Last year at this time, William "Chopper" Young of Wellfleet, Mass, shucked his way into first place at the Galway International Oyster Festival, becoming the first American to win in 34 years. Last month, Young returned to Galway and took second place at the 55th Guinness World Oyster Opening Championship, opening 30 oysters in 2.40 minutes, coming in one second behind the winner while a crowd of 1,600 cheered them on.

Speaking of oysters, the ninth annual Wellfleet OysterFest is taking place Oct. 17 and 18. Young is still the reigning US champ, and you can see him demonstrate his speed and skill on Sunday at 12:30 p.m. Other weekend highlights include a festival along Main Street, an oyster farming talk, oyster cooking demonstrations, guest speakers, live music, a shucking competition, and oysters galore.

Posted by Necee Regis, Globe Correspondent

Go ahead and scream (for joy). If you happen to be in Dublin between now and Dec. 6, the National Gallery of Ireland has a handsome little show of 40 Edvard Munch woodcuts, lithographs, etchings, and drypoint prints. While you’re there, take a stroll through the 54 galleries of Irish, British and European art, making sure not to miss the museum’s key works of Caravaggio, Vermeer, Velazquez, Monet, and — the treat that surprised us — the painterly landscapes of Irish artist, Paul Henry. Admission to the museum is free, though it’s 5 euro (about $7.30) to see the Munch prints.

Posted by Necee Regis, Globe correspondent

Jesus casts the money-lenders out of the temple. Photo courtesy of Passion Play Oberammergau 2010

The Passion Play of Oberammergau comes around a little more often (every decade) than Halley’s Comet, but unless you book soon you’ll have to wait for the 2020 production to see one of Europe’s greatest and longest-running spectacles. When the bubonic plague ravaged Bavaria in 1633, the Oberammergau villagers vowed that if they were spared from further deaths, they would perform a play about the last days, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Except for hiatuses during two wars, they’ve been at it ever since. The 41st Passion Play takes place daily May 15-Oct. 3, 2010. About 2,500 of the 5,200 villagers are involved with the production, and the performers have been growing their hair and beards since Ash Wednesday 2009. Organizers expect the last of the combined one- and two-day packages of play tickets and lodgings to be sold out in the next month or so. For details (and connections to U.S. packagers), see the website: www.oberammergau-passion.com.

Posted by Patricia Harris and David Lyon, Globe Correspondents.

Lots of little things going on Chez Ramulaud.

What I love about Paris is that I lived on and off for a year near a place this good and never knew it was there. Then again, I lived even closer to the Bistrot Paul Bert, which got all the little things right and costs the same; Ramulaud is more of a mixed bag.

Walk in and there’s a funny feeling like the place has both been there for a while and that they’ve just moved in because the walls are too white and the lights too bright. Appetizers are good ideas that just miss the mark – a tartare of veal, gambas, and avocados has lots of fun texture but wades in mayonnaise. "Chips'' of pigs’ feet and ears sound fantastic if you’re into that sort of thing, but this thin, they just taste greasy. Vegetable preparations are well thought-out yet the raw products seem like they’re from the cheap grocery store down the street.

From here on out, however, the problems are erased. Sautéed slices of andouillette atop a salad are crowned with a poached egg. There’s great play between the offal, the mustard-y vinaigrette and hidden lardons and lightly caramelized red onions. Lamb chops are dredged in Parmesan and pink on the inside. A beautiful Fleurie dispatches doubts about Beaujolais.
Dessert sums it up: a chocolate cake drools salted caramel, the underside just slightly (and wonderfully) scorched; my companion starts moaning with pleasure.

Meanwhile, I can’t figure out why the top of my otherwise tasty crème brulée isn’t scorched enough. At the next table, someone has ordered a skimpy-looking Paris-Brest, Paul Bert’s incredible signature dessert.

I enjoyed the meal more than it sounds but can’t think of a better way to remind customers of the better place to eat.

Chez Ramulaud
269 rue Faubourg St Antoine
75011 PARIS
011 33 (0)1 43 72 23 29

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

I recently moved to a neighborhood where I don’t know where to eat … disconcerting for a food writer.

At the end of a rainy Monday in the center of town, both places I wanted to go for steak frites were closed. I retreated to my neighborhood, dragging my friend behind me and getting to the point where we couldn’t make a decision.

We circled two places, exhausted and not really caring anymore, finally settling on a place that seemed pretty but expensive (Belleville’s Le Zephyr, for the curious). We sat and picked out our steaks and I did the math; it was going to cost 80 euros for a meal we really didn’t care about.

I looked across the table and said: “Chinese takeout and cheap beer?”

We got up immediately.

Best decision of the week.

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Le Fumoir is a melting pot for the mid-level hoi polloi. At any given point, you might bump into the waitress who couldn’t care less, the impeccably-dressed writer who’s actually getting something done, the maître d’ who says "I am a snob'' simply in the way he adjusts the blinds, smiling bartenders, tourists who realized they’ve lucked into a good find, and a woman who’s got a good 25 years on her lover, both looking happy as clams. (I’ve recently learned that her breed is known as a cougar – more power to her.)

There are lots of nonclient quirks for better and for worse: a Costes-brothers-of-the-1950s style space with big, beautiful lacquered bathrooms, paired with a vaguely Asian menu theme. And maté. Surprisingly good maté, served in a big gourd with a bombilla and a big iron teapot of hot water.

Most places have a clientele you can lump into a group, but here in the middle of town, a stone’s throw from the Louvre’s Cour Carré, it’s what the French would call Le Melting Pot.

It shoudn’t stick.

It sticks.

Pass the maté.

Le Fumoir
6 Rue de l'Amiral de Coligny
Paris
011 33 (0)1 42 92 00 24

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

PARIS – Grey day. The kind that makes you wear extravagant clothing in hopes they’ll create a break in the clouds. Parisians, a thin-blooded lot who put on cold-weather clothing at the drop of a hat, use days like this to break out their scarves and winter coats while the rest of us are fine in a long-sleeved shirt.

If you go out on a day like this, you tend not to stray too far. I rode my bike to meet a friend for lunch at pizzeria Maria Luisa behind the Canal Saint Martin, an area larded with good neighborhood restaurants.

It poured once we were inside, but it didn’t matter. The pizza (red sauce, mozz, anchovy) chased clouds and when I took a spin around the restaurant floor, all the different pies looked just as good. A kid at the table next to us got a kid-sized pizza and I’m pretty sure I didn’t see that on the menu. Nice touch.

Nitpicks: my crust could have been done underneath a bit more, my friend’s salad came with a ricotta that, curiously and distractingly, was slightly sweet. Avoid or refuse the table shoehorned into a dead space by the bathroom.

But these are little things. Using my Sicilian scale, this would have been a very respectable Pizza Sette, on a Parisian scale, however, Pizza Neuf.

Maria Luisa – Pizzeria Napoletana
2 rue Marie et Louise
75010 Paris
011 33 1 44 84 04 04

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

I love a good place hidden in plain sight. I’d walked by La Fresque, smack in the center of Les Halles, 100 times before a neighborhood friend proposed dinner there a few years back. I still remember trying ostrich steak for the first time – a perfect presentation to get you over the hump and make you want to try it again because you like it. I also liked the idea of everyone walking by, oblivious to a good find.

A little while ago, we went back for lunch and a 14-euro menu included a light pumpkin flan with a curry cream sauce and a decent steak. My friend, a stickler for a good chevre chaud salad, wasn’t doing cartwheels, but pronounced herself satisfied.

More than that, I liked sitting under the big awning, protected from the rain and watching the world go by.

La Fresque
100, rue Rambuteau
011 33 (0)1 42 33 17 56

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

ILE DE RE, France -- I’d trade a friend in a high place for one who knows where to eat.

Spend a bit of time on this island and you’ll inevitably end up at the Café du Commerce in Ars en Ré. It’s one of the few places open all year, a good place to socialize and renew your love for bric-a-brac, but I don’t remember a thing I’ve eaten there.

Visit a few times, however, and a friend might start bringing you to their favorite places.
Olivier and Moumoune (his ‘Mama’) brought me out to Aux Frères de la Côte which sits on a seawall – la digue – at the end of the road in Ars en Ré. If I’m going to splurge and get a plate full of seafood or a dish of oysters, the edge of the sea is where I want them.

Service is flighty but friendly, wine is chilled in a plastic beach bucket and the fries on the neighboring table look so good, we order a plate for ourselves.

Star of the meal? Tiny, plump clams known as palourdes, served raw in their unopened shell; it’s up to you to liberate them with a knife and their sweet, briny and fresh flavor are worth the trip.

Count on 20-40€.

Aux Frères de la Côte
Route de La Grange
Ars en Ré
011 33 (0)5 46 29 04 54
Warm months only.

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

Take a walk through La Boqueria food market and you can’t help but get the feeling that Barcelona should be a sushi-lover’s paradise, yet I never found proof. I’ve had good Asian at Ly Leap’s Indochine restaurants and Ferran Adria apparently swears by Shunka, but still, no sushi for me.

Then I went to Ken Restaurante – bristling with sushi potential – and nobody ordered sushi.
A plate of tasty noodles came out, adorned with ultrathin feathers of dried, smoked tuna that fluttered in the heat, and there were tasty (though heavy) shrimp and veg tempuras, but nothing to write home about.

Ken came out to say hello to the family I was with and perhaps he saw the sadness in my eyes, because after that the raw and the beautiful started appearing.

A set of breaded cherry tomatoes appeared which were cored and gently stuffed with salmon eggs then flash fried and served with a delicious, mayonnaise-y secret sauce. A bite is sweet and salty, crisp and bursting. Pop a few of these and down them with a glass of Cava at the beginning of a date and your sweetie will be putty in your hands for the rest of the evening.
The dessert menu came and I panicked. I looked frantically around the table for support and found a taker in the patriarch. I don’t think he was hungry, it was probably just foodie pity. I didn’t care.

“Sushi plate please!” I said to a perplexed waitress.

Know that sound Homer Simpson makes while drooling over a bowl of chili? Nnnghhhh!!! That was me.

Each piece had its own, distinct flavor and firm texture, including a tuna belly reminiscent of the other night at Inopia.

Sushi in Barcelona? I knew I’d find it.

Ken Restaurante MAP
C/ Benet Mateu 53
011 34 932 032 044

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Earlier this week, The New York Times reported that the Russian carrier Aeroflot would take another step toward completely shedding its Soviet past by revamping its fleet. shedding virtually all of it Russian-made jets (which were cramped, noisy, and the butt of jokes by travelers for decades) in favor of American-made Boeing and European Airbus jets.
Aeroflot officials cited their desire to achieve greater fuel efficiency, amid increasingly volatile fuel prices and tough, global competition in the industry.
What the Times story didn't mention was the Aeroflot was also looking for an upgrade in flight attendants.
According to a story in The Independent, the airline is also looking to make its attendants a bit easier on the eyes.
New Aeroflot chief executive Vitaly Savelyev told the British newspaper that all new hires would be "very striking, very eye-catching girls,'' who would not exceed Russian size 48 – roughly a British size 12 or an American size 8.
The airline also said it would jettison its old blue-and-orange uniforms and seek a new design.
"Psychologists have told us that the current colour evokes revulsion in passengers," Savelyev told the newspaper Vedomosti. "We've looked at the uniforms of other major carriers. My son sent me a wonderful video clip of Virgin Atlantic – all of their stewardesses are in bright red uniforms and look like professional models."

Before revisiting this classic, I check directions and find an online guide to Barna that says I might be the only tourist in the place.

Fat chance. Two ladies in the back are flipping through a Time Out guide and above the bar, there’s a framed, two-page spread from the Wall Street Journal about Bar Tomas’ raison d’être: “Splendid Spuds: Spain’s Obsession with Patatas Bravas.”

No matter. For spuds this good, I’m willing to share.

Just remember the Two B’s: Bravas and Beer. Like seafood in Omaha, most of the rest of the offerings (save Coke and Fanta in glass bottles) can be ignored.

The spuds are downy on the inside, crisp on the outside and partially submerged under a blob of aioli from heaven and served by a guy whose voice sounds like a yard of rocks in a cement mixer.

Perfect.

Bar Tomás
C/ Major De Sarrià 49
08017 Barcelona
011 932 031 077

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

BARCELONA – Go to Inopia on any given night and despite the bright lights and bustle typical of many tapas bars, there’s also something a bit bizarre: a bouncer.

It’s a little weird, but though I’m sure there’s a bit of favoritism, the bouncer is mostly there to keep the inside full without drowning the chefs and waitstaff.

Then night we’re there, Tapas 24 and Comerç 24 chef Carles Abellan, along with a chunk of the local 7 Canibales food writers and we, the unwashed masses, are all waiting in line.

Inside, the lights glare and four of us sit on stools facing some sort of hen party, yet the Cava arrives and tickles our palates and a plate or two of food lands in front of us and is gobbled up – we take on our own momentum.

A cutting board of thin-sliced cooked ham appears and disappears, fried artichoke hearts cradle a quail’s egg and raw fish eggs.

This is before they bring out the big guns.

Lomo de atún a la parrilla con mojo should just be called "Kobe tuna.'' The mojo is lost in the shuffle, but the fish, wonderfully fatty, marbled and full of flavor has been grilled, making it smoky, meaty, carnal and crisp.

At dessert, the waiter sprays an anise liquor over a bowl of cherries. There’s a sweet and almost vegetable flavor of the spray, followed by the explosion of the taut cherry skin. The fruit’s sweet and acidic flavors compete for your attention as they fill your mouth and dribble down your chin.

RRRRRowwwww!!! No mas! No mas!!!!

Count on 10-15 euros if you're feeling peckish and upwards of 40 if you're hungry and thirsty.

Inopia
www.barinopia.com
C/Tamarit 104
08015 Barcelona
011 34 934 245 231

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

CEFALÙ, Sicily – Baseball wisdom advises against swinging at the first pitch. See what they’ve got, and work the pitcher for something you can turn into a hit.

Driving into Cefalù, I had a restaurant I’d tried before and a couple new recommendations on where to eat written on a scrap of paper in my pocket. It was also Time To Eat, and pulling into the back side of town, we saw a roadside tavola calda (think buffet, but good) with a nice deck, sun and shade, ficus and palms.

God knows how much time I’ve wasted tracking down a lead or looking for that next good spot when a place like this presented itself, but here, I didn’t even ask – I just pulled into a parking spot. It didn’t look like much on the inside, but that didn’t matter on the deck, where, once you had ordered, runners in gas-station style green and blue jumpsuits and white caps hustled orders out to the tables.

Everything was tasty – a seafood and vegetable salad, great roast potatoes with rosemary goodness and good, local-style arancini – stuffed and breaded rice balls that make a quick meal on their own. "Local-style" apparently means that they don’t have a red sauce in with the filling, and mom asks me to get some.

My Italian can be painfully bad, but despite a passable attempt for the desired sugo, the waiter looks at me with the blankest of faces.I re-explain, stressing the maternal need and appealing to his inner momma’s boy. He sweetly replies that though they don’t do it like that in these parts, he’ll get some.

Long enough time elapses to think he’s forgotten, but right when we’re wrapping up, he reappears with a piping hot, custom-made arancini in his hands.

“For mamma,” he says. “A regalo.”

A gift.

A home run.

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

Paris is good to my comings and goings – little things to welcome me back or make me miss her when I go.

Before heading out for the summer, I bumped into Fred Valade in the northern reaches of Belleville while looking for my last lunch in Paris and asked where to get a good steak tartare in the neighborhood. He gave me a "no-can-do'' shrug and instead pointed me toward the new divin restaurant – a shiny, new and unfettered by capital letters.

The concept isn’t new, but there’s nothing to be tired of: a product-centric menu that cleverly goes easy on the chef at service time and a host of good organic and natural production wines. The restaurant is run by a pair of brothers, but divin is a direct cousin of the likes of La Crèmerie and Le Verre Volé; the more the merrier for this kind of place.

I had a thick slab of chunky pâté, full of deep, meaty and wonderfully liver-y flavor, all protected by a snow-white layer of fat and served with big, plump capers and good bread.
I washed it down with a (well-recommended) Côtes du Rhône, smacked my lips, and headed to the airport with a smile.

divin
35 rue des Annelets
75019 Paris
011 33 1 40 40 79 41

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo of organic and natural production wines at the Crus et Decouvertes wine shop in the 11th by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

PALERMO - Dad can be very good at bonding with the locals. His eyes might glaze over with a museum guide or, say, me when I get going about food, but give him someone salty in a tweed cap or a tour bus driver and in five minutes, they’ll be sharing a bag of sunflower seeds with Dad telling the joke about the drunk twins from the County Cork.

In Palermo, this happens with Sicily guide Jean-Paul Barreaud, the man who introduced me to pastry chef and gelato god, Santi Pallazzolo, and spoke my favorite Motherland quote: “Sicilians eat like ogres.”

Their bonding subject was instant: Palermo traffic.

“I like your car Jean-Paul, are those claw marks on the bumper?” asked Dad.

“The only pedestrians with untouchable rights are pregnant women,” replied Barreaud, not skipping a beat. “Everyone else is fair game.”

I couldn’t tell if Dad, a true road warrior, was terrified or agog in admiration for the Palermitans, but I can say that he never took the wheel and after returning home, he wrote a lengthy e-mail thanking me for driving.

Barreaud brought us to U Zù Caliddu, a former smuggler’s safe house in the hills above Palermo run by a sprawling family that includes a grandmother in the kitchen and a four year old playing soccer in a Spider Man costume in the dining room.

There’s a 15-euro fixed-price menu that could put even the hungriest ogre under the table, but it’s also a great way to get a handle on family-style Sicilian. The antipasto includes great examples of the sweet and sour caponata, roasted ricotta and a pizza cousin called ''old man’s face'' – a square and thick pie with a cheese-laden red sauce that Dad promptly got all over his shirt.

Seemingly from nowhere, the guide pulled out a bottle of miracle stain cleaner that he sprays on Dad’s shirt
.
Barreaud looks at me and smiles, “He’s becoming Italian!”

U Zù Caliddu
C/ del Piano dell’ochio
Torretta (PA)
011 091 8983913

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

PALERMO – Mom and Dad are gone and I have Palermo to myself for the morning. I walk behind the Teatro Massimo in the city center, find a bakery where fresh, hot, ricotta-laden pastries come out of the back room just as I enter.

Sold.

Outside, a helicopter whoops mysteriously. I down my coffee and head outside with breakfast to see what the fuss is about.

The theater has moved outdoors.

“You can’t stand there,” says someone who I’ll later realize is a plainclothes police officer.
Twenty-odd mobsters have been rounded up and, one by one, under cover of the helicopter and an impressive line of carabinieri cars, they are escorted out of a special police station, down a set of stairs and into a waiting car.

Wives and grandmothers dissolve into tears and collapse to the sidewalk. News crews and families are pushed around. Tragedy! Comedy! Italians have a particular capacity for making the serious look ridiculous.

Some of the cons come out of the door and pause at the top of the stairs with a look of dread. Newbies. Others grin and give a handcuffed wave with a look that says, "Don’t worry honey, I’ll be outta the clink in a couple of days.''

One guy has a plastic bag that looks like it’s stuffed with a three-day supply of pasta and cannoli.

I pop the last bite of pastry, take a nervous picture of the chaos and wander toward my gelato.
Da Carlo is as fantastic as ever. I have scoops of yogurt and cantaloupe gelato in a brioche capped by a beautifully not-too-sweet whipped cream.

Later, I wash it down with a standup coffee at Caffé del Moro where the barista blurs the line between man and machine.

Without looking, he flips a clean espresso cup from the top of machine to his other hand, waiting for it next to the portafilter. Steam rises from the used grounds in the knockbox.
I ask if I can make a photo and while his machine gurgles, he sizes me up with a look that says, "Why bother?'' combined with "I don’t care.''

“Fa,” comes the response. Do it.

I’ll miss this city.

Caffé del Moro
Via Giovanni Da Procida, 3
Palermo

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

As reliable as sunrise, pilgrims making their way to Santiago de Compostela line the roads of northern Spain in the morning. For one thing, most pilgrimage hostels make them leave by 8 a.m., which is only shortly after dawn. On an early morning run ourselves, we stopped in a roadside bar for a bite, only to find it filled with cheery walkers exchanging tips on backpacks and pack frames and comparing footwear. They represented half a dozen countries among them, yet the lingua franca was not French or (more appropriately) Spanish, but English — as spoken on TV and in the movies. Come se dice "blister?''

Posted by Patricia Harris, Globe Correspondent

Photo by Patricia Harris for the Boston Globe

PARIS – It’s perplexing when a new favorite doesn’t live up to what you remember.
A few months ago, I went to F.S. favorite Au Bascou and had a transcendent dish that, when I looked at the price -- a bit more than what I’m used to paying with mains in the low to mid twenty euro range -- still said ‘'well worth it.'’ I knew I’d go back.

Tonight, on my return, I thought of the restaurant as a place that out of town guests would never find on a first trip to Paris and it was…good.

Scallops tasted like scallops. Pigeon like pigeon. Cooking temperatures were perfect, yet nothing was lifted to that happy level where what’s in your mouth becomes more interesting what you’re talking about.

Fittingly, a thirty-odd euro Corbières was never mentioned as good or bad. The service was as slightly understaffed and flighty as ever – nothing to complain about at a corner café, but here, it feels like you’re paying for a bit more and not quite getting it.
I want to like this place as much as I did before. I want my meal to interrupt.

Au Bascou
38, rue Réaumur,
75003 Paris
011 33 1 42 72 69 25

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

I love the food in Spain, but you can only eat wood-grilled lamb, roast hake, and huge juicy veal chops so many days in a row. And I confess to having trouble knowing quite WHAT I was eating in Basque country. It all tasted great but I couldn’t pronounce the dishes because their Basque names were composed primarily of the consonants x, z ,and q. So it was a relief and delight to reach Aranjuez (about 30 miles outside of Madrid), a farming region famous for its white asparagus and strawberries. Asparagus is available April-June, strawberries May-July. I came in June, went to Casa Juli (on Gobernación 12, [tel] 011-91-892-58-43) and had both. Mmmmmmm.....

Posted by Patricia Harris, Globe Correspondent

Photos by Patricia Harris for the Boston Globe

I thought Ciccio Sultano was the only Sicilian serving sex food – the kind of stuff that makes you want to forget you’re in a public place, vault the table and make a meal out of your date.
RRROWWW!!!

One of the things I like about Chef Caravanserraglio and his eponymous Ragusa restaurant is that he’s not afraid to do pizzas that tend to be in the 5-10 euro range on a menu that also includes a 58 euro tasting menu; both are great values, but it’s rare to see someone with the guts and skill to do it all right.

Naturally, Caravanserraglio is a product freak and his menu lists four types of olive oil, six salts and five kinds of pepper. Apparently, we both share a dislike for Peugeot pepper grinders (no coarse grind) but he’s ordering a special German grinder normally used by scientists to extract the most from his peppercorns. Until then, he uses a mortar and pestle crushing pepper to order.

One of the first plates with a tasting menu is an index card-sized slice of fat from a Spanish pata negra cured ham atop a similar-sized thick slice of lightly-smoked beef carpaccio with Maldon salt and specially-imported Szechuan pepper so fresh that it actually fizzes in your mouth.

Everything happens at once: textures and flavors, smoky, salty and slippery, fizzy and raw.
Damn these public places. I want to vault the table.

Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio
via P.Nenni 78
Ragusa
http://www.caravanserraglioragusa.com/

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Globe travel correspondent Joe Ray writes his own blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the English language version of Simon Says! the French food and lifestyle blog run by French food critic Francois Simon.

Photo by Joe Ray for The Boston Globe

Some deals just have to be shared.
The TravelSmart newsletter's Steal of the Month may be just the ticket for Bostonians pining for Ireland.
The Adare Resort Package from Sceptre Tours includes six nights in a two-bedroom townhouse, rental car for a week, and a Shannon Discount Booklet.
TravelSmart says, "The 5-star resort is located on 840 acres ... 40 minutes from Shannon, making it easy to take day trips to Limerick, Bunratty, Galway, Killarney, Waterford, Cliffs of Moher, Blarney castle.''
Travel is for Nov. 1-Feb. 14, 2010. Rate are slightly higher June-Oct. 31, 2009, and Feb. 15-March 31, 2010.
TravelSmart warns, "Rate structure is complex.''

Everywhere I travel in Spain I discover colonies of feral cats — many of them quite beautiful (especially in fishing port towns), and others sadly neglected. But when I visited Vitoria-Gasteiz, the capital of Spain’s Basque region, I found city fathers after my own heart. The city has established a fenced-in cat sanctuary in the heart of the historic quarter where several dozen cats are living fat and sassy around a section of the city’s 16th century wall.

Posted by Patricia Harris, Globe Correspondent

Photo by Patricia Harris for the Boston Globe

When the pilot of a Continental Airlines flight from Brussels, Belgium, to Newark, N.J., died mid-flight yesterday, Belgian cardiologist Julien Struyven was the first physician in the cockpit. There was nothing he could do to save the pilot’s life, he said in an interview with Boston.com today.

“When I arrived in the cockpit, it was already too late. The pilot was dead. I tried to resuscitate him, but was unsuccessful. There is very little you can do aboard an airplane over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Even if I had been able to revive him, it is impossible to say whether we could have found a landing site quickly enough. You can only perform CPR on a patient for so long.”

Struyven, 72, a specialist in cardiology and radiology, is a professor at the Université Libre de Bruxelles, in the Belgian capital. He said that the pilot’s precise cause of death cannot be determined without an autopsy, but based on his professional experience, he was “99 percent sure” that it was a heart attack.

The Boeing 777’s pilot never had a chance, said Struyven.

“At first, the co-pilots thought he had fallen asleep. When that turned out not to be the case, they immediately called for a doctor. But these cases unfold in a matter of minutes. By the time I arrived in the cockpit, two-three minutes had elapsed. It takes another minute before you can really get to work. At that point, the pilot was dead.”

Struyven lauded the crew’s professionalism. “They handled the emergency flawlessly,” he said. “There was no danger at any point. The passengers and part of the crew never knew what was happening. There was no need to tell them and cause a panic. There was no safety issue at all, because the plane had three other pilots onboard.”

The pilot’s body was moved to one of two built-in bunks in the cockpit. The plane landed safely at Newark International Airport at 11:49 EST.

For Struyven, it was not the first time he had been called on in flight. “Those other cases were rather innocent,” he said. “Nothing worse than gastritis or a passenger feeling unwell for a few minutes. I have never seen anything this critical on a plane.”

Posted by Tom Vandyck, Globe correspondent

Photo of Continental flight 61 from Belgium landing in Newark by Westwood One/Metro Networks via AP.

Spanish super chef Martín Berasategui is one of a small group of creative cooks who revolutionized Basque cuisine, and his three Michelin stars were part of what set French chefs sputtering about the Spaniards a few years back. But Berasategui is also something of a populist, and his new restaurant at San Sebastian’s performance center is priced for accessibility, with set menus starting at 24 euros (about $34). An even better bet at Kursaal MB, as it’s known, is the tasting menu of pintxos (as the Basques call tapas): 3 courses for 10 euros (about $14). For lunch I had this fresh goat cheese and spinach salad, stewed spider crab with parsley foam gel, and a soup with mussels and scallops—and alioli. Oh, and the price included a generous pour of a good Rioja.

Posted by David Lyon, Globe correspondent

Photo by David Lyon for the Boston Globe