“Is that Neapolitan pizza – in Worcester?” I asked a friend via Instagram when I saw a telltale blistered pie pop up in his feed.

“You’re missing out by living in CT!” he responded.”

“Dude, we own Neapolitan style here in Connecticut,” I retorted.

I fully subscribe to Sam Sifton’s “pizza cognition theory,” where the former New York Times food critic believes that a child’s first slice forever ingrains the image of pizza in that person’s adult mind.

For this girl, born and raised in Worcester, my “first pizza” is what the pros apparently call “New England/Greek style” - a perfectly spherical shape; thick, bready outer crust and a crispy, brittle undercarriage achieved by baking the pie in a pan drizzled with oil or butter. (As you can see, I spend a lot of time on Slice.) That’s all I knew during my first 24 years of life.

But now I’ve now spent nearly eight years living, studying and working in Connecticut, home to world-class Neapolitan pizza as interpreted by New Haven. Nutmeggers take their pizza very seriously. What was once foreign to me now makes me very proud.

My friend informed me that the pie he was enjoying was courtesy of a brand-new Neapolitan pizzeria on Shrewsbury Street in Worcester, Volturno. And in a follow-up post on his website, Worcester Scene, he shared that Volturno was officially certified by a governing body in Naples. Interest, piqued. That same week, we sent our new MassLive Worcester reporter to check it out.

Here’s what I learned, while editing the piece fighting through crushing hunger pangs: Owner Greg Califano fell in love with real Neapolitan pizza while traveling through Italy on his honeymoon. Instead of just pining for the pizza once he was back stateside, he decided to ask pizzamakers in Naples how he could learn to create them himself. They pointed him toward the American branch of the Associazione Vera Pizza Napoletana (VPN), which trains and certifies pizzerias in the art of making authentic Neapolitan pies.

Certification by the governing body requires incredible dedication to ingredients, tools and techniques: specific types of flour, tomatoes, oil, cheese, as well as approved equipment. At Volturno, the pies are fired in a wood-burning oven at 850 to 900 degrees for less than three minutes.

This weekend, I finally got up to Wootown to check it out for myself. The space on Shrewsbury Street – a former car dealership, believe it or not – is clean, modern and filled with an abundance of natural light, thanks to floor-to-ceiling windows. And it has its own lot, which is a godsend, as anyone who’s ever tried to find street parking on Shrewsbury can attest to.

The menu is separated into “stuzzichini” (little bites,) bruschetta, pasta, salad, pizzas and entrees. A handy glossary of Italian culinary terms sits at each table for customers’ benefit:

We tried the Bianco (ricotta, fior di latte mozzarella, chile, roasted garlic and scallion) and Vongole (ricotta, fior di latte, clams, bacon, thyme and olive oil) pies between us:

Bianco

Vongole

The flavors are light and delicate. The crust is infinitely softier and chewier than you’d get from a Greek pie, or even a crispier coal-fired New Haven apizza – if you like your pies with some crunch, you may be disappointed. But Volturno’s pies keep with tradition, as they’ve been certified to do. This Slice guide to Neapolitan pizza is a good reference.

“Why can’t they just make it crisper?” you ask. A Neapolitan would counter with, “Why can’t you just eat it as is?” (And that would be the polite response.)

Volturno seems to be doing brisk business – we got one of the last two-tops available at 6 p.m. and by the time we left at 7:15, there was a significant crowd waiting in the lobby. It’s proof of the city’s noteworthy culinary evolution over the past decade, a shift that has welcomed top-notch tapas, Afghani cuisine, a craft pub that’s made Draft Magazine’s America’s 100 Best Beer Bars list three years running, and so much more.

Worcester was ready for Volturno, it seems. And I can now admit freely that my adopted state doesn’t have the monopoly on serious pizza.

Monday was one of those. I put in a full  9 hours in Springfield, stopped home to change quickly and immediately headed to Hartford for the Frog Hollow Social Club gathering at Firebox, which I’d agreed to cover (and shoot) for the Courant. A collaboration between Firebox’s chefs and managers, the unique tasting event – held on a night where the restaurant is normally closed – was worth the extended workday.

Full photo gallery here: Hartford Courant

The chefs described Frog Hollow Social Club as “a constantly evolving gathering centered around, food, drink, music and art” – a chance for them to experiment with bold tastes, rare beverages and unusual presentations. A young crowd filled the candlelit tavern, including several industry professionals (bartenders, servers, chefs) enjoying a night off from their respective restaurants.

Among the noteworthy plates and drinks: Kusshi oysters with Nipponia pilsner; sunchoke puree with pickled beets and sunflower/pepita brittle piped into hollowed-out bones; a super-fresh Stonington scallop ceviche with creamy avocado puree; mushroom soup with peekytoe crab and shiitake “bacon”; fried quail drizzled with ranch dressing; pork belly skewered with fiery kimchi and finished with tart plum sauce; black pepper fettuccine carbonara with duck bacon. The plates just kept coming.

Certain offerings stopped us all in our tracks, like sous chef Ed Jones III’s take on Pennsylvania scrapple with pastrami, pretzels, molasses mustard and tart pickled vegetables. An homage to his Pennsylvania roots, the course was served in an individual tin can, paired with a smoky German beer available only during the Lenten season. The vessel may be reminiscent of cat food; the contents were anything but. (And I realize scrapple, in its original, traditional form, is not exactly haute cuisine.)

“It’s like a…Wendy’s Frosty,” exclaimed several people near me when the dessert course arrived. Well, sure, if you kicked up the Frosty with malt, mole and bourbon. But that same warm/cold/salt/sweet contrast was there, once these thick, savory fries met the rich confection.

I only regret not enjoying more of the booze, but I had to be a responsible driver. Along with the rare brews, Firebox also upped the ante with a French cider; a South African chili mead; a dry vermouth and bourbon concoction; a tequila-and-Dogfish Head cocktail with lime, mint and raw sugar and one that’s still leaving me scratching my head: duckfat-washed Onyx Moonshine with balsamic vinegar, speared with a chunk of Parmesan cheese.

That may have been my only “pass” of the night, but I give the chefs a lot of credit for thinking outside the box.

At $65 for 9 small plates and generous pours (tax and tip extra; I believe the tab came to just over $80,) the event was a steal. The next is planned for May 6, with details to come.

I’m still tired. But it’s hard to complain about fatigue when half of your job involves being surrounded by truly innovative food and drink, energetic and enthusiastic guests and dedicated restaurant professionals who sacrificed a rare night off, just to bring Hartford a taste of something creative, experimental and communal.

Thanks to Sean, John, Ed, Spiro and the kitchen staff and servers for starting something fresh and exhilarating. Hartford has it, indeed.

So, by doing pizza with bourbon, Kevin Wirtes and Rich Garcia of Krust set themselves apart from the pack. See full article and photo gallery here.

I had a fantastic time getting to know these first-time restaurateurs, who opened their cozy Middletown pizzeria in mid-January to rave reviews. Pizzaiolo Garcia is firing pies in 800-degree wood-fueled heat, and bourbon expert Wirtes answers with more than 150 bottles of brown liquor and a list of cocktails, both classic and inventive. It’s an exciting spot. If you can grab a seat by the bar, it’s even more of an experience, as Wirtes is likely the one to make your drink (and counsel you on selections, should you need assistance or advice.)

The owners met several years ago at The Hartford, and bonded over their shared dream to someday open a restaurant. While many simply daydream in their cubicles, they buckled down and wrote a business plan – and saw it through.

Krust is part of the revitalization of Middletown’s North End, branded as “NoRA” (North of Rapallo Avenue.) They join established businesses Eli Cannon’s Tap Room and O’Rourke’s Diner, along with the booming NoRA Cupcake Company co-owned by longtime Eli’s manager Carrie Carella. Big things are happening in the Forest City. Get down and see for yourself.

Krust is at 686 Main Street in Middletown. It’s open Tuesday through Thursday, 4 p.m. to 1 a.m.; Friday and Saturday, 4 p.m. to 2 a.m.; and Sunday, 4 p.m. to 1 a.m. Closed Mondays. Information: 860-358-9816 and krustpizzabar.com.

You’d be surprised. For one, I pay for all of my meals, so I’d be broke as a joke if I dined out every night. And we do a whole lot of cooking in our household, which is why the kitchen is always a splattered disaster and the fridge is always full of leftovers. But every so often I’ll find myself on a prolonged, multi-day stretch of restaurant visits.

And lucky for you, I’ve got a brand-new iPhone 5. Here’s a waterfall of photos to make you hungry.

Hartford restaurants participated in the city’s biannual Taste of Hartford promotion last week, with three dozen or so spots offering multi-course meals for $20.13 (or slightly higher.) On Thursday night, we ate our way through the farm-to-table menu at Firebox.

Happy hour: Blood orange martini

Grilled Black Pearl salmon with sweet potato puree, garlic braised kale, pickled shallots, pistachios, tarragon oil

Duck confit and short rib ravioli with pea tendrils, crispy shallots

And for something a little extra, we decided to try the charcuterie plate, with chicken liver mousse, duck prosciutto and salmon pastrami. And a random quail egg.

On Friday, I took the office DSLR to Cana in Chicopee and wrote up a story, complete with photo gallery, about Western Massachusetts’ newest Korean restaurant. We had to sample some bulgogi and bibimbap while we were there…

Lunch special with pork bulgogi, rice, salad and dumplings

Stone pot bibimbap: vegetables, rice, beef and fried egg. To be mixed together with liberal amounts of gochujang (chili paste)

On Friday night, we took advantage of the Taste of Hartford week again, dining at Max Downtown. I put the camera away for most of the evening, regretfully, because my NY strip with red wine jus, potato/bacon cake and roasted winter veggies was beyond stellar. Juicy red center, ideal amount of seasoning, minimal gristle.

But, here’s the hedonistic, are-you-kidding-me-right-now chocolate brioche bread pudding that closed our meal. “Get the pudding!” our server urged us a split second after we ordered our entrees.

Death by chocolate and carbs

And I did snap a shot of my cocktail: the “Pink Panther” with reposado tequila, vanilla liqueur, fresh-squeezed grapefruit and lemon juices and a delightful housemade pink peppercorn simple syrup with just a bit of zip.

I would like to try this at home.

And on Saturday, a birthday celebration at Max’s Oyster Bar yielded some more culinary treasures: East Coast oysters, complimentary champagne, a pistachio/chocolate/citrus dessert sampler and this outrageously delicious pan-roasted lobster in sweet chili cream sauce with fennel and mashed potatoes.

wanted to lick the plate clean. almost did.

This week? Gym. Green juice.

LG at work. (Photo by Nick Caito)

Thanks, Nick Caito, for taking this photo at the Sun WineFest Saturday.

This is what I look like when I cover food events, apparently. After three full years of this work, I’m surprisingly adept at juggling a DSLR camera, notebook, purse, digital recorder and wine glass all at once. Don’t ever let anyone tell you multimedia journalists don’t work hard for the money.

Also refer to: How To Successfully Cover Awesome Food Events (June 10, 2011)

I honestly didn’t see this coming, but I suppose it was inevitable. A California man has started a business, ReviewerCard, issuing ID cards to “online reviewers.” It’s intended to inform (warn? threaten? extort?) businesses of the customer’s plans to review it online, thus seeking preferential treatment, discounts or freebies.

Hold on while I finish screaming and pulling hair from my head.

I know it’s routine for restaurants, venues and businesses to ply bloggers with freebies in exchange for positive reviews. I don’t have to like it, or participate in it, but I accept it as common practice these days.

But soliticing a restaurant for a free meal in exchange for a glowing writeup, or taking it a step further and slapping down a meaningless piece of plastic to strike fear in the hearts of small business owners, is another move altogether. An absolutely abhorrent one.

“Lifelong entrepreneur” Brad Newman (I’m assuming that’s code for “never held a real job in his life”) came up with the idea when he was treated rudely by a server in a French restaurant last year, he told the Los Angeles Times. After he told the waiter he planned to post a negative review on TripAdvisor, the manager apologized and paid for his breakfast.

“‘Why can’t waiters, hotel workers, concierges know that people are reviewers? If that French waiter had known at the beginning that I write a lot of reviews, he’d have treated me like Brad Pitt,’” he told the Times’ David Lazarus.

If you, too, want to be a literal card-carrying extortionist, you can apply for your own Reviewer Card – to the tune of $100. Newman has “also passed out about 400 more to travelers, bloggers, marketers and journalists who he thinks merit ReviewerCard status.” (Real talk: Any self-proclaimed “journalist” who uses one of these ought to be blacklisted from the industry for life.)

I’ve been vocal about this topic to a fault – I know people are sick of the blogger vs. journalist dynamic and I don’t blame them. While we all write about food, our approaches will always be different. But I was most interested to hear a reaction to ReviewerCard from a restaurateur’s angle, and maitre’d/beverage director Brent Bushong of Millwright’s nailed it with his response.

Brent – besides being a font of food and beverage knowledge – believes in old-fashioned service, the kind where you walk out of the establishment feeling pampered and extra-special no matter how many dollars you spent. Spend three minutes in his presence and you instantly feel more educated, by osmosis. He joins a staff of consummate professionals at the beautiful Simsbury restaurant, where no detail is overlooked.

Some highlights from his thoughts:

“To insinuate that, because you might write a non-professional hobbyist review, I should give you better service or something extra is dumb. Silly, foolish, ignorant and dumb, and the Card is empowering the same imbecilic and entitled view.”

‘Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take a good review any day, but from a guest that feels we deserve it, not one that was compensated to write it. To do that would be a disservice and slap in the face to the hundreds of hours that my kitchen staff spends cutting crazy little french-techniqued vegetables in the kitchen. It would cheapen the training that the service staff pains over, the hours spent poring over the reservation list, and more importantly, would be offering off our soul – the soul of the kitchen, for what will surely be a fake, poorly written review. Keep it.”

“Angry, anonymous posts aside (for which I have very little love, too…), less-than perfect reviews – when honest – give us important fine-tuning data that helps us to improve daily. This is something that is invaluable to us – and, while I would always prefer to hear, in person the same day, feedback from guests, I have to believe that the general public is too smart to think that we’d only have all perfect reviews from every diner that ate here.”

I can only hope that if the ReviewerCard makes its way east, no self-respecting business would take it seriously. As Brent said to me earlier today:

@funwithcarbslg no comps. You spent 100 bucks on the card, you can afford your dinner.

— Brent Bushong II (@maitresomm) January 22, 2013

Welcome to my latest food fixation. If you’re looking for smoked salmon in your local grocery store anytime soon, sorry. I ate all of it.

It all started when we sought out a hearty breakfast for our first day of wine tasting in Sonoma last September, and I opted for the hotel’s horribly overpriced bagel-and-lox plate in an attempt to avoid a redux of our 2010 trip. [In a nutshell: I couldn't drink Zinfandel for more than a year after a hazy - and later Technicolor - afternoon. Let that be a lesson to you. Pace yourself in wine country, kids. And always eat first.]

Four months and weekly packages of salmon, three tubs of cream cheese, a whole jar of capers and countless red onions later, that craving is still stubborn. So, as we enjoyed a cozy Friday-night dinner at Millwright’s Tavern, my eye went right to the smoked salmon rillettes.

Chef Tyler Anderson and his kitchen have elevated the country-style spread with a little innovation – the pot of smoked fish was crowned with a weightless crème fraîche and a scattering of “everything bagel” spice. Four fingers of buttered, toasted bread weren’t enough for the serving, but that didn’t stop us from clearing out the little jar with our forks.

And somehow, the focal point of Millwright’s mill-building setting – the dramatic waterfall – is even more breathtaking when it’s half-frozen.

Millwright’s, 77 West Street, Simsbury. 860-651-5500, millwrightsrestaurant.com.

Carnivorous.

I’ve lived on the western Massachusetts/north central Connecticut border long enough to hear it described as a “culinary wasteland” once or twice, typically in the form of poorly-written Yelp reviews. I’ll venture a guess that said Yelpers have never been to the exceptional The Federal in Agawam.

Several months ago, I got a tip in the midst of another story that The Federal’s owners were taking over the space formerly occupied by Uncorked in West Hartford’s tony Blue Back Square. I’d loved Uncorked’s WineStation technology and enjoyed many a tasting session there; I was sad to see it shutter in early 2012. But with The Federal’s culinary muscle behind the new project, I knew it had huge potential.

Vinted opened relatively quietly in November, but it drew attention immediately. Where The Federal is more of a multi-course special occasion restaurant, the small wine bar serves a menu of small plates, snacks, meats and cheeses and desserts. But with co-owner and executive chef Michael Presnal in the kitchen at both locations, that same level of creativity, execution and quality is there.

Here’s my column on Vinted, which ran Dec. 27. Depending on the timing of the restaurant visit and interview, I don’t always get to sample the menu. I like to make a point to go back and try these places as a consumer.

And there will be MULTIPLE repeat visits to Vinted.

"Sexy" lobster roll

I don’t know what makes it “sexy,” but the herbs and spices are suspect aphrodisiacs here – blended with the light mayonnaise dressing, the seasoning was perfect. Kudos to The Federal for holding tight to its Massachusetts roots and not drenching the lobster meat with butter. Sorry, Nutmeggers.

New England cheddar

I wish I’d thought to ask after the cheese’s exact provenance (Grafton, perhaps?) Really nice presentation with honeycomb, grapes and housemade raisin bread.

Seared salmon belly with chorizo ragout, cockles, saffron aioli

A little taste of Spain. I hadn’t had cockles since our trip to Barcelona last year. We cleaned this plate of every morsel, but I wish we had a little more bread to get the last dregs of the saffron aioli.

French onion "soup"

This showstopper is a take on the classic, with braised oxtail, leeks and onion in a rich broth, crowned with a roasted marrow bone and a side of Gruyere toast.

Veal cheek "saltimbocca"

Fork-tender braised veal cheeks topped with San Danielle prosciutto, in a pool of brown butter sauce with brown butter “powder,” 12-year aged balsamic and fried sage. “Melt-in-your-mouth” is such a food-writing cliche, but that meat really did dissolve on our tongues.

Pork dumplings "carbonara"

With Parmesan cream sauce, peas and guanciale, these pork dumplings definitely win creativity points. But after two rich courses, my taste buds were on meat-and-cream overload. I should have ordered a lighter shellfish dish.

Duck prosciutto

Because why not. This was surprisingly light and delicate.

If you have even a modicum of room after a meal here or at The Federal, you’ve got to splurge on a dessert. They’re as fun as they are decadent.

Baked chocolate "purses"

Melted chocolate and coconut, wrapped in phyllo dough and baked until molten, paired perfectly with a light coconut sorbet.

Surprisingly, wine took a backseat to food during our visit, despite Vinted’s 68 offerings by the taste and glass. I’d wanted to partner most of the courses with a complementing wine, but found that a little overwhelming to do with the amount of plates we ordered.

We did sample an Albarino, a Russian River Pinot Noir, a Dry Creek Zinfandel, a mid-range Napa Cabernet, a Malbec and a Tuscan Insoglio during the meal, but with the exception of the Pinot with the salmon dish, nothing was incredibly memorable as a pairing.

In my interview with co-owner Ralph Santaniello, he told me he and Presnal were thrilled to see so many Federal fans visiting them at the new spot 30 miles south. They’ve certainly given their clientele a reason to make the trip.

Vinted is at 63 Memorial Road in West Hartford. It’s open Monday through Wednesday, 4 to 10 p.m.; Thursday, 4 to 11 p.m.; Friday, 4 to midnight and Sunday, 4 to 9 p.m. Information: 860-206-4648 and vintedwinebar.com.

To be honest, most of what needed to be said has already been put into more eloquent language than I’ll ever be able to muster. But I will say this.

The Newtown massacre was the most extraordinarily difficult story I’ve ever covered as a professional journalist. Beyond the enormity of loss, the swirling confusion of errors and misinformation left us all drained by the day’s end.

If you’ve been in a news role long enough, you immediately slip into “journomode,” where you push aside the emotions and focus on getting the details and presenting the most accurate, up-to-date story possible. With seven years of journalism under my belt, I’ve seen quite a few terrible  tragedies, but this is the first time where the magnitude of the situation hit me with full force in the midst of a shift.

I didn’t want to look at another photo, write-through, video or tweet from a news outlet. I wanted to bury my face in a pillow and cry. And I had four hours left in my workday.

As the country grieved, so did one of my favorite colleagues from the Hartford Courant and his family. On Saturday morning, I found out that Lauren Rousseau, stepdaughter of beloved reporter Bill Leukhardt, had been one of the teachers killed at Sandy Hook Elementary. Anyone at the paper, past or present, will tell you that sweet Bill, kind and gentle with a predilection for silly jokes, is a shining light in the newsroom. It seemed especially unfair that such a benevolent person had to suffer this kind of loss.

But that same newsroom turned out to support their colleague, joining a crowd of hundreds in line outside First Congregational Church of Danbury to pay their respects to Lauren and her family. As national and international media stayed behind police blockades with their cameras and microphones, dozens of Connecticut journalists arrived as mourners and nothing more.

Bill and Lauren’s mother, Terri, a Danbury News-Times copy editor, graciously stood outside after the service and greeted those who hadn’t made it in for calling hours. I stood on my tiptoes to hug him. He attempted a joke.

“There are worse things,” he started. “But…I don’t know what they are.”

As writers, we even struggled to find the best words to comfort his family. But true to Bill’s character, he felt the need to set everyone else at ease.

“Memories are for comfort, not for pain.” Written by mother of Lauren Rousseau.

— Bill Leukhardt (@bleukhardt)

In harsh times, people worryabout what to say.Don’t worry. Do say something. Kindness is best.

— Bill Leukhardt (@bleukhardt) December 20, 2012

Steakhouse on a crust

I like garlic, but when I read this pizza recipe and realized the “sauce” was nothing more than roasted garlic paste, I did a double-take. Well, there’s one way to test a marriage.

But the sweet smoothness of the oven-caramelized cloves provided the perfect foundation for this pie, a riot of flavors and textures that helped break us out of our pizza rut.

I went looking for a new recipe Sunday and unearthed this book, a Christmas present from a year ago. We’ve had mixed results with grilled pizzas (more burned, blackened crusts than I care to admit) so we stuck with the pizza stone and a 450-degree oven. Also, store-bought pizza dough, because Big Y’s is perfectly good (if you let it proof at room-temperature) and sometimes I just don’t have the patience to cold-ferment a homemade batch for three days.

Recipe adapted from Pizza on the Grill:

• 1 lb. of flatiron steak (or similar cut)
• Roasted garlic paste (made from 1-2 heads of roasted garlic cloves, blended with 1 tbsp. olive oil)
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 4 ounces crumbled bleu cheese (I used a mix of smoked bleu cheese and honey-flavored goat cheese; the extra sweetness/creaminess of the goat was ideal)
• 1/2 cup caramelized onions

Heat pizza stone in a 450-degree preheated oven. Remove it from the oven; scatter cornmeal across the stone.

Roll out and shape the dough; place it carefully on the hot stone. Parbake the crust for five minutes.

Brush the steak with olive oil; season it with salt and pepper. Grill it to rare/medium rare, depending on your preference (the steak will cook further once on the pizza crust.) Remove steak from the grill and slice thinly on the bias.

Spread the roasted garlic paste over the surface of the crust, then add caramelized onions over it. Arrange the steak slices over the crust; sprinkle with cheese. Cook pizza at 450 degrees until the cheese melts and the steak reaches your preferred degree of doneness.

The book suggests pairing the pizza with “the biggest, baddest California cab you can afford.” But the $8 2010 Los Ailos Syrah/Malbec blend I picked up at Wegman’s Saturday fit the bill just fine.