9th Street cheesemonger Mark Bomalaski and VP of Culinary Pioneering Emilio Mignucci make a goat cheese pizza using Caprichio de Cabra (Spanish goat cheese), Pantaleo (Sardinian goat cheese), kalamata olives, and arugula.
So it’s that time of year again, That special time where the leaves turn orange, and yellow, the nights come sooner than usual and the weather turns brisk and chilly. While others argue that Fall means the end of tanning on the beach, shorts and outdoor activities, I see fall as a perfect excuse to cuddle up with a loved one under a blanket and enjoy those wonderful beers that the heat of summer may not have allowed.
Chef Rob Sidor and Emilio Mignucci share a simple recipe using burrata: roasted squash and beets with applewood smoked bacon, arugula, and Di Bruno Bros. own homemade burrata.
As we enter the season of decadence, I can’t help but crave Roquefort. It’s as luxurious as fur, and it pairs well with so many things associated with the winter season: ripe pears, dates, figs, honey, walnuts. After a big meal, this triple-crème sheep’s milk blue becomes the evening’s star, especially when served with a glass of nectar-like Sauternes.
With the possible exception of Cheddar, no cheese is as misunderstood as Gouda. Nascent cheese enthusiasts are encumbered with the misconception that Gouda is some lesser form of cheese, one that either comes smoked or “regular.” This perception of commodity has hampered Gouda’s reputation in America, but the reality is that the nation’s best cheese shops offer Goudas that rival the best cheeses in the world.
Aside from my annual 5 or 6 cannollis from Isgro's during the Italian Market festival and the occasional Reese’s peanut butter cup (my weakness) I really don't have much of a sweet tooth. The one area that I stray from my general malaise with sweets is honey. For tea when I have a sore throat, for hot toddies when I pretend to have a sore throat, for making my own mead, and especially for drizzling on any variety of awesome cheeses.
Very few meals remind me of my childhood as much as a tuna melt. My mother was the primary chef in our household, and she excelled (still does) in all areas of Italian cuisine. On the rare occasion that my father cooked, my brother and I were treated to distinctly American dinners.