Hand pulled mozzarella. Stretched to order and served with gypsy peppers, pickled red onions, capers, and little cubes of fire-toasted bread, tasting of summer nights and bonfires. We ate at Corso in Berkeley last night, and I can still taste it. Of course we had to eat at the uncivilized hour of 5:30 because they are booked eons in advance. Every time I've tried to book a table it's been sold out or you can come at 9:15. I will have eaten the upholstery by then. I will be on my second dessert. At another restaurant. I don't do 9:15.
Insalata Caprese will never be the same. Next time I make it I'm adding capers, their salty crunchy burst of acid and caper-ness just the right counterpoint to the blandness of the mozzarella. And maybe I'll substitute slivers of roasted peppers for the tomatoes (which have been insipid in this cold year). Or maybe I'll use cherry tomatoes. And serve it on slices of fire-toasted bread, the true Tuscan crostini. I'm getting hungry.