Everything was Alliuminated
Some people are finders. My good friend Rob Stilling has a genius for finding. His most recent effort: a lost Robert Frost poem called “War Thoughts at Home” that is published this month in the fall issue of VQR, The Virginia Quarterly Review. Look for mentions of his name on NPR, and in the Washington Post and the Wall Street Journal, among others, tomorrow.
Against this happy news, today I discovered that I had lost my favorite restaurant in Charlottesville, Ciboulette. In its place in the Main Street Market a Mediterranean store called Orzo opens November 1st, which may very successfully offer a mediocre sampling of all things sunny and European. (While ciboulette is French for chive, orzo is the tiny pasta that looks like grains of rice ubiquitous in cooking magazines like Bon Appetit that I no longer serve at dinner parties; everyone either thinks you are terrible at cooking rice or that you have bizarre taste in pasta shapes—sort of like a bad Ferran Adria riff without the magic and unusual cutlery.)
While some of my informed, food-savvy friends swore off Ciboulette on the grounds that the service was uniformly bad and Chef-Owner Jose De Brito’s snobbish attitude off-putting, I found service to be routinely slow, but more than balanced by consistently excellent food. Was De Brito inflammatory? Yes. And I admire him the more for it. Ciboulette featured an open kitchen, and diners were, therefore, privy to what really happens in a restaurant kitchen, specifically a bistro; we have been numbed by scripted, silly television episodes. One of the last times I was at Ciboulette, De Brito bellowed at a sous chef, “Where is the f****** squab?” I smiled. It was my squab. It was, finally, delicious.
Perceptive diners know how much a menu reveals about the priorities of the chef. Reading closely, it is immediately obvious if the management panders to trendy ingredients, supports local produce, or leans heavily on dairy. The best part of De Brito’s daily menu (and yes, many days much of the menu was unavailable due to erratic supply ordering), was the children’s section. I always sigh when I overhear parents ordering some variation of pasta and cheese for their children at nicer restaurants. Ciboulette’s menu proposed that the next generation nourish their culinary curiousity now, and so their menu options included a small portion of sweetbreads! I adored De Brito for that.
Sometimes I would smile at the other women who also ate there alone. Usually they were not drinking a glass of the house red (always excellent) like me, but they would return the smile over their large bowls of mussels and plates of frites. Most of them were older than my grandmother and cackled at the chef’s sass. They knew.
Ciboulette was the best place to celebrate a birthday and the best place to break up with someone; as the chalkboard above the register implored, you felt, eating there, that you were embracing life fully. One birthday lunch with a friend last month went over two hours, running into meetings and classes. I called the person I was to meet after lunch and said simply, “I’m still at Ciboulette.” “Ah,” he replied, “I understand.” And he did. We were to lunch there tomorrow.
Another good friend that I don’t see often enough would meet me at Ciboulette for Friday lunch when we were both in town. She has the kind of cool that shields her from ordering anything but what she truly wants, and we were discussing our dissertation projects in a distracted manner. Our food arrived. She had the rabbit stew; I had a squab stuffed with goat cheese over spinach with balsamic/fig reduction. I took a bite and pushed the plate toward her; she forked a bit, raised her eyebrows, and took another bite. We raised our glasses for our usual toast—this time, without a trace of irony; “To Charlottesville.”
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Posted Wednesday, September 27th, 2006, 10:16 pm | Filed in Food. Follow responses through the RSS 2.0 feed. Leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
October 1st, 2006 at 11:28 pm
I appreciate your comments and echo your loss where Ciboulette is concerned.
In addition to Jose’s cooking (his seared scallops were simply the best I’ve ever had - ever), his suggestions of various cheeses for me to try opened up a world I barely knew existed. The Banon (wrapped in chestnut leaves) was a personal favorite while my step-children embraced the Truffe-Noir, a soft goat cheese with flecks of black truffle and I’ve never had anyone I gave the St. Agur blue cheese to tell me they’d had better.
His suggestions in wine were equally appreciated although I think I will miss most “Pommeau D’Normandie”, a Normandy cider fortified with Calvados. I will sip my remaining bottle in the full knowledge that I’m not likely to find another in Charlottesville soon, if ever.
As for the “unique” atmosphere, I enjoyed sipping my wine and leafing through the various books that Jose made available while he and the staff did whatever it was that they had to do that day. If anything, it was an object lesson in the rewards of necessary patience.
November 8th, 2006 at 4:48 pm
My husband and I were also devastated to hear of Jose’s leaving. Our long, fabulous lunches over a bottle of lovely wine reminded us of Europe - yes, the scallops were wonderful as was the poached salmon, steak frites, veal cheeks, etc. etc. etc. We miss him and his philosophy. One Saturday evening, he opened and cooked a fabulous meal for us and 2 special friends visiting from NJ. He volunteered because he loves good food and the people who love good food. If you find another good lunch place, let us know.
January 25th, 2007 at 12:37 pm
i am jose’s son and i appreciate all the comments i was also sad, that ciboulette closed i don’t live in charlottesville anymore, and i know my dad is impatient, and very short tempered, when it comes to food but he is a nice father. well bye
June 13th, 2007 at 10:48 am
Thomas, I worked with your Dad at Urbani. I tried to contact him at Ciboulette, he was gone. You came to my house several times in Queens…Remember? I was very fond of Jose and I miss him. Please let him know. All The best Susan B.
September 25th, 2007 at 11:46 am
salut thomas,
Je suis un vieux copain de ton papa et je profite de ce forum de discussion pour te demander un service. J’ai depuis longtemps
perdu ses coordonnées et je te serai reconnaissant à vie de lui demander de me contacter ou bien de me donner une adresse mail pour que je puisses lui écrire. mon adresse mail : pgirod@fr.coltteam.net
Merci d’avance.Ciao
April 30th, 2008 at 2:04 pm
hey susan, well i do remember my time in queens, i am in france now i dont live with my dad anymore and sorry for not contacting you, you did not leave an email adress, I dont get along with my dad anymore, but i’ll tell him you passed and wanted to say hi