A Life Worth Eating

Arriving at my hotel in Senigallia the day before, I happened to mention to the lady working the front desk that I was headed to Madonnina del Pescatore that afternoon, and was thinking of visiting Uliassi as well. She gave me the kind of look that one gives a lottery-winner — a congratulations that almost borders on envy. “Mio dio,” she replied, “fantastico.” She went on to explain how respected these two chefs were, not only in the area, but all around the country. Unquestionably the two best restaurants in Le Marche, in her opinion. But which is better?, I asked. Her answer to this was simple and clear: “Those two restaurants are here,” she said in Italian, reaching her hand as high as she could, “while everything else is here,” dipping her hand down near her waist. “Un altro livello, quei ristoranti. Non si puo sbagliare.” Both restaurants are really on another level, she assured me. You can’t go wrong with either.

Endorsements like that make it quite easy to decide among two great choices — do them both, of course. So the day after lunch at Madonnina del Pescatore, I was ready to see what Chef Mauro Uliassi would have up his sleeve. Little did I know what I was getting into. It is always a wonderful thing to experience a meal that dazzles, but it is even better yet when it inspires. For me to better explain what I mean, let me jump right into it…

Even on that dreary, rainy day, Uliassi was a beautiful place to dine. I chose to sit outside on the white patio, where the only soundtrack was that of the ocean waves and the only traffic, that of the seagulls drifting across the sky. The restaurant is cozily tucked away in a less touristed section of beach along the blue-green Adriatic, whose delicious bounty would provide the majority of the meal that was to come. While I sipped an aperitivo of particularly refreshing spumante, some food began to arrive. First, two long, crispy grissini (breadsticks), one flavored with parmigiano-reggiano and the other with onion. A few minutes later, these were followed by the Loaker di fegato grasso e pralina di nocciola. Have any idea what a Loacker wafer cookie is? I certainly didn’t at the time, though apparently the treats are pretty popular in Italy. Presumably not like this, though. This was three thin wafers, holding together two layers of luxuriously fatty foie gras and salty-sweet hazelnut praline. The exposed sides of the filling were dotted with coarse flakes of fleur de sel. I hope it goes without saying that this was incredibly tasty. I was already smiling, and I was just getting started. Chef Uliassi had come out of the blocks strong, and I didn’t know it at the time, but he wasn’t going to let up anytime soon.

Another dish came: Pasta soffiata, baccalà mantecato, salsa cruda di pendolini e basilico. Two “blown” pasta shells, first slow-cooked, then later flash-fried to achieve an airy but crisp consistency not unlike shrimp chips (do such comparisons make me a food nerd?). One shell was filled with a refreshing mixture of chopped fresh tomato, cucumber, basil and some spices that weren’t afraid to stand up and be heard. Much like gazpacho, this was refreshing and pleasantly spicy all at once.

The other shell was filled with creamy baccalà mantecato, or salt cod whipped with milk and olive oil; and two other types of creams, one of black olive, and the other a sweeter puree of roasted onion and garlic, if I remember correctly (which I probably don’t). At this point, the menu finally arrived. I opened it quickly, and closed it just as fast. Menu sorpresa, the first page said in bold– a surprise menu. My mind was instantly made up. I put myself in Chef Uliassi’s hands for the afternoon, and here’s what he did…

Four types of bread came out, all hot, and served in a fishing net for a bread basket. One was black, made with squid ink and sprinkled with white slivers of almond. The other three types were ciabatta rolls, a sort of raisin bread, and whole wheat.

Next came the Tagliatelle di seppia e alghe marine. Thin strips of raw cuttlefish “noodles”, sauced with its own ink and a type of sea weed, and sprinkled with coarse toasted breadcrumbs for textural contrast. A relatively simple combination, prepared with neither too many ingredients, nor too few. Every part of the dish, it seemed, had something important to say. The cuttlefish was pleasantly chewy, and its natural sweetness was kept in check by the pleasantly briny seaweed. This sort of wonderful harmony would become a trend the rest of the afternoon.

The Scampo zen soon followed. In the center was one gloriously fresh raw scampo (a type of larger shrimp) marinated in sake and placed on a skewer, covered with citron foam. Raked around the plate were zen garden designs of dehydrated raspberry and green tea powders, and in the corners, a wonderfully refreshing dice of cucumber and pineapple with grated lime zest. A few slivers of zucchini flower also brought extra color to the already vibrant presentation. I think I may have mentioned this before, but I love raw shrimp. Again, the flavor combination was fabulous; nothing on the plate was extraneous. It was tart, sweet and incredibly refreshing. What else can I say? No complaints whatsoever.

Next came the only dish I had specifically requested: Zuppa di topinambour e gelato di ricci di mare. Jerusalem artichoke soup with sea urchin gelato. But wait, there’s more. Also piled off to the side was more raw shrimp. And sprinkled everywhere were the same coarse toasted bread crumbs I’d seen two courses ago. This dish had really caught my eye on the menu (I love, love, love uni), and it did not disappoint. The hot-cold, creamy-crunchy, creamy-salty contrast among everything made this a very enjoyable dish to eat, as no two bites tasted exactly the same. It was a dish that kept changing as I ate it, and was simply one cog in the wheel of a meal that was doing exactly the same thing.

Next up was Erbe Selvatiche, cristalli di sale nero e capesante. Forgive me, as I have a hard time explaining the sheer brilliance of this salad. Wild herbs. Fennel. Strawberries. Grapefruit. Green beans. Balsamic vinegar. Frozen rounds of cucumber. Frozen rounds of watermelon. Warm sauteed scallops. Black salt. It would seem that such a long list of ingredients could easily lead to dissonance. This combination though, was nothing short of symphonic. It danced across every taste bud on my tongue: sweet, sour, bitter, and salty. Again, the chef’s command of contrast (of temperature, of flavor, of texture) within the dish was incredible. I really can’t say enough good things about this dish, so I’m going to stop here, day-dream about it for a second, and move on.

Following that up was the Schiacciata di patate, cannocchie e tartufo nero. If there is a cooler looking crustacean than the mantis shrimp, I would love to see it. These bug-eyed creatures are not only nice to look at, but incredibly delicious. One of the tastier discoveries I made on the trip, I’d say. Lightly steamed, the shrimp was resting on a delicious pillowy mound of “crushed” potatoes and some kind of herb, and topped with a black truffle sauce. It might seem like the intensely earthy flavor of truffles would overshadow the delicate sweetness of the shrimp, but that did not happen here. It was perfectly balanced, leaving one to wonder whether the shrimp was nobly carrying the flavor of the truffles, or vice versa. Either way, a delicious combination.

The hits just kept coming, with the Canocchia in nitrocitronette con shot di umami . A warm lightly cooked mantis shrimp, resting on a large spoon along with fat globs of citronette (like a vinaigrette, but with citrus juice providing the acid) that had been dropped in liquid nitrogen. Hot and cold hit the tongue at once. The “umami shot” was actually spremitura di granchio, an intensely savory crab reduction that I could hardly believe had actually come from the sea. Again, the chef played so many beautiful chords at once. The naturally sweet shrimp contrasted the almost meaty crab reduction. The warmth of the shrimp was diametrically opposed to the cold blast of the citronette. What a fantastic dish.

Next on tap was a refreshing Tonno in caipirinha. Inspired by the national cocktail of Brazil, this dish took those flavors and paired them with impeccably fresh tuna that had come from the Adriatic Sea, whose waves crashed along the beach as I ate. The three small cubes of raw tuna were served along with a cold dice of what I assume was frozen lime and fresh lime. Yet it was not overly sour, so I wonder if there was not something else in the mix as well. Perhaps they’d been cooked in a simple syrup before freezing. Or perhaps the cachaça that was also present helped cut through it a bit. Whatever the case may have been, it was just sweet-tart enough to be refreshing, while still allowing the tuna’s fresh flavor to shine through.

Then meat made an appearance for the first time since the foie gras early on, with the Maialino Parisi, astice, e giardiniera di verdure. Insanely moist slow-cooked suckling pig (raised by Paolo Parisi, apparently) and lobster taken to exactly the right point of done-ness to keep it moist, delicious, and not the slightest bit chewy or tough. These rested atop very lightly pickled vegetables: carrot, cauliflower, tiny red pearl onions, etc. Dotted around the plate was a vibrantly colored and pleasantly tart raspberry vinaigrette. And rounding out this dish, there was another reminder that sometimes rich and meaty flavors can come from the sea, too: three delicious grilled heads of mazzancolle, a type of prawn. The most tasty part of that creature. Also resting atop the lobster and pork was two strips of something I couldn’t quite identify. The flavor first suggested pork skin, but it was soft. Then I thought maybe tripe of some kind, but it was smooth, and not the slightest bit tough. Whatever it was, it had a wonderfully rich fatty flavor without the greasy mouthfeel. Overall, this was a very delicious take on surf and turf. Well done.

Firmly planted in the sea again, there was the Albanella con molluschi e crostacei. The albanella was one of those glass jars with the air-tight lids that clamp down. Filled with scampi, mezzancolle, and vongole (clams), covered with a broth made from the same creatures and enriched with aromatic vegetables including wild fennel. This was cooked for half an hour, I believe he said, in a water bath. They didn’t unlock the lid until the dish was placed before me, and I can remember that first aroma like it was yesterday. Glorious. First think about the flavor of the best shellfish soup/stew you’ve ever had and multiply it by a factor of about 5. That’s how good this was. This was a pure expression of the ingredients, plain and simple.

Still not done, I now had Sogliola, cus cus, quinoa fritta e cocomero. Two stark white lightly cooked (steamed?) piece of sole fish, topped with fried quinoa, and resting on a bed of couscous with about the same size grain as the quinoa. (Does it make me strange that James Brown was shrieking “I got soul, and I’m super bad” in my head as I ate this?). Mixed through the couscous were delicious summery-sweet chunks of watermelon. This all rested in a shallow pool of tomato water, enriched with the perfect blend of mixed herbs that I couldn’t quite identify (mint, maybe?). The textural contrast was phenomenal, and the flavor pairing deliciously refreshing. It seemed the kitchen crew could do no wrong that afternoon. I was in shock that I’d not had even a merely mediocre dish yet. I would be in even bigger shock once I was done, though, and at this point, there was still more to go.

Next came Strigoli al nero di seppia, parmigiano, calamaretti pennini e basilico. Thick black hand-rolled worms of pasta, served with tiny grilled calamari, several mussels (without their shells), a few pieces of fresh tomato, some basil, and scales of parmigiano-reggiano. Most times, having cheese with a seafood pasta dish is a no-no, but here, the richness of the squid ink and the smoky flavor of the grilled calamari supported the flavor of the cheese perfectly. I should note that even with this dish where the focus is clearly on the noodles first and foremost (they were toothsome and delicious), and the condiment second, the calamari were perfectly cooked. Not the slightest bit under- or over-done, as the texture was just right. Again, nothing bad to say about this dish.

Following that up was the Oca laccata e fegato grasso di anatra. Two pieces of perfectly crisp-skinned, pan-roasted goose “lacquered” with a frutti di bosco (”fruits of the forest”, or summer berries) glaze that was perfectly sweet and tart without being too much of either. In between those was an unctuous piece of duck foie gras. Scattered on either side were some lightly stewed raspberries and blueberries that had made up the sauce for the goose. And at the ends of the plate were two square chunks of pineapple, dusted with tiny slivers of fresh mint. This was meant to be a palate cleanser, I was told, after the rich, meaty flavors of the goose and duck liver. Even with meat, it seems that Chef Uliassi can do no wrong. The stronger flavors of this dish were an indicator that I might finally be making my way toward the sweeter end of the meal after all.

Time to start winding down to the end of the meal now, they brought out the next dish: Zuppa di gorgonzola, sorbetto di sedano, e datteri. Chilled gorgonzola “soup” (the texture of partially melted gelato), a little mound of crunchy celery granita, and pieces of dried dates. Rather than rave about the incredible deliciousness of this dish, it is probably more telling to explain my reaction. A guy sitting with a large party probably 30 or 40 feet from me yelled across to me, saying “We could see you smiling all the way from over here! That must be great!”. Oh, it was. It was. I couldn’t help but to smile.

If the previous dish was to be called the “cheese course”, I figured I was in for some dessert next, and I was: Meringa di ananas, gelato di fragola, e mou al rum. Two long sticks of pineapple meringue, propped up against a quenelle of strawberry gelato that rested on cubes of fresh mango. Streaked across the plate underneath all that was a delicious white mousse, which tasted of coconut milk. Alongside that was also a thin line of dark caramel, presumably flavored with rum, though honestly I don’t really remember. Just as they had all afternoon long, the flavors and textures of this dish married beautifully together. The refreshing tropical taste of this dessert was a great way to end things.

But of course, such tasting menu extravaganzas can never actually end with just dessert. Why, there was caffe and petit fours to be had. With my espresso, I enjoyed three small treats: Piccolo bombolone alla crema; Crema bruciata al caffe; and Biscotto al nero di seppia. A small donut filled with pastry cream; coffee-flavored crème brulee, and a crunchy little rock of a squid ink “cookie”. All were quite tasty, but the latter was by far the most interesting. Only slightly sweetened, and somehow with the tongue-tingling consistency of pop rocks, it was a delicious small bite to officially end the meal.

Sorry to all the oenophiles out there, as I don’t seem to have written down the wines I enjoyed that day, though I recall starting with some spumante and later having some verdicchio. But anyway, with that knock-out tasting menu, three glasses of wine, and coffee, the total came out to €140. Not cheap, of course, but more than worth every euro.

I’m not sure that even the short novel which I seem to have just written can really express how incredible this meal was. Unquestionably the best meal of the trip. And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t among the very best meals I’ve ever had anywhere (only Manresa in Los Gatos, CA has ever left me with that same feeling). As far as I am concerned, Mauro Uliassi is a genius. The man has a gift, there is no doubt about it. Each dish was a beautiful study in contrast and depth. The flavors, the textures, and the temperatures all showcased the work of a chef who clearly understands balance. I found the progression of the meal to be absolutely perfect. Each dish satisfied fully in the moment, yet left you giddy with anticipation for what was yet to come. After a tour of the kitchen, Chef Uliassi told me about how he looks at the meal as a journey of sorts. It would be boring, he thought, to have a meal that is too predictable, too “flat”, as he called it. He prefers instead to keep one always on his or her toes, riding a delicious roller coaster, unsure what is around the next turn or over the next hill. It often happens at even the best restaurants that exceptional dishes are often interspersed with mediocre or merely good ones. But every now and again, that spark stays lit the entire meal. This was one of those times for me. What can I say? I guess it was just my lucky day. I will undoubtedly be back at this restaurant sometime. And believe me….that sometime can’t come soon enough.