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Shelly Goes Fishing. Para's Turkish Ambition
October 15, 2007
Dear Friends and Family,
Mercurial if not manic, Shelly Fireman returned from an August retreat in his Tuscan hilltop home, minutes from the Tyrannian Sea, and set about ripping apart Shelly's Trattoria Tradizionale, formerly known as Shelly's Prime Steak, Stone Crab and Oyster Bar, originally known as Shelly's New York see Deep Knish
Thus, as soon as the city approves his new awning, the small triplex joint at 41 West 57th Street will officially be Shelly's Ristorante di Pesci, but don't whisper "now and forever till death us do part."
What can this the man be thinking? The city has been seized by a mania for meat. Star chefs, savvy restaurant titans, neighborhood stalwarts and out-of-town chains are opening steakhouses and burger joints. Pork belly is the gourmand mantra. The foodie avant garde can't get enough BarBQ.
"I want to be a contrarian," Fireman confides rather proudly. "When everyone's buying, I'm selling. You don't need another steak house in New York. What this town needs is an Italian fish restaurant. I had my guys schlepping all over the coast of Italy this summer to bring home recipes. You're gonna taste the best risotto you ever tasted. I'm going to be tasting myself Saturday night," he said. "You can join me."
Friends introduced us to Shelly and Marilyn Fireman in Pietrasanta near the Tuscan seashore in 1995. Our eccentricities meshed with an exhilarating exuberance. Our occasional dinners can be dramatic, confessional, comical, even quite moving, as Shelly confides tales of growing up poor in the Bronx. I have tried to walk the serious critic's fine line but it can become jagged..
"We'll join you," I said, "if you don't mind my not talking about the food."
"God bless."
We start at 8 with a delicious little fried ball of mashed potato wrapped around a shrimp and crisp-fried just-born fish, bianchetti. By 11, we are moaning and groaning. A thin, thin carpaccio of pineapple with lemon sorbet in an almond tart shell seems like a judiciously tart finale, but then there we are finishing the last dab of what is called a chocolate sorbet - "Torino chocolate," says our captain. It tastes like chilled fondant to me or whipped chocolate truffle -maybe whipped by an Eskimo standing in an igloo. Possibly the great French patissier Gaston Lenôtre would say it wasn't even a sorbet (although in this liberated era I wouldn't be surprised to confront shrimp sorbet. Just chocolate then, divine chocolate.
And there are one or two rocky moments, overcooked fish (i.e. fish cooked the way most Americans will want it).
"I forgot to say I like my fish 'rarish," I grouch.
But then comes two pounds of carefully steamed lobster Catalana, just the way we discovered it served in Viareggio, lobster in a garden, nesting on raw vegetables and fruit: celery, radishes, tiny tomatoes, carrots, melon and strawberries, with lemon and olive oil. And suddenly, at every table around us, I see what I guess to be tourists, inspired by the sight of the platter en route to our table, digging into a $54 lobster dish they've ever heard of before.
You'll find more on Shelly's Poseidon Adventure later today in BITE on www. InsatiableCritic.com
41 West 57th Street beteen Fifth and Sixth. 212 245 2422
Pera Does Turkey with Brio
"..With curiosity of not seeing you in my restaurant yet," the email began.
It was signed by Cem Erenler, a partner in Pera Mediterranean Brasserie, inviting me to "discover the Pera Hospitality Experience. " Yes, I missed Pera when it opened in spring and dozens of other launches as well. With New York in a paroxysm of restaurant invention and reiteration, it is easy enough to miss what sounds like yet another Turkish feeding stand in an odd location - Madison Avenue between 42nd and 41st. Not a sexy neighborhood, not exactly a torrid zone, about as far from chi-chi as Manhattan gets but a zip code that needs a reliable spot for lunch.
What a surprise to find this vast soaring space with a wall of wine, stone and tile, funhouse mirrors, a generous bar with a zebra wood communal snacking table and a pizza oven in the open kitchen where I spot a civilian that could be Erenler. He does not seem eager to waft hospitality at our table. Instead, we have Delaina with a theatrical welcome and the daily specials: "My fish tonight is," "my roast tonight is" -- sing-songy in a loopy, piercing soprano. We try not to giggle. Or cringe.
But bottom-line:Our foursome, all dedicated Turkish mezze fans, spoiled by the best days of Beyoglu, are impressed by deliciously savory whole wheat pidettes (pizzettas more or less), hot from the oven -- small, one bite for each of us -- and splendid stuffed grape leaves, possibly the best I can remember. Though the calamari salad seems a bit meager for $12 and the artichokes are lost inside a thick crumb batter that tastes mostly of frying, we're wild about the four lamb riblets and are busily filling small puffed up pita squares with cacik (flavored yoghurt) and crumbles of a feta-like cheese.
As one who is always looking for the best buy at the bargain end of any wine list ("chintzy," my more extravagant wine lover pals would say), I especially appreciate the wine category, "Under $46." And all of us are pleased with the charming quirkiness of our choice, Peachy Canyon Zinfandel.
Pera's big jar of pickled vegetables is a hit too. "Dig down deep," Delaina instructs.
Delaina has a way of disappearing, alas. I spy her spooning on sincere hospitality all over the room. Sometimes she catches my exaggerated flag-the-next-cab wave.  Gracious runners deliver two entrees to share: the "signature" adana -- ground lamb in a 16-inch sausage shape ("hand-ground daily," the menu promises) to wrap with pile-ons of condiments in sheets of lavash. Quickly, while the thin crepe-like bread is warm, before it cools into stiff paper. The mixed grill of chicken, lamb loin, lamb chop bones and more adana seems meager for $36.
As for desserts -- "My poached dessert tonight is pear with sour cherry sauce," Delaina advises. While I love that Cem Erenler's jams are made by his mother Nuran and shipped from Izmir, the sour cherry preserve is much too sweet for me. And the bill is a bit of a shock for those of us who teethed on Turkish canteens as "Underground Gourmet" -- $246 for four with just one bottle of wine, two entrees and one dessert.
I have Erenler on the phone. He's breathing fast. He cannot believe I came to Pera and he didn't see me. He wants me to mention the picnic baskets he does for Bryant Park movies, seasonally, of course, and his $38 bar deal: three mezze with a bottle of wine any day from 3 - 6 p.m. "You must come back."
My guest who just got a job two blocks away will be back again and again, I tell him. Pera could easily become a neighborhood standby. But it's too far away for me.
303 Madison Avenue between.42nd and 41st. 212 878 6301
Break an egg,
Gael
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