Osmos | Beer on Sunday | Bread on Monday

Osmos, Cay Sophie Rabinowitz, Torkil Stavdal, Justus Red Rye Ale and 44 individual Potted Ale Loaves by Table on Ten.

Confirming (once again) the Power of Love.

[fvplayer src=’http://tableonten.com/movies/TOT.mp4′]

The pots spell out the text of W.H. Auden’s Song of the Master and Boatswain. Or they nearly do. We ran out of pots and chalked the last line-and-a-half on Kraft paper.

At Dirty Dick’s and Sloppy Joe’s 
We drank our liquor straight, 
Some went upstairs with Margery, 
And some, alas, with Kate; 
And two by two like cat and mouse 
The homeless played at keeping house. 

There Wealthy Meg, the Sailor’s Friend, 
And Marion, cow-eyed, 
Opened their arms to me but I 
Refused to step inside; 
I was not looking for a cage 
In which to mope my old age. 

The nightingales are sobbing in 
The orchards of our mothers, 
And hearts that we broke long ago 
Have long been breaking others; 
Tears are round, the sea is deep: 
Roll them overboard and sleep.

••

Spritz | Get Happy | Pasta on Sunday on the Fondamenta Frizzante

It’s been years in the making.

The Table Spritz | Undergoing Rapture
The Table Spritz | The Rapture

Four trips to Venice, countless afternoons draped along Rialto boardwalks dutifully sampling everything Al Mercà could hurl at us. Tottering home for a nap, returning before sunset to go at it all over again. Life distilled to a golden shaft of Adriatic sunshine refracted through tumbler-upon-tumbler of scarlet hooch. The canon of Table on Ten researchers was long and prodigious: Sara Glick, Arturo Stanig, Ian Stuart, Alessandro Simonetti, Winnie Richards, Emma Farrell, Henrik Knudsen, Kourtney Roy, Jonas Mortensen. Pamela Berry, with her beautiful wooden boat and perfect Italiano sbronzo. And always, always, Dorsoduro’s tittering answer to Siegfried and Roy, Paul Bromley and David Willis.

Table Spritz will be officially launched this Sunday, May 25th; the bare-breasted figurehead at the prow of Pasta on Sunday. We’ll track down some gin-soaked English Queen to smash a bottle on its haunches. And not just any bottle. In a nod (once again) to small producers, we’ve thumbed our noses at mouth-puckering Campari and tugged the beard of sodapop Aperol. Like Goldilocks, we were seeking something more nuanced; not too bitter, not too sweet. We found Cappelletti. This venerable aperitivo has been produced in small batches by four generations of happy Italian villagers, all laughing, singing and wearing traditional clothing at the base of the Dolomites beyond Trento. It gleans its lurid crimson colour from natural cochineal* and its bitter citrus herbiness from heaven knows where. The apocryphal tipple of choice for Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, it might in some way be responsible for World War I. Or maybe if he’d knocked back a few more and been slumped lower in his carriage, the bullet would have whizzed past his head and we’d all be eating schnitzel now and yodeling. In 21st century Bloomville, we’re going with one-third Cappelletti, two-thirds prosecco, over ice with a plump Castelvetrano olive and a slice of orange. So tasty you’ll be hallucinating gondolas. The perfect springboard into the full-twisting piked two-and-a-half somersaults of …

PASTA ON SUNDAY

Sunday, 25th May from 6 till 9

‘Ai Luigi, che cosa hai fatto con i miei pantaloni’

'Non abbiamo bisogno di alcun pizze puzzolente ...'
‘Non abbiamo bisogno di alcun pizze puzzolente …’

Menu will launch with:

• The Table Spritz

followed hard upon by a choice of:

• fresh asparagus soup with lemon-zest, toasted almonds, olive oil

• pure spring microgreens with fresh herbs

• shredded lacinato kale salad with red quinoa, smoked almonds, ricotta salata

• lightly roasted asparagus spears with house-made fresh ricotta, olive oil, lemon

and after a short pause:

• fresh tagliatelle with slow-braised Thornton Steward pork ragù, kale, currants

• fresh borsa vuota with ramp-basil pesto, cherry tomatoes

• fresh borsa vuota with 4-hour marinara, fresh herbs

then just when you thought you could eat no more:

• the Corno Grande – house made pure lemon ice cream on fresh meringue

• Quattro e Venti Merli pies – chocolate chess, salted caramel apple, honey rosemary shoofly, salty honey

• house-made ice cream – roasted cherry white-chocolate milk-chocolate stracciatella, fennel, Vietnamese coffee, mango mint, toasted coconut

Embroidered throughout by:

• summery Lambrusco from Emilia Romagna, Prosecco from Veneto

• white, rosé, red

• beer

Forecast calls for foggy mornings before and after. But if the sun extends its warm embrace into the evening, sashay over to the loggia and go alfresco beneath the ancient olive tree (you might need more than one Spritz to get there). If it doesn’t, promenade downstairs into our freshly-minted ground-floor sala da pranzo, where Luchino Visconti played the bongos and seduced Claudia Cardinale into taking the lead in Sandra.

Kitchen fires up at 6, cools down at 9.   Lambrusco lingers a little longer.

buon appetito, tutti!

* no beetles were harmed in the writing of this post

Nu Komt de Aap uit de Mouw | Refresh!

What do you think of when you think of Holland? Windmills, right? Tulips, clogs, spherical cheese clad  in red wax. White plates with blue pictures on ’em involving windmills and tulips. Bored women in sculleries, sewing beneath lead-mullioned windows. Half-naked women from Bratislava, gyrating behind plate-glass windows. Unnaturally tall people, built sturdy to withstand high winds. Herring. Ice-skates. Cabbage. Sprinkles on toast, sausages in cans. Collecting discount stamps, sticking them in little books. Dentistry second only to Great Britain. Men wearing lots of hair-gel. Canals. Bicycles, an obsession with the colour orange, did somebody kill a skunk in that coffee shop? Thrift. Camping. Three kisses. Black-and-white cows. Blackface. Bizarre expressions involving monkeys, sunshine and not putting butter on your head.

Just when you thought it was all about mashing stuff into goop and spreading it thickly on bread, along come Dutch bookplates. Intricate woodcuts which combine astonishing attention to detail with rugged no-nonsense conviction; like the Dutch, really. Hailing mainly from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, they were used to identify books as being the property of this, that or the other erudite Dutchman. The words Ex Libris (‘from the books of …’) are frequently followed by the initials and surname of the owner, sometimes accompanied by a pithy idiom. Y’know … ‘well, Gertrud, that just breaks my wooden shoe!’ … but in Latin.

In a subtle springtime rebranding, we turned to our flatland bookish heritage – and Mark Ohe (designer of many things Table) – for inspiration.

Refresh

tt arandis

Henceforth, anything that sits still long enough at Table on Ten will find itself indelibly stamped. We’ve already capitalized upon Flemish diligence, putting Wilna and Eddie to work stamping all things flat and curvy, white and brown: paper bags, pizza and sandwich boxes, paper cups, wine-lists, letters to our Grannies. We now have our eyes on books, bags, buttocks, foreheads and children. Not to mention blimps, artisanal tattoos, grillz, lobe-stretching and scarification. Linger too long by the picnic tables, you risk Kathleen leaping from behind a bush like a banshee and branding you forever Table.