By Andrew Carmellini
In American Flavor, Andrew Carmellini—two time James Beard Award winner, acclaimed writer of Urban Italian, and govt chef-owner of the hit big apple urban eating places Locanda Verde and The Dutch—offers an impressive choice of scrumptious, cutting edge, down-to-earth recipes and tales that get on the soul of the way we consume at the present time. encouraged via either conventional local cuisines and the multicultural neighborhoods, international eateries, and ethnic groceries that dot the yank panorama American Flavor combines a United countries of cultural impacts into delicious dishes which are a cornucopia of delights for armchair foodies, fanatics of tremendous cooks Mario Batali, Joe Bastianich, and Nate Appleman, and chefs at each ability point who savor actual American nutrients twenty first century-style: subtle yet down-to-earth, rustic yet subtle, and regularly deeply flavored and delicious.
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Extra resources for American Flavor
In the years since, Gwen and I have kept looking, and every once in a while we’ve found some pretty great versions of that roadfood Holy Grail. There was Juan in a Million in Austin, where the Great American Breakfast included tortillas and hot sauce; there was Mrs. Olsen’s Coffee Hut in Oxnard, California; there was Walker Brothers outside Chicago; and the awesome Hominy Grill in Charleston, South Carolina. We’ve heard one of the best breakfasts in the country can be found at the Huckleberry Cafe in Los Angeles.
I spent some quality time looking, but I never saw her. I figure she probably had a park view. The restaurant owned a handful of these places, studio apartments scattered through the building. They used them to house Italian cooks who were in the country on temporary visas, and American cooks like me who were too cheap to pay rent for a place of their own. I guess the restaurant figured it was a good deal: they paid us almost nothing, and since we lived right on site, we could be at work any time they needed us.
It was a weekday morning, but there were crowds of hungry people outside. OK, they were locals—but there were an awful lot of them. We figured maybe we’d give the trust-the-people thing one more try. Inside there were red leatherette booths; the walls were covered with record albums from the ’50s, vintage lunch boxes, stuffed animals even; the place smelled good. Of course, we knew that design meant nothing. We did not trust. We did not, even, hope. We waited. But when our order came to the table, we knew we’d stumbled, finally, on the Promised Land of morning food.
American Flavor by Andrew Carmellini