. Then the truffle butter gives a perfectly complementary aspect that doesn't overpower but doesn't go unnoticed and certainly not unappreciated. When people ask what truffles taste like, I have trouble describing the flavor but I do so saying, "It's a savory and earthy and it makes you want more."
(Sometimes, for those more likely to not have food easily ruined by unusual description, I describe them as a "delicious, garlicy fart.")

The best part was the crust though. I admittedly didn't make the crust by hand but by cooking it at such an intense temperature, it became the highlight of the evening–though, the night is young.
A meal for the ages. It makes me think of how wonderful it is to be alive.

Lunch time: What a beautiful thing

It's that time again. The time after I get off work, before I start reading and scrambling to do the work I haven't done over the week I've had to do it the day before it's due. What to eat? What do I have? What do I need? Who am I REALLY? Those questions are often answered with the assistance of the great people over at Belmont Butchery, which happens to be next door to the flower shop where I work. Not only is that the case, but my brother works there and it's nice to see him too. So today, after a fairly brief day at work, I popped over with food on the mind and money in the bank (shorty, whachoo drank?) I had a little chat with Tanya, the proprietor and then a menu came to mind.

"I have sauce, chicken cutlets my dad made, and mozzarella cheese. I should buy guanciale, and bread and put it all together to make a super chicken parm" said my internal dialogue. So that's what I did. I brought home my goodies, and started cutting and cooking.

I started by sauteing the guanciale, which is pig cheek by the way, on its own in a pan until it was crispy. After I had done that, I emptied out the fat, leaving a sufficient sheen in the pan, and threw in my pre-made chicken cutlets (sounds bad, but pre-made by hand by my father, so it isn't). I dumped a big spoon of sauce on each one and then a little water and a little white wine. I added the water and wine to make sure my sauce didn't dry out and then I could create some steam to more thoroughly heat my chicken. While that sizzled, I sliced open my Flour Garden bread (the best in Richmond, hands down), and crumbled in the guanciale on one side, then cut pieces of mozzarella on top. On the other side, I put my chicken pieces and the sauce. I popped the two sides into a 400something degree oven for about 5 minutes to melt the cheese and crisp the bread.

S'pretty good. I sprinkled on a bit of Parmesan cheese and dove in. The sauce and wine combo mixed with the slightly smoky baconesc cheek meat and the breaded chicken...ah. And then melted cheese. Need I say more? I would be happy to buy this sandwich in a restaurant. Not to pat myself on the back or anything. That's why I keep it at s'pretty good and now s'incredible. Although "Sincredible" would make an AWESOME metal band name.

Buz and Neds

This first post with content will be about my meal tonight. A man date with Mr. Alan Guild. Alan had texted me earlier in the day about getting dinner. I would be working till 7:30 or so. Upon my release from job #2 for the day, and after a day of not eating anything after my peanut butter and honey sandwich this morning at 10:30 (I usually make a more substantial meal before a day where I won't have a chance to eat but I was preoccupied with trying to stop my elbow from bleeding. That's another story though), I called Alan and he had in fact not eaten. "Ribs, you say?" I said.

He mentioned he had never tried the award winning ribs at Buz and Ned's, so off we went. Buz and Ned's is a Richmond landmark ever since Buz went up against Bobby Flay on "Throwdown" on the food network. Needless to say, Buz destroyed Bobby Flay and a continuous loop of the episode plays in the restaurant. It has become the kind of place that doesn't really need to advertise anymore. On most nights, especially warm summer nights or any time when it is nice to be outside given their huge outdoor patio, there is a line out the door.

I was ravenous by this point, it having been almost 11 hours since I had last eaten. I flirted with the idea of the large pulled pork sandwich meal, which consists of two pulled pork sandwiches and 2 sides for the very reasonable price of $10.something, but I went with the small, which saves you about $2.something and is the same thing minus an excessive second sandwich.I chose hush puppies and baked beans for my sides. I guess I was feeling resentment towards vegetables. I ordered my meal, added a tea, filled up my cup and went to take a seat. I heard Alan behind me ordering the spare ribs. Spare ribs?! Why not the baby backs? As a great man once said, "If you're gonna do it, do it right." That great man was one of the guys who worked on rebuilding the balcony at my apartment the other day. He seemed quote worthy and our new balcony is kickin'!

After a decent, but expected wait, "David M. Order up" was announced. I heard, "David M? Europe." I sprang out of my seat, probably leaving Alan in mid-sentence. I don't care. I started by picking at my hush puppies. They were perfect. Crispy and hot, but not burning and the inside still the slightest bit doughy. I think it's funny that it's acceptable to take little nuggets of fried breading and dip them in butter. Next time I'll ask for them bacon wrapped as well. I quickly and accidentally finished my hush puppies and moved on to my baked beans. They were tangy with a great texture. Not like Bush's beans. These still have their bean shells very much intact whereas some baked beans are cooked to death and just turn into homogeneous, albeit delicious, mush. They have pieces of bacon ends which gives a great smokey flavor and enough green pepper to give that taste that is so familiar to bad microwavable Italian food, but it's very appropriate in this context. I didn't want to be finished before Alan even got his ribs, so I waited.

"Mike, Europe. Alan, Europe." Alan stood and I began my sandwich. The thought that I might be finished with my sandwich before he got back with his meal in hand crossed my mind. I paced myself. A little.

Now the thought comes into my mind that I might not want to just rave about everything in my blog. Maybe it was a bad idea to start with Buz in Ned's if that is indeed what I don't want to do because they really do do barbecue pretty close to perfectly. My sandwich was had perfect flavor and great texture. Alan's ribs were fantastic. I still think the baby back are better, but the spare ribs were very good and if you like ribs a little less falling-off-the-bone and with a bit more fibrous muscly texture, then are they way to go. I was very satisfied and it made for a lovely man date. I should have taken my camera but my emaciated state from a day of not eating and working left me without my better judgment.

So maybe I ought to make up a rating scale for restaurants? Can I really sum up how I feel in a number so scientifically? Here's what I'll do. I'll tell you whether you should go there. On that scale, Buz and Ned's receives a coveted, "Yes."

Until I dine again, I am faithfully and "plate-fully" yours,
David

In the beginning...

God created the heavens and the Earth and that other stuff. Then he was all like, "Man's gotta eat, aiight?" So he created food. It is from this 9th day of the creation story where I take my inspiration.

The idea for this blog started just a few days ago. Today is the 15th of September, 2009, by the way. I have been stressing lately about what to do for my career. It all began when I got back from Italy. (Cue dream wipe)...(interrupt dream wipe). I should mention, I went to Italy. But that is a completely different blog. Let's get back to that dream wi...(cue dream wipe)

I arrived home from Italy, a gastronomical and social adventure that has proven to be the best experience of my life, in early July. Shortly thereafter, I started to readjust to my native culture and homeland and in doing so, realized that I have absolutely no idea what I want out of life except happiness. I searched for a career path for several months arriving exactly back where I started, which was, needless to say, hanging out, talking to friends, drinking beer and cooking for myself. Cooking...

"You should go to culinary school!", some suggested. But naah. Poser! My brother did that and in his words, "Let me give a piece of unsolicited advice; don't go to culinary school." 'Nuff said.

So I began to ponder what I like to do and what can get me money. I came to a road block. It's not because the things I like to do don't make money as much as it is that I don't really have many real interests. (Really selling myself here.)

Well what do I do well? I write pretty well. I eat well and completely. I've never had trouble finishing what's on my plate. What do you get when you mix the two together? Food critic. And what do you call someone who gives unsolicited advice and critiques? A Mattera brother.

Alas, here we are. My first entry in my blog aptly titled "S'pretty Good." This is my reaction to the food I taste most of the time. Maybe it should have been, "s'pretty good. No?" But that domain was taken.

I have nothing to review or talk about much yet. I think I will structure this website as such:
Food Reviews: I will talk about restaurants I've been to lately and what I had and what I thought about it.
Food I make: I think food is beautiful. And my camera has a photo setting called, "food" so it makes everything I make or eat look appetizing. I think I'll just talk about what I've made recently and how it turned out.
Alcohol: I like beer, I like wine and I like mixed drinks so I think I'll talk about them. Which are my favorites. Which are the best bang for the buck.
Recipes: I'll discuss some good ideas for impressin' the 'laydays.' I mean not realllly impressing them but just something better than microwaving something or going out. Some simple recipes for people who don't often cook.

Let's see what happens, shall we?

Feedback is welcome and encouraged.
Yours,
David