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HOW MUCH
CAN YOU
PRESS?
BY
NEWYORKMETRO.COM
December
1, 2002
- View
actual
article
by
clicking
here
Italian-inspired
panini
bars are
springing
up all
over
town,
much to
our
penny-pinching
delight,
from
Press
Café in
the
Bronx to
Press
195 in
Brooklyn.
But
lately,
ambitious
panini-meisters
have
been
swapping
hot
soppressata
for
smoked
tofu and
installing
presses
everywhere
from
Dumbo
art-supply
stores
to
Chelsea
pool
halls.
When our
wheatgrass-juicing
health-club
café
hopped
on the
bandwagon,
we
feared
the
trend
had spun
out of
control.
To put
things
in
perspective,
we
needed
the
wisdom
of an
Italian-food
expert,
a
sandwich
connoisseur,
and an
opinionated
tastemaker.
We
needed
Mario
Batali.
No
stranger
to
late-night
cravings
himself
-- some
of which
he
satisfies
at home
on a
stovetop
press
("$11.95
on
chef.com")
--
Batali
came
close to
opening
a panini
place
with
chef Tom
Valenti
before
the
market
became
saturated
and
Valenti
hit a
home run
with
Ouest.
So when
we
proposed
a panini
bar
crawl,
it
brought
back
good
memories.
"My
favorite
chain in
the
world is
the
Autogrille
in
Italy,"
Batali
says.
"You
drive
down any
of the
superhighways
and see
signs
for the
rest
stop,
like Roy
Rogers
on the
Jersey
Turnpike."
But
instead
of
burgers,
"there's
25 feet
of deli
case and
baskets
of
premade
sandwiches
with
crazy
names.
You
point at
one and
they put
it on
the
press."
Sneaking
out of
his busy
Babbo
kitchen
one
night,
he comes
armed
with a
manifesto:
"Panini
covers
everything
from
pressed
ciabatta
sandwiches
to
tramezzini,
those
little
tea
sandwiches
-- but
they're
all
about
balance.
The
American
tendency
is to
obfuscate
the
perfect
simplicity
of the
sandwich
by
putting
too much
crap in
it. The
bread is
the main
event;
there
shouldn't
be more
stuff
inside
than
outside."
With
these
panini
truths
held to
be
self-evident,
we set
out on
our
rounds,
only to
be
foiled
on our
first
try.
Paradou
(8
Little
West
12th
Street;
212-463-8345),
the
French
wine bar
that
makes a
mean
pressed
sandwich
of duck
rillettes
and
capers,
is
packed.
"That's
what
happens
when you
want to
eat
dinner
at 8:30
without
a
reservation,"
says
Batali,
finding
himself
in his
devoted
clientele's
shoes.
Humbled
and
hungry,
we shoot
up to
Via
Quadronno
(25 East
73rd
Street;
212-650-9880),
a
Milan-style
sandwich
shop and
restaurant
on the
Upper
East
Side,
terra
incognita
for a
man
rarely
seen in
anything
other
than
short
pants
and
Converse
high
tops.
"Eight
bucks
for a
bottle
of
Moretti,
dudes,"
he
whispers.
"Now you
know why
I don't
come up
here."
(We make
a mental
note to
check
the
price of
beer at
Babbo.)
Although
the
sandwiches
are more
reasonable
($5.50
to $14),
the
kitchen,
sadly,
has run
out of
its
terrific
housemade
rolls
and is
substituting
a
crustier
sliced
bread.
"This is
delicious,"
Batali
says,
sinking
his
teeth
into the
house
specialty,
the non
ti
scordar
di me,
or
forget-me-not
(speck,
brie,
and
pâté),
"but no
more
than two
bites of
each
sandwich,
guys, or
we'll
never
make
it."
What's
this?
The star
of
Molto
Mario
and
Mario
Eats
Italy
admonishing
us to
show
some
restraint?
"One
more
bite,"
he
continues,
"then we
have to
take all
of this
to go so
they
don't
think we
think
they
suck."
Back in
the car
with a
bag of
panini
at our
feet,
Batali
offers a
critique.
"The
bread
wasn't
necessarily
right,"
he
concedes,
"but the
speck on
that
don't-forget-me
baby was
perfect.
I was
suspicious
about
the pâté
with the
brie,
but it
was
delicious
because
they
used it
like a
condiment."
Next
stop
Brooklyn,
where we
roll up
to a new
enoteca
called
D.O.C.
Wine Bar
(83
North
7th
Street;
718-963-1925).
With its
out-of-the-way
charm
and
candlelit
farmhouse
tables,
D.O.C
isn't
the
Autogrille,
but it
makes a
good
pressed
mortadella
panino
($5.50),
with
fontina,
basil,
and
capers
on a
crunchy
ciabatta.
At the
bar,
Batali
and
Sardinian-born
owner
Claudio
Coronas
rhapsodize
over the
simple
pleasures
of carta
da
musica,
the
Sardinian
flatbread
Coronas
serves
with
platters
of cured
meats
and
cheeses.
"I was
humbled
by that
guy
being
such a
cool
dude and
describing
his
bread
and
being so
involved,"
Batali
says as
we leave
with
another
bag of
sandwiches,
each
minus
two
bites.
"That is
the
sweetness
of the
Italian
culture."
Back in
Manhattan,
it's
standing
room
only at
the East
Village's
Bar
Veloce
(175
Second
Avenue;
212-260-3200),
easily
the most
stylish
panini
bar in
town --
and,
happily,
bearing
no
stigma
from
last
month's
visit by
a
gun-wielding
madman.
We
cruise
down to
its new
Soho
branch
(17
Cleveland
Place;
212-966-7334)
and
belly up
to the
bar.
"These
are the
most
texturally
correct,"
Batali
says,
biting
into
carefully
layered
speck,
Taleggio,
and
grappa-cured
apples
($6.50)
possessing
what he
discerns
to be
"the
essence
of
fondue,
just a
hint of
grappa."
Bonus
points:
Batali
likes
the wine
list --
"There's
twenty-something-or-other
here and
I don't
know
five of
them."
To end
the
evening,
we head
to the
place
that
launched
the
panini
craze
way back
when
"Italian
sandwiches"
meant
six-foot
monstrosities
from
Manganaro's
Hero
Boy. As
soon as
we
arrive
at
'ino
(21
Bedford
Street;
212-989-5769),
owned by
Jason
Denton,
one of
Batali's
partners
at Lupa,
we
discover
why our
companion's
been
saving
himself.
Batali
roosts
at the
bar,
orders a
bottle
of wine,
and
tucks
into a
portobello-grana-and-sun-dried-tomato-pesto
panino
($8). He
raves
about
the
lightness
of the
bread --
an 'ino
signature.
"It's
crisp,
but
still
easy to
bite
through,"
he says,
"and the
proportion
of
filling
is just
perfect."
Before
we know
it,
we're
facing a
stack of
sandwiches.
And
finally,
following
Molto
Mario's
cue, we
exceed
the
two-bite
minimum.
Press
On: 10
More
Panini
Parlors
-
Britti
Cafe
110
Thompson
Street;
212-334-6604
-
Bread
20
Spring
Street;
212-334-1015
-
Il
Posto
Accanto
190
East
2nd
Street;
212-228-3562
-
Panino
Giusto
11
Stone
Street;
212-785-8006
-
Panino'teca
275
Smith
Street,
Brooklyn;
718-237-2728
-
Press
Cafe
114
East
157th
Street,
the
Bronx;
718-401-0545
-
Press
195
Fifth
Avenue,
Brooklyn;
718-857-1950
-
Rue
B
188
Avenue
B;
212-358-1700
-
Terramare
Café
22
East
65th
Street;
212-570-9222
-
Vero
1483
Second
Avenue,
near
77th
Street;
212-452-3354
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