Plodding through snowy slush in New York will never compare to driving along the Amalfi coast, but there are a few places right here in the city that can recreate the authentic southern-Italian flavors. Tribeca’s Capri Cafe offers perfectly cooked pasta, whether it’s olive-infused or just covered in tomato sauce and cheese, and other dishes that are delicious in their simplicity. The desert, of course, doesn’t disappoint, as the cannoli had a delicate lemon flavor to it and the tiramisu reminded me of the one I had in a small restaurant in Trastevere. The owner himself is from Capri and will help cook the food, creating a tiny corner of Italy in the city.

Saw the Princesse de Tarente… who takes 12 cups of tea every day… which, she says, cures all her ills. She assured me that Monsieur de Landgrave drank 40 cups every morning.

— Madame de Sévigné

Tea became such an integral part of everyday European life starting from around the 17th century that it is easy to forget the complex and lucrative trade routes that brought such luxury to middle and upper class tables. There was even the Great Tea Race of 1866, where sixteen clipper ships, meant for transporting cargo more efficiently, started in Foochow, China, and finished in London, with only ten minutes separating the winners. Tea was clearly a profitable business, as the more wealthy could boast of affording these exotic goods.

Although the Impressionists sought to capture a moment from everyday life, their subjects mostly included only people with enough economic stability to afford a life of leisure. Tea sets in these paintings were a sort of accessory that portrayed this message very clearly among the loose brushstrokes. Mary Cassatt’s Cup of Tea is the perfect example, as the delicate glove blends seamlessly into the teacup using masterful layers of translucent peach and white paint.

Brownies seem like a simple delicacy, but, when done right, they satisfy the chocoholic like no other dessert. A Brooklyn-based company called Coco Jones Brownies makes them in small batches with all natural ingredients, so they are, and taste, like homemade. The small packets, or samplers, they sell are the perfect snack, but you can also attempt 8” x 8” whole brownie pan, or try their spirit brownies, flavored with cognac, rum, whiskey, and tequila. The inside is moist, saturated. Need I say more?
www.naughtydogdesserts.com

These are teas to enjoy during ordinary days and spontaneous moments of insisting on something special.

1. Rose Tea from Golden Moon Teas:
This is a truly intoxicating blend of black tea and rose petals, which has a richness to it that is hard to find in flavored teas and rose teas in particular. Most brands will give a hint of rose, but this is truly rose essence.

2. Scorpio blend from Adagio Teas:
Black tea infused with mango, rooibos vanilla, and chocolate chips is flavorful but not overpowering.

3. Jasmine Yin-Hao from Dragonwater Teas:
This is a green tea with a light, almost fruity, flavor that is sophisticated and refreshing.

4. Coconut Pouchong from Golden Moon Teas:
The intensity of the coconut flavor and smell makes this green tea addictive.

5. Orchid Temple Oolong from Golden Moon Teas:
This tea has a complex, fruity flavor that is light enough for daily appreciation.

in the water bucket
a melon and an eggplant
nodding to each other

— Yosa Buson

It is odd to think that a simple vegetable can be thought of as universal, ubiquitous, romantic, whimsical, socially important, dramatic, abstract, and fashionable at the same time. Artists, ranging from Vincent Van Gogh to a modern Japanese illustrator named Ryoono, have been inspired by the shapes, textures, forms, and colors, of these veggies.

Camille Pissarro, in his Vegetable Garden at the Hermitage near Pontoise, seeks to create a serene and harmonious atmosphere, associated with the seemingly idyllic image of peasant life. The warm yellow hues with touches of green, as well as the small and unobtrusive figure, enhance the idea that a vegetable garden signifies a simple and honest connection with the earth.

The luscious fruit and veggie paintings of 17th and 18th century Northern Europe, such as A Still Life with Fruit, Fish Game and a Goldfish Bowl reveal not only the realism and precision with which they could be depicted, but the grand qualities they were given. The dramatic lighting, immaculate execution, and majestic presentation of these banquet scenes reflects their importance as signs of wealth and prosperity, a quality much sought after in those times. Putting a slightly different spin on that approach, Still Life: Balsam Apple and Vegetables by James Peale, resembles the characteristics of Spanish still lives, where every lettuce crease and squash texture conveys a dark and otherworldly meaning.

Van Gogh, on the other hand, uses his characteristic dashes to juxtapose orange and green tones to both contrast and enhance the entire image. Unlike Pissarro, he produces a more abstract portrait that envisions the vegetable garden in terms of color and shape rather than concept.

Japanese artist Ryoono continues in this abstract vein, focusing solely on the graphic form qualities of the veggie. If you’ve ever seen the striking lightning designs on a shiny organic eggplant, or the uninhibited green strokes on a yellow tomato, you know that this is entirely possible. Ryoono’s sprawling designs are all done by hand, and all feature the distinct yet free-flowing design elements that veggies are capable of inspiring. The stylish fashions intended as an ad campaign for a Brazilian supermarket also attest to the versatility of the veggie form.

We must not forget the lighter side of the veggie, the one which may occur after consuming a euphoric cherry tomato or ripe melon. Giuseppe Arcimboldi produced many paintings which put together smiling human forms solely by using veggies, and I bet that you yourself did not at first notice the Vegetable Gardener hiding behind his onion cheeks and leafy beard, slyly smiling from under his black bucket hat. Perhaps the most bizarre manifestation of veggie whimsy is Ito Jakuchu’s Vegetable Nirvana, in which the dying Buddha is depicted as a dying white radish, surrounded by his veggie mourners such as tomato, eggplant, mushroom, and carrot. Whether this is a mockery of the traditional Buddhist scene, a serious contemplation about the philosophical meaning of veggies, or simply a playful diversion, it tops off the age-old exploration of the meaning of the veggie.

For me, however, it can be defined as the fresh smell on my fingers after picking tomatoes from a vine.

Chardin’s still lives always have a unique luscious quality about them, as if he truly loves the objects and food that he is painting. His Basket of Wild Strawberries is no exception, as the mountain of red fruit is almost dripping with sensuality. Soft, caressing brushstrokes are illuminated by a warm, golden glow, reflected on a single peach. A little bit of juice falls near the two white peonies, a slight touch that makes the fruit all the more palpable, bringing to mind hot, summer days of messy strawberry eating.

Although Chardin encapsulates all senses of the luxurious side of the strawberry experience, it is worth mentioning its depiction in medieval art, for it is no less appreciative. Monks spent their days producing immaculate illuminated manuscripts, while cultivating their monastery gardens. They included the strawberry in their art, especially in miniatures, especially when associated with the Virgin Mary. Their beauty as well as their medicinal value (the entire plant was used, and the leaves were particularly good in tea) must have prompted them to associate it with all-ecompassing perfection, salvation, nobility, and modesty.

Adriaen Coorte, however, paints from from the perspective of the strawberry in his Still Life with Strawberries, reminding me of long afternoons spent picking and eating wild strawberries, until one is sick of the taste. There is something poetic about the curved, green leaves against the seeded texture of the small round fruits, some with and some without their stems, with a few sides still left to ripen. The one white flower inexplicably completes and uplifts the entire painting. His is much like Vermeer in the sense that his unpretentious and, therefore, timeless way of painting leaves the viewer in quiet appreciation.

Sips of keemun tea accompany lingering bites of lemon bars, pecan squares, bite sized fruit cups, and cucumber or salmon sandwiches. Threads of conversation meander in between glances at the lush rose garden outside. Afternoon tea at the Huntington Gardens is a rare pleasure, one that is reminiscent of English drawing rooms in the 1800’s, after the Duchess of Bedford sought to fill the long gap between lunch and dinner with agreeable conversation and food.

Keemun tea, with its dark color, smokey flavor, was popular in England, imported from the Anhui region in China, and still remains one of the most classic black teas around.

Already familiar with the burritos and salsas of places such as La Salsa and Titos Tacos, I was eager to experience authentic Mexican cuisine. Not that there is anything wrong with the oily creations of beans and cheese, but I had the feeling these were mass produced to appeal to the tastes of unsuspecting Americans. Stumbling upon one particular episode of Bobby Flay’s Throwdown on the Foodnetwork, I saw the owners of La Casita Mexicana, two brothers with sunny personalities, cook what they said was a traditional Mexican dish: the chile relleno. I was embarrassed to discover that I had never heard of it, as there is no greater sin, in my mind, than to be ignorant of culinary authenticity. They explained that one of the aims, besides making great food, was to represent true Mexican cuisine, and to dispel the myth that it is greasy and unhealthy. Authentic, healthy food is all I need to convince me to try it.

I was lucky to already be in California at the time, so I ventured down into a rather remote part of Los Angeles, which is probably why there were so few people at dinner hour. The walls were painted a messy yellow color that I loved (and would mind on my own walls). I ordered lemonade with chia seeds, which proved to be a refreshing, not-too-sweet drink, and we were brought a basket of chips covered in mole sauce. I had never had mole before, and this was the perfect place to try it first. With 46 ingredients and a recipe that is unique to the family, it was intense, nutty, and had a chocolate undertone (not sweet, but not bitter either). It was one of those things that fill you instantly even though you feel like you haven’t eaten a lot.

As a main course I ordered the mushroom and cactus chile relleno (stuffed pepper), a dish that every kitchen in Mexico makes in its own way, which was preceded by a creamy tomato soup with rice in it. I was eager to taste the cacti, which are harvested on a cactus farm close by. It had a nice texture that absorbed all of the other fresh flavors and complemented the mushrooms very well. The dish itself was quite spicy, which I enjoy, but after a big piece of the chile skin alone, my mouth was flaming (in a good way, of course).

A friend sitting across from me had the three mole enchiladas with cheese. The three different types of mole each had its own unique nutty flavor, one almost tasting like pistachio. While we were waiting for dessert, a group of mariachi came in, and one in particular tried desperately, with no avail, to make me admit there was some birthday or special event we were all celebrating so he could perform for us. None of the others had any success either, and they came out of the restaurant empty-handed. Mouthwatering churros with melted centers surrounded by crispy cinnamon outsides came to our table, along with guavas in eggnog liquor. We also tried the flan, and although it wasn’t my favorite of the three, it had a dense texture with a flavor that wasn’t too sweet. After a evening well spent savoring authentic Mexican cuisine, we left with our postcard and a sense that we would be coming back in the future.

Some flavors stay with you in the sense that you can call upon that particular taste years later. The hot blend of beans and cheese seems simple enough, but only Tito’s Tacos in L.A. knows how to make it right. You can watch this burrito being put together through a glass window, and the process only takes a few seconds: one ladle of beans spread out a little, the cheese on top, and some skilled folding. The concept of the burrito is often taken a little too far. Rice, guacamole, peppers, and whatnot are often piled in. Save it for other things, please. The best is still the bean and cheese duo. I have yet to find a decent burrito in New York, much to my disappointment. New York can do every cuisine except Mexican, which still baffles me (I wish to be proven wrong, of course).

The chips are quite hard, and the salsa very mild, but the burrito still takes the top spot.

The process of getting in line to order in front of a window and then eating the food on a nearby table in the sweltering California heat is something I much prefer to white tablecloth and classical music.

You will never get fat from eating too much gelato. That isn’t even an issue, because your body will welcome it and want more no matter how much gelato you eat. The health food fanatics can sharpen their pitchforks and accuse me of treason if they like, but I speak the truth.

Whether it be fragola, baci, stracciatella, melon, pineapple, you must have it in Italy. Preferably in the tiny step-up-one-stair-and-order place in Trastevere, Rome, which can easily by reached walking down the Tiber until you hit a small plaza occasionally occupied by a farmers market. Proceed in and slightly to the right. The pastry shop next door I will keep to myself.

Pistachio gelato will always be my most beloved flavor.