"A Night With Ellia"

21 October 1999

-I do not know where to begin. At the moment I am holed up in an 18th century pub on the shores of Lake Bled in northwestern Slovenia. Outside there is a wicked wind and an even fiercer rain. What brought me to this exact spot in this eight year old country began with that wild gondola ride, continued at the Venetian train station when I made good on my promise to catch the first train, and at its conclusion, a small mispronunciation of a word to a taxi driver. In Slovakian, Bled is pronounced blade. So instead of arriving at Hotel Blade, which is pronounced bleed, I came to Bled, the town that surrounds the lake of the same name.

-But before I go any further, allow me to digress back a few days, to those last three meals in Venice.

- Two nights before Matthew was to leave we stumbled upon a gem of a restaurant neither of us will ever forget. I say "stumble" in the sense of "a loose stone one comes across and does not see…" as opposed to "…inebriation leading to a lack of motor skills.".

-It was a mere seven in the evening; a very cool, cloudy beginning to what was to be a wonderful night. On the ever-so-narrow stone street we came across a restaurant prominently displaying its menu on its front window. "carpaccio, bresaola, involtini di salmone, capasanta gratinata nel suo guscio con gamberetti e funghi, "; I read. The list was unimaginable and the restaurant, Matthew noticed, was filling up rapidly. The owner, Ellia -short for Melk Gandhi Ellia- came out into the claustrophobic street to show us his menu of the day. "The 40,000 lire is a little more than other places but that is because I have the best food in Venice."; he exclaimed. (later he admitted under pressure and a number of sambuccas that his was only the third best.

-We began with an apéritif on the house; a concoction of strawberry puree, champagne, vodka, and lemon zest. Continuing on, two plates of melons sliced lengthwise and completely smothered in prosciutto arrived along with a bottle of Chianti Classico 1993. Very mysterious since, upon questioning each other, neither of us remember ordering the wine (Ellia just shrugged). A cream of carrot soup followed; a dazzling sensation of sweet baby carrot puree pared with hints of mint and lemon, topped with an intricate creme fraiche design (this is how a Julia Child fairy tale begins). The Coquilles St. Jacques Mornay that was to be out last "first course" dish delivered such an unparalleled experience that I pleaded for the recipe. Ellia brought out the chef to explain:

-"You must have the freshest scallops. Otherwise it is not a recipe worth considering." I nodded as if I were an expert on scallop selection. "You must poach the scallop gently for only a few minutes in slightly salted water. Then you must slice the flesh and return it to its shell. Add mornay sauce and…" "Wait!" exclaimed Matthew. "What is mornay sauce?" The chef rolled his eyes, poured himself a glass of wine from our bottle, and took a seat.

-"It is a béchamel sauce enriched with egg yolks and Gruyere cheese." he replied nonchalantly. Matthew looked at him as if he were speaking French. The chef continued: "Béchamel sauce is made from butter, lots of butter, a few cups of cream, flour for consistency, salt, pepper, and a splash of nutmeg. After this has reduced and cooled I add 3 egg yolks, a cup or so of the cheese, and whisk this all together over low heat. That my friend, is mornay sauce."

-Ellia opened another bottle of Chianti and finished explaining the recipe while refreshing everyone’s glass. "After you have poured the mornay sauce on the scallops, sprinkle cheese and melted butter over the top, then place under the broiler until brown." By this time my mouth had dropped past my elbows, and Matthew actually had tears in his eyes. "Second course coming up!" Ellia smiled as he returned to the kitchen.

-A gigantic plate of gnocchi appeared suddenly. "Gnocchi topped with poached salmon, and a light lemon basil cream sauce." Ellia explained. Light my ass! But it was the best (another best ever) gnocchi I have ever had. There is a Venetian proverb that I learned later : "If I must die tomorrow, allow me to dine at Ellia’s tonight."

-I could not begin to do justice to our third course, Filetto Rossini it was called, or our forth course, a selection of grilled vegetables drizzled in an herb infused grapeseed oil. By this time we had finished a third bottle of wine and were expressing an uneasy distrust of the 300 year old beams that supported the ceiling. Ellia distracted us with a homemade sorbet though. When I say homemade I mean that he put it together right at our table. A large pitcher containing a mountain of egg whites was placed on the table in a bowl of ice water. Ellia then poured a deluge of champagne, a little less vodka "for health", lemon juice, and lemon zest. With an oversized whisk he turned the ingredients into a creamy, frothy liquid in just under 10 minutes all the while explaining to us the benefits of Sambucca.

-We wound down with 3 large glasses of Sambucca which, Ellia insisted, was a long-standing tradition in his restaurant (when we looked around we failed to see any other table holding to this "long-standing tradition" and wondered if he had confused 3 glasses with 3 coffee beans). When the bill arrived I failed to see how the 86,000 lire ($48.00) could cover such an expansive meal. And he refused to accept a gratuity! "It is my pleasure to see people who enjoy food so much."

-How did we negotiate the maze of streets back to our hotel? I am not sure. I fished a business card from the restaurant out of my trouser pocket in the morning however, and vowed to return soon.

the mad innkeeper
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