Torn between two pizzas

My friend Tom, the aspiring pizzaiolo whom you met last week, seizes every chance to try and browbeat me into making a pie. "Enough with the pastas already," he harangues, implying that pasta making is, at best, a dubious skill. "You love pizza. You should make pizza. What's wrong with you?"

I told you he was a pain in the ass, didn't I?

In the couple decades I have known him, though, not once had his bullying proved successful. Until now.

Last week, after an item entitled "Roman-style pizza farce" appeared on this blog, an item where I may have mildly criticized his pizza-making abilities, my vowel-deprived compatriot managed to whip himself into an uncontrollable frenzy. Like a good man suddenly possessed (think Father Damien in "The Exorcist" except not as cute), Tom decided that he simply would not rest until I attempted to reproduce a pie he'd made, so as to see if I might make it as well. 

He emailed to me his demands, commented upon them on this blog, Skyped me incessantly to argue his case fully (and freely); the cheap bastard even picked up the phone one afternoon just to insist — insist I tell you — that I walk a mile in his King Arthur-dusted kitchen clogs before so recklessly stomping on them again.

I worry about my friend. And believe he isn't well. His blood pressure is not so good and so he must be medicated. Did I mention that he drinks? Probably shouldn't have. Forget I said anything, okay.

And so, after consulting, on Tom's behalf of course, an eminent mental health specialist in Vienna (or maybe it was Moonachie?), I decided to do the responsible thing and to make a freaking pizza, so that my dear, afflicted friend could just finally calm down. 

Here's how it started, a dough made with "00" and all purpose flour, adapted from a recipe provided by none other than my nemesis (thanks, nemesis). I'm not sure about this, but methinks it did not rise quite enough, as the dough turned out to be a bit dense. (That, or Tom is one very fine saboteur masquerading as an innocent bearer of alleged-to-be-simple pizza dough recipes.)

Into a baking pan (per Tom's Roman-inspired method) and topped with a quick fresh tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella (that's a type of cheese, Tommy).

Fifteen or so minutes in the oven at 550, and there you go.

The "upskirt" shot: Considering that this was my first completely solo attempt at pizza-making, I would argue that it turned out pretty well. It tasted good. But the crust didn't char properly, and the dough, as I said, was more dense than it ought to be.

An associate (one with strong ties to Tom, I might add) offered a less encouraging assessment: "It's definitely not the worst I've had."

Oh, joy!

There was enough dough to attempt a do-over, but instead I went in another direction. Just garlic, fresh rosemary, fresh mozzarella and olive oil.

Tasted even better than the first one, but, alas, the dough was of the same (defective) lineage.

You may commence with the brutal criticism now, Tommy. Just watch your blood pressure, okay. 

And don't call me. Please!

Roman-style pizza farce

True friends stab you in the front.

—Oscar Wilde

If you're one of those people who reads the "Comments" on blogs (I am) and who does much reading of this particular blog (I hope you do), then you may already be familiar with my friend Tom. He's the pain-in-the-ass who, commenting under a variety of different names, often will go out of his way to make me look bad.

He has accused me of recklessly devouring endangered species (not true), rigging taste tests to advance my personal favorites (also a filthy lie), championing food items he deems putrid and disgusting (sfogliatelle, for instance). Hell, he's even talked trash about my Sainted Mother — and she's not even alive to give him a good smack and tell him to "shuttup already!"

He's a bad one, this Tom. The capo di tutti curmudgeon. It's a wonder he has any friends at all.

And yet, ruthless as he may be, the man makes some very fine pizza. Often he makes his very fine pizza for me.

A couple of days ago I got an email from Tom. In the subject line were two words he knew would be intriguing to me: "Roman-style."

Turns out that Tom had been sampling the pizza al taglio (by the slice) at the recently opened Campo de' Fiori in Brooklyn, where he lives, and found himself inspired to bake his own square Roman-style pie. (He was no doubt aided in this endeavor by his trusted companion, the lovely Beth, a fine baker of all things, though he did not choose to mention this.) Knowing my fondness for pizza and for Rome, where they buy their pizza by weight, not by slice, he decided to photo-document the event and then forward the pics to me.

But there are risks in releasing such documents — made more perilous when you release them to the man you have poked at and prodded for months, sometimes viciously and always in a public forum.

With age, I have learned, wisdom does not always come.

And so here I give you my friend Tom's version of "Roman-style" pizza — only this time I get to comment on his work. Feel free to join in. He's a big boy, and can (probably) take it.

TOM (via the aforementioned email) Forget wet doughs. I actually kneaded this with my own two paws. Part whole wheat, too.

MM Whole wheat! Are you serious? Geez, Tommy, why not slip into your organic-cotton overalls and swing by the food co-op for a reusable shopping bagful of acai berries! Grow a pair, would you, and make a real pizza dough.

TOM Docked the dough so it wouldn't puff up too much in this beat-up and brown cookie sheet.

MM My, my, what a cute little plastic toy you have there, Tommy. Can I borrow it to spell out funny words in the sand? Maybe next time you can use it to make a Sonny Corleone-at-the-toll-plaza cookie. (You punch the bullet holes into Sonny with the toy, get it? I didn't think so. Hey, Beth, how do you live with this clown? Has he even seen "The Godfather?")

TOM Tomato sauce is standard but the cheese is asiago, havarti and Argentinean parm.

MM I don't know why I should expect better from a man with only one vowel in his name. (Actually, only one vowel in each of his three names.) Looks like Ragu to me, Tom. And you have heard of mozzarella? I've never eaten a pizza in Rome with those cheeses on it. (Back me up here, Joe.) You oughta be ashamed.

TOM Only took 12 minutes to bake at 550.

MM Big freaking deal. One time I ate two sacks of White Castles in less time than that. I don't get your point.

TOM Plenty of olive oil in the pan virtually fried the crust crispy and not too bready. Just right.

MM I'd give you props for presented this pizza in a manner that is similar to the way many Romans eat it (two slices joined cheese side to cheese side) but my bet is that you don't know what I'm talking about. As for the pizza, well, Roscioli it ain't. But... Well, alright, it looks pretty good. Fine, it looks better than pretty good. Happy now?

MM Next time you're up the house I expect you to make me a couple of these pies, Tommy. Only let me give you some of my sauce, okay. And the flour. And cheese.

I've got way more vowels than you have. And they count for something.

The Googootz: Part II

Where were we?

Right. Time to cook the cucuzza.

As I explained when last we met, use a cucuzza (Hell, we're all friends here, you can just call it "googootz.") as you would a squash.

First thing you should know is that the skin can be quite hard and so it must always be peeled, never eaten. Sounds easy, but it isn't always. If you're lucky to score a soft-skinned googootz a peeler should do the trick, but often as not it will require a sturdy knife. I'd suggest cutting the cucuzza into six- or eight-inch sections and then peeling away the skin. Safer that way.

The soft core on the inside, the part with the seeds, must also be removed. After which you can go ahead and slice, dice, shred, whatever you like.

Hey, do what you want, it's your googootz!

In the past week I've made four different dishes: an appetizer, a pasta course, a main and even a dessert.

THE APPETIZER

Fried cucuzza sticks I have to say, these were really terrific. All's I did was roll some pieces in cornmeal seasoned with salt and pepper and fry them in olive oil until crisp. The crunchy outside was a perfect match for the cucuzza, which, now that I think of it, has a kind of creamy texture when it's cooked.

THE PASTA

Strozzapretti alla cucuzza Here we have the obligatory red sauce, only with the one addition. It's how a lot of my people prepare their googootz. And it's good. One thing, though: Unless you want the cucuzza turning to mush, I'd suggest adding it after the sauce has finished cooking, then simmering for just another few minutes.

THE MAIN

Giambotta This is an Italian vegetable stew, but when my family makes giambotta with googootz we always add chicken, which I guess makes it a chicken stew. This is a special kind of dish; summers just wouldn't be the same without at least one giambotta. I've got my recipe below. It's worth trying, at least once.

THE DESSERT

Cucuzza ricotta cheesecake I'm not a baker. And don't know what possessed me. All I'll say is that, despite my best efforts to screw it up, this cake turned out really good. Good enough that I've included the recipe below. Be warned: I don't know what the hell I'm doing here, so proceed with caution — and change whatever you want. Please.

THE EXTRA CREDIT

Googootz & eggs Hey, I was looking for an easy lunch and this did the trick. You got a better idea?

THE RECIPES

Giambotta

Makes 4 servings

1 googootz (peeled, cored and diced into 2-inch pieces)

1 red onion

1 carrot

8-10 garlic cloves (fine, use less, see if I care)

Piece of pancetta (or bacon or proscuitto), diced

Olive oil

Fresh rosemary and oregano

Hot pepper to taste

2 or so cups white or blush wine

4 chicken thighs

Saute the onions, garlic, carrots, pancetta, hot pepper and herbs in olive oil until tender. Add the chicken thighs (skin down), season with salt and black pepper and simmer at medium heat for 15 minutes.

Add the wine (use more if it doesn't cover the thighs) and simmer for 45 minutes.

Remove thighs. When cool, remove skin, pull the meat from the bones and return meat to the pot. Add googootz slices and simmer for 15 minutes.

Let it all cool down, then toss it in the fridge overnight and have something else for dinner.

Giambotta is always better the next day.

Cucuzza ricotta cheesecake

1 googootz (peeled, cored, roasted until most of its moisture has evaporated, then finely diced or run through a food processor)

1 lb ricotta

3 eggs

1/4 cup diced citron

1/4 cup unsalted pistachios

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup flour

cinnamon

nutmeg

Mix everything together in a bowl, then pour into a 10-inch baking pan.

Cook at 400 degrees F for 30 minutes.

Refrigerate after it cools and eat it cold.

For some reason, I don't know why, it's better this way.

The Googootz

Calm down, it's just a squash.

My people call it "googootz." So do I.

Louis Prima sang about it. Old-time Italian-Americans, if they are very fond of you, might refer to you as it. ("Hey, googootz! Siddown, have a glass of wine with me!")

It is, in fact, a cucuzza, technically a gourd but used as a squash.

Size? Big. I've seen six footers.

Origin? Said to be southern Italy.

Due to its, er, shape, it is sometimes referred to as the "Serpent of Sicily."

Yes, of course it is.

Anyway, simple as they are to grow, I have never had much luck growing googootz here in Maine. And so this year, inspired by cousin John's enormous ability to coax the beauties to life under the most trying conditions, I decided to give the crop just one more shot.

This, by the way, is John. You can see why I might be inspired by such a man, yes?

And so in late spring, to the horror of my fellow community gardeners (not you Ann), I built a big trellis out of cedar so that my googootz, should they arrive, might have a place to climb and to grow. With an able assist from my dear cousin, I had gathered not one but four different seed packets — all from sources in Italy — thinking this would surely increase my chances for success. After the seeds were planted in the ground I sat down next to the trellis, dialed John in New York on my cell, and asked him to please summon his very best shaman prayer to bless the summer growing season, which he did graciously, if with a bit of sarcasm.

And I no longer have trouble growing googootz in the State of Maine.

Recipes? They're coming; just not today.

That's all for now. Take us out, boys.

Best eats on Maine's coast

As fall approaches, we here in "Vacationland" (Hey, it wasn't my idea for a slogan!) turn our thoughts to the visitors who follow the turning leaves.

And they are turning already, the leaves. Quickly.

You gotta eat when you're here, right? Okay, here are some ideas.

This is by no stretch the definitive Maine dining guide; in fact, it's pretty arbitrary. For one thing it's focused solely on the coast, and comes to a screeching halt in Camden. That leaves out towns like Bar Harbor, among others, the whole Mount Desert region in fact. I'd recommend driving up there; Acadia National Park is beautiful. I just haven't done much dining past Camden is all. And the dining I have done hasn't left an impression.

There are as many lobster-focused places as I could comfortably include, as most visitors to Maine demand this. And knowledgeable road-food types will note that some big, near cult-like names do not appear here at all: Flo's Hot Dogs in Cape Neddick comes to mind, as does Becky's Diner in Portland and Red's Eats in Wiscasset. I love a good hotdog, but never understood the Flo's thing; the dogs, and their toppings, I think, are drab. Becky's is a friendly enough place; I just don't think the food's anything special. And as for Red's, I never drove by the place when the line wasn't around the corner, and enough people whose opinion I trust insist it isn't worth the wait. (One of them, a budding haikuist, travelled clear from Boston one afternoon just to sample Red's famous lobster roll. She drove home that evening, reliable sources inform me, muttering over and over a single-syllable word that begins with Letter No. 6.)

Sad.

Anyway, I've organized the towns from south (or west if you prefer) to north (east), as the vast number of road warriors would be driving in this direction.

Enjoy your trip.

KITTERY

This is the first town in Maine over the I-95 bridge from Portsmouth, NH. If you're into the outlet store scene (I thought you said you were coming for the foliage!) then it's probably on the itinerary. Like Mexican? Loco Coco's is better than the places around the shopping outlets, and only five minutes south. Go to the Cantina side and hang at one of the high-top tables near the bar. Try the fish tacos, or one of the Picadas. Specials are often good. And they serve Dos Equis on tap. Or, if you're looking to do the lobster pound thing right away, head down to Kittery Point and the Chauncey Creek Lobster Pier, where locals bring their own tablecloths and make an evening of it.

YORK BEACH

This is not likely on most travelers' must-visit Maine towns, and I'm not suggesting that it should be. However, I recently had a very nice pizza at Blue Sky, in the Atlantic House hotel. Try the Pizza Margherita, done in a wood-fired oven. Surprisingly tasty — if the only dish I've tried here. (I warned you this was going to be an arbitrary list, didn't I?) Afterward walk across the street (and way back in time) to The Goldenrod for candies, ice cream and a peek at the fountain service counter. (In case you don't know, York Beach is not unlike a funky beach town you might find along the Jersey Shore.)

WELLS

I could eat the biscuits and sausage gravy at the Maine Diner all day, which is why I'm glad I don't live here. Add some baked beans on the side and you're good to go. Oh, they have other stuff on the menu too, including terrific homemade Red Flannel Hash on Saturdays.

SCARBOROUGH

Precious few places in Greater Portland offer a water view (Don't get me started!) but the Black Point Inn on Prouts Neck overlooks plenty of sandy beach. I wouldn't recommend it for dinner or even lunch, but the outdoor porch is a swell spot to have a late afternoon drink if you're in the nabe. (Don't tell anybody, but Glenn Close has a place a few houses away. I almost ran over one of her dogs once. The pooch's fault, not mine. And Glenn couldn't have been nicer.) If you're out to do a picnic on one of the area beaches, you won't find better fixins than at The Cheese Iron.

CAPE ELIZABETH

There are better lobster pounds, but none has a more perfect setting than The Lobster Shack at Two Lights. Actually, this isn't a true lobster pound (the lobster dinner comes in only one size: small), but the fried clams and shrimp are real good, as are the onion rings; the chowder's worth having too. The real draw here is the outdoor setting, all the picnic tables just steps from the rocky coast. And, yes, there really are two lighthouses.

PORTLAND

This is where I live, and I know it best, but it's also where most travelers will stop, and so I'll try and telegraph some of the more notable spots that visitors might enjoy.

Fore Street Yes, it's as good as you've heard. Make a reservation, or go super early to snag a table. I just eat at the bar, but even that gets crowded fast.

Novare Res The most interesting beer selection in a brew-centric town, and the best food of all the beer joints. Plus, there's outdoor seating, woefully lacking in these parts. The banh mi sandwich is real good.

Miyake Hands down the best sushi, but the chef may also be the most inventive in town. Plus, it's BYOB.

Nosh If you like a good plate of salumi, this is the place. It's also got sandwiches and excellent fries, even poutine.

The Grill Room The best burger in town, and among the best fries.

Hugo's Top-notch grub from perhaps the town's finest chef. Plates are on the "precious" side and so it's not for everybody. About as high-end as it gets in Portland, though casual.

Bresca The only Italian worth a stop. But it's tiny, so plan ahead or make other plans.

Micucci Grocery The focaccia (pizza to some) dubbed the "Sicilian Slab" is not to be missed. And the sfogliatelle is very respectable. Grab some of each and head up Fore St. to the Eastern Promenade for a great view of Casco Bay while eating on a park bench.

FREEPORT

The L.L. Bean-dominated shopping magnet isn't much for great food, but Buck's Naked BBQ has some pretty decent chow, Day's Crabmeat (in Yarmouth) is good for a crab roll and freshly made fries, and Harraseeket Lunch (not a fave of mine, but others dig it) is right on the docks if you're looking for a post-retail-experience fried seafood/lobster kind of thing.

GEORGETOWN

Just south of Bath, on Georgetown Island and close to Reid State Park, is the quintessential Maine lobster pound, Five Islands Lobster. It consists of three shacks on a working dock and so you'll likely see lobstermen unloading their catch while you're there. For the setting alone, it's worth a detour.

BOOTHBAY HARBOR

An ultra-tourista t-shirt town, for sure, but occasionally I find myself sailing into this picturesque port by boat and stopping at the Boothbay Lobster Wharf for a lobster roll (it's jam-packed with meat). Get some melted fake butter and pour it on the roll. You won't be sorry. And they sell beer by the pitcher.

WALDOBORO

Yes, Moody's Diner is everybody's fave, and it's definitely good and cheap, not to mention heavy on the Maine atmosphere. But if I were going to eat at one place while blasting through town it'd be Morse's Sauerkraut. The European-style market (sausages, wursts, like that) serves breakfast and lunch in a very small annex to the food market. We're talking German pancakes and fresh pierogies and sauerbraten and schnitzel here, folks. It's seven miles off Route One. And you're not likely to leave the market empty handed. (Chocolate-covered Halvah for munching in the car anyone?)

SOUTH THOMASTON

If you're in this part of the state, odds are you're taking in the scenery and just relaxing. In which case make the effort to be around Waterman's Beach Lobster for lunch. There are picnic tables right on the water, a small beach actually. The crab rolls are great, the lobster rolls are good too, and the pies are worth the extra calories. Oh, it's BYOB, and closes for the season September 26th.

ROCKLAND

Two places are a must here, and they couldn't be more different: Conte's 1894 and Primo. I'll let the Conte's link speak for itself. As for Primo, this is one very fine restaurant, perfect for any occasion, serving what might be the best food in all of Maine. My favorite thing about Primo is the antipasti bar they added to the top floor this summer. Stunningly good, with lots of house-made salumi. Almost makes me want to move out of Portland to be closer. (This summer they also had oysters for a buck apiece on Sundays.)

CAMDEN

I never had a really extraordinary meal in this town until Natalie's opened in the Camden Harbour Inn a couple years ago. The restaurant is unlike any I've seen in Maine; like its owners the place drips with European flair, part sophisticated haute dining room, part bordello. Guess you have to see it. The food? Crazy good, if a bit pricey. I've had two meals here. One was the best poached Scottish salmon I've ever eaten, the other a lamb dish done two ways, both of them fab. A must for highly discriminating types. (Francine is said to be quite good as well; careful when clicking on the link, though, as they choose to serenade us with music while we're visiting their website.)

I know, I know. Your favorite spots aren't here. Sorry. I did say this would be an arbitrary — and visitor-focused — list.

But feel free to add your favorite spots, or criticize mine, in the "Comments" section below.

I can take it. And it will provide everybody else with more to ponder while they take in the turning New England leaves.

Sort of succotash

Give me a few ears of sweet corn, a baguette and a couple sticks of butter and I'm set. (The butter goes on the bread, which is used to apply the creamy goodness to the corn. When the corn is all gone and the butter's melted into the crispy baguette... Get the idea?)

I'm not sure why it took so long but I was well into my thirties before I tasted succotash. It was okay, but I didn't see why the New England-bred cook who presented it to me was so all hopped up over it. Maybe the corn wasn't as sweet as I like, or the beans (limas are traditional, I'm told) too drab and mushy. Who knows? I never sought out the stuff again.

Earlier this summer, though, the corn coming out of Jordon's farm was some of the best I've had — and had. I ate so much of it over a two-week spell that the Jordans and I were wondering if I shouldn't have just purchased a share in their crop this year.

Then one day, whilst shelling some pretty swell borlotti beans from my garden, there on the kitchen counter I see these four ears of, well...

And so I quick-steamed them and shaved off the kernels.

This probably isn't a New Englander's idea of proper, but I sauteed some onion, hot pepper and proscuitto in olive oil.

Then tossed in the corn and some cooked borlottis.

Maybe it's succotash, maybe it isn't.

It tasted good.

I just need to figure out a way to rub it down with a baguette packed with butter.

Don Peppe, King of Queens

Not long ago, while watching my motley Mets get massacred by the Giants on a particularly heinous road trip, I got a frantic call from my friend Jordie, who lives in (of all places) San Francisco. She and her partner Julie were stranded at JFK in New York and were looking at another six hours before the next flight out. She was calling me in Maine to get a restaurant recommendation in Manhattan, rightly calculating that six hours was ample time for a trip into the city and back.

Considering how her Giants were eviscerating my Metropolitans on the field, I briefly considered sending her to the rattiest of rat traps as payback. Instead I opted to act the gentleman I was raised to be and counsel the woman properly.

"Forget Manhattan," I said, emboldened by an Angel Pagan double to right. "How's a five-minute cab ride sound?"

"Maybe you didn't hear me," Jordie barked into her new iPhone. "We've got six hours to kill, Meatball. Getting to the city's not a problem. What about that place you liked so much at De Niro's hotel; you know the one I mean?"

"Locanda Verde. At the Greenwich, in Tribeca. Carmellini's the chef. Yeah, it's real good."

"Right, how about that one?"

"Suit yourself. It's just that if I were in your spot there's only one place I'd even think about going, and it's right outside the JFK fence, in Ozone Park. You could walk it even."

"Ozone What?"

"Park. It's in Queens, Jordie. Just like you are right now, in case you don't know."

Silence greeted me as the top of the inning ended, the Mutts again failing to score. Then, after about a minute, came the soothing sound of an attentive friend who had embraced the notion that I would never lead her astray.

"Okay, Ozone Park it is. Where are we going?"

"Don Peppe," I belted out loudly. "It's on Lefferts Boulevard, literally across the road from the airport. The cabby'll be pissed off because of the crappy low fare, so give him a good tip. And when you get there call me, I'll tell you what to order.

"Oh, and wait, stop at the ATM first. It's cash only. And if you're looking for some company, here's my uncle Dom's number. It's his favorite restaurant. Maybe he'll even take you to the track, Aqueduct's practically next door — and he wins."

Long story short, the ladies did not call Dominic (their loss; he's the best). But they did follow my precise instructions on what to order. The two of them sat in Don Peppe the entire afternoon, they tell me, ate well and in abundance. And they have never once doubted my chow-picking prowess since.

Now it's your turn. I can't give you my uncle's number (Aunt Laura'd kill me) but I can clue you in on the dishes that will never — not once, never, nope, no way, no how, not gonna happen — disappoint. At my all-time-favorite old-school Italian, in Queens.

A couple things up front. Besides being cash only, they don't take reservations at Don Peppe, and there's no bar to sit at should you have to wait for a table, just a glass-enclosed and not terribly inviting vestibule. The dishes here are family style and must be chosen off the large blackboard on the wall, not a printed menu. The guys at the door who greet you can appear intimidating to certain, shall we say, delicate types, but they're okay and so be friendly to them. And the waiters, hardworking men who wear white shirts with neckties and black pants, are old school and helpful. (One of them, Marco, will sing for your table if asked; he once told my brother Joe, who'd expressed concern over his beet-red face and neck following an extended High C, that he has studied singing for years. A proud man, he.)

Oh, and forget about a wine list. Just order the house red or white. They're perfectly serviceable, come in unmarked bottles, and are served at the same temperature — cold.

These are the best baked clams I have ever eaten — small, sweet and very fresh, topped with just the right amount of breadcrumbs, by which I mean not very much at all. They're my favorite way to start a meal at Don Peppe (though my frequent dining companions often insist on the Don Peppe Salad to start and then the clams). Whadda I care, you want the salad, order the salad. It's good, I just prefer getting to the clams first is all.

I know what you're thinking: Clams? Again? All I can say is this: Yes. Clams. Again. In fact, if you order only one thing at Don Peppe, the linguine with white clam sauce is it.

You like garlic, yes? Good. There's a couple heads' worth of beautifully roasted whole cloves on every plate of linguine that comes out of the kitchen. And the pasta is always cooked perfectly al dente. The sauce is generously apportioned and so you'll likely be sopping up whatever is left with bread, which has lately been much better than the bread they used to serve.

I take it you like veal. Of course you do. So get yourself a plate of the Veal Don Peppe and prepare to send me a very lovely thank you note (my email address is mistermeatballblog@gmail.com).

This is a Milanese-style veal dish, made with tender cutlets (waiters cut them with a spoon) that are coated in breadcrumbs and then fried. Piled atop the cutlets is a mixture of diced tomatoes and raw red onions in oil and vinegar. The vinegar and onions aren't at all subtle but they counteract the richness of the veal, which somehow manages to stay crisp until the very end.

Along with the white clam sauce, this is a must-have dish for me. It just doesn't get better.

There's always somebody in the group (nobody I know, but still... ) who insists on eating chicken wherever they go, and here at Don Peppe there's actually a dish that even I crave: the Chicken Scarpariello. It's a whole bunch of chicken pieces, cut up small, simply seasoned the traditional way and baked at high temperature until crispy. But take my advice and order itwith sausage and peppers. It's not on the menu board but, believe me, your waiter won't skip a beat; that's how a lot of regulars order their "chicken scarp." It's the only way I order it.

Oh, and you must get a side of escarole. Yes, you must.

I know what you're thinking. That's a lot of food. So what, you've got friends, don't you? Round them up, it's probably been too long since you all went out for a good meal together anyway.

And if you're stranded at JFK and have to kill a couple hours, odds are you're not the only one, so try reaching out to a like-minded traveler. Many a fine friendship has blossomed over a good meal and a bottle of wine, no?

Here's a listing for Don Peppe. They're open every day but Monday, for lunch right through dinner.

Whenever you go there's a real good chance one of my gang will be sitting close by.

And they'll be eating the same dishes you are.