Squash Blossoms
Buongiorno Foodie Friends, I’m knee deep in celebrating summer already and happy to have the June Gloom behind us…for the most part. I think many of you know how fond I am of squash blossoms and what a delicacy they are, but for the life of me, it’s like they are some kind of secret whispered between Mexico and Italy? Yes, they are fleeting, tender, almost too beautiful to eat, yet unforgettable once you do. They are the edible confetti of the garden…here for a moment then gone in a blink. They’re known as ‘Fiori di Zucca’ in Italian and ‘Flor de Calabaza’ in Spanish…both rolling off the tongue charmingly as beautiful in sound as they are in nature. The short answer to this mystery might be tradition and agriculture, as both countries are deeply tied to cuisines built around the garden. Mexico’s trio of corn, beans & squash naturally produces blossoms in abundance, and Italian ‘Cucina Povera’ or ‘poor cooking’ has always prized ingredients that appear seasonally and must be used right away. There’s just something poetic about honoring an ingredient that refuses to be anything but ephemeral. Squash blossoms ask you to slow down, to cook today what grew this morning, to savor something that won’t be here tomorrow. Mexico and Italy understand this instinctively and celebrate it as do I. I think they also require a certain kind of cooking philosophy. They aren’t bold, they’re subtle and floral. I think they are often seen as ‘Chef ingredients’ which means they only appear on fine dining restaurant menus, which makes them feel niche rather than every day. But I serve them every day on my popular squash blossom, artichoke, Boursin and pesto flatbread at TATM. In Italy you can find them everywhere on menus where they are served simply dipped in a Prosecco based batter, fried, and served crispy, like their version of potato chips, dusted with a little finely shaved Parmigiana. In finer restaurants, they are often filled with a cheese blend of some kind before frying….this requires time and effort but if you’ve ever had these you quickly understand why cooks go to all that trouble. I’ve made these numerous times at home served on a simple tomato or roasted red pepper puree… they are one of my favorite all time appetizers and draw raves from others. But there is another way of serving these cheese stuffed treasures without going through the hassle of deep frying…by simply baking them in the oven briefly until the cheese is warmed up and then served on your choice of either hot or cold sauce. I’ve posted my recipe below so hope you give it a try this summer….you’ll be happy you did. You’re Welcome… David with Tino’s ‘Bark of Approval’
Summer Heirloom Tomatoes
Buongiorno Foodie Friends, Well, it’s officially summer when my culinary thoughts turn to fruit and vegetables. Yeah, I know….we can get almost anything year-round here in Southern California, although not always ripe or imbued with much flavor as they’re picked too soon in order to be shipped from far away farms. However, having spent years long ago where there were 4 distinct seasons that occurred, I still like to pretend. One of summer’s bounties are heirloom tomatoes. Funny, I can think back not too terribly long ago when these were only available at small farmer’s markets, but now better grocery stores all carry them. I love them in their simplicity. Sun‑warmed, vine‑ripe beauties in all their wild shapes and colors, that look like they’re hand painted. There’s something deeply human about them…they’re imperfect, irregular and full of personality…unlike the tidy look-alikes all in rows at the supermarkets. Sweet, bright, impossibly juicy — the pure joy of summer on a plate. One of my favorite ways to enjoy them is thickly sliced, stacked on a plate with red onion, and Rogue Creamery Smokey Blue Cheese crumbled on top. Drizzled with some great EVO (lucky me that I have some Bramasole!) and some really good red wine vinegar. Lastly showered with sweet basil leaves, a couple twists of black pepper and some Maldon sea salt. They’re a reminder that some of the best things in life are fleeting, seasonal, and meant to be savored slowly. You’re Welcome… David & Tino
They Come in Cans
Hello Foodie Friends, Last week I came across an on-line chef/cook who was doing a take off on the classic French ‘Escargots Bourguignonne’ but instead of using snails he was using Maine lobster meat. While as creative and exotic as this seemed to me at first I thought that the delicate sweet flavor of lobster would be overwhelmed by being drowned in garlic butter. The second thing I thought was about the first time I’d ever experienced snails. It was the summer of 1968..I was on summer break from college and lied my way into working at what was, at the time, one of the hottest restaurants on the East Side of Manhattan…Maxwell’s Plum. Owned by movie producer Werner LeRoy, it was a theatrical tour de force. The restaurant was divided into two areas. A more casual perimeter of tables known as the Café and then in the rear, an elevated dining room covered in a real Tiffany glass ceiling that had a separate French oriented menu. As I said, I had lied my way into getting hired as a Captain and my main responsibilities were making steak tartare and Caesar salad tableside. (I have a great story about my steak tartare competition with my French GM and the derivation of the name for my French 75 in Laguna to be shared on another post). I was one of only two Americans working at the restaurant… the other guy Jimmy was a slightly older, wily, and experienced kid from Jersey who had a certain American charm that worked on all the ladies. Anyway, one day on our lunch break he said to me, half-laughing, “ I don’t understand what the fascination is with escargots….everybody knows they come in cans.” I remember him grinning sarcastically as he said this to me still like it was yesterday and have had several musings about it over the years, right up to the time I grudgingly decided to add them to the menu at my French 75 in Laguna. I used to remember how everyone DID talk about escargots like they were this ancient French delicacy…meanwhile, the vast majority DID come out of a can like a fancy Chef Boyardee product with a passport and a superiority complex. I thought about French chef’s foraging snails at dawn in misty vineyards only to hear a POP…Oh yeah…that’s the can opening. Anyway, back to French 75. When I originally opened I did not have escargots on the menu for the aforementioned reasons. However, persistent guests continue to cause me sleepless nights with their relentless onslaught of comments about how can you call yourself a French bistro and not have Escargots on the menu? Undeterred, I did some digging and to my wonderful surprise discovered that, as an alternative to these canned, lazy-ass moving slugs, there were actually basil fed snails that had an exclusive diet of fresh basil infusing them with a distinct, aromatic and herbaceous flavor…’Quelle surprise!’ Not only that, but they were not canned, rather they were cryovaced and refrigerated to preserve their freshness and flavor…I then knew I had made my peace with the strange world of mollusks and that they would be finding a home on my menu. Back to the lobster….I liked the idea of tweaking the classic Escargots dish so was off to buy some but when I arrived at the seafood counter I found a rare item instead….East Coast Bay Scallops. These tiny nuggets were very popular when I lived in Boston for 3 years after college but it is a rarity to see them in California so I decided to give them a try instead of lobster. I dug out the one baking dish I had, napped each insert with a little white wine, then a few of the tiny scallops, topped it with a savory paprika tinged garlic butter and lastly, small little circles of puff pastry. Brushed them with a little egg wash and popped them into a hot oven. 15 minutes later out they came and after letting them cool just a bit I dug in….they were delicious. The nutty flavor of the scallops still came through the garlic butter and the little puff pastry berets were not only f’ing cute but a added a nice textural contrast. You’re welcome… David with Tino’s edits
John the Baptist
Buongiorno, My Florence loving friends, On my very first trip to Italy, I was able to attend the Calendimaggio di Assisi, which is an annual, four-day medieval festival held every May in the historic hill town of Assisi to celebrate the arrival of spring. The town is split into two rival factions—Parte de Sopra (the upper district, with blue colors) and Parte de Sotto (the lower district, with red colors)—who compete in costumed parades, theatrical plays, and choir performances. The local teams plan for this all year long and it is a truly spectacular site to see. Huge bleacher seats are set up on in the piazza, so the viewing is unparalleled. However, I have not yet been in Florence on June 24th which is ‘St. John the Baptist Day’ (Festa di San Giovanni) which is the biggest local holiday in Florence. He is primarily known as the forerunner of Jesus Christ, preaching repentance and baptizing people in the Jordan River to prepare the way for the Messiah. He is also universally famous for baptizing Jesus himself. On this day the city feels like it has stepped back into its own Renaissance…pageantry, devotion, sport, and spectacle all woven into one long, sun-drench celebration. The entire day is a blend of solemn tradition and joyful chaos, and the Florentines take it seriously…shops close, streets fill, drums echo, and the night ends in a blaze of fireworks over the Arno. The morning festivities begin with a grand historical parade through the Piazza della Signoria. Participants dress in medieval and Renaissance costumes…nobles, flag-throwers and musicians. The parade culminates in the offering of candles to Baptistery, a tradition dating back centuries when wealthy families donated elaborately decorated candles to help light the churches. A solemn Mass follows, with the relics of St. John the Baptist displayed. In the afternoon there is the Calcio Storico….Florence’s wildest and most beloved tradition. It is a is a brutal, traditional sport originating from 16th-century Italy. Often described as a hybrid of soccer, rugby, and bare-knuckle wrestling, it features two teams of 27 players battling for 50 minutes in sand-covered arenas. The match begins with a parade of costumed nobles on horseback and ends with a battle dry of “Viva Firenze!” It is tribal, emotional, and deeply Florentine. As the sun sets, crowds gather along the riverbanks and bridges to watch the famous ‘Fuochi de San Giovanni, the fireworks launched from Piazza Michelangelo. It is one of Florence’s most beloved moments of the year….families eating gelato, couples perched on the river walls, and the whole city glowing under bursts of color. I don’t know about you but I’ve just added it to my bucket list. Ciao… David & Tino
Summer Corn Chowder
In California corn is available year-round, albeit in different levels of quality, but growing up in the Midwest, the tall, green fields of summer corn had a kind of beauty that felt almost indecent in its abundance….like Mother Nature showing off. It was well thought of that the sooner you cooked the corn after harvesting, the better…in fact, the decline in quality was said to be dramatic if delayed. Once you get used to corn bought from a field stand from which it came…shucked and cooked the same day….there is a difference…but that option isn’t really readily available where most of us live, unless you’re passionate enough to grow your own….I guess my siblings and I were spoiled growing up without really knowing it. Fresh corn carries a grassy sweetness that you can smell as you pull back the husks….I love it and every time I do this, it immediately brings me back to my childhood. Isn’t it amazing how smells and songs can whisp you back to earlier days and times? They are like time machines disguised as everyday life. One whiff, one chord, and suddenly you’re not in the room anymore—you’re back in your Mom’s kitchen, or the seat of your first car, or a summer night that felt like it would last forever. Scent goes straight to the limbic system—the part of the brain that handles memory and emotion—without the usual logical filters. That’s why the smell of sunscreen still drops me back onto the Fort Lauderdale beach as a very young teen when my parents packed me and 5 siblings into a station wagon and drove all the way from Michigan to spend two weeks with our grandparents. Also, just like the scent of a certain cologne can summon a person you haven’t seen in years. It’s primal, immediate, almost involuntary. You don’t remember the moment so much as you re-enter it. I’ll chat about how music does that for me in another post as it’s been a massive part of my life. But back to the corn…wait…I just had a corn flashback that I need to share. At my first restaurant in CDM back in the early 80’s my cooking was ‘California-French’ which meant my techniques were French, but I took some liberty with ingredients and one of these as corn. I remember creating a warm poached lobster salad on summer. I pan poached lobster with roasted red peppers, a puree of fresh corn, sherry and butter and served on a bed of butter lettuce and frisee with diced avocado and garnished with potato chips…it was a delicious, rich and indulgent salad. One night, however, one of my servers came to me and said there was a well-dressed, somewhat elderly French woman who wanted to speak to me, and he indicated that she seemed to be quite agitated. So, I went to her table and introduced myself to her and said I understood she wished to speak to me. She said “Oui…I cannot believe you are serving zee corn….it is only for zee pigs!” I was taken back a bit by this but I knew where she was coming from. As iconic as corn was in America, back then, she was right…the French never dreamed of serving corn. How far they have come now serving corn coulis, custard and even ice cream. Now back to where I was…shucking the ears uncovers the kernels that are plump, tight and glowing little beads of gold arranged in rows with the precision of a cathedral pews. And when you turn them into chowder, something alchemical happens. I’m not talking about the kind of thick, pasty New England Clam Chowder that people love. No, my version of corn chowder is more like the beautiful version served at The Ivy in Beverly Hills. It’s thin, un-thickened, and simple…goosed with some jalapenos but essentially allowing the goodness of the almost still raw corn to remain the star accented by a little fresh tarragon. But a bowl of it is $21 bucks…. gotta love LA. Want to add some Maine Lobster?….now you’re at $44, but I’m not complaining about the price of this version. Sometimes at home when I’m feeling all ‘Diamond Jim’ like (or Elon Musk for you kids) I will slow poach some lobster meat in butter and cream sherry and add it to the chowder….the result is decadent and divine. I do add pecan wood bacon to my version just because the smoky counterpoint it adds to the sweetness of the corn really works for me and the sweetness of the tarragon but if you want to keep it vegetarian, 86 the bacon and it’s still damn good…just don’t use frozen corn or dried tarragon. Here’s my version…it’s pictured with one of my favorite salads…butter lettuce, heirloom tomatoes, toasted almonds and a gorgonzola vinaigrette. David & Tino
Tuscany
Buongiorno Friends, So, I just finished reviewing last month’s results regarding visits to our TATM website. I was, I guess, not completely surprised that whenever my Blog posts were about sharing stories, memories, and musings about my lifelong love affair with food, and particularly my deepening affection for Tuscany, these were the most viewed. Nope, not those posts about my dear Tino unless I mention him as my Sous Chef which leave many of you scratching your heads wondering what my little man might do to assist me in the kitchen? Answer…he keeps the floor clean of food scraps & droppings. But, I love that these are the posts you enjoy as I think it speaks to a deeper love…food can only be so good…it’s about the sharing and celebration that elevates the enjoyment and experience. For me, this is goes all the way back to the first meal I ever prepared for my family as a teenager. I remember that give me a type of joy that I had never experienced…much different than piano recitals or achievement in sports. I didn’t realize it right away, but eventually I came to learn that there is something special about creating a food experience for people who share it with camaraderie of being together. That’s why I have so gravitated toward the Tuscan lifestyle, their food and the way they celebrate every meal…large or small…savoring their pasta….stopping for an afternoon espresso…lingering over gelato. There is just something about Tuscany that feels less like a place and more like a rhythm your body remembers even if you’ve never lived there. A way of moving through the day and the world that says: slow down, taste this, look at who’s sitting across from you, let the moment be enough. It’s not curated…it’s simply how they live. It’s very easy to fall in love with that ease….the way a Tuscan morning begins with the smell of espresso drifting out of a kitchen window, someone slicing fruit, or tearing bread with their hands. The way lunch isn’t a break from life but the center of it. The way dinner stretches, not because anyone is trying to linger, but because why would you rush something so sacred? The Toscani don’t ‘host’ the way Americans host. They welcome.. they fold you into the table like you were always meant to be there. Food isn’t the star….it’s the language. Don’t get me wrong…their food is marvelous always starting with incredibly clean, pure and flavorful raw ingredients that are simply enhanced to bring out the best in them. A bowl of ribollita says ‘you’re safe here’. A plate of pappardelle with wild boar ragu says ‘this land has fed us for centuries’. A drizzle of EVO says we ‘honor the hands that made this possible.’ No one is trying to impress. They’re celebrating the everyday…the tomato that tastes like the sun, the bread that taste like the village, and the wine that tastes like the hillside. They celebrate each other too…and Oh…do they LOVE their dogs…(another reason I like them). The laughter, the arguments, the stories get louder as the night deepens. Loving the Tuscan lifestyle is really loving the idea that life is meant to be shared…not in grand gestures, but in small, repeated daily rituals that say….’I’m here…you’re here…let’s enjoy this together. My dream is to someday retire in Tuscany or at least be able to spend most of my time there. In the meantime, I will continue to write about my love for it in the hopes that, if you haven’t been….you will make plans to spend some time there…..soon. Ciao… David & Tino
Southern Comfort Burger
Hey Food Friends, I introduced this burger when I was the founder and operating partner of Jimmy’s Famous American Tavern. I was familiar with Elvis’s favorite sandwich made with peanut butter, jam and copious amounts of bacon, but one day was wondering what his favorite burger might have been. In doing some research I found he had none, although he did have a penchant for Krystal sliders, so I decided to create on that I was sure he would have liked. I’ve always liked to combine what I call my 3 S’s…spicy, sweet and smoky and I wanted it to be influenced by the deep south so felt it just HAD to include one of the most popular staples….pimento cheese. The smokiness would come from the Pecan wood smoked bacon and the sweet and spicy would both come from the jalapeño jam. One try of this unlikely combo and I was hooked….just added some crispy onion fritters for a little extra height and texture. I have to admit that one Sunday for Brunch I did make this sandwiched in between two Krispy Kreme’s… Hey, I told you I was from the Midwest.. Hope the brave ones among you take one for a test drive this month… You’re welcome… David & Tino
Tony & Tucci
Hello Foodie Friends & otherwise curiosity seekers, Many of you have commented on, and sent questions about, the image of me and two of my favorite food dogs…Anthony Bourdain and Stanley Tucci, although many of you didn’t recognize ‘The Tucc’ from a photo take from his latest role in ‘The Citadel’….big switch from ‘this Zucchini pasta changed my life’ to his latest ‘Say Hello to my little friend’ persona. A few of you even, and God bless you, thought that, even amidst the current AI world that we are now learning to live in, this was an actual photo taken…..I only wish that were the case. When Tony hit the public scene early on in his career with his ‘Kitchen Confidential’ book, I quickly identified with him and his bravery and willingness to show, a sometimes gritty, behind the scenes look at what it was really like to be a kick-ass line cook in a busy restaurant. Early one in my career I was one of them…I thought of myself as a sauté gunslinger…’Fistful of Dollars’ style. I’m still proud to say that I met few cooks back then working the line who could match the speed and accuracy of my skills. Warning here… not so humble brag …no wasted motion, I loved being ‘in the weeds’ for 2 hours and of course after my shift I enjoyed a 3 fingers of Anejo tequila while I slowly came down from the natural rush and high that this experience created…not a big surprise how many cooks are heavy drinkers….I was one too…just not any more. But back to the dogs I admire. Stanley spoke of Anthony Bourdain with real admiration, warmth, and humility. The clearest picture from sourced material shows three key truths about how Tucci viewed him: Like me, Tucci considered Bourdain a hero Tucci explicitly called Bourdain “a hero of mine” and credited him with opening the doors for anyone who wanted to explore food and travel on camera. 2. He respected Bourdain’s mind, storytelling, and bravery Tucci said he “knew Tony a bit” and described him as: “an incredible mind” “a real raconteur” “a great explorer” He emphasized that Bourdain was far more adventurous and brave than he was, and that his own show was intentionally different rather than an attempt to replace Bourdain’s legacy. 3. He rejected comparisons and refused the idea of being “the next Bourdain” Even as critics and fans compared Searching for Italy to Parts Unknown, Tucci pushed back, saying he would never try to take Bourdain’s place. He insisted the world is big enough for multiple voices in food‑travel storytelling. Tucci’s comments consistently carry a tone of deep respect, gratitude, and deference. He saw Bourdain as a singular figure — someone who changed the landscape of food and travel television and made audiences “a lot happier.” He spoke of Bourdain the way one speaks of a distant constellation — a bright, wandering star who mapped the world with appetite and honesty. He called him a hero, a mind that moved like a knife through ripe fruit, sharp, curious, unafraid. A man who tasted the world not to conquer it, but to understand it. “Tony was braver,” Tucci admitted… as if bravery were a spice Bourdain carried in his pocket. And yet, in the glow of a shared legacy, Tucci doesn’t try to fill his shoes. He simply walks his own road — slower, more lyrical, more wine‑soaked — but always with a quiet nod toward the man who came before. Two travelers, two storytellers, our world made richer because they passed through it. And so now you know why the photo of the three of us together, inspired and created by my dear friends Ali & Jackie, means so much to me that it hangs in the lobby of Tavern at the Mission and below the computer screen in my home office. I love to be able to consider the three of us as culinary ‘Brothers in Arms’. RIP Tony….Rock on Stanley… David 2.0 and Sous Chef Tino
Chicken Fried Steak
Hey Foodie Friends, As I think many of you know by now, I grew up in the wide-open, mostly quiet Midwest…Michigan to be exact. Where summer suppers meant bringing home fresh corn on the cob from roadside stands set up in front of the growing fields, shucked in the back yard under shade trees on the picnic table, then briefly boiled so as to still be a bit crunchy, and lastly basted in salted butter that made them taste like you feel when you know someone loves you. After the feast there was often Mom’s homemade apple or berry pies still slightly warm from the oven, sitting on the window sills, attracting honey bees, that God forbid, never leave us as they play a huge part in keeping us all fed and alive…awaiting a large and proper scoop of vanilla ice cream…yeah, if you’re asking…those memories really do still live within me and for some reason, the older I get the stronger and more frequently I visit them. But at an early age, curiosity pulled me farther. First to NYC, where I got my first taste of fine French cuisine…where I learned to respect the discipline of the brigade of line cooks who often swore at me in French for the mistakes this ‘DSK’ from Michigan made, to their reverence for butter, and the poetry of the perfect sauces they meticulously created each morning. Then later to Italy, where I discovered another level of joyous cooking not necessarily shared by the French….loud kitchens, laughter, and ingredients that didn’t need fixing because they were already beautifully singing out just in their rawness. So, my heart is, and I cook in, the intersection of all three places: the heart of the Midwest, the technique and coaxed flavors of France, and the joyful, sharing soul of Italy. I like to think my food is honest, generous, a little nostalgic, and always rooted in the belief that the best dishes tell the story of where you’ve been when shared with others. But right now, I’m wearing the big ass, beautiful, black Stetson cowboy hat the my dear friends Mike & Nancy Thompson bought be for my recent birthday because I’m cooking up a classic breakfast dish that rolls from Arizona, through Texas and into the deep Southeastern states…I’m talkin’ bout ‘Chicken Fried Steak & Eggs’. Now, full transparency as the political candidates all like to spout, I’m not a big breakfast guy…but…very rarely on the weekends, after a few 5:00 AM cups black French Roast coffees have left me buzzing, I’ll develop a late morning appetite and there is one dish I find myself jonesing for. Now the typical steak served in this dish is a sorry-ass cut of top or bottom round that is pounded and needled to death sold as ‘cubed steak’. As I was writing this post I started wondering where that term came from and discovered that some genius claimed that the name came from “the distinctive, crisscrossing pattern of indentations left on the meat during the tenderizing process”…Wow…now isn’t that some romantic marketing language…doubt that this brother is still employed by the meat people. (As a side bar however, there is something to be said for culinary wordsmithing….the lowly ‘Patagonian Toothfish’ went from selling for under $20 a pound decades ago to the current $50 a pound price at Gelson’s after switching the name to what is now known as ‘Chilean Sea Bass’…seriously people?) Anyway, back to the dish at hand. I prefer to use filet mignon for this dish for a number of reasons. Firstly, after cutting the beautiful perfectly symmetrical filets from the heart of the tenderloin, there is always the tail piece left which is very thin and not suitable as a steak so at my Taverns we cut it into small cubes, skewer, and grill it and served with pearl onions, mushrooms and napped with Bearnaise sauce, it becomes one of our most popular appetizers. Secondly, being the most tender cut of beef, it lends itself perfectly to pounding into a flat disc and can be flash fried to create the delicious crust that this dish is famous for, while still being pink and moist on the inside. The last crowning detail for this dish is always some type of pan gravy, often made with a dash of coffee….no thanks…I’ve tried that and already have already had my share of life’s bitterness. I’ve always said that the reason my Fried Chicken is the #1 selling entrée is because of the thyme gravy and it’s also a perfect fit for this dish. Served with a couple sunnyside farm fresh eggs and crisp tater tots* and you’ve got yourself one helluva satisfying breakfast and, coincidentally, it’s available every weekend this month for lunch and Sunday Brunch at my Tavern at the Mission. Tino & I hope you swing by and give it try…promise you will not be disappointed. P.S. *I have to tell you about tater tots and a lady who had recently dined with us and wrote a Yelp review about her Avocado Toast Bennedict. She said she would have given us a 5 star rating except for the ‘yucky’ tots served, a term not normally associated with qualified restaurant reviewers, so instead she gave us 4 stars. HEY LADY…dissing on tots just seems un-American. Did you know that there are 5.7 billion or 70 million tots sold each year in the US? Fun fact…they were developed in 1953 when American frozen food company Ore-Ida founders Nephi Grigg, Golden Grigg and Ross Erin Butler Sr. were trying to devise a recipe to use leftover slivers of cut potatoes that would otherwise be thrown away. They chopped up the slivers, add flour and seasoning, then pushed the mash through holes and sliced off pieces of the extruded mixture…..and now you know. You’re Welcome…. D 2.0 & T
Florentine Chicken
In Florence, tucked just off Via del Porcellana, there is a tiny dining room that feels less like a restaurant and more like a time capsule. Sostanza…..or, as the locals lovingly call it, Il Troia….is one of the city’s oldest, most unadorned, most fiercely beloved institutions. White tiles, wooden chairs, a few tables pressed close together, and a kitchen that seems to run on equal parts tradition and stubborn Florentine pride. And from that kitchen comes a dish so deceptively simple, so quietly transcendent, that it has become a pilgrimage item: the world‑famous butter chicken, or pollo al burro. Prior to my first visit to Florence years ago I was told by a friend who had spent several summers in Tuscany about this dish. He said I had to try it and if it wasn’t simply the best chicken dish that I have ever eaten that dinner was on him….he was right. In fact, a few years later when he threw a birthday party at his home for his wife for 40 guests, he asked me if I could figure out the recipe for it and give it to his caterer so it could served to his guests….I did and it was. This legendary dish is almost comically straightforward. No sauces. No flourishes. No secret marinades. Just fresh chicken breasts, patted dry, seasoned with the confidence of a century-old kitchen, and laid into a pan of European butter—the good stuff, the kind that smells like pasture and sunshine. The pan goes into a scorching oven. The butter foams, then deepens, then turns that perfect nutty brown that only happens when someone who has done it ten thousand times is watching over it. The chicken basks in it, drinks it in, emerges bronzed and glistening, swimming in a pool of fragrant, bubbling gold. When it arrives at the table in the dish it’s baked in, it’s surprisingly humble looking.. Two pieces of chicken, a lake of browned butter, with a wedge of lemon to squeeze over the top. But the first bite is where the spell is cast. The meat is impossibly tender, the butter rich but never heavy, the browned edges tasting like the best parts of roasted poultry distilled into a single moment. It’s the kind of dish that makes you put your fork down for a second, smile to yourself, and think, How can something this simple be this good??? My friends, if you ever travel to Florence this is a must…the restaurant is tiny so reservations are a must and need to be made well ahead of time. BTW….I’m adding this dish to our June Wednesday ‘Tucci Night’ specials….oh Hell yes she said! I should also mention their second famous dish… Tortino di Carciofi…artichoke custard….but I’ll save it for another post. Ciao… David 2.0 & Tino
