tokyo food life

Doteno Iseya has been serving tempura from this lovely building for nearly ninety years. The venerable old structure is located just across the street from the entrance to the long-faded Yoshiwara district. And many a customer, before or after a night of physical pleasure in that famous red light district, sought gustatory pleasure in a bowl of tendon—a hot mound of flavorful tempura prawns, conger eel, squid, and green peppers crowning a bowl of moist glistening rice.

The tempura is Edo-style: darkly crisp and fragrant from the sesame oil it’s been fried in.

The interior has been meticulously maintained with etched glass panels depicting jumping shrimp, shoji screen panels, opaque glass lampshades, and an ancient grandfather clock ticking against the wall. The low dark wood tables have been polished smooth by countless elbows.

Tendon comes in three sizes: イ、ロ, and  ハ. The first one is 1400 yen and is basically a couple of prawns on a bed of rice. The middle choice, 1900 yen, includes some vegetables, and the last one, 2400 yen and pictured above, is a veritable mountain of tempura goodness. Make sure to order a bowl of nameko mushroom miso soup, 200 yen, to accompany the tendon.

Doteno Iseya is Tokyo as it likes to remember itself. Get there early or late to avoid the queue.

1-9-2 Nihonzutsumi. Taito Ward.

Tel: 03-3872-4886.

Monday to Friday: Lunch 11:30am to 2pm. Dinner: 5pm to 8pm.

Closed Wednesdays.

Nearest subway station: Minowa Exit 3. Hibiya Line.

Takahashi-san, a hip winebar yatai a few minutes from Ebisu station, serves only vegetables—exquisitely fresh, pristine vegetables prepared with only a gentle steaming, or perhaps grilled for an interval over embers of charcoal.

Season by season, the vegetables will change. Spring brings fava beans or asparagus: white, green, purple. Summer means sweet corn—long slender cobs of baby corn which Takahashi-san  steams so expertly that you can eat the long twist of corn silk still attached. Summer also means lily flower bulbs or bamboo shoots. The tender bamboo shoots, which Takahashi grills in their sheaths until they are charred black, are gathered by yamabushi monks from the hills surrounding Kyoto. He’ll also have eggplant so fruity you eat it raw as dessert.

Pairing vegetables with wine is decadently healthy. Descriptions and prices of ten to fifteen different seasonal vegetables are tacked up on the wall behind the counter. No fat or oils are used, except for the olive-oil based bagna cauda which you can order if you like.

As you make your choices, Takahashi-san will suggest a wine pairing for you. All the wines—Old World and New—are available by the glass. He keeps an impressive collection of bottles chilled behind his counter.

Some of my favorite are the steamed kabu, turnips; luscious potatoes, kabocha pumpkin, grilled brussel sprouts, green pepper with freshly shaved katsuo flakes, and the garlic gloves which turn a soft golden brown after thirty minutes in the steamer. Most of the items cost from ¥300-500.

Not to be missed is one of Takahashi-san’s specialities: the steamed shiitake mushroom caps filled with a spoonful of freshly squeezed sudachi juice. He says you’ve got to take the whole thing in one mouthful for the best effect. Delicious.

Takahashi-san’s winebar counter is among a dozen yatai in an enclosed mura. So if you absolutely need some meat, gyoza, or grilled fish to go with your wine, stroll over a neighboring yatai, order some up, and bring it back to Takahashi’s counter. It’s one big party.

Some evenings a nagashi, a wandering guitar-strumming minstrel, makes his rounds yatai to yatai. For ¥500 you can choose a song or two. You can sing, or just let him entertain you with his original songs.

Takahashi-san stays open until the wee hours.

Wine & Vegetable Takahashi-san: 1-7-10 Ebisu, Shibuya-ku. Tel: 080.5527.1117. Reservations recommended.

Yaki soba is a humble dish. This concoction of noodles, cabbage, Bull-Dog sauce, and a few thin slices of pork belly is a favorite of vendors at local festivals or of hungry campers spending the afternoon at the river. But in my nearly 30 years of eating in Tokyo, I’ve never encountered a restaurant dedicated solely to yaki soba until I discovered Hanaya in Tawaramachi.

You start to smell the familiar odor of frying noodles as you ascend the steps of exit 3 of Tawaramachi station. Look to the left as you hit the pavement and you’ll most likely see the master in his striped apron literally scraping together a mound of noodles.

For decades he has made the same dish over and over again. No variation. Noodles, sauce, cabbage.

Using two large metal scrapers, he mixes and tosses until the cabbage bits have softened and the noodles are coated with the tangy, slightly sweet sauce. You’ll find no pork belly hiding among the noodles. Adding meat would mean raising the price above ¥350, the rock bottom price for this savory dish.

Hanaya has no pretensions. The Tiffany-blue vinyl tablecloths are thumb-tacked to the tables. Nail heads are visible where the table legs were hammered to the top.

And the paint on the concrete floor has been worn away by decades of customers stopping in for cheap tasty meal or for a taste of their childhood.

All kinds stop in here: a businessman in an expensive suit. A former businessman down on his luck from restructuring. Young couples and old couples looking for nostalgia. Tourists on their way to the kitchenware shopping street in nearby Kappabashi.

The noodles are al dente. The squeeze bottle of tare sauce on the table can add some extra zing if you’re so inclined. If you’re famished, you can order the omori, a larger serving of steaming noodles, for an extra ¥100.

All the chilled water you can drink is free.

I guess I like yoshoku joints because they are the closest Japan has to the American diners I remember as a kid. Back in Illinois on a Saturday afternoon after cutting grass or raking leaves for pocket change, I’d go to the local diner for a greasy burger, a malted milk, and an order of fries. Next to me at the counter perhaps were a talkative salesman, a housewife out on errands, or other locals in for a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie. Rengatei in Ginza had the same working-class feel to it.

A yoshoku restaurant serves classic “western” food like omelettes, fried cutlets, pork ginger, chicken sauté, and mixed “fry” specials with combinations of deep-fried shrimp, oysters, and a croquette of crab-cream or potato. The plates almost always include a few strands of oiled pasta colored with ketchup, some shredded cabbage, and a dollop of potato salad. Hundreds of thousands of Tokyo salarymen and office women fuel their working days with dishes like this.

The Ginza branch of Rengatei, an archtype joint with a narrow counter seating only five, sadly closed a couple months ago after a run of some 40 years. But its older sister, Rengatei Yoshoku Ganso, a few blocks away in Shintomi, is doing just fine—still slinging hash, so to speak, since 1965. The Shintomi customers are of a type you rarely see in other eating establishments—not much different from those hard-working folks I remember back in Illinois. Some are dressed in knitwear outfits they’ve had for decades. Others still wear outdoor slippers because they’ve left their shoes at the office. An elderly grandmother, with a hastily tugged on wig, sits at a table with her young granddaughter.

Rengatei gets its name from the blood-red brick (renga) interior. And when you enter, you’ll be greeted with a hearty “Irrashai!” Then when you sit down at the counter, no matter what you order, you’ll be served a cup of creamy tomato soup to whet the appetite.

The “om raisu” is a delectable classic yoshoku dish. Fried rice, reddened and flavored with ketchup, is given a glistening yellow robe of egg, then baptized with a scoopful of brown-black demi-glaze sauce and a squirt of ketchup. Cheap. Filling. Delicious.

The curry rice order comes with a carefully composed green salad, a few strands of pasta flavored with oil and pepper, three green beans, a deep-fried prawn and a potato croquette. The honest grub is prepared with speed, skill, and finesse. Most customers eat and run, but after your meal you can linger over a cup of coffee, read through all sections of the newspaper, or sneak in a short snooze, if you prefer.

When you finally wander out the door, you’ll be followed by a friendly call, “Domo desu!”

Rengatei Yoshoku Ganso. 1-5-5-104 Shintomi. Chuo-ku. Tel: 03.3551.3218. Open for lunch 11:30am to 2pm. Dinner 5pm to 8:30pm.

Some Tokyoites are welcoming the new year with a strawberry or two. That’s all most people can afford with these new Hatsukoinokaori, “Fragrance of First Love” strawberries going for almost 12 dollars a berry. The sales clerk confessed that this recently developed fruit tastes like any other strawberry: the flesh just doesn’t turn red. The berry’s PR flyer reveals that depending on the weather though, (or if the berry finds out how much she costs), she may start to blush pink.

If you like shopping for fruit like you shop for jewelry, head to “Sun Fruits” in Tokyo’s Midtown shopping center. Besides strawberries, the shop sells individual apples, bananas, dried persimmons, assorted fruit baskets, and other seasonal fruits—all in absolutely museum-class condition and at world-class prices.

Now is strawberry season and Sun Fruits offers a dozen choices. If pale berries are not your thing, try Echigohime. She’s billed as big and juicy, with a balanced sweet and sour taste, and a rich berry fragrance. Or Benihoppe, “Red Cheeks,” who is so delicious your cheeks will fall off—her flesh is red inside and out. Perhaps the seductively shaped Yumenoka, or the firm Yayoihime. You won’t be able to resist buying only one Mouikko, “Just One More,” with her plump size and balanced sweet and sour taste. Metaphor lovers will swoon for Hinoshizuku from Kumamoto Prefecture. The area is famous for pure water and this berry is thought to resemble a drop of that famous water. Tochihime is more sweet than sour, but her flesh is yielding and needs to be consumed quickly. Sachinoka boasts great mouthfeel. And Sagahonoka was developed jumbo-sized to be given as a gift.

The ever popular Tochiotome is a well rounded, balance character. And the precocious Amaou is cleverly named after her four attributes: akai (red), marui (round), ooki (big), and umai (delicious).

A box of 24 Amauo will set you back over 100 dollars.

Sun Fruits is open 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. everyday.

www.sunfruits.co.jp

On a quiet side street, a minute or two from the boisterous pressing crowds and hawking rickshaw drivers of Sensoji Temple in Asakusa, is Edosada, a small modest restaurant specializing in kamameshi, a simple rice dish sort of like paella.

Kamameshi was invented in Asakusa some hundred years ago—not by Edosada, but for three generations it’s been a standard bearer serving good, solid, unflashy food made with care and pride.

As with paella, kamameshi can be prepared with various extras cooked with the rice in its individual kama pot, but Edosada’s signature dish is the go moku combination (1050 yen) made with chicken broth, minced chicken, a bright green snow pea, a red shrimp, bamboo shoots, and a shiitake mushroom.

Kamameshi is always made from scratch here and takes 20 minutes to cook. Recommended starters while you wait are the kani salad (730 yen) with its two strips of sweet crab meat, cherry tomatoes and mix of lettuces in a creamy dressing, or the bei nasu dengaku, a “western” eggplant (630 yen) grilled with a sweet miso and minced pork topping. Use the toothed grapefruit spoon to dig out the luscious flesh.

The decor at Edosada is classic, old school with shoji screens, wood accents, an indoor rock garden, and a raised tatami area if you prefer zabuton seating. A tape of koto music plays softly in the background. The waitresses, smart in their dark uniforms with white cotton collars and aprons, are friendly and efficient.

Eventually, your kamameshi will be brought to the table. The wooden kama lids and box-like holders have been used so long and washed so often they’ve taken on the silky patina of driftwood.

Lift the lid to release a fragrant waft of steam and you’ll see inside each kernel of rice glistening, plump and tawny, under the artfully arranged toppings. Don’t be afraid to dig in with the sturdy spoon to get to the caramelized bits at the bottom of the kama.

Along with the kamameshi, try the miso soup with nameko mushrooms (360 yen) and the house-made pickles, nicely crisp and not too salty (420 yen).

If you’re still hungry, check the “If You Want a Little More…” section of the menu for the Green Tea ice cream (360 yen), served with a small square of mille feuille cake.

Edosada pays attention to details. It promises in its error-free English menu to use only the best ingredients such as Koshihikari rice or alkaline water from Kannon Hot Spring in Shimoda. At the end of the meal, you’ll be served a cup of green tea, and should it be neglected during conversation and grow tepid, your waitress will notice and bring you fresh hot cup.

For the complete Edosada review, and more of my reviews, follow this link to Metropolis Magazine: www.metropolis.co.jp/dining/restaurant-reviews/edosada

1-8-6 Asakusa, Taito-ku. Tel: 03-3844-0505. Monday to Friday: 11:30am to 9pm. Saturday/Sundays/Holidays: 11:30am to 8:45pm. www.edosada.com

Bernice, my father’s mother, was of French ancestry and the head cook at the local Eagle’s Club in Beaver Dam, Wisconsin. I remember her mostly in her kitchen, almost always wearing an apron, and her hands always busy with a knife or a peeler or a stirring spoon.

Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, my father would herd us into the Rambler and we’d make the two-hour drive to her house for a feast that now seems unimaginable. Such holidays would fill her kitchen and dining room with aunts, uncles, siblings, cousins, and sometimes the parish priest. Altogether we must have been close to 30 people, sometimes, sitting down to one of her meals. Thinking about her roast turkeys (two were needed to feed that clan), stuffing, green beans, mashed potatoes, gravy, coleslaw, and apple or mincemeat pies still makes my mouth water.

Stuffing, or dressing—the terms were interchangeable—seemed a fantastic and somehow mysterious food to me as a child. How could bread mixed with chopped hearts, gizzards, and liver become so savory and delicious?

For my holiday meals here in Tokyo, I have always taken the shortcut of buying a box of herb-flavored croutons that could be turned into “stuffing” in a few minutes. Last autumn, however, I decided to make a stuffing that my grandmother would approve of.

Autumn is chestnut time, and I had recently discovered Tokyo’s best roasted chestnuts, Hisaya kyo-yakiguri, at a Yamanote Line station kiosk. These chestnuts, the size of golf balls, have a tangy wood-smoke aroma and are conveniently pre-split for very easy snacking. Some ten tiny Hisaya kiosks are scattered about the city in major train stations.

Autumn is also when pears, one of my favorite fruits, finally become affordable. I decided to use both in my stuffing.

Research on the Internet revealed that chestnuts and dried cranberries was a popular stuffing combination. So, after turning to the Joy of Cooking, and experimenting with several recipes, I came up with a recipe that Bernice might have liked.

Ingredients:

• dried cranberries (130 grams)

• two shallots

• one can low fat chicken broth

• roasted chestnuts (300 grams)

• shiitake mushrooms (5 to 6 mushrooms)

• one medium yellow onion

• six-eight slices bread (white and/or whole wheat), less bread means moister stuffing

• one stalk celery

• Italian parsley

• two large pears

• hearty bottle of red wine

First, preheat your oven to 150 degrees centigrade. Arrange eight slices of bread (I use four white and four wheat) on a cookie sheet (or two) in one layer and let them toast lightly for 20 minutes. The bread won’t color much, but the slices will become dry and crisp.

Get small bowls ready for each chopped ingredient. While the bread is drying in the oven, dice one onion and finely chop two shallots.

Dice one stalk of celery (about one cup). Finely chop the parsley to obtain two tablespoons. Peel 300 grams of chestnuts and try not to eat too many. Usually I quarter the chestnut meat because I want big hunks in the stuffing.

Because there are no giblets in this stuffing, I needed something to provide umami, the deep savory taste. Shiitake mushrooms and red wine do the trick by adding richness and depth.

Cut the shiitake into large dice. Wash the pears, core them, then dice—not too small. Make sure to use pears that are quite firm. There is no need to peel them. Measure out ½ cup dried cranberries. Don’t skimp. The Mannao brand cranberries are tart and delicious. They’ll plumb up nicely in the stuffing.

By now the bread should be dried. Remove from oven and turn up oven to 180 degrees C.

Cut the slices of bread into approximately 2 centimeter cubes and put them into the largest bowl you can find. After cutting the bread, you’ll have some breadcrumb dust on the cutting board. Be sure to add it to the bowl of bread cubes.

In a large fry pan or skillet, melt two tablespoons of unsalted butter over medium heat. When the butter foams and starts to sizzle, add the shallots, onions, celery, parsley, and one teaspoon of salt. Cover and let them sweat and soften for about 5 minutes. Stir occasionally. Add one tablespoon of Herbes de Provence (an indispensible herb blend of rosemary, marjoram, basil, bay leaf, and thyme), the chestnuts, shiitake and cranberries. Stir gently to mix well. Let cook uncovered for 2-3 minutes.

Add diced pears and ½ cup of red wine. Make sure the chef gets a sip. A Beaujolais nouveau works well.

Stir gently again and let cook uncovered for another 2-3 minutes.

Now comes the tricky part. Add the contents of the skillet to the bowl of bread cubes. Mix gently but thoroughly until all the bread cubes are coated. Pop open the can of chicken broth and pour over the mixture. Mix gently, but well, again.

Grease a 2-quart casserole dish with one tablespoon of softened butter. Add the stuffing. Cover with aluminum foil and slip it into the oven for 20 minutes. Then remove the foil and bake for 5-10 minutes longer. The top of the stuffing will brown slightly and crisp along the edges.

Of course, instead of baking the whole batch, you can stuff your holiday bird with as much of this ambrosia as it will hold and roast it. The remaining stuffing should be baked as above.

You’ll be surprised how good this stuffing tastes the next day, with the sweetness of the pears nicely balanced by the tartness of the cranberries. In warmer months, when making this stuffing, I substitute a couple of apples for the pears.

Before tasting this dish the other night, Nick, my eldest son, asked, “There’s no liver in this stuffing is there?”

No, not a bit, I assured him, and he proceeded to wolf down three helpings in a row. Maybe even Bernice would ask for seconds.

For more information and locations of Hisaya Kyo-yakiguri kiosks in Tokyo, go to www.kyo-yakiguri.com

Shibuya is the epicenter of youth-oriented Tokyo. Giant television screens blare music videos and cellphone advertisements — every manner of commerce from hip boutique and sleek department store to ramen stand and chestnut roaster vies for attention from the 24-hour throng of consumers that courses along the streets, alleys, and narrow passageways.

A man in a fierce gorilla mask touting a new eatery is not unusual, though he did startle a few young women who hugged their boyfriends’ arm as they hurried past the primate. The gorilla was handing out tickets for free toppings on any dish from the Go!Go!Curry shop down the basement stairs.

Go!Go!Curry hails from Kanazawa Prefecture where, I was told, they always eat curry rice with a side of shredded cabbage. The same ubiquitous pile of shredded cabbage that accompanies any “ros katsu” here in Tokyo. Go!Go!Curry calls itself the “The Champion of Curry” and backs up that claim with color comparison charts, prominently displayed on the red and yellow walls of shop, showing ratings against six other popular curry shop chains. Go!Go!Curry ranks first in taste of rice, sauce, katsu, and water. (They use alkaline ion-filtered water for the drinking water.)

The ¥500-yen “Healthy” curry is the cheapest entree. The  ”ru,” or sauce, which covers the rice like a dark chocolate lacquer, is meaty and packs a mild heat. You can request a spicier version when you hand your pre-paid ticket to the staff.

Portions and prices increase from Healthy to Economy, Business, and First Class dishes. The Business Class Katsu Curry comes in a dish as big as a small canoe.

Shredded cabbage actually goes quite well with curry rice. It adds a fresh crunch and pleasantly bitter undertone to the heat in the curry. You can, of course, have free second or third helpings of cabbage.

Besides cabbage, the shop offers ten different toppings like rakyo (pickled scallions), or egg (raw or boiled), or even natto. The shop is clean, bright, and staffed with cheerful energetic women in baseball caps and GO!GO! T-shirts. They yell out a chorus of  ”Irrashaimase!” as you enter and “Arigato gozaimasu!” as you leave. The service is also fast and efficient.

However, one oba-san staffer was perplexed by the order of a recent customer. He handed her his ticket for Healthy Curry and the free topping stamp card he received from gorilla man outside. The staffer asked him which free topping he would like.

“None,” he replied.

The staffer paused, confused. “But you can have a free topping—rakyo, raw egg or boiled egg. Which one do you choose?”

“I don’t want to choose any of them,” said the customer.

“Why not?” asked the staffer. “They’re free.”

“Because none of them are anything I want to choose,” he replied.

The oba-san was nonplussed. She stared for a few seconds at his stamp card. “Just a moment,” she said. “I’ll check with the manager.”

She went into the back room then, after a minute or two, returned.

“Okay,” she said, stating the obvious. “Just use this ticket another time.”

The customer got his curry unadorned with any free topping.

GO!GO!Curry, by the way, gets its name from baseball hero Hideki Matsui, who was born in Kanazawa Prefecture, and who sports the number 55 (go go in Japanese) on his jersey. There is a framed shikishi in the restaurant signed by Matsui after he ate curry there. Presumably, the first class dish.

12-12 Udagawa-cho, Cigma Bldg. #5, B1

Shibuya-ku, Tel: 03.6231.5534.

Open everyday 10:55a.m to 22:55p.m.

Summer is over. And Japan’s loveliest season has arrived wearing her many colored robe. But the summer season lingers on at any outside table of Tokio Plage Lunatique riverside in Futagotamagawa. From the funky patio, with its mismatched chairs and rattan sofa, you can enjoy a chilled glass of wine or a cold beer under the  spreading branches of a towering linden tree, listening the rustle of the bamboo grove as the wide Tama river flows silently on in front of you.

Inside are ruby red walls, linen laid tables, and a casual eclectic decor that Amélie of Paris would appreciate. The dinner menu offers pastas, and other Italian-accented entrees.

My favorite lunch is the vegetable curry—spicy and filling with chunks of pumpkin, eggplant, tomato, green pepper, and a deep- fried egg to top it off. With its green salad and glass of iced tea, the ¥1,500 price is a bargain.

After lunch, spend some time browsing in the next door shop selling kitchenware, dining, and other living accessories from popular French designer, Genevieve Lethu, the only such shop in Japan. Dogs are welcome in both establishments.

Tokio Plage is open everyday from 11:45 a.m. to 11 p.m.

The best way to arrive is to ride your bicycle down the lovely paved paths along either the Sengawa river, or the Nogawa river, until you reach the Tama river at Futagotamagawa. You could also walk, less than ten minutes, from Futagotamagawa station.

1-1-4 Tamagawa, Setagaya Ward. Tel: 03-3708-1118. http://tokioplage.jp.

As to which pasta sauce reigns supreme in our house, it’s a toss up between “red sauce” and “pepperoncini.” I’ll save the pepperoncini recipe for another day.

The “red sauce” is my version of the tomato-based pasta dish my mother made so often when I was growing up. Unfortunately, we’ve got no Italian blood in our family, but I’ve eaten so much pasta over the years, I consider myself an honorary Italian.

My cupboard is always stocked with packets of dried porcini, cans of whole Italian tomatoes, and spaghettini. So all I need to do for a quick, easy, and delicious meal is bicycle over to my local supermarket to pick up a couple of ripe avocados, a packet of shiitake mushrooms, some ground beef, and salad greens. I’ve been making this pasta sauce for so many years, I do it on automatic pilot while listening to National Public Radio and sipping a tumbler of red wine.

Basically, you’re making a marinara sauce. For marinara, tomatoes are the most important ingredient. Any brand of whole Italian plum tomatoes will do. I’ve made this sauce many times with the cheapest canned tomatoes I could find, but it’s worth seeking out San Marzano tomatoes. They are richer tasting and meatier than any other type.

First, let’s do the prep work. Get yourself a glass of red wine. All right? Let’s go.

• 3 cans (14 oz. each) San Marzano tomatoes

• two bay leaves (preferably Turkish, the most flavorful)

• one package dried porcini (30 grams)

• 6 to 8 fresh shiitake mushrooms (caps only: sliced or roughly chopped)

• one medium onion (finely diced)

• 4 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

• 200 grams ground beef or pork

• 4-5 large cloves of garlic (whole and peeled)

• 1 tsp.salt (preferably sea salt)

• 1 tsp. herbes de provence

500 grams spaghetti or spaghettini

• freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

For the Starter: two ripe avocados, one lemon, olive oil, balsamic vinegar

In a small bowl, add a half cup of luke-warm water to the dried porcini to cover. Let them soak and soften for 20-30 minutes. The water will become a deeply perfumed, dark brown broth.

Dice the onion. Peel 4 or 5 large cloves of garlic. The easiest way to do this is to smash the cloves with the flat side of a chef’s knife. The papery skin will come right off. Open the three cans of tomatoes. Remove the stems from the shiitake and slice the caps.

Add 4 tablespoons of extra virgin olive to a large saucepan. My family loves garlic, but I don’t want it to dominate the sauce, so I saute the garlic cloves on medium-low heat until they’re colored a pale gold. Be careful to turn the garlic frequently so that it doesn’t burn. When nicely colored, remove the garlic to a paper towel.

At this point one of my sons will come over and snag a crisp clove or two. They’re delicious. Add the chopped onion, turn up the heat to medium and saute the onions until they’re translucent: maybe five minutes.

Now add the San Marzano tomatoes. I use a potato masher to crush the whole tomatoes to an even consistency in the sauce pan. Toss in a bay leaf or two and a teaspoon of sea salt. Most marinara recipes call for oregano, but I’m partial to herbes de provence and use a teaspoon of that fragrant melange instead.

Add the sliced shiitake mushrooms. Squeeze the reconstituted porcini in your fist to drain them, reserving the broth. Chop the wrung out porcini roughly. Add them to the sauce. Pour the porcini broth, but not the grit at the bottom of the bowl, into the sauce. Stir.

In a separate fry pan, brown the ground beef, then add it to the sauce. Stir and let the sauce simmer and thicken uncovered on low heat for at least 45 minutes.

The great thing about this sauce is that it’s so versatile. You can add other types of mushrooms. Use ground pork or chicken instead of beef, or leave out the meat entirely. I’ve got no name for this sauce, but I’m sure my mother would approve of naming it after her: “Pasta alla Elaine.”

A couple of points to note when cooking the pasta: Make sure the water is properly salted. And don’t rely on the timing written on the package. Set your timer a minute or two earlier than the recommended timing and keep tasting the pasta until is done al dente. Drain then immediately toss the pasta with a cup or two of the sauce.  Serve with some extra sauce on top and some freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.

My son, Christopher, who always votes for “red sauce” says if you add more cheese, it’s double the goodness.

The starter is easy too. Halve an avocado, remove the stone, peel and slice the avocado. Arrange the slices on a plate. Mix one tablespoon of fresh lemon juice with two tablespoons of olive oil. Drizzle the lemony oil over the sliced avocado, add a few drops of balsamic vinegar, sprinkle with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Finito.

Serve these dishes with some crusty bread and a green salad and Buono Appetito!

I never get to eat right away, though, because at this point my dog starts pestering me until I dust her kibble with freshly grated cheese.