BOLLICINE, VINO E TARTUFO

”BUBBEL, VIN Å TRYFFEL”

Annika Karlsson, en dynamisk entreprenör, har under 5 års tid plockat tryfflar i södra Italien och har under en intensiv period lärt sig det mesta när det gäller det praktiska i tryffelletning. I ”stövellandet har hon gått flera universitetskurser för att lära sig det teoretiska och då fördjupa sig i vilka olika sorters tryfflar det finns. Nyligen har hon flyttat hem till Sverige igen och håller föreläsningar och workshops för att berätta om hur det går till med tryffelletning i Italien, hur marknaden ser ut och berättar om alla olika sorter man kan köpa.

Denna dag kommer hon att besöka Enoteket för att sprida sin kunskap samtidigt som vi håller en vinprovning med utvalda etiketter som väl passar till kvällens tryffelinspirerade meny. Anmälan kan göras till tel. 0706-162882,

0707-664101eller via mail till karin@enoteket.se

Pris 750:-/person, inklusive, fördrink, vinprovning och meny enligt nedan.

Dryck till mat tillkommer.

ANTIPASTI-TILLTUGGEN

• Crostini med parmigiano och tryffelsmör toppade med skivad svart tryffel

• Assiett med högklassig tryffelsalami och tryffel-pecorino

• Skedad äggröra smaksatt med mozzarella och vit tryffel

• Carpaccio med mangold, och tryffelcreme

• Färskbakad ricottafylld triangolo med skirat tryffelsmör och nerkokt Parmigianogrädde

PRIMO-FÖRRÄTT

• Risotto på ris av Carnarolityp tillredd med Champagne och tryffel

SECONDO-HUVUDRÄTT

Tagliata di manzo/ helstekt oxfilé i Barolovinsås toppad med Parmigiano och tryffelcréme, serverad med Fontinagratinerad potatisbakelse och grytstekta grönsaker

PER FINIRE-TILL AVSLUT

Espresso och chokladtryffel

As autumn turns to winter, the last leaves drop and the cold, damp wind seems to slice through you no matter how thick your coat, I invite you to join me in a toast to an Irish chef from years ago…

One cold and wet night in January 1942, a flying boat left Foynes air base near Shannon in Ireland bound for Newfoundland and New York. The weather was terrible and the pilot decided to return to Ireland rather than risk the welfare of his passengers. The air base was notified by radio and staff were brought back to work to take care of the cold, tired travellers.

The restaurant chef, a man named Joe Sheridan, brewed fresh coffee and added Irish whiskey and a touch of brown sugar. Whatever then made him gently float some cream on each drink before serving to his chilled guests we will never know, but history was made that night.

When asked by a grateful guest if the coffee was Brazilian he jokingly replied -“No Sir, it’s Irish” In the years to come this mixture has taken the world by storm and given birth to many variations; it is also frequently ruined by a lack of understanding of the sheer decadent beauty of the original: Any bartender who tops his “Irish Coffee” with cream sprayed from a pressure can, serves his creation with rock sugar on a stick to encourage his poor guest to stir the damn thing into a pathetic, milky mess or provides his guest with a straw to slurp as with a milk shake should, in my opinion, get a job in an ice-cream parlour or doing something he has some feeling for.

And to you, dear guest, while I respect your right to drink any of my creations in any way you please, once you have paid for them, consider the experience you are missing and, if Marilyn Monroe can manage it without spoiling her lipstick, so can you.

I write this sitting by an open fire at home; my daughter has gone to bed, the various family pets are asleep in their chosen corners, Michael Bublé is singing about Christmas and yes, I am sipping a, if I say so myself, perfectly made Irish Coffee.

Sláinte!

As autumn turns to winter, the last leaves drop and the cold, damp wind seems to slice through you no matter how thick your coat, I invite you to join me in a toast to an Irish chef from years ago…

One cold and wet night in January 1942, a flying boat left Foynes air base near Shannon in Ireland bound for Newfoundland and New York. The weather was terrible and the pilot decided to return to Ireland rather than risk the welfare of his passengers. The air base was notified by radio and staff were brought back to work to take care of the cold, tired travellers.

The restaurant chef, a man named Joe Sheridan, brewed fresh coffee and added Irish whiskey and a touch of brown sugar. Whatever then made him gently float some cream on each drink before serving to his chilled guests we will never know, but history was made that night.

When asked by a grateful guest if the coffee was Brazilian he jokingly replied -“No Sir, it’s Irish” In the years to come this mixture has taken the world by storm and given birth to many variations; it is also frequently ruined by a lack of understanding of the sheer decadent beauty of the original: Any bartender who tops his “Irish Coffee” with cream sprayed from a pressure can, serves his creation with rock sugar on a stick to encourage his poor guest to stir the damn thing into a pathetic, milky mess or provides his guest with a straw to slurp as with a milk shake should, in my opinion, get a job in an ice-cream parlour or doing something he has some feeling for.

And to you, dear guest, while I respect your right to drink any of my creations in any way you please, once you have paid for them, consider the experience you are missing and, if Marilyn Monroe can manage it without spoiling her lipstick, so can you.

I write this sitting by an open fire at home; my daughter has gone to bed, the various family pets are asleep in their chosen corners, Michael Bublé is singing about Christmas and yes, I am sipping a, if I say so myself, perfectly made Irish Coffee.

Sláinte!