The Taste of Serendipity
One of my all-time favorite meals. A memorable vintage menu. Amazing jam. And a great, simple autumn soup recipe you're going to love.
As I head off to the south of France, I’ve been thinking about where and what we’re going to eat along the way. Which reminded me of one of my all-time favorite meals. It was about 25 years ago at a restaurant called Gli Archi, but it taught me a lesson that has informed every trip I’ve taken since then.
“Look!”
The town hung above us like a mirage conjured from the mist, ancient white buildings glittering in the sun. From down here it looked like a giant wedding cake. “Can we go up there?” my son asked. “Please.”
The sea had just come into view, a great sweep of blue running beside the coast road that twists from Rome to Naples. We were on our way to lunch at one of Italy’s great restaurants, but I figured a little detour wouldn’t hurt. I had no idea, when I parked the car that it would change my life.
We began climbing the stairs leading up to the ancient town of Sperlonga, which has been attracting Italian travelers since the time of Tiberius (who built his summer villa here on the Tyrrhenian Sea). It was incredibly serene – not yet tourist season – and snatches of lilting Italian floated out of open doorways. We turned a corner and almost ran into a man carrying a leaf-covered wicker basket. Nick was ten, and curious. “It’s filled with fish,” he reported, edging in to take a closer look, “let’s see where he’s taking them.”
The man kept climbing, passing colorful bougainvillea cascading down whitewashed walls, until he reached the centro historico ,where he stepped through an archway. Following, we found ourselves in a simple restaurant, tables set beneath bottles of wine perched precariously on uneven ledges above them.
“Signori.” A man in an apron gestured toward one of the tables. I backed away; lunch was waiting down the road.
Nick gave me a pleading look. I shook my head; he knew the rules. Restaurant critics don’t eat random meals – especially when they travel. Every meal is carefully planned, tables reserved long in advance. Wasting a meal in a foreign country is simply not done.
But just as I was thinking of the dark, elegant restaurant where we were meant to dine, the man with the basket beckoned, pulled up a leaf, parted seaweed and displayed the contents. Silver fins glistened. Shells gleamed. Lively langoustines waved their antennae.
“Please,” Nick whispered.
I looked around. The restaurant did not look promising; there was not a single customer. I was shaking my head when Nick took matters into his own hands and simply sat down. I glanced at my watch and admitted defeat. It would be fine; the food would be terrible, and we’d finish with plenty of time for a late lunch at the fancy establishment down the road.
The owner unfurled an enormous smile and headed for the kitchen, fisherman at his heels.
Fresh anchovies, split and dressed in oil and vinegar. Squid salad with tiny sliced tomatoes. Raw scallops, simply sliced and splashed with lemon juice. Oysters, tremblingly fresh, lovely as orchids. Tiny shrimp with sea beans. Stuffed squash blossoms….The dishes kept arriving until there was not an empty inch on the table. Undaunted, the owner pulled up a second table up and covered that one with at least a dozen more little dishes of delicate seafood.
It was spectacularly fresh and incredibly delicious. Greedily, we ate it all.
“We can’t,” I protested when the chef appeared holding a bowl of spaghetti with sea urchins. We could.
Then there were steamed langoustines, which we ate with our fingers, and a perfectly grilled sole. When the chef brought out a few fragile leaves of lettuce dressed in nothing but olive oil, lemon and salt, I did not protest. It was, I thought, the most perfect meal I’d ever eaten.
I watched as Nick demolished a couple of pistachio-dusted cannoli. Then he sat back and announced, with ten-year-old wisdom, “The food was really great. But you know the best part?”
I wondered what he was going to say.
“We weren’t expecting it.”
I’d never thought of serendipity as a flavor, but it’s true: the meal had been wonderful, but the sheer surprise made everything taste better.
“Do you want to come back to tomorrow?” I asked as we climbed down to the car.
He thought about it. “No,” he decided. “It would never be as good again. Besides, we might find something even better.”
We didn’t. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t try. Because we’d just discovered the real secret of traveling: keep searching for something wonderful, always believing that it’s waiting just around the corner. Now, in this lockdown time when every day unfolds like the one before, it’s what I miss most about being in new places. I miss the sense of discovery, the constant search for the unexpected- and the certain knowledge that I’m going to find it.
And now for a little time travel…..
This amazing menu, would, I think, be impossible to recreate today, if only because it’s hard to understand what the dishes actually were. With so many references to Greek mythology and forgotten Frenchmen I imagine it was written with tongue in cheek.
I assume the Spartan consomme is simply clear soup, but what on earth are those vestal virgin relishes and milky way cheeses?
What I can tell you is that Diamondback Terrapin was a Maryland specialty so beloved the animals were eaten almost to extinction by the time this menu was served. (The tortoises were apparently boiled alive and then served with copious amounts of butter and sherry.)
And isn’t it surprising that not a single dish is named for silver - and that every single wine came from California.?
The best way I can make you understand how truly delicious Ayako and Family Jams are is to tell you that when I brought my first jar home a few weeks ago it was gone in under 24 hours. The Black Pearl Plum jam was so good - such a pure expression of fruit - that no one could pass the jar without sticking in a spoon.
So delicious that I went onto their website and ordered a whole range of flavors.
Ayako Gordon is most famous for her plum jams - she makes many different varieties - but all her jams taste more of fruit than sugar. Any one of your friends would be grateful for an introduction. But while I like them all, truth be told, it’s the Black Pearl Plum that has my heart.
A friend called a few days ago to tell me about the amazing butternut squash soup she’d just made. It sounded great - intense stock, butter, lots of cream.
But it reminded me of my own squash soup which couldn’t be more different. Made without any of those rich ingredients, it’s silky, delicious and contains very few calories.
If you insist, you can swirl a little cream through each bowl as you serve the soup.
Simple Butternut Squash Soup
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
1 onion, chopped
1 pound butternut squash, peeled and cut into 3/4 inch pieces
1/2 pound waxy potatoes, peeled and cut into 3/4 inch pieces
2 teaspoons salt
2 1/2 cups boiling water
Slick the bottom of a casserole with the olive oil, add celery, carrots and onion and cook until tender, about 10 minutes.
Add the squash, potatoes, salt and boiling water, cover and simmer about half an hour until everything is very soft.
Puree the soup in a blender in small batches, making sure the top is securely on the blender (hot soup can be painful).
Taste for seasoning and serve drizzled with a few drops of olive oil and good balsamic vinegar. Or, if you prefer, a dollop of sour cream or swirl of heavy cream.
Serves 4 to 6.
A final note to say that I’ll be in France all next week and I plan to post dispatches about what I find along the way. So look for a few short posts scattered through the week rather than the usual long post on Friday. (But there is a Friday post, which I think you’ll like too.)
RUTH! I’m so happy I had the sense to subscribe. I missed you and still grieve our beloved Gourmet Mag. Those Bastards. So stupid. Now we’re surrounded with stupid.
Let’s keep listening to our young people and follow their leads, sit 🪑 right down in a dark restaurant after following a fisherman with just caught gems 💎 of the sea. Trusting. Expanding out horizons, being intrepid travelers.
Perfect column Ruth.
Thank you -- already ordered the black pearl plum jam and will make the soup, too.
My life feels complete again with you to read every week.