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 Gremolata's California columnist Ben Wiener is Chief Executive Officer of WONGDOODY, one of the US West Coast's largest independent advertising agencies. His lavish expense account permits him many fine dining opportunities, mostly in airports and at the kind of hotel where breakfast is included for free and served in the lobby. When not working or enjoying quality time with his young family in Los Angeles, Ben enjoys uncovering overpriced, pretentious fine dining opportunities which he strangely enjoys. You can reach Ben at thewieners@mac.com. |
The Whole Hog "You’re flying to Oakland, just for dinner?" people asked me incredulously when they heard about my plans. And indeed I was. Of course, since I live in Los Angeles, flying Southwest Airlines to Oakland is quicker than the daily commute endured by many Angelenos. And more importantly, this wasn’t just any dinner. This was a coveted reservation for The Whole Hog dinner at Oliveto, the Bay Area shrine to proper cooking that Paul Bertolli put on the map. For one week each year, Oliveto serves a menu that consists of nothing but pork products. And from a starter of pig blood pudding through the unctuous bacon fat ice cream on offer, I couldn’t pass this us up. My Friday afternoon flight arrived on time. At 5:30 I was wandering through the Oakland Airport. And by 6:15, I was seated in Oliveto’s comfortable dining room with a martini in one hand and The Whole Hog menu in another. There were 27 different pork items to choose from, and a couple of vegetable side dishes for people who insist on such a thing. Personally, I wasn’t going to waste stomach space on lettuce. To open, we shared a couple of platters of charcuterie (technically, salumi, I guess). The dry cured salami platter featured a couple thin slices each of coppa, soppressatta, crespone, lonza, prosciutto, chorizo fresco and a couple of other porky, fatty, tube meats. All were delicious. But it will take a more pork seasoned palette than mine to tell you which salami was which and what the difference between them all is. More impressive was the potted and formed pork platter. The pork liver and Amarena cherry pâté was merely very good. The Pâté capriccioso was like a delicious pâté de campagne, but a little porkier. And it came with an excellent homemade mustard. Hovering in the antipasti stratosphere was something called ciccioli. Spread thickly on two slices of grilled bread, ciccioli was a rich, pinkish emulsion of pigginess and fattiness. Although cooked, it had the texture of steak tartare, wonderful flavor, and great mouthfeel. Even after I learned what it was and how it’s made (it's basically boiled left over bits), ciccioli remains one of the best things I have ever eaten. Then the meal began in earnest. My salad of pork kidneys, watercress, chopped egg, celery, walnuts and creamy balsamic was a study in harmonies. It was a wonderful balance of flavors and textures, the raw and the cooked, the soft and the crunchy. By brother-in-law’s antipasto of warm pork tongue, artichokes, and black truffles was decadently rich and soft. The crema of cranberry beans with pancetta was outrageously rich. And the braised pork shoulder with Meyer lemon, olives, and pine nuts was a delicious riff on North African flavours that I’ve never experienced married to pork. They were very successful together. There were also some little green gnocchi that shared a bowl with identically sized pork meatballs. I will confess that at this point I was feeling pretty full. So, as I excited as I was to try spit roasted pork belly with Chestnut honey, olives and almonds, I couldn’t finish my giant plateful of it. My wife had the same response to her platter of pork scallopini with gorgonzola sauce, walnuts, and caramelized apples: great flavours, not enough room. My brother-in-law was equally defeated by his Côtechino braised in saba. I didn’t have the strength to sample it, but it appeared to be a whole roasted pig hoof stuffed with sausage. The only sensible one among us was my brother-in-law's girlfriend who admirably restricted herself to three courses of pork product instead of taking on five. That being said, I wasn’t going to let the small matter of feeling like a certain Monty Python character keep me from the Malted Chocolate and Bacon Fat ice cream, which was indeed creamy in a way I’d never experienced before. Honestly, the combination of chocolate and bacon wasn’t bad. And next time I find myself with a space slice of bacon and a little nutella in hand, I can think of worse sandwiches. It is now over a week later and I’m ready to entertain the idea of eating pork again. At Oliveto, the couple next to us were in for their third Whole Hog dinner that week. They have my endless admiration. |
