The Grace of Fiamma: Butternut Squash Dumplings
'Twas an unusually warm November evening, and I was traipsing around Soho, two bags of just-purchased Sur La Table goodies in hand. The bag was heavy with pots, pans and linens, I was looking for a bowl of pasta before I continued on to that evening's cooking client.
Soho was holiday fabulous this dusk, as if we were all part of some massive TV-set. Chanel, D&G, Catherine Malandrino, and J Crew (OK, so the chain is a needle-scratch on the record of fabulousness) were filled with models and handsome Euro-something or others. Those walking by were chilly enough that cheeks were a-glow, but warm enough that the gloves and hats were stylish, not requisite. People were watching, knowing that this might be the last time you get to see a glimpse of thigh through an unbuttoned coat for a few months.
Eager for a bowl of pasta, I came upon "Fiamma". The name was written boldly on the building, in a way that let you know this was a place you could relax and enjoy and be taken away from New York, which so very New York.
I recognized the logo but had never been to the place, ah yes, one of my dearest clients has a little Fiamma magnet on her fridge. That said, this is part of the B. R. Guest restaurant chain, and I'm generally opposed to chain dining. But my client knows how to eat well; let's look at the menu...braised pig bellies and radicchio, truffles and finocchio. High-end formerly peasant yum where I could learn a few things and recreate it at home: my favorite. But did I really want to plunk down $25 for a pasta I'd have to eat in 30 minutes? This was a fabulous meal when I need a fabulous meal on some special occasion, tonight this might be overkill.
Then I reminded myself; this is a special occasion. I am working like mad, traveling a whole lot, and I'm here in my beloved City of New York craving a bowl of incredible pasta. I will give it a try.
I walked in and 3 hostesses swarmed me, trying to get me to put down my bags before I entered the dining room. Their attentiveness made me nervous; I held the bags closer. I told them that I would look at the room before making a decision (2nd floor, madame).
There was a lone extraordinarily attractive man seated at the bar, which really should have been enough for me, but I decided to pass. The room was too elegant, I was in too much of a rush, I couldn't possibly enjoy Fiamma properly this evening.
I returned to the lobby where I asked the host if he could recommend a restaurant in the area that would be a bit simpler, as I only had a half-hour for an excellent bowl of pasta.
He was an incredibly charming native Italian, who simultaneously relieved me of my packages, removed my coat, and insisted that I give him the opportunity to serve me a bowl of their pasta. He had the soothing grace of an old-world front-of-the-house master; everything that has been missing from my surly Brooklyn dining experiences of late.
He led me to the bar upstairs (again), and I commented on their cookbook which was hard to miss. The cover was clean and bold, and although it was a restaurant book, you had the feeling there would be delicious recipes inside for dishes that home cooks could actually make. Without skipping a beat, he said, "The book, please accept it as a gift." I was shocked by the overture and he reassured, "It is a Holiday present to all our guests this month. We ordered so many; now we give it to you."
I did a little calculation in my head; that more than amortized the cost of my pasta. Yippee! Score one for frugal gal. Back to gracious gal, "That is too generous and kind; I appreciate it."
We went to the bar, he told me of his favorite pasta, the Garganelli. A quill, so it's tubular and penne-like, but with horizontal lines instead of vertical. It is rolled daily by one of his two full-time female pasta makers. The sauce, of course, changes seasonally, today it is with black truffles and treviso in a cream sauce.
Without looking at the menu I said, "I shall have it!" He spoke to the bartender, "Madame will have the garganelli, and a glass of Prosecco on me. She is in a bit of a hurry, and has no more than 30 minutes. Please take good care." With this, he presented the Fiamma cookbook and left me to my dinner.
I do not know this man. I have never been in the restaurant. The night was young, perhaps he wanted the intrigue of a young woman dining alone at the bar. I haven't any idea. But I will tell you, this man took great care of me in the restorative way a restaurant was designed to.
If you want to experience al dente pasta perfection, please come to Fiamma, sit and eat alone, and close your eyes as your teeth press through the noodle. Sometimes cooking and eating, like great vistas or music, cannot be described, they must be experienced to be truly understood. Perfect pasta is an example of this.
While I was enjoying, a group of three expensive women sat next to me at the bar. These were Wealthy New Yorkers, bejeweled and furred, colored and tinted, waxed and dermabraised. They had the pinched lips and wrinkled brows of women who have spent many years letting others know, nonverbally, how displeased they are with what's being presented.
They ordered drinks, but found the vodka options to be lacking (there were at least 16 different vodkas). "You don't have the citrus flavor?" "Not in Ketel One, but in Belvedere." "Ach, horrible. How could you overlook that?" Each was more demanding and shrill than the other. I watched as one of the waiters rolled his eye to another waiter; I forgive them this and encourage it in fact; with patrons this horrible, you have to let your steam out somehow.
These were the same servers who were so wonderful to me, so well trained by our host, now taking abuse from harsh women who simply wouldn't give these men the chance to treat them well. Their mistake.
To complete the meal, I was offered a petitfore plate and a shot of espresso; I relaxed and accepted both. I believe I stayed there for an entire 45-minutes, increasingly blissed out with each passing moment. The check? They refused to give me one. My host took care of everything, and for this girl, on this particular evening, this was a more gracious gift than he could possibly know.
Butternut Squash Dumplings
Serves 6 as a meal. Uncooked gnocchi freeze well.
These flavored gnocchi are not from Fiamma, but I made these with my Fiamma-loyal client last week and loved them. Perfect with Sage Brown Butter Sauce.
1 medium butternut squash (1 pound), halved lengthwise, seeds removed
1 pound russet potatoes (about 4), punctured with the tines of a fork
1 egg
2 tablespoons kosher salt
A few grates of fresh nutmeg
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus additional, for dusting
1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Place the squash flesh side down on a pan and roast until very tender (about 45 minutes). Bake potatoes directly on the rack of oven for 1 hour.
2. Prepare a large pot of boiling water on the stove. Halve the potatoes and allow to cool until you can handle them, but keep them somewhat warm (this will help bind a better, lighter dumpling). Remove the flesh of the potatoes and the squash and discard the skins. Mash the flesh with a hand masher. Add the egg, salt and nutmeg and mix. Then add the flour and mix with a wooden spoon or with your hands until a soft dough forms. Add flour by the small handfull if it's still too moist.
3. Turn the pasta dough out onto a floured surface and divide into 8 portions. Use your fingers to roll the dough into 1-inch wide tubes. Use a bench scraper or a knife to cut these tubes into 1-inch pieces, then use your finger to press the dumplings against the tines of the back of a fork, and gently roll off. One side of the gnocchi should have the impression of the tines while the other should have an indentation from your finger.
4. Drop the gnocchi, one at a time, into the pot of boiling water. Do not overcrowd the pot. As they begin to float, remove them with a slotted spoon, toss them with browned butter sauce and serve.
Soho was holiday fabulous this dusk, as if we were all part of some massive TV-set. Chanel, D&G, Catherine Malandrino, and J Crew (OK, so the chain is a needle-scratch on the record of fabulousness) were filled with models and handsome Euro-something or others. Those walking by were chilly enough that cheeks were a-glow, but warm enough that the gloves and hats were stylish, not requisite. People were watching, knowing that this might be the last time you get to see a glimpse of thigh through an unbuttoned coat for a few months.
Eager for a bowl of pasta, I came upon "Fiamma". The name was written boldly on the building, in a way that let you know this was a place you could relax and enjoy and be taken away from New York, which so very New York.
I recognized the logo but had never been to the place, ah yes, one of my dearest clients has a little Fiamma magnet on her fridge. That said, this is part of the B. R. Guest restaurant chain, and I'm generally opposed to chain dining. But my client knows how to eat well; let's look at the menu...braised pig bellies and radicchio, truffles and finocchio. High-end formerly peasant yum where I could learn a few things and recreate it at home: my favorite. But did I really want to plunk down $25 for a pasta I'd have to eat in 30 minutes? This was a fabulous meal when I need a fabulous meal on some special occasion, tonight this might be overkill.
Then I reminded myself; this is a special occasion. I am working like mad, traveling a whole lot, and I'm here in my beloved City of New York craving a bowl of incredible pasta. I will give it a try.
I walked in and 3 hostesses swarmed me, trying to get me to put down my bags before I entered the dining room. Their attentiveness made me nervous; I held the bags closer. I told them that I would look at the room before making a decision (2nd floor, madame).
There was a lone extraordinarily attractive man seated at the bar, which really should have been enough for me, but I decided to pass. The room was too elegant, I was in too much of a rush, I couldn't possibly enjoy Fiamma properly this evening.
I returned to the lobby where I asked the host if he could recommend a restaurant in the area that would be a bit simpler, as I only had a half-hour for an excellent bowl of pasta.
He was an incredibly charming native Italian, who simultaneously relieved me of my packages, removed my coat, and insisted that I give him the opportunity to serve me a bowl of their pasta. He had the soothing grace of an old-world front-of-the-house master; everything that has been missing from my surly Brooklyn dining experiences of late.
He led me to the bar upstairs (again), and I commented on their cookbook which was hard to miss. The cover was clean and bold, and although it was a restaurant book, you had the feeling there would be delicious recipes inside for dishes that home cooks could actually make. Without skipping a beat, he said, "The book, please accept it as a gift." I was shocked by the overture and he reassured, "It is a Holiday present to all our guests this month. We ordered so many; now we give it to you."
I did a little calculation in my head; that more than amortized the cost of my pasta. Yippee! Score one for frugal gal. Back to gracious gal, "That is too generous and kind; I appreciate it."
We went to the bar, he told me of his favorite pasta, the Garganelli. A quill, so it's tubular and penne-like, but with horizontal lines instead of vertical. It is rolled daily by one of his two full-time female pasta makers. The sauce, of course, changes seasonally, today it is with black truffles and treviso in a cream sauce.
Without looking at the menu I said, "I shall have it!" He spoke to the bartender, "Madame will have the garganelli, and a glass of Prosecco on me. She is in a bit of a hurry, and has no more than 30 minutes. Please take good care." With this, he presented the Fiamma cookbook and left me to my dinner.
I do not know this man. I have never been in the restaurant. The night was young, perhaps he wanted the intrigue of a young woman dining alone at the bar. I haven't any idea. But I will tell you, this man took great care of me in the restorative way a restaurant was designed to.
If you want to experience al dente pasta perfection, please come to Fiamma, sit and eat alone, and close your eyes as your teeth press through the noodle. Sometimes cooking and eating, like great vistas or music, cannot be described, they must be experienced to be truly understood. Perfect pasta is an example of this.
While I was enjoying, a group of three expensive women sat next to me at the bar. These were Wealthy New Yorkers, bejeweled and furred, colored and tinted, waxed and dermabraised. They had the pinched lips and wrinkled brows of women who have spent many years letting others know, nonverbally, how displeased they are with what's being presented.
They ordered drinks, but found the vodka options to be lacking (there were at least 16 different vodkas). "You don't have the citrus flavor?" "Not in Ketel One, but in Belvedere." "Ach, horrible. How could you overlook that?" Each was more demanding and shrill than the other. I watched as one of the waiters rolled his eye to another waiter; I forgive them this and encourage it in fact; with patrons this horrible, you have to let your steam out somehow.
These were the same servers who were so wonderful to me, so well trained by our host, now taking abuse from harsh women who simply wouldn't give these men the chance to treat them well. Their mistake.
To complete the meal, I was offered a petitfore plate and a shot of espresso; I relaxed and accepted both. I believe I stayed there for an entire 45-minutes, increasingly blissed out with each passing moment. The check? They refused to give me one. My host took care of everything, and for this girl, on this particular evening, this was a more gracious gift than he could possibly know.
Butternut Squash Dumplings
Serves 6 as a meal. Uncooked gnocchi freeze well.
These flavored gnocchi are not from Fiamma, but I made these with my Fiamma-loyal client last week and loved them. Perfect with Sage Brown Butter Sauce.
1 medium butternut squash (1 pound), halved lengthwise, seeds removed
1 pound russet potatoes (about 4), punctured with the tines of a fork
1 egg
2 tablespoons kosher salt
A few grates of fresh nutmeg
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus additional, for dusting
1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Place the squash flesh side down on a pan and roast until very tender (about 45 minutes). Bake potatoes directly on the rack of oven for 1 hour.
2. Prepare a large pot of boiling water on the stove. Halve the potatoes and allow to cool until you can handle them, but keep them somewhat warm (this will help bind a better, lighter dumpling). Remove the flesh of the potatoes and the squash and discard the skins. Mash the flesh with a hand masher. Add the egg, salt and nutmeg and mix. Then add the flour and mix with a wooden spoon or with your hands until a soft dough forms. Add flour by the small handfull if it's still too moist.
3. Turn the pasta dough out onto a floured surface and divide into 8 portions. Use your fingers to roll the dough into 1-inch wide tubes. Use a bench scraper or a knife to cut these tubes into 1-inch pieces, then use your finger to press the dumplings against the tines of the back of a fork, and gently roll off. One side of the gnocchi should have the impression of the tines while the other should have an indentation from your finger.
4. Drop the gnocchi, one at a time, into the pot of boiling water. Do not overcrowd the pot. As they begin to float, remove them with a slotted spoon, toss them with browned butter sauce and serve.
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 8:59 AM
4 Comments:
What a wonderful visit to Soho! You painted a fabulous picture of NYC pre-holidays. I felt as if I had been there with you. What a marvelous experience. I'm looking forward to eating there with you someday.
YKW
Who says New Yorkers aren't friendly? Sounds wonderful.
i felt like i was reading a romantic novel. i didn't want it to end... by the way, the recipe sounds delicious too!
WELL, THAT'S WHAT MAKES A HORSERACE
I went to Fiamma on your recomendation, almost the exact same senario, but oh so different. First of all, I stood in the lobby for minutes looking for some cue, some clue of what to do, where to go. I remembered something about "upstairs" in your diary and headed that way when suddenly, out of nowhere, I was accosted from below, "may I help you? The upstairs is CLOSED." OK, "how about some pasta?" I exclaimed, trying to put on my best world weary but expectant shopper face in need of some comfort. I looked longingly at their cookbook perched on the host's stand. This one was having none of it. In fact, she was eyeing me rather suspiciously. Had I forgot to shower this morning? Was my fly open? Was puss oozing from some crevice unawares to poor me? Needless to say, I didn't get the book. Once @ the bar (downstairs) I was ignored for about another ten minutes while waiters bustled to and fro helping all of three customers in their admittedly handsome dining room. The pasta, well...properly cooked but swimming in sauce, full of flavor but overly rich. I asked for a glass of wine and the waiter braught me a quartino and charged me accordingly. This corporate giant wasn't looking favorably upon MY needs (hmm... maybe because I wasn't sucking on my finger). In any event, an hour later and about sixty five dollars poorer I walked back out into the windswept NY winter's afternoon feeling light headed like a dixy cup and ready as not to be crushed again as such.
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