I am very pleased to say that this website is beginning to have just the slightest modicum of practical travel influence beyond being a source of reading travel and language essays. Some Australian friends will now be taking GW Travel’s private Transsiberian Express later this year, and, in addition, they will stay at the same hotel in Seoul that I liked and visit the DMZ as well. In addition, these friends, as well as two others in Florida, have noted to me that they like the manner in which I visited the Copper Canyon, and will make a note about it for the future.

I am still in e-mail touch with Tim Littler in England, who runs GW Travel out of a town southwest of Manchester, and I wrote him, introducing the Australian friends. I still want to meet him, and he wants to meet me. It didn’t work that we’d both be on that GrandLuxe train in Mexico; I’ll be on the Transcantábrico train in Spain in May, which he also wants to get to see, but couldn’t schedule my dates; I mentioned meeting him at Rules in London when I’m there, but he’s been invited to participate in some ceremonies in Switzerland. Surprisingly, he then mentioned in passing some rail business he had in Minneapolis, I mentioned my connections to Minneapolis and that I was planning to be there the weekend surrounding this August 25, our 45th wedding anniversary, to visit the new home of the Guthrie Theater to see “1776” again, and it turns out that Tim and I will now meet on August 23. After discussing meeting locations all over the place, I find it amusing that we’ll finally meet in good old Minneapolis. (Knock on wood, or, as the British say, touch wood.)

Statistics   I’ve indicated that I keep travel statistics, largely helped by Beverly’s travel diaries over the years (which I continue to maintain, although in a much more abridged form, since so much of the information now appears here instead). For instance, I periodically mention what number sea voyage for me a given sailing is, or what number destination a new (to me) place is within the definition of the Travelers Century Club.

A couple of years ago (Reflections 2004 Series 25) I calculated how busy a travel year a given year was by listing the number of nights away from home, “on the road” as it were. I have a summary of all years since our year abroad in Germany right after we met. The top four were: first, 308 (1961-1962, our academic year studying in Mainz); second, 140 (1971, the first half of the sabbatical year for both of us, studying and traveling in Europe); third, 118 (2004, our seven weeks sailing around South America, plus Central Europe and Benelux, Beverly’s last two trips); fourth, 81 (1972, the second half of our sabbatical, again in Europe).

But 2006 was a busy travel year, and the lineup of the top four has now changed:

The top four are now all over 100 days. The second half of our sabbatical in 1972 at 81 nights is now out of the running, falling to sixth place. Fifth is 2005’s 96 nights, which included rail-around-the-world-via Siberia.

Restaurants & Dining   I find I have been discussing in various essays lately more about restaurants and dining, perhaps more than in years past. I think of comments on the website on dining establishments in New York, on the three restaurants in New Orleans, and elsewhere. I also have found people asking my opinion on places to dine. I’ve talked about getting to know restaurant people, chefs, owners, waiters, having referred to them as “commercial friends”. I feel I’m a novice, but perhaps I’ve been perfecting my palate without being conscious of it.

Lasserre   Trying to reflect back when it all started, I come across two stories, about two restaurants in France, Lasserre and La Pyramide. I need to start with a disclaimer. These stories are my recollections of experiences we had years ago, trying to learn about how things are done when sampling haute cuisine. Each of the two experiences is slightly imperfect. Both institutions are still in existence, and are still very highly regarded. Google them, if you wish. These stories just involve lessons we learned while dining there. There is nothing adverse about either place, and you are invited to go and try them out, although I do have one caveat: bring money.

Beverly and I had said from the time we got married that, since we were both working, we’d go out to eat at least once a week, but those were always to simpler restaurants, including diners. It seems to me the step up to more upscale dining started with Beverly. Not only that, it started with Beverly in France, no less. And with restaurants with Michelin stars. If she was going to pull us up by our bootstraps, she was going to do it right.

My first recollection involves Lasserre. It could have been the early 70’s or so, maybe earlier. We were in Paris, and Beverly decided we’re going to dine “right”, just once. Those were the years when we were extensively using the book “Europe on $5 a Day” (we made contributions to it, too), and were counting our pennies—literally. She had heard of Lasserre, and decided we should go that night. I remember few details of that day, but I do remember clearly three things: the phone call, a roof, and asparagus.

We wanted to call in a reservation. We didn’t do it from the hotel room, most likely because the hotel would charge extra to phone. If I remember correctly, we went over to American Express on Rue Scribe, across from the Grand Hotel and a block away from the Opéra. In those years before laptops, everyone used the American Express office in many cities as a mail drop while on the move, especially for longer trips, and I remember that mail office well. It was in the basement, and there was a public phone there.

We both spoke German well, but I was the Spanish speaker of record, still learning French, and Beverly was the French speaker of record, still learning Spanish. I asked her logically if she, as our French speaker, was going to phone in the reservation. No, she said. You’re the man. You call.

I know people who would take a petulant attitude like that on a regular basis, and Beverly wasn’t one of them, but this time she insisted. Maybe she wanted me to sharpen my French skills. Anyway, I was to make the call.

I have to explain here something that most readers will not understand. Why didn’t we speak English? Surely the reservationist at a major restaurant could handle English. The answer is, the thought would never, never, never have occurred to us. We have always been too much into the moment in a country where we knew the language reasonably well to throw in the towel that easily, so French it was going to be, with no doubt in our minds. The thought to have tried English would have occurred to us as logically as the thought to try Swahili. Using English would have been downright ... unprofessional.

To this day I’m wary about talking on the phone in another language, since seeing the person speak helps comprehension, and beyond that, a squeaky connection can ruin it. To get started, we had to study the directions for using a public phone in France. I dialed. I made the reservation in French. It worked like a charm, but it took a lot out of me, and I was suddenly exhausted.

I remember exactly what happened then. The wall phone was not in a booth, but was in a corner. I leaned back on the opposing wall in the corner, heaved a sigh and slowly, slowly sank to a squatting position near the floor, still leaning on the wall. Having taught myself French on my own at home up until that time, it was probably my first actual communication with someone in French, and to boot, it was on the phone. If you think that under the circumstances you would have been more cool, or, it being France, shall I say debonnaire, I’d like to see you try it. But I’m better now (!!).

On the Lasserre website, the room does look plush. But my mind’s eye doesn’t remember the room. It only remembers the roof. Lasserre was/is famous for the fact that the glass roof high above the dining room can slide open, and while we were eating, someone must have asked for it to be done, so we heard the r-r-r-r of it opening, and then the r-r-r-r of it closing. A roof that opens is rather gimmicky and not really necessary, especially with air-conditioning today, but that’s the way it was, and that’s what stayed with me over the years.

I see that Lasserre still has two Michelin stars. Just to be listed in the Michelin hotel and restaurant guide means it’s a very good place to eat, and if it gets one, two, or three stars it’s an astronomic rating. Apparently Beverly had very good taste. But we were trying to travel on a very tight budget in those years, and this was to be our splurge. It was more of a splurge than we had reckoned on, as evidenced by the story of the asparagus.

Except for that asparagus, I have no idea what we ate that evening. I assume it was good. But as we were ordering our main course, whatever the meat was, the waiter asked what we’d like with it. This was something we had never come across before, and have done so rarely since.

I have no like of “comes with” restaurants. These are places where the entree “comes with” a salad, “comes with” a soup, “comes with” dessert, “comes with” coffee. If I want any of these things I can order them on my own--or not at all. In place of the “comes with” style, restaurants often have a prix fixe menu, where you get a selection of several courses at a fixed price (prix fixe). In my opinion, that is how it should be.

There is a big difference between combining courses into one unit, à la “comes with”, and putting a complete entree on a plate. I can not tolerate a restaurant where the entree is not garni. If you don’t know that French term, it’s related to, and essentially means, “garnished”, but we’re not talking about garnished with a sprig of parsley. If you order a steak, to my mind it should come garni with a vegetable and/or potato. That is what usually happens. But not always. And not at Lasserre.

As we were carefully counting our francs, we ordered our entree. Then the waiter asked what we’d like with the meat. We didn’t know what he meant, so he asked if we also want potatoes, or a vegetable. He recommended the asparagus. We asked how much more the asparagus would cost, and he gave us an amount in francs equivalent to about $8. We were appalled, but ordered the asparagus. And all I can remember now of Lasserre is eating asparagus and listening to the r-r-r-r of the roof.

Serving the main course garni is so common, even at the lushest of venues, that most people don’t even know the word garni, since they don’t need it. Also do keep in mind that $8 in the years we’re talking about would be the equivalent of easily double that today, if not more. The asparagus was good, but not THAT good.

I have rarely come across even very nice restaurants where the entree is not garni, but fast-forward to just two months ago. I said in New Orleans how much I liked Galatoire’s and Brennan’s, but I commented that the oldest of the three, Antoine’s, dating from 1840, is the only place where the waiter once again asked what I’d like with my steak—the creamed spinach being a signature dish of Antoine’s, and it was—wouldn’t you know--$8.

As I said at the time, Antoine’s was OK (though not magnificent, a point I made then), and the young waiter was very personable and helpful, but to quote the venerable Yogi Berra, it was déjà vu all over again. Lasserre’s asparagus those years ago and Antoine’s creamed spinach had more than their green color and price in common, although $8 today is less than it was then. Can I afford the $8? Yes. But not serving a main course garni, even with a potential choice of vegetable and/or potato, is too much like being nickel-and-dimed, which leaves a very bad taste in the mouth, which is the last thing you need in a restaurant.

La Pyramide   I know just when we visited the second restaurant. It was during the first half of our sabbatical in 1971, where we had gone to take a three-week course (my first) in advanced French in Pau (PO) in southwestern France. We knew that on leaving Pau we’d be driving east in the direction of Switzerland, so Miss Beverly decided we should stop and dine in La Pyramide in Vienne (VYEN), which was on the way.

Vienne is on the Rhône just south of Lyon. Curiously, its name is exactly the same as the French name for Vienna. This Vienne is famous for a restaurant, La Pyramide, which has three Michelin stars. It is also famous for its original chef, Fernand Point, who was not only famous for his cuisine, but for training other famous chefs like Paul Bocuse and the Troisgros brothers.

I’m sure you don’t doubt that France takes its chefs very, very seriously, but just in case, do note that La Pyramide is located on Boulevard Fernand Point.

But Fernand Point had died, and La Pyramide was now being run by his wife (today there is a new chef). In any case, we took out pen and paper and wrote a letter to La Pyramide requesting a dinner reservation on such-and-such a date, in French of course. Some days later, we received a reply from none other than Madame Point herself. It was a charming hand-written letter making the reservation and hoping we would enjoy ourselves.

We did, to a great extent. On arriving in Vienne, we found a simple hotel, the one connected to La Pyramide being too rich for our blood at the time, and made our way to the restaurant. I remember sitting at the edge of a large open terrace area; the atmosphere was charming. Then we read the menu.

As sometimes happens at some restaurants, the menu was limited. There were a few appetizers, and my mind’s eye (that liar) remembers about five entrees. None of the entrees particularly appealed to us. There wasn’t anything particularly odd or unusual, but we felt that for the prices we were paying, we really wanted something we felt was special. Eventually, none other than Madame Point herself came over to chat. As often happens, she shifted the conversation from French to English, and helped us decide on an entree. I couldn’t swear what it was, but it might have been squab, something I’m not particularly interested in. For those prices—at any price—I don’t particularly want to find myself stabbing at the carcass of a dead pigeon, so the otherwise pleasant experience was muted.

If we learned from Lasserre about an entree not being garni, we learned at La Pyramide to be very, very cautious about French menus. French food is wonderful, but I struggle more often with a French menu to find something I like than with other cuisines. Ever since, I will not enter a French restaurant without first reading the menu outside to see if there’s something I particularly like. I’ve walked away from a number of French restaurants after doing that, including some top ones in New York.

Liberté   I have to add one other remembrance here about French food. There can be great things on a French menu. Coquille Saint-Jacques comes to mind. But not only are there often few things of interest (to me), it seems that the French are more likely to eat things I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, moreso than other nationalities.

In October 1961, sailing on the Liberté to France to continue on to Mainz, our regular seats in the dining room were at a wonderful round table with about eight people our age, some French, some Americans. Although you usually get to choose off a menu on a ship, perhaps that wasn’t the case here, because I remember once having a dish placed in front of each of us on the Liberté without our knowing what it was. It looked beautiful. The item was about four inches across, and in a baked crust. The crust was larger than the filling. But when you broke open the crust, you looked inside down to a whole, perfectly formed, baked calf’s brain, just as though you were looking at a veterinary textbook. The Americans blanched and pushed it away. All the French dived in with relish.

At least there was no experience like THAT at La Pyramide. But still: always check out a French menu very, very carefully. The more genuinely French the restaurant is—as opposed to continental, or eclectic-- the more careful you should be.

Dining Parameters   Perhaps it’s been only in the last ten or fifteen years that Beverly and I have become very serious and more aware of quality dining and have sought out establishments that provide it. Let me mention some of the parameters I use.

That a meal should be filling, come in huge portions, or that it should be cheap should not be the basis for determining if the establishment is quality, whether it is a less expensive or more expensive a place. I take my three parameters from the Zagat guides: food, atmosphere, service. These parameters are, of course, in addition to the companions you are dining with, or people you meet.

As to food, taste, but also presentation, are the most important, but the food should be noticeably good. If it’s good enough for you turn and comment to your dinner companion how good an item is, you know you’re on the right track.

Many people don’t consider much more than that, but they are missing some major criteria. The atmosphere of the dining area is a major one. Sometimes a charming open terrace, or cozy corner, or fireplace, or impressive décor will add immeasurably to the meal, sometimes improving that was less great to begin with.

Finally is service. A friendly server who takes time to explain items or to recommend a specially good wine makes you feel at home. Sometimes the headwaiter or manager might stop by to see how you’re doing. Best is when the chef will stop by to make friendly inquiries. These are the things that make great dining experiences.

I consider there are two kinds of style a quality restaurant aims for, standard or gourmet. A quality standard restaurant will fall somewhere along the continuum of being modest--midlevel--upscale. One comes across far more standard restaurants than gourmet restaurants. I hate the overused word gourmet (now supermarkets even sell “gourmet” cat food), but it does describe the other category well. Gourmet restaurants are usually cutting-edge, and often you know the name of the chef. There is also more of a tendency for their fare to be eclectic, borrowing from multiple cuisines.

Everyone has his or her own opinion, and you might disagree, but let me give some examples of what I think, mostly based on restaurants I’ve mentioned over time. The three restaurants I discussed in New Orleans, all very famous, are not gourmet, but standard/upscale. The two restaurants in Mexico City were standard/midlevel. In New York, Orso, for all its minor celebrities, is standard/midlevel.

[Speaking of minor celebrities, I dined the other evening here in Chelsea, at a place I found two doors down from Le Singe Vert (standard/midlevel), which I’ve discussed in the past, called Le Zie 2000, a Venetian Italian restaurant (standard/modest). There was a group of four people across the room having a good time and I recognized the one diminutive woman. As they left and walked closer to my table I knew I was right—it was Rhea Perlman, Danny DeVito’s wife, who played the waitress Carla on Cheers.]

Kurt Gutenbrunner from Austria runs Wallsé in New York (he likes to spell the Austrian town of Wallsee, where he comes from, à la française). Wallsé in Greenwich Village is without a doubt a gourmet restaurant. He also runs Café Sabarsky in the Neue Galerie, but that’s different—I’d say it’s standard/midlevel. Unfortunately, I’ve never met Kurt Gutenbrunner.

Famous chefs abound. Beverly and I have dined here in New York at both Bouley and Danube—but never met David Bouley at either one of them. We once dined at Danny Meyer’s flagship Union Square Café—but never met Danny Meyer. But at Spago in Beverly Hills I spotted Wolfgang Puck stopping at some tables, so I got ballsy and waved him over. We chatted a bit, and then I shifted the conversation over to German for a pleasant conclusion to our chat.

People usually have many restaurants they enjoy, especially travelers, and will often return when in that city. Last summer I found Fem Små Hus (Five Small Houses) in Gamla Stan in Stockholm, liked it so much I went there twice, and that’s now on my list. In Berlin I like Lutter & Wegner, founded in 1811, which is located Am Gendarmenmarkt. Rules, near Covent Garden, is the oldest restaurant in London, and a favorite. I was happy we were able to go to the restored Gundel in Budapest. I like Filomena in Washington, Bacchanalia in Atlanta, D’Amico Cucina in Minneapolis; in Santa Monica in the Los Angeles area we’ve gone a couple of times to Warszawa (var.SHA.va = Warsaw) for good Polish food. [I’m sure every restaurant mentioned here can be googled.]

The best restaurant hands-down in Florida is Norman’s in Coral Gables, near Miami. I’ve asked several times to have Chef Norman Van Aken stop by our table, but I’ve never managed (yet) to hit it right. Almost as good is Chef Allen’s up the coast a bit in Aventura, near Fort Lauderdale. We were there only once, and no, didn’t meet Chef Alan Susser. But I have a story.

My New York dentist was going to the Aventura area a couple of years ago with his wife and mother-in-law and asked if I knew a good restaurant, so I mentioned Chef Allen’s. He’s been there now more times than I have, and his family now asks when they’re going back to Chef Allen’s rather than to Aventura.

Conversely, last month my Florida dentist, who goes to New York periodically, said he already had tickets to The Jersey Boys, but what else should he see, so I said The Drowsy Chaperone (it’s playing in London now), and he could read about both on my website. Then he asked about a nice French or Italian restaurant, so I told him to forget those and try Portuguese, specifically “my” Alfama in Greenwich Village, where I take everyone I know. It does seem I’ve become a magnet for restaurant recommendations.

[I’m going to a special reception at Alfama shortly (there’s an admission fee for wine and hors d’oeuvres), since the famous fado singer Mariza has chosen Alfama to launch her latest CD, Concerto em Lisboa/Concert in Lisbon. Some venues where she’s sung are the Royal Albert Hall in London, the Alte Oper in Frankfurt, the Berlin Philharmonic, the Sydney Opera House—but in the US, she’s going to Alfama. Check out www.mariza.com to see who she is and hear what fado sounds like.]

One doesn’t have to go across, or out of, the country to find fine dining, but sometimes a day trip is worthwhile, or even staying overnight. From New York we’ve gone overnight to the DePuy Canal House in High Falls, New York, overnight to the Ryland Inn in Whitehouse, New Jersey, and on a day trip to the Restaurant du Village in Chester, Connecticut.

Out of San Francisco, we’ve twice driven north an hour to San Rafael to The Rice Table to have Indonesian Rijstafel. West of Washington, we’ve stayed at L’Auberge Provençale in White Post, Virginia, in order to dine there.

Day trips out of Minneapolis on several occasions were to Schumacher’s in New Prague (inexplicably pronounced Pray-g) and to the Lowell Inn in Stillwater, facing Wisconsin. On several occasions we’ve prepared for dessert for company what Beverly called “Lowell Inn Grapes”, which are very simply fresh green grapes dredged in sour cream and served, sprinkled with brown sugar, in a dessert glass.

Lastly, out of Tampa, we’ve spent Christmas at historic Chalet Suzanne in Lake Wales in order to dine there. We’ve also gone several times to Maison et Jardin (House and Garden) in Altamonte Springs north of Orlando, either staying in a hotel or on a (long) day trip from Tampa. The lawn-surrounded mansion is delightful, as is the food, but one of my favorite things about the place is that locals, having difficulty with the French name Maison et Jardin, often simply refer to it as the Mason Jar.

Tampa, February 2007   I’d like to concentrate and finalize this restaurant discussion down to the adventures I had, either with friends, alone, or with people I met, this past month in Florida.

Tampa is not what I call a destination city. Just like many, many places, it’s a nice place to live and has some nice amenities, including some wonderful restaurants it has been adding in recent years, but if you come to the area from a great distance, you’re more likely to be interested in resorts and beaches rather than seeing Tampa itself.

I have a good example of that. You may recall my saying in the past that in 1968 and 1969, Beverly and I drove our VW Camper on two huge trips. That first year we did a 10,000 mile loop out of New York to the western United States and Canada, and the second year we did 8,000 miles in an eastern figure-8, driving up to a loop through Canada first and then another loop through the US South, each trip taking maybe a month and a half or so. (In 1970 we flew to Alaska and Hawaii, completing our visit of all US states and all Canadian provinces.) In any case, in 1969, driving up from Key West, Miami and the Everglades, I very clearly remember coming up Interstate 75 near Tampa while Beverly was driving, reviewing what there was to do and see there, and then deciding to skip Tampa and continue up the Gulf Coast toward New Orleans. In other words, our first potential visit to Tampa didn’t happen, since it didn’t rank high enough in our estimation as a destination city.

In 1990, though, we came to visit Paradise Lakes, where we eventually bought a studio condominium, later moving up to our present one-bedroom, and we became enamored of Tampa, but from a more local point of view. We immediately visited the area intensely, including two historic museums which we became members of in 1991, and where I still am a member.

But in the mid- to late 1990’s Beverly and I decided that many of our friends and relatives were not aware of what Tampa had to offer, so we did about seven or so trips, each time chauffering a few friends or relatives on a tour of Ballast Point Park looking out on Tampa Bay, Bayshore Boulevard, the Plant Museum in the former Tampa Bay Hotel, the Ybor City State Museum, ending with a dinner at the fabulous and huge Columbia Restaurant, dating from 1905. Those tours covered history, but on last month’s visit to Tampa, it seemed like many friends could use a better introduction to Tampa’s culinary delights, so several of us went to the standard/modest Schnitzelhaus, and a larger group seemed to really enjoy going with me to Mise en Place, a charming gourmet restaurant near downtown. I’ve taken people there many times, and once asked to meet the chef, Marty Blitz; I asked, and we chatted about, why he keeps his prices so low for a gourmet restaurant of such quality. Mise en Place has all the hallmarks of a true gourmet restaurant: quality, cutting-edge, eclectic food, a very pleasant atmosphere, and solicitous service.

I also went on my own in February to three additional Tampa restaurants I know very well, Roy’s (twice), Bern’s (also called Bern’s Steak House), and SideBerns.

Roy's   Roy’s is the exception to the rule that says you can’t have a quality gourmet restaurant that’s also part of a chain. Roy Yamaguchi, whom I’ve met twice on his tours to his restaurants around the country, founded Roy’s in Honolulu offering what he calls Hawaiian fusion cooking. It’s an eclectic style that is very similar to Pacific Rim cooking, with influences from Asia, Australia, and North America. I know that I am not the only one who thinks that Roy’s in Tampa is more outstanding even than other Roy’s restaurants (see below). We got to know Robert Snow, the manager, quite well, as well as the chef, Rand Packer.

Beverly and I liked Roy’s enough so that, after I had had her memorial dinner in Minnesota in November 2004, I had a second memorial dinner in February 2005 for Florida friends in a private room at Roy’s. Bob was of course on hand, and Rand came in from the kitchen to greet me and my guests.

On the visit to Tampa last month, more adventures ensued. The first was when I was headed to Roy's one evening, but first stopped at Nordstroms across the way in the International Plaza upscale mall for some slacks. I met a new salesman, Jerome Ritchey, who was very helpful, and who had TV-star looks: every hair in place, a Tom Cruise mega-watt smile and mega-watt personality. I found out there was a reason for this.

While being fitted for the slacks, I said I was going to Roy's across the street; we got discussing restaurants, including New Orleans; the visit to Mise en Place; the trip next week I was planning to SideBerns. He asked about Bern's itself, and I said it was OK when Beverly and I went once for her birthday, but didn't seem like a place that excited me to want to go back. This is where it got interesting. He and his wife enjoy good restaurants, especially Bern's, and he urged me to go again, to ask specifically for the restaurant manager Chris Daley, and to ask to be seated in the sedate Florentine Room. Jerome said I'd like Bern's this time, and to mention both Jerome's name to Chris, and that of his wife, who is the local ABC Action News anchor, Wendy Ryan.

I told Jerome I read the NY Times every day (and also the Saint Petersburg Times when in Florida), but I hadn't watched TV news in years. So I TiVo'd Wendy that evening, and Jerome had me also watch the commercial for the Tampa Tribune during the newscast, since he was in it. He apparently has multiple jobs, including TV appearances, in commercials and otherwise. So they are both TV personalities. On his recommendation, I made a reservation for the following week at Bern's. Manager Chris Daley also called me back and assured me he'd do his best to assure I had a good time. I suppose you’d call mentioning to Bern’s the names of two regular customers is what you’d call having connections, and moreso if they’re TV personalities.

The second development was at Roy's just a little while later. True, Beverly and I went there often. True, two years ago I had her memorial dinner there. But the last time I was there was an entire year ago.

I stepped quietly up to the podium and asked for a table, expecting to blend into the wallpaper, and immediately a voice emerged from the crowd to the left: "MISTER DINAPOLI!!!!!". Bob Snow had spotted me from across the room and came over with a bear hug. I'm just not used to being recognized, I suppose. I wonder how it is for TV personalities. But this type of “taking care of one’s own” falls under good service, and also under excellent restaurant management.

Later I asked the waiter about the chef, Rand Packer, and Bob came over and sat down for about ten minutes to chat. Apparently Rand's contract was just up recently, and he decided to leave. But the surprise is this: Bob said that Rand is opening up a new restaurant in the northern suburbs of Tampa much closer to where I am at Paradise Lakes; word has it that it might be called the Mariposa Grille. Because of an exclusivity clause in Rand's contract he won't be doing the Hawaiian fusion cuisine done at Roy's; it may be something like California-Mexican, and could open shortly. Let's see what happens.

I was happy with one visit to Roy’s, but I periodically get e-mails about special wine-tasting dinners they have. Usually I’m out of town, but one was going to happen later in February, so I signed up. Jerome clearly being a fellow foodie, I asked him if he was interested; he was ready to go, since it looked so good and since he was off that day, but it turned out he had to film a golf commercial well into the dinner hour, so he had to beg off.

The dinner and wines (paired with each course), held in another party room at Roy’s, were fabulous, and Bob Snow introduced me to Jim Clendenen from California, the vintner and owner of Au Bon Climat near Santa Barbara whose wines we were tasting and who was speaking that evening, and I sat at his table. The discussions were great, and he threatened to take me up on my offer to take him to Alfama in New York, which he was familiar with but had never visited, so we’ll see. He agreed with me that the Roy’s in Tampa is better than the other Roy’s restaurants.

We had an extremely pleasant evening talking wine, food, and restaurants, but I want to offer you a verbatim statement by Jim: "Bern's is the best restaurant in the world." I'm sure, given his field, he's influenced by Bern's wine cellar; but he also felt that going other food routes than steak is worthwhile, a decision I had made earlier on my own for future visits (this wine tasting took place after I had already re-visited Bern’s).

I also met Roy's new chef, Mike Rocke, who has worked there for four years with Rand, so anyone who's been to Roy's in that time has already been under Mike's "influence".

Bern's   Bern’s Steak House is a very well-known restaurant in Tampa. Bern’s has sort of a mystique. They have the largest wine cellar in the world. All foods are freshly made, on-site, including butter and sour cream for your baked potato. They air-ship their food on request. They age their steaks themselves. Their own warehouse supplies sheet metal for new kitchen equipment. They will not hire anyone who has been a waiter somewhere else, since they want people trained their way (call it another kind of “fresh meat”). Yet on our one visit there several years ago, it was OK, but we remained unimpressed. The atmosphere, both outside and on entering, is horrific (Jim Clendenen also made a similar statement about the negative visual impact on arrival). At the time, to impress you I’m sure, each table had a humungous wine list chained to it. The steak menu was overly long and overly complicated, again more to impress, to my way of thinking. It’s only the second restaurant I’ve ever gone to where, after you pay for your meal, you retire, if you wish, to a separate dessert room upstairs to end the evening. Yet we had remained unimpressed, since, although the food was OK, so many things just seemed so gimmicky, and were meant to impress, perhaps overimpress, the uninitiated.

Bern’s also owns the cleverly-named SideBerns, a gourmet restaurant not literally that close to it, but about a block away, and which we’ve visited many times. I would say SideBerns is the best restaurant in Tampa (the world is too big for me to make judgments that are any greater), and I’d always wanted to meet its well-known chef, Jeannie Pierola. Bern’s and SideBerns are two very, very distinct restaurants, and my choice is clear. But I had said I’d give Bern’s another try, and so I did.

Manager Chris Daley was very solicitous, and once I was seated in the Florentine Room, tastefully, serenely, and soothingly decorated and nicely compact, he had headwaiter Victor tend to my needs personally. The chained wine lists are now gone. The steak menu lists every kind of steak you’ve every heard of, but Victor explained that tenderness and taste are in inverse proportion—the tenderer it is, the less tasty it is—so if you want a lot of taste, for instance, skip the filet mignon.

The service was outstanding, and, even though I was given VIP treatment this time, it was also very good the first time. As I’ve said, the atmosphere in the Florentine Room, and a number of other rooms more deeply into the inner sanctum and away from the entrance, was pleasant and restful. Dinner and wine were quite good, though I’ll try the seafood next time. I enjoyed their signature shrimp bisque first, but was then surprised that the main course “came with” both soup and salad, so I was paying for, but foregoing, the freebie soup. The salad and multiple homemade dressings were excellent, but I remain surprised that Bern’s is a “comes with” restaurant. I think that fact says a lot about the place.

I told Victor that he is very good at what he does, since he got me to understand the steak page on the menu. I will still say that that page should be modified, as it, too, crosses the line between impressing one and daunting one. Each steak is sliced to order, and under each steak listing there are measurements in fractions of an inch of almost every thickness you could want, along with the corresponding price. I still think this is foolish, as small-medium-large would work just as well, and with all there is to eat, small should really do for everyone. Victor gave me an education on steaks, and I think I understand the differences. However, that should have been unnecessary, and should have been clarified on the steak page as to the differences between steaks. Also, I remember on that first visit years ago I though I had to choose whatever steak I decided on by the thickness. There is little reason for all that superfluity of information to be there. Bern’s has to remember: to impress versus to daunt.

Visitors usually get to see the vast kitchen and then the wine cellar, and Victor gave me the tour. The kitchen has one guy just slicing onions, for example; there is a huge fish tank with live fish swimming. Walking through the wine cellar is like going through the stacks of a very big library, with rows and rows of tilted bottles on the racks instead of books.

Afterward I went upstairs to the dessert room. As I recalled from earlier, there are small, medium, and large private booths, and when I say private, I mean you literally do not see anyone else, since the booths are wooden ovals, almost like small private rooms. You have a device that plays different kinds of music, depending on the button you punch, including live music from the pianist hidden away across the room. There is a phone in each booth to speak to the pianist for requests. The desserts are fine, as is the selection of after-dinner wines and drinks.

Most of what I’ve been saying I e-mailed back to Bern’s, thanking them for their hospitality, but including my one remaining major criticism, and in retrospect, it might have been what really bothered me on my visit on Beverly's birthday some years ago. It is the incredible ugliness encountered on one's arrival. I've rarely--nay, never--seen a more off-putting quality restaurant. The building on the outside looks like a windowless warehouse, and that's an insult to warehouses. The entrance and valet parking is under a huge porte-cochère, which could have encompassed a lovely, lushly planted arrival area, but instead looks like a cheap bus station in a third-rate city. On entering, one is in the gaudy lobby, with the hideous, dark-red-walled, mis-named Cameo Room on the lobby’s left. This is the room where Beverly and I had unfortunately been seated the first time. In the lobby as well as this room, one is in an area that seems to have been decorated by a designer who would espouse plastic seat covers in a living room and recommend garden decorations outdoors such as gnomes, flamingos, and madonnas. It’s all very, very gaudy and in poor taste. The interior decorator should have been exiled.

Would I recommend Bern's now? Yes, as long as one takes along blinders for the entrance. But it is definitely not a gourmet restaurant, as SideBerns is. Instead, I’d call Bern’s standard/upscale.

SideBerns   Ah, SideBerns. While I was at Bern’s, I asked Chris to make me a reservation the following week at SideBerns, which he did. I also mentioned to him I wanted very much to finally meet Jeannie Pierola, the chef at SideBerns, on this visit. Then I had a very pleasant surprise. Ten minutes later, Victor brought Jeannie over to my table. She was going to be away the next week, and just so happened to have been dining at Bern's herself that evening (she had just finished eating). I invited her to sit down at my table for 10-15 minutes and we discussed food and restaurants. It was a delight.

Jeannie’s background is Cuban, and she grew up in Ybor City (EE.bor), which has been part of Tampa for a long time, and is located right next to downtown Tampa. When she said she had run Boca, I was amazed. Boca was in Ybor City on the main street just down from the Columbia and was a favorite of ours several years ago. We were surprised when we showed up once and it was closed, as I learned, due to partner trouble.

I asked Jeannie why, on the SideBerns menu, every price ended in a 1, such as $9.91. She explained her concept of eclectic cuisine, which she calls One World, hence the 1. Since she was interested in cuisines combining cultures, I told her about, and later e-mailed her, the recipe for Keshy Yena (below).

The next week’s visit to SideBerns was a pleasure. It’s in a small, sedate building with a garden. The entrance from the valet parking area had been redone in brickwork, surrounded by shrubbery (Bern’s, take note!). The interior has one main room, and the ceiling is pyramid-shaped. My waiter, Michael, (I note down names when I like waitstaff), was very helpful with food and wine.

A little bit of language discussion: Not everyone will know the term amuse-bouche (a.müz.BOOSH), literally meaning “amuse-(the)-mouth”, and is a name for the freebie that a chef will often send out before dinner. A slangier term for mouth is gueule, and it is also common to call it an amuse-gueule (a.müz.GHöL). In New Orleans they call it a lagniappe (lan.YAP), which sounds French, but derives from both Spanish and an Indian language. In any case, an amuse-bouche is usually bite-size, possibly stretchable to two bites.

Anyway, before the meal came, the general manager of the restaurant, Dean Hurst, came over with greetings from Jeannie. She apologized for not being there, and Dean then presented me, compliments of Jeannie, with the first dual amuse-gueule I’d ever gotten. I don’t remember what the first canapé was, but Dean pointed out that the second had ground buffalo meat on it, which they had featured recently. I would never order buffalo, but one (quick) bite in a lagniappe couldn’t hurt me, right?

I chatted with Dean a bit; he visits New York on business frequently, and suggested to me Alta, a restaurant in Greenwich Village, which I’ve since visited. I told him about Alfama, which he hopes to go to as well. Foodies unite!

It was an outstanding evening at SideBerns.

Keshy Yena   I am not a cookbook person, and I had gotten rid of many of Beverly’s cookbooks in New York early on. However, I had kept her extensive recipe file in Tampa intact. However, it was time to perform a triage to make the cards more usable now for my purposes. The three-way division turned out not to be complicated. The recipes that I would never be tempted to make I discarded. Other recipes that I also would never make, but which had sentimental or family value, I kept, but off on the side, as souvenirs. The batch that I kept, and now keep with me, include ones that I have made, or might make—and some that I invented. By the latter I mean a number of dishes I put together over the last 8-10 years when Beverly was no longer cooking. Most are made in a large frying pan, my preferred style. A lot are pasta recipes, where, instead of an actual sauce, plum tomatoes (with onions, garlic, pignoli, anchovy paste, capers, tarragon, thyme) are reduced to a soft consistency, and served with some pasta. Usually there is as much of the vegetable mix as pasta. Another possibility is to cube, and cook down, an entire eggplant in place of the tomatoes. Balsamic vinegar goes well with both.

Anyway, while doing my triage I came across the recipe for Keshy Yena, which was a keeper. Beverly only made it twice, once for us, and once for company. But I like its international heritage, within the “One World” concept, and is why I mentioned and sent it to Jeannie.

In 1977 during Winter Break in February, we went to the Nederlandse Antillen (Netherlands Antilles) of Curaçao, Bonaire (quickly), and Aruba. We particularly enjoyed Willemstad, the capital of Curaçao (koo.ra.SAH.o). When I stopped there again recently on a cruise (Reflections 2004 Series 19), I mentioned again how much I liked it and discussed the language known as Papiamento.

We had gone that week in 1977 to a restaurant in Willemstad and noticed an intriguing dish that could only be had on special order, having to be requested a day in advance. We promptly ordered it for the following evening. It was called Keshy Yena, which, in Papiamento, would have to derive from the Spanish words Queso Lleno. Queso is cheese, and lleno means full/filled/stuffed. I prefer to translate Queso Lleno, given what it is, most precisely as "Stuffed Edam Cheese". Meat pies, such as a Cornish Pasty or an Argentine Empañada, are not uncommon, but here, instead of pastry, there is a shell or crust of cheese on the outside. If combining Dutch cheese and Caribbean ingredients in the meat filling isn't One World, I don't know what is. On returning from Curaçao in 1977, Beverly found the recipe for Keshy Yena in the Caribbean cookbook in the Time-Life series, which she adjusted somewhat. I'm sure the filling can be varied to taste, such as by adding pignolis, other spices (nutmeg?), or other dried fruits (sultanas, chopped prunes) in addition to or replacing the raisins. The mild cheese shell balances any spiciness. It should ideally have a domed shape similar to a Christmas pudding or Baked Alaska (to use dessert references), and be sliced in wedges to serve. The filling I'm sure can be varied to taste. It's the concept of a Caribbean meat filling "stuffing" a Dutch cheese crust that's unique, and evokes the One World concept. Beverly added some comments to the recipe, and I’ve rewritten it in a more readable and doable fashion. A complete recipe is a first for this website, but is included because of its international nature, and because we became aware of it while traveling.

Preheat oven to 350°. Butter a 2 1/2 - 3 1/2 quart deep baking dish (a bowl-shape will result in a more pleasing domed roundness). Fry in skillet:

Put beef aside, discard fat from skillet. Replace with:

Stir frequently; cook until soft but not brown. Stir in:

Cook briskly until most liquid evaporates & mixture is thick enough to hold shape in spoon. Off the heat add:

Mix well & season to taste. Cut the rind away from a:

Cut cheese lengthwise, then vertically into equal 1/4-inch slices. Layer cheese around bottom & sides of baking dish/bowl, overlapping slightly. Add filling. Layer remaining cheese on top. Cover dish tightly with foil & place in large, shallow roasting pan in middle shelf in oven. Add boiling water to pan to come 1 inch up side of dish/bowl. Bake 30 min until top layer of cheese is melted. Remove and let cool. (If made in advance & chilled, return to room temperature & bake 1 hour.) Run knife around sides and unmold into serving dish placed upside-down on top & then inverted. Serve at once. Serves 8.