It’s so close I can taste it. The new and improved version of Rome for Foodies will hit the App Store soon. The final tweaks are in the works and the app will theoretically be sent to Apple for approval this week. Get the old version at the low price of $2.99 here while you still can. And if you already have it, give it as a gift to your friends and neighbors:) As soon as version 2.0 hits stores the price is going up to reflect its new design, enhanced functions, and all around awesomeness!

Splash page design by Peter Arnold.

The center of Rome has relatively few quality, family-run gelato shops these days. Chalk it up to declining local tastes, which are content with the soulless sterility of Grom and the unrelenting mediocrity of Giolitti. A dairy-inspired email exchange with my friend Arlene on this subject reminded me of one quality family-spot, Gelateria Corona, which opened a second shop on Corso Vittorio Emanuele 144 in late March; the other shop is just around the corner in Largo Arenula.

Giancarlo Corona and his daughters take turns making gelato and staffing their two nearby shops, which specialize in exotic fruit flavors and fun combos like raspberry with star anise and lemon with basil. The gelato is quite good (though let the record show it doesn’t hold a candle to my beloved Il Gelato di Claudio Torce in Piazza Monte d’Oro (Rome’s reigning gelato king has no competition in the center of Rome), but the granite are something special. Seriously one of the greatest flavor combinations on earth is pistacchio slush paired with almond. It’s so good you’ll want one from each branch.

On June 4 at 7pm, I will be hosting an Italian craft beer dinner with my friends Maryann and Elisa at their West Village restaurant Bistro de la Gare. The event will begin with a welcome beer and some snacks, which will be followed by starters, primo, secondo, and dessert. Each course will be paired with Italian craft beers from quality producers including Lover Beer, Birra del Borgo, Baladin and Birrificio Montegioco.

Space is limited to 40 guests and bookings should be made with Bistro de la Gare directly (call: 212-242-4420). The cost of the dinner is $125, which includes beer, food, taxes, tip, and a charitable donation to the Food Bank for NYC. It’s going to be a great night. Come on down!

Yesterday after a long day of work, I chatted with my illustrious colleague, Gabe Ulla of Eater, about the pizza scene in Rome. I would like to apologize in advance to my mother for using the “s” word. Sorry. I was tired and not at my classiest. You can read our interview here.

You know how sometimes your iPhone camera doesn’t do a subject justice? In the right light it does a pretty good job. But other times, it just doesn’t come close to capturing the true nature of what you’ve witnessed. That happened to me on Saturday at Datlı Maya, a well liked and inexplicably popular cafe in Istanbul’s Cihangir. My good ol’ iPhone failed to accurately capture how absolutely filthy this place is. The dirt was so completely ubiquitous, from the crumb filled, grease stained storefront, to the dirty open kitchen, to the sticky dining room and its grime-caked floors, that I thought for a minute I had been teleported to a Denny’s on the New Jersey Turnpike.

At least Denny’s has darkish walls…

I remarked to my incredulous dining companion that I hadn’t eaten in a place so dirty since college. She took pity on me as she smacked my hand away from the parsley I was about to put on my too-thick lahmacun. “You don’t want to eat that.” Microbes and all. The same could be said of the rest of the meal, which was a tremendous disappointment. Dishes were over or undercooked, or irregularly reheated. Hot kid on cold rice? Offensive under normal circumstances, but overshadowed by food stains on the walls. After a few stomach-churning bites, we split. And Datlı Maya will never tempt us again.

The self-service silverware could use another rinse.

Datlı Maya does offer a bit of value, though. With each meal, you get caked-on dried food from the previous diners, which is firmly attached to the self-service silverware, absolutely free! Bonus!

Kağıthane paper shop in Istanbul sells a lot of, well, paper. But the store stocks a far more precious and interesting product: Santimetre‘s handmade porcelain objects for everyday use. I popped into the Nişantaşı branch of the shop last week. I was looking for note cards, which I did not find (they sell every paper novelty imaginable but no practical notecards–go figure!), but I did spot some gorgeous tea glasses, saucers, and cups, as well as a pretty array of plates. If my luggage space wasn’t otherwise spoken for (I have become a Turkish wine mule) I would have bought the whole lot!

The other items in the collection are beautiful. The Turkish coffee pot with olive sprig handle is a work of art. The rakı glasses have my name (and zodiac sign) on them. And the beykoz chalices just beg to be held. The small company is based in Ayvalik on the Aegean coast of Turkey and I plan to make a visit to their showroom this summer. This time, I won’t be packing wine.

It happens every time I go to Istanbul. I visit for a few days and the city embeds itself so far under my skin that I find it emotionally distressing to leave. This is how it used to feel when I left Rome during my bright college years when I was coming and going for thesis research. But back in the early 2000s, I was ballsy and my brain was more malleable, so I could see myself moving abroad (I did!) and learning the language (did that, too). Now, a move doesn’t seem so easy and the complexities and financial sacrifices of relocating makes the pangs of homesickness I feel for Istanbul that much more acute.

This trip was particularly special, as it is springtime in Istanbul and my friend Şemsa and I made the most of it with daily breakfasts and dinners on her balcony. We both enjoyed the ridiculous view of the Bosphorus Bridge and I felt particularly pampered by her extraordinary artichoke-driven cooking.

I had a few really wonderful meals out, including lunch with Tuba at Çiya, a place everyone freaks out over, but which I sometimes find disappointing (world’s worst içli köfte, anyone?). This was not the case on Wednesday. We had some amazing seasonal kebabs like sarımsak kebabı (garlic kebab) and yeni dünya kebabı (loquat kebab).

Lunch at Kasap Osman in Sirkeci was downright disgusting…they put melted cheese on my doner! Vomitous. So I went across the street to Namlı Rumeli Köftecisi for a nice plate of redeeming, palate-cleansing köfte.

Another meaty highlight were the köfte at Ali Baba in Arnavutköy, my ideal comfort food.

I also enjoyed strolling along the Bosphorus admiring the houses I will never be able to afford.

Back in the thick of it all, I spent an afternoon in the Grand Bazaar, something I never do because the hawkers are so profoundly obnoxious. But this time I went after a good lunch at Şeyhmus Kebap Evi with my buddy Ansel of Istanbul Eats.

Sufficiently nourished and armed with headphones and a stone face, I braved the hey ladys and where you froms shouted by the tchotchke vendors and hightailed it to the antiques section where I window shopped for sugar bowls, marble mortars and copper samovars.

Then it was back to Şemsa’s for another fabulous meal. With a spread like this, leaving seems like a crime against good sense.

Just as artichoke season is ending in Rome, things are really getting going in Istanbul. Due to its history of commerce and immigration, it is quite natural to find produce in Istanbul that is imported from other parts of Turkey. In January, the first artichokes arrive from Cyprus. And in April and May, artichokes from Izmir flood the city. Mid-month, local artichokes will arrive in the markets. Today, I visited the Saturday bazaar in Besiktas and found the artichoke vendors in full effect.

They were bagging up pruned artichokes which soaked in lemon water baths.

They were being pruned by vendors to prepare them for sale. Their leaves were stripped off, leaving only the broad, flat hearts.

The floors of stalls were deep in leaves. Business is booming, apparently, in the height of Istanbul’s artichoke season.

As we walked down Via dei Pettinari in Rome on Tuesday, clients asked me, “is there anything you don’t eat.” I paused for a moment and thought long and hard. “I don’t love brains,” was my reply. But I never turn them down, either. There had to be something on earth I would never eat again.

Less than 24 hours later I was sitting at an outdoor table at Çiya on Istanbul’s Anatolian side eating seasonal kebabs with my friend Tuba. Little did I know I was about to taste the only food I truly dislike. While were were chatting, Tuba spotted a push cart full of knobby green stalks. “Take your camera! Come with me!” She said as she leapt up from the table and stopped the vendor cold in his tracks.

“What is it?” I inquired. They looked like demented asparagus. I have seen a lot of unusual things pushed around in carts in Istanbul, but this was a first. “Işkın, wild rhubarb,” replied Tuba as she placed her order and received several bundles of the stuff. At this point passersby began to swarm around the cart. A group of school children converged on it as though it were giving away candy. I was optimistic.

We returned to our table and Tuba peeled me a stalk, stripping off the thin outer skin and handing it over to me. I guess I expected it to taste like pie or something. It didn’t. On her blog, Tuba describes ışkın, which is eaten mainly in eastern Turkey, as tasting like “grass, green plum and spring flowers.” While I like all these things individually, when they are combined in a mouth puckering, slightly tannic fibrous stalk, I’m not such a fan. So I learned something this week—when I am with Tuba I always do.

…I find out there’s a producer making some pretty good buffalo mozzarella.