gabriella gershenson

Last August I visited Latvia with my parents. It was the first time they'd visited since immigrating to the United States in 1975, and my first time visiting the mythical place of my roots, ever. It was an incredible experience. Emotional at unexpected moments, not emotional at other moments that we thought would be. My mother, father, and I were all fearful and excited for what the reality of a reunion, or in my case, a first encounter, would bring. The article in last month's Saveur, complete with recipes, only tells part of the story, but I hope I told it well. (This photo, from the trip, was shot by the inimitable Landon Nordeman.)

As an aside, the guide and phantom presence during the trip, and as I wrote this story (which took many painful and at times exhilerating months) was my grandmother, Rhoda Gurevich. She was probably the proudest Rigan (person from Latvia's capital, Riga) I ever encountered, and had a lot to do with instilling the belief in our family of what a wonderful and elegant place it was. I believed every word, and my visit hinted at what Riga must have been during the golden age in which she grew up (before the Nazis and Communists, but that's another story).

She wrote her memoir a few years before she died, in 1998. It turned out to be the best English language source for my research on Latvia. It's amazing how little has been written about the place, its customs and food. I am so grateful that my grandmother was there to help me even though she is no longer here. If you're curious to read her story, which is an extraordinary one, you can buy it here (thanks to the wonders of technology and self-publishing!). It's inexpensive to buy in print, and even cheaper to download the file. Please keep in mind I haven't had a chance to tinker too much with formatting/styling/line editing, but even in its current form I am proud of what my grandmother accomplished, in her life and book.

Thanks for reading. Obviously these subjects are very dear to my heart. If you do choose to read the article or book or both, I hope you enjoy spending some time with me and my family.

Riga Revisted by Gabriella Gershenson

Ambershore by Rhoda Gurevich

Hey y'all. If you have the time or inclination, please please set your DVRs for 10pm EST tonight to catch the premiere of 24 Hour Restaurant Battle, season two. (Yes, that's me and Scotty C., behind the scenes.) I will be back, judging my heart out, for eight out of nine episodes. Good times.

Photo courtesy Zoe Cote.

In this month's issue of Saveur, I recommend a pretty delicious farmed caviar from Italy called Calvisius (pictured in this lovely photo by Michael Kraus). Researching caviar itself was quite eye opening. Did you know: Sturgeon don't produce eggs until they're around ten years old (some sources said six, some twelve, but let's choose the median, shall we?); the beasts are positively enormous; for a stretch of the 19th century, the U.S. was the top exporter of wild sturgeon roe, much of it coming from the Hudson River in New York? And so much more that hasn't been tainted by my imperfect memory can be read in these books, great sources both.

My attachment to caviar was formed at an early age. My mom and dad would occasionally score a tin of what we called "black caviar" from our longtime family friend, classmate of my grandmother's, and Latvian emigre to Vancouver Island, Vulf Sternin. He also wrote this definitive book on caviar, and to the best of my knowledge, ran a hatchery and other caviar related endeavors in his adopted Canada. I distinctly remember one visit from Dadya Vulya produced a tin of black caviar, which my mother has spread sparingly on a cracker ("an inky constellation on a cracker", as described in my piece) and gave me to eat. I was maybe around 8. I'd already developed a taste for "red caviar", which is how we referred to salmon roe. I recall my tastebuds registering immediately the different between one and the other--the black more pungent, with more concentrated flavor, an overall richer experience of the sea.

I touch upon my memories in this piece. Of course, it's the launching off point, and the way that I connect to most of my subject matter--memories, personal experiences. But it truly was interesting to learn that, yes, if one wants to eat caviar today, the responsible consumer should be thinking farmed or bust. (Wild sturgeon is severely endangered, and even "safer" wild alternatives, like American hackleback, are at risk of overfishing.) Without further ado, hope you enjoy this one.

Gelf Magazine is hosting a discussion on the future of food criticism—a hot topic these days, in one iteration or another. View the event details here. I'll be joined by Robert Sietsema of the Village Voice and Alex Vallis of Feast. Meanwhile, check out this pre-interview with Gelf's Max Lakin.

In this week's Time Out New York, I grazed through many an ice cream sandwich to present what I think are the best—at least of the ones I tasted (enough to induce nausea in even the most gluttonous person). The thinking behind this is what basically guides any Eat Out section story—I've been seeing ice cream sandwiches increasingly on menus, in shops, and I wanted TONY to weigh in on them before the trend hit critical mass. The photos, by Noah Fecks (see the desktop wallpaper pdf here), are meant to be as food porny as possible. Which has been my mission at Time Out for a while—make the reader want to bite right in. Without further ado, here are some of the shining lights of the city's ice cream sandwiches.