Dinner and a Movie
From Austria to Italy (On More Than $5 a Day)
From Austria to Italy (On More Than $5 a Day)
By
Steve Herte
April
is probably my busiest month. My social life picks up noticeably as
well as my office work. This week I attended a members-only preview
of a new exhibit at the American Museum of Natural History. Next week
I not only have a good friend coming up from North Carolina to sing
karaoke with but there’s a chance of a reunion with my quartet. My
dad’s 93rd birthday happens this month and his medical conditions
have prompted me not to travel anywhere on vacation this year. Ah
well, as Stephen King wrote, “Everything’s Eventual.” It’s
a good thing I live in the city of endless possibilities. I will be
writing about the exhibit (and the dining after it, of course) and I
have a few other articles up my sleeve. But for now, here’s what
happened on Good Friday. Enjoy!
Woman
in Gold (Weinstein
Co., 2015) – Director: Simon Curtis. Writer: Alexi Kaye Campbell
(s/p). Based on the life story of Maria Altmann and E. Randal
Schoenberg. Stars: Helen Mirren, Ryan Reynolds, Katie Holmes, Daniel
Brühl,
Antje Traue, Tatiana Maslany, & Max Irons. Color, 109
minutes.
My
cousins in Dienheim told me that they’re too ashamed to talk about
the era when an Austrian “paper-hanger” put an indelible stain on
German history. I guess I don’t blame them. The horrific acts
committed then and the malicious persecution eclipsed World War II
itself. This movie is the tale of Maria Altmann (Mirren) who, with
Randol Schoenberg (Reynolds), spent over 10 years battling the
Austrian government to return precious artworks stolen by the Nazis.
Maria
has found letters written by her aunt, Adele Bloch-Bauer (Traue),
that she hopes will start a legal case to get the family’s
treasures back. Adele herself was the model for the painting “Woman
in Gold” by Gustav Klimt and a couple others of his paintings. At
the time of the film – the 1990s – they were housed at the
Belvedere Museum in Vienna. “Woman in Gold” had by then achieved
as much fame as the “Mona Lisa” in Paris. She shows these letters
to young Shoenberg, just asking him to determine if she indeed has a
case.
Randol
and his wife Pam (Holmes) are just getting their lives together with
a young daughter and a baby on the way. Recently coming out of a
failed private practice, he has just managed to obtain a job with a
reputable law firm in Los Angeles when Maria brings him her letters.
Being of Austrian descent and directly related to the famous composer
helps in wooing him to Maria’s cause. He convinces his new boss to
allow him a week’s trip to Vienna to pursue the case.
At
first Maria refuses to go. Flashbacks to when she was a child and
later a young woman (Maslany) trying to escape with her future
husband Fritz (Irons) are such painful memories that she can’t even
think of returning to Austria. But, Randol manages to convince her.
With the help of a reporter friend (Brühl) who has connections in
the Belvedere, they go through tons of records and find evidence that
Adele’s will ceding the Klimt paintings to the museum was not only
invalid, but not an official will at all. They present the case to
the Restitution Bureau of Vienna. However, the government is adamant
and they learn that the cost of a court case in Austria would be in
the millions of dollars. They return, defeated, to L.A.
Randol
does more research and discovers a way to sue Austria from United
States’ soil. Again, Maria is reluctant to go through the
embarrassment she suffered in Austria, but when she discovers that
Randol quit his job at the firm (his boss would not grant him any
more leeway) she accompanies him to court. A woman judge rules in
their favor and the Austrian government appeals the decision. It is
in the United States Supreme Court that the ruling comes down
pronouncing the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act can be applied
retroactively.
A
victory? Yes. But now they have to return to Vienna to discuss terms.
Once again, the museum officials and Austrian government tries to
stonewall them. I’m frankly surprised that no one accuses them of
acting like Nazis. When Randol suggests an Impartial Arbitration
Committee, Maria thinks he’s crazy. But after he delivers beautiful
and sensitive speech, the committee decides in her favor. It is an
extremely moving moment in the film, and it would be wise to bring
tissues or a handkerchief.
In
the credits we learn that it was 68 years after the Nazis stole the
paintings they were returned to their rightful owner and are now
hanging in the Neue Galerie in New York City, owned by Ronald S.
Lauder (played by Ben Miles). It was estimated that 100,000 works of
art still have not been returned.
Frankly, Woman
in Gold is one of the most
powerful films I’ve ever seen. Helen Mirren is at her best, even if
her Austrian accent deteriorates as the film progresses to finally
become the way she spoke in Iron Lady.
Ryan Reynolds gives an excellent performance as an impassioned
modern-day hero (who, by the way has the one and only vulgarity in
the entire movie). A spectacular bit of casting is Tatiana Maslany as
the young Maria Altmann. Maslany not only looks like she could be
Mirren in younger days, but she also convincingly acts like her. I’m
sure she did a lot of studying for her part. And then there’s the
perfection of Antje Traue, who definitely could have been the model
for “Woman in Gold.” The resemblance is amazing. Katie Holmes is
superb as the wife who wants her family to be well cared for and
rails against her husband when he quits his lucrative job, but still
loves and supports the man who she believes is doing the right thing.
Though,
like my extended family in Germany, I’m not too keen about being
constantly hit over the head by the atrocities of Nazi Germany. But I
was totally moved to near exhaustion by the emotion and force of this
movie. The musical soundtrack adds to the irresistible power of the
acting. I can see several nominations in the future and some deserved
wins. I came to see Mirren and she did not disappoint.
Rating:
4 ½ out of 5 Martini glasses.
Villa
Mosconi
69
MacDougal Street (Houston Street), New
York
I
knew when I made my reservation that the Villa Mosconi has been
around a long time because I’ve had many opportunities to see its
name in listings. In fact, this charming family-owned (Chef Pietro
Mosconi still oversees the kitchen) has been serving moderately
priced, hearty Northern Italian food for 39 years. They became the
oldest Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village when the much older
Caffe Dante (est. 1915) closed recently. However, if we’re talking
age, Barbetta’s, on Restaurant Row (46th Street),
is the oldest Italian restaurant in New York; still owned by the same
family at 106 years.
But
still there are older Italian eateries. John’s, on 12th Street
in the East Village, is now 107, Lombardi’s, on Spring Street, is
118 and my favorite, Delmonico’s, on Beaver Street, is a whopping
178 years old.
Compared
to these, Villa Mosconi is a baby, but she has a class act going.
After passing under the forest green awning and entering the
restaurant, I was greeted with “Buona Sera” (Good Evening) for
the first time in my 361 previous Italian restaurants. I was charmed
as soon as I entered: the cherry wood bar is classic décor and the
walls are covered with framed photos of the family and past events. I
was led into the main dining area and seated at a table of four in
the middle of the room. I felt like a “Don” (not to mention I
kind of looked the part, dressed all in black, shirt, slacks and
tie).
The
main room is lovely, with cream-colored walls hung with paintings in
elaborate wood frames. The lighting is perfect, not too bright, and
not too dim. Around the room people are enjoying their food and their
company and one can hear Italian phrases from every corner. That is
except for the two tables on either side of myself. On one side I had
four large Asian men who each could have been a linebacker for a pro
football team. One of them twirled and ate a forkful of spaghetti
nearly the size of a tennis ball. On the other side were three adults
(two women and a man), and a little girl who clearly ruled the other
three. Whatever the child wanted she got. She watched videos on her
smartphone most of the time.
Franco,
a waiter of great experience (I could tell by his carriage and
silver-streaked hair), took my water preference and presented me with
the menu. Be ready to “mangia” when you come here; the menu has
great variety and it all looks superb. It’s the reason I chose this
place for Good Friday.
Franco
reappeared and asked if I wanted a cocktail. Upon learning that they
did indeed have Beefeater’s gin, I ordered my favorite martini and
was surprised at how quickly it was prepared. It was just right.
After
an appropriate amount of time studying the menu, I was convinced that
three courses would not be enough. Four was perfect. And then Franco
brought the specials-of-the-day menu. I told him he’s “gonna
make-a me crazy,” and he laughed. But it did change my mind on
choice of main course. Enjoining Franco to tell me if I’ve ordered
too much food (like that’s possible in a good Italian restaurant),
I made my selections.
A
server brought out the breadbasket with several slices of crusty soft
Italian bread and plastic-wrapped breadsticks (didn’t touch these,
but finished the bread), along with a slice of Bruschetta as an
amuse-bouche and a small dish with foil-wrapped pats of butter.
I
asked Franco for the wine list and in no time I had chosen the 2011
Sangiovese, “Vigna della Capanna” Losi, Toscana, a lovely
full-bodied red with fruity after tones. It was time for the
appetizer. The Carciofo Al Forno – baked artichoke with cheese,
bread crumbs, olives and garlic arrived splayed over an entire plate,
and Franco brought a bowl for discarded leaves. Remembering fondly
how my dear friend RoseAnn had made this dish, I virtually attacked
it. And it was wonderful – not as great as RoseAnn’s, which had
more cheese – and a nostalgic experience.
Having
cleaned my plate (to Franco’s pleasure), it was soup time. Having
seen the size of the bowls on other tables I felt confident that this
dish would be easily doable. The Zuppa Di Spinaci – spinach soup in
a chicken stock broth with grated cheese on top – was served in a
larger bowl than the artichoke. OK. As someone told me to in a
previous restaurant, I paced myself. It was delicious. I’m always
amazed that something so simple as spinach soup can be so comforting.
The bread assisted in again wiping the bowl clean. “Again?” said
Franco smiling.
Usually
I like to take pictures of my various dishes to help me remember
them. My pasta course received no such photography. I had the Gnocchi
Al Pesto – homemade potato pasta in basil/cheese sauce – and I
was moaning with pleasure at every bite. It virtually melted in my
mouth with creamy goodness and herbal aroma. Once again, I left a
white plate.
Now,
while some may think that I was rapidly becoming sated, I was
actually ready for the main course. Franco, being the experienced
server he is, allowed sufficient time between courses to let the
previous one settle before the next one was served. This generally
only happens in caring family-owned Italian restaurants and in
Italian homes, and it again brought memories of Tony and RoseAnn and
many meals with them.
The
Tilapia Marechiara (clear sea) – Tilapia with clams and mussels in
a tomato sauce made from both sweet and tart tomatoes, white wine and
garlic – was as much a pleasing sight as it was to taste. The clams
were a little on the tough side, the mussels were tender and sweet,
and the fish was beyond tender, almost to the melting point, all in
that wonderful, simple sauce. It was sided with a dish of broccoli,
carrot fingers and roasted potatoes. That was the only dish I did not
finish. I loved the crunchy broccoli and some of the potatoes, but I
left the carrot fingers. (I don’t really like them to begin with,
as they look unnatural.)
Was
I full now? Well, surprisingly not. Especially when I discovered that
my favorite Italian dessert was on the menu. Though not fresh and
warm – as I’m used to – the cold Zabaglione with strawberries
served in a parfait glass was just the thing to top off the meal.
Franco said when I finished, “Now you’ve had all your favorites!
Any after dinner drink?” “Do you have Strega?” “Si!” Then,
with a double espresso, I indeed had had all my favorites. How did I
ignore this restaurant for 39 years?
On
leaving, when I learned about the restaurant history (and Caffe
Dante’s passing) I thanked them all for a wonderful meal and
especially the woman who greeted me with “Buona Sera.” She
started a memory that continued through the evening and long into the
night. Maybe next time I’ll dine in the brick-walled sky-lit patio,
somewhat al fresco, area in back.
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