Suvir Saran

Thanks Anil. I have not been able to sleep tonight. I hardly feel the need to. I have just finished reading a few chapters of the Gita. And they were most helpful in this time. I believe in our family we do observe the Chautha (4th day) and also the Gyaarveen (11th day). Not sure what is going to happen. My father is gravely ill. But we are hoping to do the pooja (prayer) only after we are able to fly him here. Whilst you are correct about no fire, Anil, I live with a non-Indian life partner, and such sensibilities whilst known to a fine Indian man like yourself, are not clear to a non-Indian. I hardly expect anything from others. I did not even think of that possibility. But I know my grandfather was happy I prepared these two dishes. He was quite happy actually, and we chatted on the phone and discussed the Gita and the writings of Vivekananda. Thanks for your warm note. And thanks for sharing with the membership the finer nuances of the Hindu mourning rituals.

Would you mind starting a thread on that Indian restaurant? Do you mind sharing details of some of the dishes they serve? I am very curious to see what would be on the menu... what names they give dishes etc... I hope you can find time to do this.. and I thank you in advance.

My maternal grandmother (Nani) passed away earlier this evening. She had been in ICU for 11 weeks in Orange County where she had had a heart attack the morning she and my grandfather were going to be taking their flight back to San Francisco, where they lived in a grand home in the Marina District. Nani was the reason I got into cooking. A woman born with a diamond studded spoon, she cooked almost daily for she felt it was important for the "lady of the house" to add her touch to all foods served at the table. The staff would follow her instructions and learn from her and assist her. She was unlike my paternal grandmother (who sat in a chair and gave instructions) an active cook and a brilliant one. Her smile and beauty could stop just about any human being, but her love and affection and delicious food would give them a hope that she would open her home to them for a lifetime. Which she did for everyone. Within a short time, in this land where old age can be lonely, sad and different in comparison to India (where family and kids are ones social security), she had created a fantasy land for my grandfather and herself. It was unbelievable how many friends they had made. And how men and women, young and old, would consider their home one they would call that of a parent. It was from her that I learned how to bake my famous pound cakes that have been celebrated by the likes of Gael Greene for being some of the best they have ever eaten. She had lived in Japan during the war where my grandfather was serving in her majesties armed forces as an information officer. She played host to my grandfather when he became a powerful and revered bureaucrat. In their kitchen in Delhi, one could eat foods from India but also other parts of the world. Cakes, pastries, chocolates, muffins, puddings, custards, ice creams, sorbets, gelatos and more were made by her in India and then in San Francisco where the two of them retired. Having suffered a stroke and living with serious diabetes related problems, cataract that could not be operated due to diabetes and angina, she was as strong and brave a woman as I have ever known and fear will ever know. From royal blood, she married a man who was Gandhian and very spare. But their romance was strong and their flirtations with each other were inspiring to all of us in their know. 60 plus years after having been married, they still knew just what to do to make each other blush. My grandfather called me with the news and said he had been kissed on the cheek by her just moments before she moved onto the next stage in her souls journey. She had also called and said her goodbye to my parents in India (barely a few moments before kissing my grandpa) who sadly were unable to be at her bedside for grave reasons of their own. I know she had asked my mother and her siblings to make a promise that till his dying day, my grandfather would be fed the very foods she prepared for him daily. She would even after 60 odd years of being married to him, peel his fruit (even grapes, and only supremes of citrus and served daily, since it was his source of "natural vitamin C"), slice it into bite sized pieces, served him perfect portions of dishes at the table and made sure the flatware and plate and bowls were placed just in the way he was used to finding them. With a walker that had shelves, she prepared three fresh meals for both of them daily. Most days they had visitors for dinner. People much younger (non Indian for the most part), neighbors that had taken to them as parents or grandparents they could never have in their own families. So, these two grand old people had built for themselves a family of strangers that called them mom and dad, or aunt and uncle or simply grandpa and grandma. In her kitchen I would find the tastiest sugar free muffins and scones for breakfast and tea. Made from scratch. Cookies made as they would have been made in England of yesteryears, where my grandfather first learned how to indulge in tea as a ceremony. Tea was never the masala chai that Indians drank in their home, it was served as one would expect in a high style in a hotel or restaurant of another era. In India they had bearers do this in their home, in SF, my grandma had organized her kitchen so as to enable her to do it all with a walker and sheer will power. My nieces and nephews ate pastries, Indian foods and all kinds of home made jams and jellies prepared by this grand old woman their great-grandmother. She would feed these toddlers as she had fed us and our parents. These kids born in the US, were told great stories about our culture and family. She was grandma to kids of the neighbors and these neighbors would tell us how my grandparents gave affection to their kids like no one else had ever expressed. Their backyard that looked onto the gardens of the Palace of Fine Arts had citrus trees that were used by her to prepare pickles and chutneys. Clever grandma would freeze the juice of these lemons, limes and meyer lemons so as to be able to use them when there were no fruits on the trees. My co-writer, Stephanie Lyness, a CT girl, was from the Bay Area, she was in SF last year and I am so glad she was able to see my grandma prepare Aloo Parathas (potato stuffed flat breads) and Gobi Paratha (cauliflower stuffed flat breads) for us for lunch. Grandma refused to let me or my mom or Stephanie help. We each ate several parathas and resting one hand on her walker, she must have prepared at least 30 or 40 of these flatbreads. From scratch. And she did this often. Chapatis (griddle baked very fine flatbread) that are considered tedious by most Indian chefs, were made by her for dinner daily. Lunch was "American Style" as she would say. Salads, home baked breads, pastas, soups, stews, sandwiches etc... Today, as I was leaving the Asia Society after the performance by my own music teacher, I left happy that I received the news of her demise whilst hearing my teacher sing songs that grandma enjoyed. I knew then, not to leave the theater for something told me that Grandma would have wanted to be with me at this performance. I believe she was. My teacher sang better than she has ever sung in performance. She was magical. And afterwards, when I mentioned the news to her, she hugged me and said she sang for me today. She said something in my eyes as she looked at me from the stage, had told her she was being told by powers beyond her to sing for Suvir. I was in tears. I came home and prepared corn bread and beans. Nani (grandma) made cornbread better than Grandma Hayes or most American grandmas that have prepared it for me. Nani made hers with lots of corn kernels and also a copious amount of cilantro and jalapeno and just enough onions to give the sweet bread a wonderfully savory flavor. She also made amazing corn muffins. There was a secret to why her corn bread and corn muffins tasted so much better than others most of us who knew her had ever had. I hope to share that secret in my next book. She had made me promise that I would only share it in my book and not before. It was something simple she did to the corn, but a simple trick I have never seen mentioned in recipe books. She had said it in passing when she shared this trick that it would be her little way of coming alive for me long after leaving her body. I did not have enough time to prepare my beans using dried beans. But I went to our local grocery store and bought canned beans and without any shame, I prepared beans as grandma would have (in the last few years, old age and broken bones and a weak body had made her understand the magic of canned beans).. and they were delicious. Grandma taught me to love food and enjoy cooking and above all learn to cook only those dishes that I could cook without ego, misery and drama. She always reminded me that if I needed to be congratulated for my efforts, I might as well not make the effort. That was wrong according to her. Cooking was about sharing ones passion as freely and carelessly as one can. Not about wanting to boast and for affirmation. She always said food was meant to be simple and sacred. Not another game that us mortals played with life. Today, eating her corn bread and beans, we, those that ate in my kitchen, were in tears of happiness. Grandma left me and my friends and family in her physical being, but the lessons she shared with one and all will be alive for years to come. She moved lives of my friends even more deeply than she did with the rest of us. We took her for granted, or rather we had gotten used to her brilliant aura, but strangers would want to know her for even in her most amazing physical and compelling beauty, she had a way of finding something special in all and smiling for those that had little if any self worth. She was able to show everyone a reason to live and celebrate. My father, if all goes well, will hopefully arrive in LA for her memorial and his own tryst with destiny. Once that happens, we will mark this moment in our families history with a feast. I shall post about it at that time. Till then, this simple meal I shared with a few, will be my food of comfort as I mourn the loss of the greatest woman to have touched my life.

I think I mentioned the other place... It is Teodora. They also own a place in Rome that some believe to be the best seafood restaurant there.

I do it the way wingding does it. But that is not what many do. Wanted to make sure. Thanks for the recipe.

What would you add to them Jaybee? That makes perfect sense. Actually, as I noted above, I would use canned kidney beans, canned chickpeas and canned black eyes peas when rock climbing or trekking in the northern Indian moutain regions. I would carry spices, some tomato sauce and dried herbs. Find whatever local produce I could, and do the best one could in that situation and actually, the food always came out GREAT! I think it has more to do with the entirety of the experience than anything else. But that makes great difference.

Bingo!

Has anyone tasted the Costco Apple Pie? What do you think? It is a great bargain if ever there was any. A bargain not in quality but for the low price you pay for good quality.

Thanks Dave! A great article. I shall read it for the second time tonight. In India we mostly use cane sugar... Thanks also for the pictures.

Welcome to eGullet. I did not notice it was your first post. I am sure it will be the first of many more. As nighscotsman said, the most important part to check is that it is all gold. That is essential.

Nice two words Lesley. My favorite thing to eat as a young boy.

Rail Paul, do you remember what they said about the artichokes? Just curious....

I am sorry that I told you about a NY store. But I know they ship around the country. Also they are very reliable and the best spice store I know of. I know some other eGulleteers have mail ordered successfully from them. I hope you are able to get it locally if you need it today.. otherwise, I would encourage you to give them a try if all else fails. All the best with your gold leaf expedition. Maybe you will post a picture of the dish afterwards??? Would be great. PS: I make a flourless chocolate and hazelnut cake and that is exactly how I decorate the cake. With gold leaf. And sometimes I use both gold and silver.

Foods of India 121 Lexington Avenue New York City, NY Tel: (212) 683 4419 Proprietor: Arun Kumar Sinha

You can try and get it mail ordered from Foods of India in NYC. They have some. You can use my name when you call the store. Ask for the owner, Arun Sinha or the manager Krishna. You can tell them Suvir Saran, cooking teacher from NYC asked you to call them for it. I shall post their information for you next.

I love puddings and custards. Thanks for this great recipe. Do you use fresh ginger? Ginger powder? And if you use fresh, do you mince it very finely? I am guessing it is ginger powder, but I want to be sure. Again, thanks for the recipe and sparking a dialogue on custardy puddings.... They are the best.

Rail Paul, we may well have had the Ed Levine affliction. But that is the case most everywhere I dine with this couple. So the standard met by the kitchen was still surprisingly better than at many other places where our friends are recognized. It was a great meal.

Jim, I shall try and taste these. Is there a brand you prefer? Is there a smoky flavor in these beans?

It is people like Jim Dixon that put life in perspective. He has been an advocate of dried beans and yet has also shared above his enjoyment of a canned bean product. Maybe shocking to some.. but not to me. Life is full of such ironies and it is these that make life marvelous. It would be tedious and sad for me if it were any more boring. Jim, when I used to go trekking and rock climbing, that was the one time that my parents would spend great amounts of money to send canned beans with me. I would then buy tomatoes, onions and carry some spices and LPG cylinder on my shoulder and a stove. At night while the rest of the gang ate canned tuna, I would prepare beans and lentils and a couple of hours later, the canned tuna gang would be drooling over my pot of beans. Simmered with love and care, in the wilderness and cooked after enduring great pain (carrying for miles, a stove, a cylinder of gas and spices and vegetables, all alone since none of my friends ever understood why I would go through this) but never too much. Late into the night, as we sat across bornfires lit with droppings of branches and dry leaves, these beans that I prepared fresh from cans and the french fries I made with local potatoes were the celebration all us kids enjoyed the most. They encouraged us to sing and dance and share memories as we ate foods that seemed tasty, even if only made from a canned bean. My own youth was not any less misbegotten than yours. PS: In India canned goods are amazingly and outrageously more expensive. Some consider canned beans in India a luxury.

Admiration? Not what I think is necessary or even warranted. This is about living life and finding enjoyment and pleasure as one can. As simple as that. I am no bigot in any sense of the word. I came to a country where the stereotype of people like me was what they laughed at in late night shows... If I wanted to remain a failure and a depressed soul, I would only look at that which was most obvious and hateful and degrading of me and my people. But I was able to see in some an affection and acceptance that would not make it to the late night shows for it was humane and without drama. I chose that latter anyways.... for it gave me hope and reason to live and love and share. And I am happy I chose that, 10 years after having lived here, I call this city and country my home. And yes I have instances of hate and prejudice that should define how I feel about being here, but they are only a very small part of what I find here. Love and affection of countless others far outweighs what can go wrong and awry. Beans give me a similar window into the world. It is easy to condemn their use and acceptance. But they provide food, happiness and enjoyment for just as many people as dry ones do. My personal choice of one over the other hardly matters. What does matter is that people enjoy life and cook and share and live happily. If it means cooking with canned beans, I would never deny them that pleasure, in fact I would happily join them and savor their meals with them if given the chance. I am perhaps going to be happier digesting a meal cooked without ego than one where the chef has such great ego that their food may taste good but leaves you with an upset stomach. I am a staunch believer in the policy that foods taste only as good as the temperament of the person cooking them. And if for being honest and sincere, I find admiration, I am accepting of it, but I can tell you, I hardly deserve it. I do nothing noble by letting others live as they want to. I hardly define others by accepting or using canned beans. I am who I am regardless of whether I love or hate canned beans. And I would be a large failure in my own eyes if I were to live a life hating something as trivial as canned beans. I have greater worries in life. PS: What makes you think I sound like a politician? I would be a very bad one I can assure you. I would never go with the popular decision. Not how I function.

Agree with you totally. Nothing tastes worse than canned baked beans, sorry I take it back, paatra (an Indian snack of rolled up colocasia leaves cooked with spices and cut into slices) tastes just as bad. But canned are simply horrible. While I do not taste tin.. I certainly taste horrible when I have tried even a very small bite. For the record, Stellabella was commenting on canned baked beans, and I was in agreement with her. The post above shares my sentiment on canned baked beans (awful ).

Is honesty misleading? Can one not have a complex view to things? Is it necessary and indeed a condition to live in a black and white world? I have said from the very beginning that I cook my beans from dry ones. That I have cooked with canned ones when traveling and know those that do and like most of us on eGullet or elsewhere, could not pass the test of guessing which is which unless being tested on simply boiled dry or unseasoned canned beans. I am neither for nor against one or the other. I am against judgment of them one way or the other. They each have their place and moment. And they each have a place where they belong. In my kitchen, I have several pressure cookers and even with little time, I can easily prepare what would take several hours of cooking otherwise. There is hardly any need for me to explain where I stand. Lest one wants to simply be pedantic. If that is the case, we can go post by post, and if they read each post and the one that follows, they would not find any need to question me. The answer lies in them. I am for accepting what people do and how and when and where. I have said before, but since you may have missed it, I am for convenience and for enjoyment and for cooking. If someone is more apt to cook at all using canned beans over eating a frozen meal, I am all for using canned beans. As for asking chefs what to do and them hardly knowing better than the rest of us... what is wrong with that????? I have asked the manager of the Green Market in Union Square about a certain produce even though I could have simply asked the question of Elizabeth Schneider. They are both valuable to me and each bring their own unique perspective. But neither, and I repeat, neither is of greater value to me. They are equals. I do not deify others such as myself that are published food writers or professional chefs. I understand keenly and critically that we are cooking professionally, but I also understand how we know just as much or at times just as little as any home cook or another lay person. And that is what makes at least my professional and personal work in the kitchen a joy. I am able to learn each time I cook something new and wonderful about food and life and happiness and the joys of being alive and willing to learn. It is not all that difficult to see things in a multifaceted way as most thing are. I have never claimed to live in a world that is black and white. Mine is largely grey and I appreciate the gradations of it and look for new things that can inspirit me in each new shade. PS: Baked beans are one canned beans that I simply cannot enjoy. And note, for those that do not understand this, canned beans are sold without seasoning and for those chefs that for some reason or another, often a reason of grave weight, cannot cook from dry ones. And then there are goods like canned baked beans that I have little if any taste for. I have no taste for most packaged foods. Be they jam or canned baked beans and bottled salsas. I can make them fresh and enjoy them better that way. I could use canned beans and make much better baked beans than what is sold already seasoned. That is what I am talking about not canned beans. Baked beans are a canned finished product. Baked beans is not EQUAL to canned beans.

Jaybee what pizzas did you eat there? What starters do you remember as having tasted? How long ago was this?

Celeste 502 Amsterdam Avenue, near 84th Street 212-874-4559 Melancholy and pre-occupied, I was cajoled by dear friends to join them for a healing meal at a local favorite of theirs on the Upper West Side. This couple will remain nameless for they wield much clout in NYC and it would be a shame for me to be name dropping. But Andrea (one of the more charming, attentive and kind servers I have met in NYC) who waited on our table will remember our group and we her. I arrived a minute after our dinner reservation. My friends were early. The porch is cleverly and most wonderfully used as a waiting area for guests. How brilliant and simple a gesture, but one not most often used. I was not aware of this detail at the moment but in retrospect, I am impressed and charmed. It was a perfect start for an evening that turned out every bit the healer I needed. Minutes after I joined my friends in the porch, our table (round and cozy for having intimate and meaningful conversations, which was our goal) was ready. We were invited to follow Andrea, our server for the duration. In her quiet and unobtrusive manner was also the wizardry that comes from a natural instinct for serving without requiring affirmation. The 2 men at the table were in no mood to drink. My first meal without coke or orange juice, Shirley Temple or Roy Rogers (I order the last two to get shocked looks and surprised stares from friends). We stayed with NYC water, I, in fact drank none over the course of the evening. Our lady friend, the much revered New Yorker drank a glass of wine. No looks were given, no sense of worry about a humble check. Andrea was gracious and lovely. Even before I had read through the menu, my friends had ordered La Margherita and the Napoletana pizzas. My friends, keen and well versed with Italian fare through years of travel to Italy and months of stay in its many regions, had assured me I would be eating great pizza tonight. They had dined at Otto last night where I had visited last night, not to eat but to give my respects and hellos to several friends seated in several tables. I anticipated this pizza with great trepidation. Having been to DiFara's, and Otto a couple of times in one week, I was not sure I could be charmed yet again in one week. For reasons best not discussed, I had indicated to my hosts (friends) that I was on a diet and would eat very little. In fact a slice or two of pizza were more than I ought to have eaten, and that was what I had said. They ordered Frittura di Vegetali di Stagione (seasonal fried fresh vegetables, $8.50) and Carciofi Fritti (fried artichokes, $7.50). I knew this was done with me in mind. The road food warrior (how my male dining companion has been referred to in some food stories) loves meat dearly and my lady friend is no less of a carnivore. They knew me to well and knew my passion for fried foods. Through their mouths, they ordered what I would have ordered when not melancholic. For the main course they ordered Salmon Croccante (crispy roasted salmon with spinach and potatoes, $14.50) and Paccheri con Ricotta e Pomodoro (very large ribbon paste with ricotta and tomato, $9.50). Note, the carnivorous road food warrior ordered vegetarian with me in mind. What power food has to heal. And especially in the capable hands of sensitive, caring and close friends. The pizzas arrived shortly after the order had been placed. Nice sized pies. The crust was nice and chewy without being too thin. The crust was thin, but firm enough to carry the weight of a generous amount of sauce (Fat Guy, you would be very happy) and enough cheese to make the American in all of us happy, without any of us feeling the Italian classic had been compromised in any way. The tomato sauce was tasty and salted just so perfectly that the cheese complimented the salt without adding way too much of its own. A detail many chefs forget or simply do not care about. The basil was fresh and ample. I stayed away from the Anchovy and caper topped Napoletana. And believe me it was not easy, it looked amazing. Again the crust seemed perfect. It was not getting soggy and breaking as often becomes the case with thin crust pizzas. And yet the toppings were generous. The road food warrior seemed mighty happy with his choice. And my charming lady friend and I were happy sharing the Margherita. I think she was able to share a half slice with him. And her eyes spoke of great enjoyment that simplicity of fresh ingredients can bring. The fried vegetables and artichokes arrived next. They were most beautiful to look at. Next time I shall go with a camera. Italian food like Indian, is not always the most attractive when plated. It charms you once you have indulged in it, and after that, looks certainly play very little if any role in its enjoyment. It is the smells, the memories and the passion of the people that become your guide. These two plates were some of the best deep fried foods I have eaten in America. I consider myself the deep fry King. I do it often and do it very well, even if I must say so myself. I find most deep frying (sadly, also those tempura platters I have had at the finest Japanese kitchens) very underwhelming. Most often the batter is too thin, or too dense, or over or under seasoned or most often, just too greasy. At Celeste, they shared a mastery of the deep frying technique. And all 3 of us were lucky to have been its benefactors. The fried onions were addictive. I can never desire onion rings easily, I have been spoiled now (only ones that achieved a similar standing in my book are the ones I had in grandma Hayes town in West Virginia). The vegetables were perfectly fried, they were salted and seasoned with the right balance and there was no trace of grease. Perfect temperature and careful handling after removing from the fryer can help achieve this. The artichokes were fried to a crunchiness that made them crisp but still left some meaty texture in them. What was noteworthy was the fried parsley and the very generous amount of it served with the artichokes. My dear lady friend noted how they loved fried artichoke in Italy but this one became so much better courtesy of the fried herb. And I must say, fried herbs can be just a mere gimmick in some places (since very little of the herb is really used) but at Celeste the chef understood that it was not enough to have used the herb while deep frying, but sharing it in a generous portion elevated the overall experience. I greedily and happily shared both these decisions. I had forgotten my promise to myself for eating light this night. Not that I needed any example, but this clearly made me realize how special dear friends are. They know us better than we know ourselves. At least on some occasions. Reluctantly and sadly, I knew we had finished our fried course and it was not time for the main courses to come out. I was amazed to see the most beautifully crusted salmon find its way in front of my lady friend. I was at once worried that the salmon may have been cooked a tad much for her liking. She is always after rare fish, well even with meats. Even before this thought had been fully digested by me, my friend questioned Andrea if she had made sure to ask for rare salmon. Andrea with great confidence said yes and that the salmon was certainly rare. We were all happy hearing it, but certainly a little suspicious still. The road food warrior was served his Paccheri con Ricotta e Pomodoro, I was craving the sauce from my seat at the table. I was given a sharing plate. Life seemed beautiful that very moment. Just as quickly as Andrea disappeared, I had the prettiest and tastiest looking fried potatoes on my plate along with some sautéed greens. My first bite into those potatoes took me back to my appreciation of the fried seasonal vegetables. I understood that the chef knew exactly what it took to prepare vegetables with oil. In his hands they found a great tool to take them to their most appropriate next level as immortal food for mere mortals. The greens were not overcooked and yet were not as raw as one can often find in restaurants. The garlic too was ample but without being enough to wound your tongue and kill your ability to taste other foods. The pasta was artisanaly prepared in Italy and the sauce brought to each bite the joy that flashes before me every time I think of good Italian pastas and sauces. The ricotta was just enough to give a nice texture and creaminess without making the dish too heavy. With some freshly ground black peppercorn, I was sated beyond belief. My lady, my sweet friend, knew my weakness for potatoes and proclaimed that she could not eat too much starch and I must eat the remainder of these marvelous potatoes lest they get wasted. She had been charmed by the chefs expertise in rendering a perfectly crunchy and golden crust on the salmon without rendering it overcooked and thereby inedible for her taste. The two of them had understood why this small restaurant had found a place of great repute in their minds. I had realized that with this couple that ate more meals in restaurants than anyone I knew in NYC, searching for new places, it was interesting and compelling to see them come to this place when on that rare occasion, they found themselves eating for pleasure and not for work. I realized what I had understood when first invited, that this was their chosen place, not just another find. I was happy I made the effort to put melancholy behind me and open myself to this opportunity given me by great caring friends. My friend the most caring lady friend one could hope for, was beginning to describe the cheese assortment and the many stories that come to their mind when thinking of Celeste and its foods, when Andrea came to our table bearing a gift from the chef, a plate of assorted cheeses. Caccio Cavallo, Mild Gorgonzola, Saffron cured pecorino, truffle cured goat cheese and a strong very smelly, thousand year old very soft, dense pudding textured, strong-strong gorgonzola were the chosen cheeses of this night. They were served with chestnut honey (certainly very tasty, but also a beautiful color) and a fig marmalade, not a fan of figs, I can now appreciate why so many people love that fruit. I enjoyed all the cheeses except the very strong soft gorgonzola. My friends told me how one of the partners of Celeste, Carmine hand picked these cheeses in Italy. He is able to smuggle them into the US packed in a suitcase. Many of the cheeses are those that are made in very small batches. John Carlo and his wife Roberta (partners at the restaurant) also own Teodora, another restaurant nearby. It was no surprise for them to find out a while back that Giancarlo Quadalti and Roberta are from the family that owns Rosetta, the best sea food restaurant in all of Rome. Carmine was not at the restaurant to introduce me to the cheeses, but in his absence, my friends and Andrea did a very fine job making the cheese indulgence a treat unlike any other. My friends tell me the gelato served here is superb and worth the price you pay for it. It is made by an expert downtown and bought my Celeste as the chef and owners try giving their customer the best they can. I would go back to Celeste when in the hood for sure. But I would also go there to share a great experience with friends. I can tell you for sure that food can heal, and after this meal, I found new vigor, and certainly this long post can attest to that being true. What the magical Gael Greene had to say about Celeste

Anna I am glad you had success. I must add here that some of us in NYC have enjoyed some great Gelato and Sorbetti at Otto. If these is anything we can learn from this experience, it is that one must never think one has learned enough. Meredith Kurtzman, the pastry chef at Otto has taken classics and transformed them with new ideas, proportions and ingredients and made stuff that is absolutely delicious. I have come back from Otto inspired that there is hope for us for years to come if each of us can go back to our classics, understand them well and create what would be best for our tables today. Meredith, if you read this, congratulations for your great work at Otto and many thanks for all the hard work you surely have put into these delightful cups of gelato and sorbets you send out from your dessert section in Otto's kitchen.