Johnny cake with smoked trout and caviar

Finding a table for two at 1:30 for lunch should be easy, right? Especially on a frigid, windy day. Even on a holiday Monday. If your destination is Neptune, the sliver of an oyster bar on Salem St. in the North End, don’t take it for granted. At 1:30 there’s a 20-minute wait, and the line stretches through the heavy flaps designed to keep cold off the tables near the door when people go in an out. In fact, Neptune is always crowded, and most evenings, especially weekends, crazy busy. It’s small, and cramped, and so noisy that shouting is the norm, and today at least half of it is freezing every time the door opens. But no one seems to mind, as what seems to be the lone and very hard-working waiter runs back and forth in organized frenzy.

This is a shaky season for restaurants. The South End has seen two big closings. Rocca, led by talented and veteran owners and a TV celeb chef, folded Jan. 1. Ginger Park, with another well-known chef, closed a month or so earlier. There are rumblings about more. Meanwhile, openings pop up like mushrooms after rain. And it’s January. And it’s cold. And it snows and snows and snows.

So how come Neptune is so busy this January day? Neptune has been going strong since November 2004, so owners Jeff Nace and his wife had the advantage of building up clientele and reputation in the fat years. In fact, it’s easy to see that the word has spread beyond Boston when you see patrons toting suitcases out, and the couple next to you is talking about home in Atlanta.

Small helps to fill the place, but turnover matters most — and Neptune’s kitchen staff, working in a closet-sized space, is fast, and the waiter super-efficient. Not to mention the lightning-quick shucker in the window. The menu is almost all seafood, and not cheap, but irresistibly appealing.

And then there’s that feeling that everyone is so happy to be there — to have found a spot even if the two young dudes adjacent are practically in our laps, and the couple on the other side is rather loudly explaining step-by-step their tourist trail  through Boston, and those blasts of cold air recur intermittently. We’re happy slurping oysters, and checking out who’s getting the clam chowder, and who’s holding out for lobster rolls. The feeling of everybody being in this together may be one of Neptune’s biggest and most-enduring attractions.

Making pizzoccheri in Valtellina

Cold weather was a long time coming this year, but now it’s settled in. Thinking through recipes that warmth the spirit as well as the body, I’m recalling a snowy day in Valtellina, the magical valley in the Lombardian Alps. There, on a tour through Lombardy’s fabled wine regions, along its lakes and through fascinating cities such as Brescia, Bergamo, and Mantova, we happened upon the perfect dish to chase the chill.

There in a winery that had once been a monastery, a small and very precise woman made pizzocheri, the region’s famous buckwheat pasta famed for its wholesome heartiness. First she measured out the flour, called “black flour,” added white flour to give the pizzoccheri enough body to roll out, and then water. As she kneaded the dough on a wooden board, she explained that most of the work in pizzoccheri is in this step of forming the soft buckwheat flour by hand. Eventually, she rolled the dough out and cut into wide and irregular strips. Pizzoccheri is usually served as a casserole, layered with Swiss chard or other dark greens, potatoes, and plenty of cheese plus garlic and sage. The resulting dish is hearty, just right for skiier, vineyard workers, or even travelers weary from searching out Lombardy’s very diverse landscapes.

We ate the pizzoccheri along with bresaola and other regional treats in a long room flanked by tall windows looking out into the snowy landscape. The mood seemed hushed as we savored the robust goodness of pizzoccheri. For a little while, the world and the winter paused, made warm by pizzoccheri.

Today I zipped through the Marblehead Farmers’ Market. Only one more Saturday left, and the farmers and salespeople were bundled up:  Black or dinosaur kale, broccoli, and tiny fingerlings from Bear Hill Farm in Tyngsborough, radishes and jalapenos from the Hmong stand, apples from Gibney Farms in Danvers. I’ll miss the farmers’ markets – I usually manage to hit about three in various locations a week — but the farmers and the farm land need their winter’s rest.

Salone del Gusto in Torino

It’s time to cook from the pantry. Next week I’m going to Salone del Gusto and Terre Madre in Turin, Italy. We’re looking for more organic, natural products for Salumeria Italiana so that customers and I can dream of summer through New England’s cold.

Scallops with corn and creme fraiche potatoes

Opening a restaurant is difficult, and it’s terrifying to throw open the doors and hope that people come. It’s also nervewracking to go for the first time to a restaurant owned by people who you’re rooting for.

So a weekend visit to Local 50 in Kennebunk, Maine, was especially exciting — and gratifying. Merrilee Paul and David Ross, veterans of the Boston scene, opened their first restaurant in the downtown of this Maine hamlet (that is not Kennebunkport of the Bushes). David had been chef at Lucca and Sasso; Merrilee was manager at Great Bay, among other places.

Local 50 melds a cleverly urban look with lots of locavore elements. Even Paul’s grandmother gets into the act. Merrille says Grandma has more of a garden than a farm, but that the corn, greens and other vegetables are wonderful. I can attest to that.

The food was simple, beautifully executed, and delicious, from the scallops to the corn and clam chowder to the chocolate cake. And the place on a Saturday night was rocking — with a lot of locals. Just what you want to see.

Potato chips

The food industry has its tentacles around us all, with advertising, market research and trade associations galore. Which is why a snippet the other day caught my eye. The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition published a piece saying that teens who snack were found to be less likely to be obese than other teens. The article sounded legit, and there is such a journal. But are we to believe that teen snacks are all healthy fruit and vegetables, or that the Snack Food Association, an international trade group, wasn’t somehow behind this? I’m asking nutritionist friends what they think, and looking for more data. Where’s Michael Pollan when you need him?

Austin skyline

Nothing like lists to spark interest. Trolling through the maze today, I noticed a WalletPop article listing Austin, Tex., as the top restaurant dining city in the country — more money is spent on eating out there than anywhere else in the US.  Who knew?

And Boston diners are No. 19, way under Irvine, Tex., San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Nashville, Tenn.! Doesn’t anyone cook at home in those cities?

Remember when the experts advised real foodies to eat out only in the middle of the week, avoiding the dreaded suburbanites on weekends? Remember when being a Special Occasion restaurant could brand a place as cluelessly old-fashioned? Remember when the chef’s word ruled — no substitutions, no questions, no mercy? Remember when prices at even scruffy places were astronomical, and money was thrown around at will on $200 plus wines? Remember when?

I was struck by a comment by Mc Slim Jb, the Everyman’s King of Boston dining, tweaking Valentine’s dining as Amateur Night. I don’t think too many in the restaurant industry are  scorning Special Occasion dining this year. When chefs are bemoaning empty rooms and lost revenue, any packed house is welcome. Bring on the amateurs. Every night should be Valentine’s!

We’re just back from South Beach (and, yes, it was gloriously warm). I don’t think the dining scene there matches Boston, SanFrancisco and certainly

Chef Rodriguez

not New York, but maybe the sun is too bright.

However, we did happen to drop in on D. Rodriguez Cuba’s second night. This is Douglas Rodriguez (OLA, “godfather of Nuevo Latino, Top Chef), who has a new spot that’s dedicated to only Cuban cuisine. It’s a little more downscale price-wise than OLA, and has some interesting twists on what can be a delicious but pretty heavy cuisine

Octopus salad esbache was delicious and so were the short rib skewers (though they tasted sort of pan-Asian — wasn’t that soy sauce), but the arroz con pollo, tried because it’s such a classic, was odd. The rice and peas were just right, but the chicken, advertised as thigh meat, was definitely breast meat covered with a creamy sauce. That was tangy and tasty but overall, it wasn’t the homey dish one might expect but instead a kind of hybrid — Cuban meets Continental??

Because the liquor license had’t been finalized, the restaurant was offering rum cocktails gratis — a lovely lime daquiri and a rum punch, both well-made, not too sweet, and not too boozy.

The staff was pleasant, friendly, and really nervous. Even the laid-back feeling of South Beach, and the beautiful surroundings of the Hotel Astor didn’t seem to calm them. And when I happened to see Chef Rodriguez with his wife Nelly in the lobby, he too seemed jittery. I guess that’s understandable in an economy that’s affecting even the golden edges of Florida.

But give Rodriguez and his staff a little time. I’d definitely go back to graze through more of his Cuban food — and I’m sure others will, too. Maybe Nelly’s roast chicken would be a better choice. Next time.

A Mad Hatter feeling is coming over me. I seem to be rushing to catch up, and blogging is sliding farther and farther behind. But I just have to tell you about “Teach a Chef to Fish,” an event being held in Boston, Chicago, and Toronto. The subject is saving the sea, and the object is to introduce chefs to sustainable species. Boston’s event is Monday, Sept. 28, at the Fairmont Battery Wharf, and will include presentations, discussions, and lots and lots of examples of how to get going on serving sustainable fish. It’s from 3-5 p.m. and is $50; part of the proceeds will go to the New England Aquarium.

Coincidentally, that’s the day I’m taking 15 people from around the country participating in an Elderhostel (soon to be Exploritas) Dine Like a Critic to see Legal Seafood’s plant and to hear Max Harvey, of Jasper White’s Summer Shacks who lectures at BU on sustainability.

Saving the sea will be the hot topic for Monday — and beyond.

Dill spears and bread and butter pickles

September’s here; summer’s gone. A few Sundays ago, I put up some pickles, all the while remembering watching my aunt Florence can beets on a broiling hot day many years ago. My father’s sister was a no-nonsense mother and aunt. Every summer when I was small, I’d go to visit her and my cousin Susan on a farm not at all like the idyllic view we might have of rural life now. No indoor plumbing, swimming in a mossy horse tank, walking to call in cows in the evening through rough terrain where rattlesnakes hid — for a timid girl who longed for city sidewalks, the farm in Southwestern Kansas held little allure.

So why after all these years, do I dream of Florence, with her arms up to her elbows stained red with beet juice? She was known as the smartest in her family and could do anything in housekeeping — take a zipper from a purse to make a child’s pants, grow sweet, sweet watermelons, fry chickens to perfect crispness, stretch a dollar farther than seemed possible, and though she wasn’t the giggly type, comfort a visiting sick child. Putting up vegetables wasn’t a romantic notion — it was necessity. And if it took days to scrub away the beet stains, so be it.

Here are some of my pickles. I wish I had Florence’s beets to put in the pantry beside them.