My husband and I joke that our marriage is held together by a pork cutlet.
For years, Wildair, a natural wine bar on New York’s Lower East Side, was our personal Cheers, where everybody knew our names. We felt perfectly at home there, and it wasn’t just an opportunity to eat inventive and impeccably executed food, but also a chance to see chef-owners Fabi?n von Hauske and Jeremiah Stone, who had become our friends. We’d joke that the milanese was inscribed in our ketubah vows, and that if one of us ever ate at Wildair without the other and came home without the cutlet in hand, it would automatically trigger divorce proceedings.
Sometimes, I’d wind up at Wildair for a work dinner, and toward the end of the meal, I’d order a milanese to go. The cutlet was sacred, the “holy milanese.” The staff had caught on to this being a thing and would send me home with the dish elaborately wrapped in foil swans or other hilariously sculpted animals. When we moved to the Washington, we became homesick for Wildair and its milanese.
So, what makes this dish so special? It is, after all, just a cutlet pounded thin, breaded and fried. It’s downright pedestrian and not exactly uncommon. But Wildair’s milanese was far more flavorful than any other I’d ever had.