My life in Food...

Bahn Mi - a first foray

2012-01-05T08:58:00.000-08:00

I know, me miss "eats everything everywhere as much as possible" found herself at a loss when a budding restaurateur approached me a few weeks ago asking for some consulting on an asian style cafe menu. After a little coaxing, I got some information of what type of menu she was looking for, as "asian" could mean anything from chinese stirfry to korean style kimchi. My specialty is Japanese, and as much as I hate the idea of, and even the word, "fusion," it is pretty much here to stay. Even my own Tatsu menu has some gringo-esque undertones...
So when said cafe owner mentioned vietnamese sandwiches, I suddenly felt at a loss. I mean, I've heard of these wonders: layered meats with pate and some sort of greenery on a traditional sandwich roll, and read some great reviews of some places off of Clement in the City, but felt sort of ashamed that I hadn't yet partaken of one, being the self proclaimed eater that i am. However, since moving (way up) to Petaluma almost 2 years ago, my culinary experiences have taken a bit of a nose dive, often even giving way to late night snacks at Applebees. Yes, Applebees (and only because the sidewalks roll up around her at 9pm).
Wanting to try a Bahn Mi from the City instead of busting my cherry on a potential lesser version from the only Vietnamese restaurant in town, I popped down there a few weeks ago to get a firsthand taste of this eponymous sando.
A chef friend suggested I try Saigon Sandwich on Larkin Street near Turk. As I was en route to a catering gig and didn't want to risk the line, I called ahead. That proved sort of ridiculous. They asked me what kind and I said, "the most popular." She gave me the Vietamese version of "do not understand" - and so because I had no idea what was on their menu, and was scrolling through yelp reviews while driving on Lombard to try to make a quick decision, I settled on the pork. I wanted to make sure it had the pate, cuz' please understand, I have never ordered one of these buggahs and wanted to be sure to get the whole shebang. Unfortunately though, my non-english speaking phone companion "computed" my request as "no pate?" Then I said "yes, pate" and then another "discourse" ensued on mayonnaise vs. no mayonnaise. I said "yes, mayonnaise" and she responded "no mayo?"... By the time I got off the phone, I had no idea what the hell I would be getting but was okay with that.

I zipped up and around the block (because Larkin is one-way for most of Russian Hill) and as luck would have it, found rock star parking right out front. Luck would also have it, because it was a little too late for lunch and a little too early for dinner, that there was no line. In fact, upon entering the little shoe boxed sized place, I was quick to discover they hadn't even yet made my sandwich! So much for planning ahead!(my friends would laugh at that one, as one of my nicknames is "planny janny"). And it didn't really matter, because the "fanci pork pate" sandwich took all of 30 seconds to toss together: sweet braised pork slices au jus from a crock pot, a squirt bottle with pate and some mystery ingredient in it (because in my world, pate has never been liquid enough to come out of a squirt bottle) and then of course, the required mayonnaise. Topped with some cilantro, some slightly spicy pickled carrots, slices of jalapeno and stuffed into a french style sandwich roll, my sando was done! And at $3.50, apparently that stop at Wells Fargo off Union wasn't at all needed!

Wrapped up in a tight paper wrapper with a red rubber band to hold it all together, I was out of there and on my way for a quick last minute Christmas shopping jaunt in Japantown.

Eager to try this while it was still hot, that wrapping proved to be a pain in the ass to unwrap while driving (yes, I am one of those people) - but there were enough traffic signals to allow me to catch a few bites before I found parking in Japantown. A word to the wise, not the best way to eat this, as the pate squishes out of the crunchy yet still soft roll. It wasn't cut in half, so picking up the whole thing while shifting on hills in SF, without spilling the contents into my lap or crashing into the car in front of me was a bit of a challenge. The pork was sweet and soft, the carrots sweet, spicy and vinegary. The jalapeno just hot enough to offset the sweetness and the cilantro added the extra dimension that only cilantro has the knack of doing. I would have hoped the pate was a bit more prevalent, and somehow I imagined a slaw instead of just carrots and a few pieces of pickled cabbage, more meat etc, but that is probably the American in me. The photo makes it look a bit more opulent than it was. All in all however, a sandwich I would try again. Stay tuned, as I will be trying my local Petaluma version this week.

Merry Christmas 2011

2011-12-26T10:00:00.000-08:00

Yes, off the radar is putting it mildly. Having a midlife crisis, perhaps? I just logged in to look up my own recipe for popovers for today's Christmas dinner and wondered, what happened to me this year? Where is this side of myself, the writer inside of me that I love to indulge while at the same time hopefully entertaining all of you readers?
I started a small Japanese style catering business this year. I say "small" because it is still in its infantile stages. Starting a business, as exciting as it sounds, has taken all of my creative juices right out of me. Needing 175% of my attention but somehow not captivating me fully, it has been a struggle between maintaining balance in my life (exercise, free time, a man) and feeling guilty that I'm not 100% captivated. Why aren't I? There is something missing. So I thought if I shared with my readers my plight, activating my creative juices through writing and other means, that the missing piece just may present itself to me.
Here is a link to my website www.tatsujapanesefood.com.

In the meantime, Prime Rib is on the menu for today. A bunch of friends are coming over for a delicious dinner and to enjoy some rare bottles of wine that I've been waiting to open. On the left is 1999 Araujo Eisele Estate Cabernet Sauvignon; next to that is 1999 Opus One Napa Valley Cabernet. Two great wines, the same vintage, good friends, a big hunk of meat. What more could one ask for?? (ok, don't get me started on that one)
That Araujo has been carefully stored since I left the GM position at Picco about 6 years ago. One of my best customers brought it in for my last night. I humbly asked him if i might bring that one home to add to my collection instead of opening it and of course he obliged. The Opus One, my friend Marcelo found in a "throw away" box at a winery where he works. The Araujo started off really inky and then opened to a lovely black currant, earthy, dark fruit, great acidity, not too hit-you-over-the-head cabernet. The Opus was smooth from the get go and opened to a full gigantic fruit explosion in the mouth. Some found it slightly on the "sweet" side - all that ripe fruit just waiting to be exposed to the elements after 12 years. Overall, I was quite pleased we opened them with this small group - believe it or not, none of us was left wanting.

That's me, carving the 10 pound Niman Ranch roast. It took almost 3 hours to cook in my somewhat retarded (but working) electric Frigidaire Custom Imperial oven circa 1965. Built to last, that behemoth did me right.

Our group was gracious at all the delicious wines, lots of Schramsburg Blanc de Blanc to get us going, 3 different desserts from Emporio Rulli in Larkspur, and one of Erin's famous Icebox Cakes, recipe straight from Magnolia Bakery in Manhattan.

There's Marcelo with his proverbial harem. Seriously, those Brazilians - love their meat and their ladies!

So for now, I must go clean the damn kitchen, as well as the cobwebs from my writing. Thanks for participating in helping me get back to my groove!

Munch Mondays Santa Rosa - Alive and Finger Licking!

2011-01-11T12:23:00.000-08:00

Dim Sum Charlie's Airstream swamped with hungry Santa Rosans

I set the alarm on my phone to remind me to cruise up to Santa Rosa to check out Munch Monday, a first ever lunchtime grouping of gourmet food trucks congregating on E Street between 2nd and 3rd. Jillian Dorman, owner of the popular Santa Rosa based Street Eatz, worked her charm with Santa Rosa officials and managed to wrestle an end of the parking lot between the Post Office and Public Library every Monday between 11:30 and 2:00 pm for 5 trucks to park and sell their delicious treats to hungry Sonoma County office workers and food freaks (me being the latter). Not to mention, it was a nice break for the local business folk tired of the same ol', same ol' on Fourth Street. Thankfully it was sunny, as thermometers barely broke 50 degrees all day.

Fork Catering (from Sebastopol), Dim Sum Charlies (hailing all the way from Napa) and Santa Rosa's own Street Eatz, La Texanita and Chicago Hot Dogs were there with lines 20 deep at times. By all accounts, the vendors were all a little surprised by the large turnout which resulted in a some waits, but not that bad considering it was a great time to catch up with co-workers, make new friends and just sort of hang out.

"10 Dolla Make You Holla" from Dim Sum Charlie's

I felt like a kid in a candy store with so many choices and my stomach churning with hunger. I decided on Dim Sum Charlie's as the line was going pretty fast and these guys are my friends, as I've worked a few events along side them in my friend Mark Raymond's truck, Mark's the Spot, a popular Napa based slider truck that also serves the best Hoisen glazed Duck Wings this side of, um, this side of, well okay, the Mississippi!
Anyhoo, most people were getting the "10 dolla make you holla" sampling of Dim Sum goodness, but I chose the "trio" of seafood (lobster, shrimp and scallop) and something called a "pork noodle snotty goodness" (don't quote me). It was easily the most appetizing and least appetizing sounding thing at the same time if that makes any sense. I wasn't afraid though. The snotty goodness was a noodle pancake stuffed with barbeque pork and green onions. Delish! The seafood trio were also incredible with the crunch from the shrimp providing satisfying texture to compliment the hot mustard, chili, soy sauce concoction I dreamed up. After scarfing both delicious selections down in a matter of moments, I contemplated getting back in line.

Agedashi Tofu

Instead, I decided to spread the wealth and ordered an Agedashi Tofu from Street Eatz.

With the tagline"flavors of the world", Street Eatz was dishing up diverse offerings such as Cuban Style Pulled Pork sandwiches, Coconut Seafood Curry, Pork Tacos and Cajun Style Chicken Pasta. As I waited for my Agedashi Tofu, fried cubes of lightly breaded tofu topped with grated ginger, bonito flakes, green onion and dashi broth, I gazed around at the crowd, and made mental note of the best sounding stuff from the other trucks for future Monday munching sessions: Fork Catering's burgers sounded incredible, and they even offered a local crab sandwich; La Texanita's carne asada tacos, how could one go wrong; and even the Chicago Hot Dog sounded damn good, as everyone needs a good Vienna dog every once in a while, and with tomatoes to make it officially Chicagoan...

Fork Catering's Menu

As I munched on my Agedashi, I was lucky enough to chat up a fellow local blogger who writes about everything Bento, how incredible was that? Here is a link to Michelle's cool blog: http://www.sonomabento.blogspot.com/. I hope to see Michelle again (and some of you) next Monday. If Mondays don't work for you, consider cruising over to Napa for "First Friday," another congregation of many of the same trucks that happens on the first Friday night of every month. The kicker, it's on private property so you can bring your own libations and eat and drink your way through the lively crowd. Check it out at 1st and Soscol, near the Oxbow Market.

Popovers - a new love

2010-12-31T11:13:00.000-08:00

As dorky as it sounds to be "in love" with a baked good, ever since making popovers to go with our Christmas Prime Rib, I can't get those damn things out of my head.

This morning as I sipped on my morning tea, my stomach started rumbling, It suddenly occurred to me that I had dreamed about popovers ALL NIGHT. The main "message" was that I had forgotten to add the egg. Sort of retarded if you ask me considering they only have 4 ingredients: Flour, Salt, Milk and Egg(sorry about the political incorrectness of my self-deprication...). My "dream" creations didn't "pop" over, nor did they puff or any of those wondrous things that happen right before our eyes through the oven door at 450 degrees.

Needless to say, I had to set things right. Here's a very simple recipe that can be divided in half for smaller batches. I usually do 1/2 recipe for 6. Yes, I can eat them all in one sitting, which isn't that bad considering there isn't a lot of fat added... At what point have I ever cared about that? Um, never, as my cell walls need an "oil change" occasionally. If you use organic butter, it is the best, as all those pesky pesticides and other annoying fat soluble toxins aren't present, just pure deliciousness. However, if you have some chicken fat, or beef fat (from aforementioned prime rib roasting) use that, as it will only add flavor. Of course, using non-vegetarian fat means you probably want to eat these suckers with something savory (i.e. Prime Rib), which would then be pretty much "Yorkshire pudding" (yes, it is the same exact recipe, just cooks a little longer because of surface area etc)...

Makes 12 popovers:

6 tsp unsalted butter
1/2 cup milk
2 eggs
1/2 cup flour
2/3 - 3/4 tsp salt

Whisk or blend milk and eggs together until frothy. Sift together flour and salt. Whisk flour mixture into egg mixture, avoiding the tendency to overmix. The batter will be thin like pancake batter. Put into refrigerator for 20 minutes or until ready to use.

Heat oven to 450 F. Add 1/2 tsp fat/butter to bottom of muffin tins. (if you don't have non-stick muffin tins, you may want to coat them with some non-stick spray).

Put tins in hot oven until butter melts to just about smoking point. Remove from oven and immediately fill 1/3 way full with batter (after giving it a quick whisk). Place back into oven quickly (you don't want the tins to cool). Bake about 10-11 minutes until the popovers have puffed all the way up and turn golden brown. Don't open the oven door to check, it will interrupt the rising and they won't turn out as good.

Enjoy warm with jam or just by themselves. Because they look kind of like puff pastry, I am tempted to try some savory toppings, with the popovers tipped on their sides, and beef stew or pot roast spilling out the middle. That's for another post. Enjoy!

Chawanmushi - a silky surprise and yes, my Dashi recipe

2010-12-02T19:34:00.000-08:00

Okay I know, don't be shocked. No writey for like, 3 months. Let me explain. Things have been a little hectic in food land. Ever since I stopped working for the "tyrant" in June, I've been patching my income together like a madwoman. Some weeks are good, and some just plain POOR! ha! Plus I have some stuff up my sleeve. Let's just say it involves my love of Japanese food, knives, and... my love of feeding people good stuff. Yes, I'm trying to start my own place.

So, in lieu of trashing and praising other people's food, let me share some of my own.

My facebook food and drink posts garner a lot of oohs and aaahs (photographing food is just plain FUN). A few days ago I posted a photograph of a beautiful Chawanmushi I made on the fly. Lately I have all kinds of stuff in my arsenal (i.e. my refrigerator) and am finding endless combinations I can make with just a few basic ingredients. This is one of them:

I'm not officially a Japanese food aficianado, in fact, I'm not even sure I spelled that correctly! : ) However, I do know the basics and have a huge love affair with the stuff (fortunately or unfortunately at the moment to the exclusion of all else). That said, let's talk custard.

The deal behind Chawanmushi is that it's Dashi (fish stock) and egg based. Simply, a 2 cup Dashi to 3 eggs ratio. Once you combine the two and strain them (for clarity and consistency) into custard cups, tea cups or any stoneware cup you have the base. But let's back up cuz' that's the last step.

For the custard pictured here, into the bottom of the cup I placed a Shitake Mushroom cap, cut in half (raw), a few sprigs of green onion and about 2 Tablespoons of cooked Dungeness Crab meat. I then poured the egg mixture over the top (reserving about 1/2" room at the top) placed the lid on and steamed it in a bamboo steamer for about 20 minutes. I only have two official Chawanmushi cups (replete with lids) so I used a few tea cups and covered them tightly with saran wrap (which works just as well). Strangely some of you may know, the saran wrap does not melt under these conditions.

For this recipe I used crab stock that I made from spent crab shells, simmered for a few hours, and seasoned with soy sauce and mirin. However, I recommend using straight seasoned dashi, as it is easier and if you are a freak like me, always have a quart or so hanging around in the refrigerator. By the way, don't store your dashi for longer than 5-7 days. (It is perishable after all).

Okay, you are begging, just begging to know WTF dashi is and why I keep referring to it. Well, you see, dashi is the staple, absolute cornerstone of Japanese cooking. It is used as the base for all soups, many dressings, sauces and even Ponzu sauce is made with Dashi. Little known but true, most Japanese food is not vegetarian because of this   (which is no problem for me...).

I went to Japan two years ago (weep weep, it has been so long) and learned how to make dashi from two different Japanese chefs. I watched my friends at O Chame; in Berkeley make dashi for years and years (because I worked there for years and years), and I've read numerous online examples of how to make dashi. So, that being said, my way is my way and I'm not imposing my white girl version on anyone here. I'm simply telling you how to make it so you can start your Japanese arsenal and also get some good flavoring, Umami if you will. If you aren't into the labor involved (its not that bad but involves somewhat specific ingredients), go to the Asian market and get Dashi granules, a powdered substance one adds to water to produce the same rich broth (sort of like bouillion cubes, actually). Watch out for the MSG however, because many commercial products do contain it (unless you don't give a shit about that - and I'm not saying that you should...). Anyhoo, oh, I see, you forgot how long winded my stories are...

Okay, here goes nothing:

Seasoned Dashi (appropriate for salad dressings, this recipe, soba and udon noodle soup etc)

4 cups filtered water (1 qt)
1 - 6" piece of Kombu seaweed (may be called Dashi Kombu)
1 large handful of dried bonito flakes
tsp salt
Mirin (sweet cooking sake)
soy sauce

Place 4 cups water into saucepan and add Kombu. Soak for about an hour (or longer) 1/2 hour will do, this is not a perfect science, it is cooking for chrissakes! The Kombu is the source of the umami and other amazing properties that add a little somethin' somethin' you can't get elsewhere. So, in short, it is okay to soak it for 75 minutes if you forget. By the way, a little side note, Kombu has naturally based MSG in it, not the evil kind, but MSG is what everyone is freaking on when they speak of umami, the 5th taste, but I won't go into that right now.    Anyway, after the aforementioned soaking has taken place, turn the burner on and the timer on at the same time - 15 minutes. In about 4 or so the water will come to a slight boil, turn it down to med-low and let it simmer until the timer has gone off. Turn the burner off. Add the handful of bonito flakes (they sink into the broth but no need to stir them in) - turn on the burner for a few seconds to bring it to a slight simmer (just look for those little bubbles). Turn the burner off. Turn the timer on for 12 or so minutes. Let the bonito flakes "steep" in the water. After the 12 minutes is done, strain the whole concoction through a wire mesh strainer (into another pot or heat proof bowl, of course). This is your basic dashi. Okay all you Japanese people out there, don't freak out on my technique. It works for me!
Anyhoo, this basic dashi can be used now to make Miso soup. Yup, just whisk the miso in, add a little green onion, wakame and tofu, and you're done.  But oops! we aren't making miso soup right now, we are making something else...

Okay, so next add the soy sauce, mirin and salt. Taste the broth along the way. Tt should be a little sweet, a little salty (but not too much). If it is a little sweet but seems to be lacking, add some more salt, it is amazing how much just a pinch more will do. Maybe another dash of soy (watch out for this).

Okay, now you have your seasoned dashi which you will have to let cool before we proceed to the next step.

Chawanmushi can have anything in it. Sometimes it has spinach leaves, or bok choy or some other chopped up green leaf. It often (almost always) has japanese fish cake. Mushrooms are nice, so are green onions, pieces of chicken or shrimp. if you cut them into 1" pieces, you don't even have to cook them first (the proteins, that is). But, I like to add cooked proteins because it retains the clarity of the custard without all the excess fats etc releasing from the proteins into the custard which would otherwise occur.

So, add just a few pieces of these treats to the bottom of a custard cup, combine the said 2 cups of cooled broth with 3 eggs and whisk together. Strain these through a wire mesh strainer (a wire mesh tea strainer works good in a pinch) and top the ingredients with it. Cover with lid and steam for 20 minutes (yes, get that steamer going a few minutes ahead of time so it is ready when you put them in). Turn off the steam and remove the lid from the steamer. To check for doneness the custard should be firm and clear dashi should rise up if poked with a spoon or chopstick). Eat while hot!

O Chame' Berkeley - still simply sublime

2010-08-04T12:53:00.000-07:00

In a world where it seems every last restaurateur is opening a new Salumeria, Pizzeria or some permutation of the Italian way, it is refreshing to experience original, unique, and downright delectable flavor combinations that one can't find on every other corner of the SF Bay Area.   Not to lead you down the wrong gastronomical path here, O Chame' in Berkeley couldn't be further from Mediterranean in style. Instead,  has it's own unique brand of Japanese going on, one that can ONLY be found at 4th and Hearst Streets, in the midst of upscale shopping, where unique boutiques shoulder up against some tried and true Bay Area natives: Rabat, Molly B's, Erica Tanov; and incidentally, where the latest gigantic MAC store is now putting down its roots.

David Vardy, O Chame's Owner and Chef, planted his roots there back in 1990, when "4th Street" was developer Denny Abrams' dream, and the shopping district was only a block long, starting with the lighting store on one end, and Kona Kai farms at the other (some of you may remember those days long past). In fact, somehow, some way, back in 1992, while studying at U.C. Berkeley, I wandered by and landed a job as "Bento Girl" on Saturdays in an old Kiosk that used to grace their patio (incidentally, that same kiosk now lives behind Sea Salt over on San Pablo and Dwight and I think is now used as an employee changing room). After just a few months weighing fine tea, selling Nambu (a light as air cookie/cracker concoction) and lunchtime bentos, I weasled my way inside, and stayed there for almost 10 years, working every front of the house job with gusto. Now it's almost 20 years later and O Chame' is still hands down one of my very favorite restaurants, with a consistency that can be practically measured.  And you didn't hear it from me first, by the way, as Michael Bauer (a critic most love to hate) is also a huge fan, keeping David in the Top 100 despite the explosion of new happening restaurants springing up practically every week in Berkeley, Oakland and SF.

What is it about O Chame and can you get to the food already???  Okay, okay, just trying to set the stage here. If the walls adorned with artist Mayumi Oda's scraffito (drawings in wet plaster), could talk, they would tell you tales of lifelong friendships made, marriages had, and babies galore oozing out its pores. In fact, on my last visit I went with my best friend E, and her son M, a bonified O Chame' baby.   E & J met while working the floor there, soon became a couple, and although J defected to the IT industry and later became a nurse, E stayed on for an additional 8 years. Many of my other co-workers also have held long tenures, a few of them in the teens now. And guess what, we are all still regulars, O Chame' being a must-have-once-a-month sort of place. You get the picture. A dedicated group. Perhaps David's food is addicting. I once had Bonnie Raitt tell me that the grilled shitake mushrooms were so ethereal she felt as if she "had just smoked opium" (yes, that is exactly what she said).

Oh yeah, the food. Well, for a "Japanese" restaurant, you may be in for a bit of a shock, as one won't find sushi, teriyaki or shumai on the menu. Tempura just barely made it on after years of resistance. Crispy, light, and served with daikon laced dipping sauce, sweet potatoes sit alongside juliennes of asparagus and earthy burdock root.   A beautiful snow crab and kabocha pumpkin croquette is also one of the more traditional items you may find - served with a bonito flake infused ponzu sauce, the portion of two left me wanting for more, but that is the problem with O Chame', it is hard not to gobble up the entire menu, especially since as I scan the list, I know intimately the flavors of each dish before they hit my tongue, like an old lover whose scent still lingers in my limbic memory...

Hamachi Sashimi with Braised Leeks and Horseradish Sauce - a standard favorite of mine, was perfectly fresh and slightly seared, the horseradish sauce an unusual twist when you would probably expect wasabi (which they have in the back if you must). I am embarrassed that we couldn't pull the camera out fast enough to snap a photo before half of it was gobbled up.

The seasonal Corn and Green Onion Pancake, seemingly light, yet suspiciously crispy on the outside, the perfect vehicle for dipping in the drizzle-on-everything vinegar-ey mayonnaise sauce, and is something I can't visit without ordering, as is the Blanched Spinach with Sesame Dressing - a very traditional gomae. This dish has no added oil save for the rich, ground sesame seeds that provide a textural and nutty component. Rounded out with soy sauce, vinegar (and a few secret ingredients), it is perfectly balanced.

Vinegared Cucumbers with Shiso Leaf and Radishes has that refreshing crunch complimented with the herbaceous shiso.

Grilled River Eel with Belgian Endive is one that we ended up order two of, as E's son, only 3 years old, eats like an adult and I just couldn't get enough of the smokey, sweet and salty eel atop lightly dressed, slightly bittersweet endive leaves.

Since the Hamachi was so great, I opted for the Sashimi salad, where it is sliced thinly, marinated for a quick second in seasoning, and served simply with lightly dressed greens.

Although we couldn't manage to make it past the appetizers, O Chame' also has a broad selection of deliciously light, yet satisfying dashi based soups that come with a choice of Soba or Udon noodles boasting toppings you won't find at most Japanese places: Grilled Sardines, Pork Tenderloin, Smoked Trout, Simmered Beef Shoulder... Yes, they do have Shrimp Tempura Udon for the traditionalists out there... These soups are a favorite among the die-hards, like an elixir to warm one's bones on a cold winter day. David also offers 3 -4 entrees per day, varying from Salmon, Yellowtail, California Bass, Grilled Flank Steak or Braised Beef Shoulder all atop magical vegetables that swim delightfully in variously flavored dashi based sauces. His wine, sake and tea list is simple yet well selected, often with a few french varietals by the glass to compliment the delicate flavors of his food.

As we sat with our sakes, trying our best not to fight over the last precious morsels, we were delighted to see regular faces filter in through the door, including a couple of O Chame' alumni who, after many hugs and kisses, shuffled up to eat at the bar. A couple were seated near us, ordered their usual pancakes, eel and sobas, and smiled wide when they looked over and saw E and myself, familiar faces like fixtures still in place after all those years. The sweet lady "texted" her niece and said it was "like an O Chame' reunion." These folks clearly feel the same about the place as we do, as eating at O Chame' and the entirety of its smells, seats, lights, feelings and delectable, consistent flavors has a certain magic to it, like coming home.

O Chame'
1830 4th Street
Berkeley
510-841-8783

A Sucker for the Turntable - Humble Pie, Penngrove

2010-07-07T11:45:00.000-07:00

Hey there. Yup, things have been dark on the writing side lately. Midlife crisis aside, I have been experiencing some pretty cool places up here in Sonoma County. One of my current favorites is a tiny little place in Penngrove called "Humble Pie".

My friend K lives right down the street from this place and suggested we spend a Sunday morning checking out their brunch selections. To the unfamiliar, Penngrove is a tiny 1 block town, (see photo above, I lifted it from Wikipedia, as my camera wasn't functioning properly...). What you see there, well that is it. Looks like an old western town, which is the case with all of these towns in Southwestern Sonoma County, a little clue as to why I'm so smitten...

Situated adjacent to the Black Cat bar (in fact, they share a pass through door into the dining room), Humble Pie is the brainchild of two couples (as far as I can tell): Brooke and Dan McCann, Joshua Norwitt and Miriam Donaldson. Their motto is to use food from their own farm, situated in Petaluma off Roblar Road, and round it with local produce, chicken and meat, all natural and organic from our lovely Sonoma County lands.

Enough about the philosophy, what about the food??? And what about the place? Humble Pie is easily the smallest restaurant I've ever eaten at. All 6 tables are crowded into a room not much larger than my "small" living room, which isn't a problem if there are tables available, which thank God there were on that morning, as the party I went to the night before was still ringing in my ears, the 90 degree heat outside a little blinding for my inflamed brain cells. They only serve brunch on Sunday from 10am - 3pm, so keep that in mind when venturing up from the City.

A small but well represented menu includes Eggs Benedict, Housemade Milk and Honey Bread (Toast if you must and French Toast if you really must), an open faced "Steak Sandie", fresh grapefruit juice Mimosa's, oh and last but not least, a turntable on the way into the kitchen cranking out tunes from vinyl, yes, real vinyl - vinyl that must be put on, and turned over and then replaced every 25 minutes or so (yes, you remember...). Okay, I hadn't yet eaten one morsel of their tasty food and was already a huge fan. Oh, and by the way, with the bar right through the pass through door, a Bloody Mary and various other cocktails can also be had.

K had the Steak Sandie - a huge pile of perfectly medium rare Flank Steak with balsamic glazed onions and horseradish creme fraiche atop homemade bread with a huge pile of greens on the side. She barely made a dent in it (or so it seemed from my vantage point across the large table) when she proclaimed "finito" and had the rest boxed for the hubby. C (K's son) had toast and fruit, which was arranged like a cutey-patooty happy face, cantaloupe wedge as the smile. I had the Eggs Benedict (sauce on side please) which came with refried smashed potatoes which if you haven't figured out by now, is pretty much my favorite food. Potatoes, yes, mashed, even better, mashed and crispy on the outside, well, you get the picture. Good coffee and "Magic Bus" playing in the background, we couldn't find a reason not to try this place out for dinner, so promptly made reservations for the following Wednesday night.

Our friend E joined us for dinner and C came along too (he's like a little adult, very self entertaining). After some juicy and amply sized firecracker shrimp atop a nice creamy mound of mashed Yukon Golds, shared with a perfectly chilled bottle of J Cuvee (purchased there), we popped my Sequoia Grove Syrah and eagerly awaited the Whole Stuffed Trout (described with quotes from Hemmingway) and the "Pork Chop of Awe and Wonder" - sugar and spice brined pork goodness, which came, not surprisingly, atop a mound of more mashed Yukon Golds. The pork was perfectly cooked, not too "hammy" as sometimes happens when the brine is too strong or it sits too long, and the trout, stuffed with greens and bacon, was delish! Who knows what C was eating, as he was busy with his puzzle and Christmas music piped into his headphones (yes, I know, pretty cute). Two entrees amidst 3 girls and we were STUFFED. The only complaint most people may have about this place, is that almost everything comes with mashed Yukon Gold potatoes. For me, however, David Bowie on vinyl in the background (chchchch-changes), our charming waiter/owner, good wine, good friends and mashed potatoes, well, one couldn't ask for anything more.

www.humblepiepenngrove.com

10045 Main Street
Penngrove, CA 94951
(707) 664-8779

Persian in the South Bay

2010-05-13T11:13:00.000-07:00

Okay, it may be "politically incorrect" to say "Persian", but that's what the people of Iran call their food. One must admit it sounds better than "Iranian?"   Besides the fact that Persian food is fantastic, hugely underrated and majorly underrepresented in the realm of ethnic eating,  I found myself in the company of my oldest friend Amy, in a hotel in Millbrae, overlooking the airport tarmac and wondering what to eat in the South Bay. Amy was in town from upstate New York for a conference and had invited me to hang for a couple of days. Back in our twenties, she dated a Persian guy for many, many years, and one of my earliest ethnic food memories was having an incredible plate of cherry rice and lamb kebabs at a hole in the wall restaurant near his home way out in the bum-f&*k inland empire (socal). Having lived in Rochester for the last 20 or so years, Persian was Amy's first choice (and being from Southern California, Mexican was her second).

My quick search on the SFGate site yielded 8 results, Shalizaar got 2 stars and was just "down the block" in Belmont. It looked only a mile or two away by my google maps estimate, but of course I didn't look at the mileage scale at the bottom...
First though, we needed to get a much needed happy hour drink so we cruised down the road to the Elephant Bar, a place recommended by the very nice valet at the Westin. A packed parking lot gave us a glimpse of what was in store: A bar full of every 20 something office worker from South San Francisco to San Mateo.  This definitely was not our scene and although the place looked "interesting", serving Asian inspired fare with a tropical drink list as long as my arm, we could barely think over the din, let alone find an empty seat. Instead, we settled on a much quieter Kinkaid's a mile or two down the road and a pretty damn good Bloody Mary set me on the right track to get my tastebuds going.
Armed with a bottle of 2006 Quintessa (I have friends in high places), we hopped over to El Camino Real, the main artery connecting all of the South Bay towns (besides the freeway of course) and proceeded south for serveral miles, finally finding the restaurant. I have to say I was relieved in advance to find the exterior rather large and ornate, as I just wouldn't have felt right bringing a bottle of Q to a hole in the wall, you know what I mean?

In true Persian style, the place resembled a palace inside, with a large, ornate chandelier greeting us, high ceilings, arches and spaciousness. It smelled terrific and I could hardly wait to sink my teeth into any of the wide range of kebab dishes on the menu. They also had rice dishes with stews of this sort and that, and a nice array of appetizers, including fresh herbs with feta and housemade lavash.  Similar to Indian naan, the lavash is done in a special oven and comes out nice and soft, perfect for stuffing things into, lapping up sauces, folding like a taco. We were happy the fresh herb, feta and walnut basket (Sabzi) were part of the standard bread service, (as we had intended on ordering it), so we ordered the cucumbers with Persian yogurt (Mast-o-Khiar), popped that bottle of Quintessa and got down to business.

Chicken kebabs, lamb kebabs, beef tenderloin marinated in yogurt, ground beef kebabs, a combination plate, what to order? Amy promptly asked out waiter if they had "cherry" rice. A big fat "no" was the answer. No hesitation, just "no, we don't have that today". Awwwhhh what a disappointment. Really, he wasn't even going to ask the chef? Cherry rice is considered a specialty made with dried cherries and compliments the meats from this region with a splash of sweetness. Well, we would have to do with their standard rice, a saffron and butter infused Persian basmati, grains of goodness to mix with the yogurt, meat chunks, herbs...

I chose a combination of yogurt marinated tenderloin kebab and ground lamb kebab. Amy got the ground beef and ground chicken. For the uninitiated, ground meats are the mainstay of the kebab in the middle east. Shalizaar does offer the more familiar "Shish Kebab", skewered with onions and bell peppers, but are nothing like the overly-chewy skewers of meat, bell peppers, tomatoes and sometimes (eeghads) pineapple that our Mom's experimented with back in the 70's, when Julia Child and Graham Kerr ruled the airwaves. The menu provided the option to do half rice and half salad. I wished I had paid attention to the large mounds of rice on the tables around us, as the half salad option would have been the better route and give us a few more shards of fiber to round out the meat and carbs. Not to complain, because when the familiar plate of kebab over rice with a roasted tomato (for chopping up and eating with each bite) arrived, Amy and I barely looked up as we ate and drank our way past all of the years that had passed between our first Persian meal together. The richness of the Bordeaux style blend went surprisingly well with our food. The tenderloin marinated in yogurt was as soft as butter, with a slight piquant from the yogurt, and layers of slightly scented cumin, coriander and cardomom rounding out the perfectly cooked chunks. The lamb kebab was all I ever hoped for, a nice gamey-ness, perfectly seasoned, and cooked through but with no relation to a hockey puck whatsoever.

Huge plates of food still stood before us as we raised the white flag. Of course I couldn't let things go to waste, as Amy still had another conference to go to and I had the inkling that cold rice, meat and flatbread would actually not be such a bad mid day snack after the hotel gym.

Way too full for dessert, my dear friend was quick to ask for "tea". A standard black concoction that is traditionally drunk by sucking on a sugar cube and letting the tea dissolve the cube as it washes over your tongue. A sweet end to a great meal, and another memory to add to the long list we have compiled between us.

http://www.shalizaar.com/
300 El Camino Real
Belmont, CA 94002
(650) 596-9000

Santa Rosa Saturday Market

2010-04-12T12:51:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to make it up to Santa Rosa for the Saturday Farmer's Market at the Veteren's Memorial parking lot for weeks, as my friend Brook sells Black Sheep Farms organic pork, lamb and beef every Saturday, making the dedicated early trek from the City to support her brother's small Potter Valley(Mendocino) operation.

Heavy looking clouds loomed as I parked in the spacious lot, conveniently located off the E Street exit on highway 12 (right across from the fairgrounds). Going to the market starving is like going to the grocery store in the same state, as everything looks great and of course, the spring produce is just starting to pick up. But what really peaked my interest was the wide array of prepared food stalls beckoning to me for a mid morning breakfast. What to choose, what to choose? I oogled the Indian food, supple garbanzo beans, rice and greens. Barbequed oysters, Mexican food, Mediterranean fare, Yucatano food, and California cuisine were all very viable choices. I couldn't help but notice the term "suckling pig" and "poached eggs" on Rosso's chalkboard as I rounded the corner to seek out Brook and have a visit.

While much smaller than its Marin Civic Center counterpart, what sets this market apart is that most of the prepared food vendors are local. You won't find Donna's Tamales (gotta love them though), Sukhi's Indian Chutneys or the Roli Roti Rotisserie. Instead you'll find Mateo Granados' incredible booth boasting food from the Yucatan using that day's farmer's market meats and produce. I was envious of my friend's Mediterranean style sausage from Mommy's Yammy's (pictured right), featuring Franco's sausage from Scopa Restaurant in Healdsburg.

Uncertain what to choose for breakfast (as I truly wanted it all) I treated myself to a coffee from Gaga's coffee, featuring fair trade organic beans, roasted just this week and brewed to order by friendly (and funny) "baristas". They do it the right way, dripped fresh right into your cup. Blue Bottle, watch out, you've got some serious competition.

With all of the options for food, that damn suckling pig kept calling out to me from the back corner of the market. I've been wanting to make it to Rosso Pizzeria in Santa Rosa for some time, so this foray would have to be my introduction. Their chalkboard was a little confusing, listing poached eggs, yukon potato hash, the aforementioned roast suckling pig, foccacia...

Why pick and choose when you can get the whole shebang for $12. Okay, yeah, its the farmer's market, why go if you aren't prepared to pay some cash for premium produce picked just that day, and pig roasted on the spot?

About 5 minutes later, my plate was ready so I parked myself at a picnic table tucked off to the side, the perfect spot to watch the action, and have an insiders view of the back of the booth boasting a cuban style roasting box, replete with instructions on how to roast a pig in just 4 hours. A little quiet over in this corner of the market, it wasn't hard for the sweet girls at Rosso's booth to hear me gushing over and over again about the heavenly goodness of my cold spring morning breakfast. The egg was perfectly poached and adorned with bright green arugula pesto. A dollop of rhubarb compote accompanied the perfectly cooked pig, crispy skin a-plenty to crunch with the yukon gold, green garlic hash dotted with caramelized carrots. As if this wasn't enough, a crunchy, olive oily square of foccacia was provided to soak everything up. I'm glad my instincts were spot on that day, because
I'm still not over how good it was. I chatted up Rosso's owner, Chef John Franchetti, and he was nice enough to pose for a photo, holding up a large spoon of hash, Cuban pig box cooker in the background. I can hardly wait to make it to Rosso the restaurant, but in the meantime, I'll have this perfect breakfast etched in my memory.

Full, fat and happy, I picked up some Hawaiian-Portugese style sausage as well as some traditional Italian sausage from Black Sheep Farms. I can't wait to make some pasta with the italian, or blend the portugese style with beans and rice for a traditional portugese stew. The Spring Hill Dairy folks were there, so I bought some organic shallot and herb scented butter as well as some goat milk feta. Leon Day, of Leon Day's condiments, tasted me on almost everything in his booth, habanero sauce included. I managed to get away with a spicy peanut satay sauce that I can't wait to try on some marinated chicken. At one of the last booths on the way out, I picked up some veggie starters for my home garden: tomatillos, zebra stripe tomatoes, early girls, red onions, and borage; just in time, as the raindrops had just begun to fall.

http://www.rossopizzeria.com/
http://www.santarosafarmersmarket.blogspot.com/ (provides a listing of most of the vendors)
http://www.mateogranados.com/

I haven't yet been, but I've heard you can find many of the same food and vendors at the Sebastopol Farmer's Market on Sundays. Guess you know where to find me.

Sonoma eats - Della Santina

2010-04-03T00:36:00.000-07:00

A trip to downtown Sonoma for dinner was a great diversion last week. Since moving north, I've pretty much been holed up in my small apartment, hiking daily in the nearby open space, and not driving very far. Not that I'm complaining. My poor car needed a workout though, so I ventured across Stage Gulch road, the backroad into Sonoma from Petaluma. Stage Gulch is a gorgeous drive, with expansive mustard fields dotted with new spring poppies around every turn.  The Tin Bar is on the corner of Stage Gulch and Lakeville Hwy. I've always wanted to stop there for a drink, but haven't wanted to have to get in the car afterward, as shots of Jameson and beers seem like they'd be the norm (and when in Rome...). A few miles further, in between vineyards and rolling oak trees, is the turnoff to Willie Bird Farms, a free range turkey farm that has been there forever. A trip between Sonoma and Petaluma is about 25 minutes max, and that's door to door, town square to town... well, Petaluma doesn't really have a square, but you know what I'm getting at.

Sliding into a parking space in the very quaint middle of town, I decided on a quick drink at The Girl and the Fig, one of many restaurants, cheese shops, and boutique inns lining Sonoma's historic square. The Sonoma Mission (actually called the Mission San Francisco Solano) spans the northeast corner, which is the last mission to be built, and apparently not approved by Spain's government, since they must have known exactly what they were disapproving of from way the hell across the Atlantic.  Rumors say they built it because Mission Dolores was too cold and was making the Indians sick. Or was it the white man's diseases? Better to blame it on the weather... The square is also the site of the famous "Bear Flag Revolt", a battle to try to gain independence from northern creeping Mexico territory (which eventually occurred during the ensuing Mexican American War).

Enough of history though, and back to food and drink. As the Girl and the Fig is one of the Sonoma's most notable restaurants. I sidled up to the bar and one of my old standbys, St. Germain Elderflower Liquour, called out to me (I am a girl, after all), . A quick perusal of the menu and in matter of seconds (it really was that fast) I had a gin, St. Germain, Lillet, lemon concoction before me. Small but strong, I was feeling pretty good and about to order a second when my friend M finally showed up. We decided to stay on for another drink and "snack" (as he likes to put it). The "snack" consisted of Grass Fed Steak Tartare with cornichons, mustard, and toasts. Deliciously seasoned with capers, the tartare, which until I met M, I could take or leave, was a fabulous start to an indulgent evening. A glass of Central Coast Viognier was just fruity and floral enough to balance the piquant mustard. M settled on a Racer 5 beer, which also went very well with the salty/vinegar of the dish.

Ambling down the street for more "snacks," we were disappointed to find the Harvest Moon Cafe closed on Tuesdays. How dare they?! Instead of walking the short distance to the other side of the square (as prior so-so experiences at the El Dorado Kitchen had left us wanting), we jumped into the car and parked over on the southeast corner (yes lazy, but why walk off a nice buzz?). We poked our heads into Cafe LeHaye, full and bustling for a warm spring Tuesday, and then decided on Della Santina, an old-school Italian place I was already fond of, even though I had never once been. You see, Shirley and Dan Della Santina are regulars at one of my old jobs and always took care of me. The sweetest couple, I was glad to be spending my hard earned bucks in their establishment. Of course I wasn't expecting them to be working, as their son Robert runs the place now. Dan is still the chef though, and his recipes hail back to the old country with items like Gnocchi alla Nonna on the menu, it brings a tear to eye imagining his Tuscan mother rolling and cutting long ropes of potato laced dough. A brick alleyway leads to interior dining rooms and bar and ends in an enclosed brick patio, straight out of Europe, with white latticework and an old Wisteria vine twisting this way and that. Slightly funky and probably built in 1922, the patio gives off a familial, rustic and unpretentious air. The setting prepared me to possibly forgive a few missteps on the food.   Like travelling in a different country, I was ready for anything.

That's probably why when M said "Tripa" four times, looking for a nod of approval from me, I gave in and said, "sure".  You see, in all of my time visiting restaurants over the years, the only place I've ever bothered to notice tripe is in giant bowls of menudo on Saturday and Sunday mornings while I stop into my local taqueria for a (hungover) spicy fix. Somehow, this is one organ meat that seems to have found its way right past me. M is Brazilian, and apparently tripe is alive and well in the Brazilian food repertoire.   That doesn't surprise me, as us "Americans" are hopelessly behind the times when it comes to offal, hooves and snouts.

We chose a spinach and arugula salad, the tripe, and an organic Porterhouse steak to split. That's what happens when you are dining with a Brazilian: meat, meat and more meat. We were both starving, and the arugula and spinach salad with roasted garlic vinaigrette went down fast. Robert sent out a second salad of mixed greens draped with thinly sliced pork loin.. By this time we had our wine, a 2003 Mastroberardino Radici Taurasi. 100% Aglianico, indigenous to Campagna.  The saline, earthy and dusty nature of this great Italian red provided a perfect complement to the mustard dressing. And of course the Brazilian was happy another meat dish had hit the table.

Next came the tripe, an ample bowl dotted with chunks of sausage sitting atop crispy polenta triangles. A moment of hesitation ensued, would I be mortified by this huge dish of entrails, leaving my dining partner to revel all by his lonesome? One bite and the answer came: must-have-more. Soft and only chewy enough to not fall apart, with all those microvilli soaking up the zesty tomato sauce, followed with a crispy bite of polenta... You may be squirming in your seat reading this, especially the graphic scientific terms. Knowing me a bit better you wouldn't be surprised. Dinner conversation has no limits in my book. And apparently I am now a huge tripe fan. I'm not sure why I'm surprised by this, as anything connective tissue oriented: gristle, that membrane that pulls away from the pork ribs when it is perfectly done cooking, chewy fat morsels... Okay, you get the picture.

Okay, so needless to say we polished off that bowl in a short time. I would have more photos of the food, but the lighting was so dim, my poor cell phone just could not make anything out. I was a slight bit concerned we didn't save enough room for the Porterhouse, but when it arrived, a beautiful grass fed organic piece of love, glistening with charred goodness from the grill, we had to fight for how to divide up the NY and tenderloin. And of course, who gets the edge with all that amazing caramelized fat?? (we split that too)
The steak was perfectly cooked medium rare, with just enough crispy roasted potatoes to chase down each bite (although I could have used a few more, but isn't that always the case for me?). As we polished off the wine, full bellies and the warm spring breeze swirling about the dining room, I hoped Robert didn't have any tiramisu left, as there was no possible way I could fit one more morsel. I'd have to wait for next time, and there would definitely be a next time, as my first visit to Della Santinas had been way tardy, and I had some catching up to do.

Della Santinas, 133 E. Napa Street, Sonoma
http://www.dellasantinas.com/

The Girl and The Fig, 110 W. Spain Street, Sonoma
http://www.thegirlandthefig.com/

Harvest Moon Cafe, 487 1st Street West, Sonoma
http://www.harvestmooncafesonoma.com/

Cafe La Haye, 140 E. Napa Street, Sonoma
http://www.cafelahaye.com/

Tara Firma Farms hosts Joel Salatin at IONS

2010-03-07T10:24:00.000-08:00

So many things to write about these days and so little time with the new job and all. I was lucky to snag one of the last seats at the Joel Salatin a few Wednesdays ago, sponsored by Tara Firm Farms.  I had vaguely remembered Mr.Salatin's frank manner from the documentary, Food, Inc. But his principles and farming style really stood out to me as I read about Michael Pollan's experiences living and working on his Virginia based Polyface Farms, in the book, The Omnivore's Dilemma. Pollan ended up there because he had inquired about Polyface shipping him some of their beef or chicken so he could compare it to standard grocery store fare (he lives in Berkeley). Salatin wouldn't have it, only selling to people who can come to his farm to pick it up. I was captivated by Pollan's apt description of Polyface's committment to rotational grazing animals and fowl in a systematic way.  This method regenerates the landscape for continual energy output and leaves a negative carbon footprint while allowing the animals to exercise their innate animal instincts (letting chickens be chickens). Salatin writes books, lectures and produces instructive videos as to how to practice his farming methods. The folks at Tara Firm are dedicated to farming using these standards. In fact, reading his materials and watching his videos is how the Smith's decided to start a farm, and they use these instructional treatises to help guide them through each step of the process.

The setting for the dinner and talk couldn't have been more special. Held at the Institute of Noetic Sciences, way up on the hill above San Antonio Valley. San Antonio what? For those of you who never make it over the bridge (shame, shame), San Antonio Valley is the beautiful rolling acreage you see on your left as you cross the Sonoma-Marin County line driving north on Hwy 101. It has always been one of the more captivating landscapes in the area to me, and even 25 years ago when I was a peon in Santa Rosa I remember gazing at the beautiful countryside and falling in love. This time of year is the greatest, as the bright sun hasn't had a chance to dry out the hillsides and the mustard is just starting to go off in its expanse of yellow carpet. The oak trees seem happy (I swear) as does the grass, the burgeoning poppies, the flowering plums which are just coming into full bloom and the myriad of wildflowers about to burst forth even more spring goodness. Okay, I'm gushing, but you would too if you were surrounded by all of this beauty - its hard not to smile.

Up at IONS, which incidentally has been around since the 70's at least, they host talks, seminars, retreats and the like. Their facility is huge, set on about 200 acres high up on the hill. The main purpose behind IONS is that they "conduct and sponsor leading-edge research into the potentials and powers of consciousness—including perceptions, beliefs, attention, intention, and intuition." (sorry I lifted it straight from their website). I'm no stranger to IONS, as for many years they have been one of the only private funding institutions for alternative medicine research, you know, the kind that isn't really in the market of making money, but instead dedicated to the health of the population and prevention of many of our society's ails. They are more focused on metaphysical and spirituality based research now it seems, which is basically just another factor along the continuum of health as far as I can tell.

Did I digress? And you are surprised!!?? About 100 of us lucky ticket-holders gathered pre-dinner sipping wine in the dining room and roaming around the gardens. What a wonderful space- it reminded me of Esalen in Big Sur (minus the crashing waves and hot tubs). A diverse crowd showed for the event: folks who volunteer their time to manage the drop-offs of Tara Firma's CSA boxes, writers, photographers, a local Dad whose daughter brought him along to educate him about what she finds important for her health and hopefully her family's. I ran into a couple of familiar faces but chose to sit at a table where I knew no one, as why go to an event alone if not to meet new people, right? I must have had my homing device well tuned, as it turns out that I ate dinner next to Robin Carpenter, producer of KWMR's Farm Report that airs on Mondays (http://www.westmarinradio.net/). She was a real hoot and gives workshops on non-fiction writing with a bend toward the environment, sustainability, and of course, food. She has interviewed Tara Smith for her radio show a few times and judging from Tara's ease in front of an audience, I'm sorry I didn't catch them.
Tara Smith is the most natural public speaker I've seen in a while. She has a warm, confident and humble way of communicating her farm's mission and even threw in a few self-depricating jokes to keep us attentive (get that poor woman a manicure!). Most of the crew behind Tara Firm Farm was there and put into the spotlight for all of us to applaud, as well as the staff behind the great dinner we proceeded to scarf down. Cooking dozens of chickens, pork loins and an incredible array of vegetables, all from Tara Firma, I'm sure took a couple of days of prep. The did a great job with hand massaged kale with lemon and pumpkin seeds, roasted butternut squash, salads and beets, chicken simply roasted to bring out the natural flavors, and pork with cranberry glaze.   Another gal made a huge production of meyer lemon cake which was incredible, as I usually don't even eat dessert.

After dinner, we made our way across the courtyard to an intimately small amphitheater to meet the guest of honor.   Salatin entered the small lecture hall, serious behind big glasses, adorning an academic blue jacket and khaki pants, with charachatures of chickens embroidered into his tie. His effervescent personality was captivating, bubbling forth like a minister, cracking jokes and quoting statistics that had us all in wonder and laughing at the same time.  Quite the wordsmith, Salatin strung adjectives and movements together in long run-ons that I can't even attempt to mimic or replicate. When the crowd laughed, he repeated his hyphenated adjective string, rolling off his tongue like a new catch phrase for a movement that all 100 of us are in the crux of incubating, a very small percentage of the very small percentage of the population dedicated to the organic/sustainable food movement.

Geez' I'm sounding like a holy roller here. You'd think I just joined a cult or something. You have to understand though, what he does is so "no brainer" that it leaves my head spinning as to how our food production system has gotten so fricken out of whack: cows eating corn, and chickens never seeing the light of day. Salatin has the intellect of a professor, scientific facts rolling off his tongue, equally at ease speaking of how to slaughter a chicken as he is of current government legislature aimed at trying to overregulate small (not government subsidized) farms. His words were dense and left me much to think about, ruminate on, digest. Perhaps it is bad journalism on my part, no tape recorder, no notepad, just taking in someone's energy and passion. And passion is an understatement when it comes to Salatin. As he puts it, when things start to change the people at the front of the movement are called "lunatics," he views himself as only slightly past that label, if at all. However, because most people are followers and not leaders, it only takes 10% of a population to hit the tipping point, when the new paradigm becomes the standard. A guest asked him how to get his message out, how to convince their skeptical friends. He said not to try to convince them. They will only see when they open their hearts.

You may find his lecture on http://www.russianriver.tv/
Rent Food, Inc.
check out his website: http://www.polyfacefarms.com/

Tara Firma Farms

2010-02-17T23:41:00.000-08:00

I was very lucky enough to spend a very sunny and clear Sunday morning out at Tara Firma Farms, a few miles west of Petaluma, on "I" Street extension. They offer farm tours every Sunday on the hour from mid morning to early afternoon.

Craig and Tara Smith, proprietors of Tara Firma Farms, came into Central Market for dinner the other night. Coincidentally (or not) I had just been poking around their website earlier that day. In fact, I emailed them about a special dinner they are sponsering for now-famous Virginia farmer, Joel Salatin. If any of you read The Omnivore's Dilemma, Michael Pollan's treatise on the benefits of sustainable farming and the negatives of Monsanto and their corn/cow industrial machine model, you will remember Salatin as the owner of Polyface Farms, where he rotates his fowl and cattle systematically to increase the recovery period of the grazed grasslands, and maximize the animals' natural grazing and foraging behaviors.

The Smith's at Tara Firma are emulating Polyface in that manner, as well as other sustainable, ecologically rich practices that make me proud to live just a few miles down the road. Cheery with a tanned face and infectious energy, Craig showed Tony Najiola (my new boss) and I around the ranch, traipsing down muddy roads lined with bright green and white milk thistle plants, under electric fences and out to the chicken pens which they move every few days so the chickens have fresh greenery to ingest. The cattle were high up on the hill happily munching on fresh grass blades. We made our way across the muddy field (thank God for my new Orchard Supply Hardware $17 rubber boots!) and admired more chickens out in the open: colorful reds, whites and grey plummage pecking around their mobile chicken coop and hanging around the edges of the pig pens.

At dusk Craig and his staff corral them back in to ensure safety from the racoons, opossum, and coyotes that would love a fresh plump chicken dinner (and I can't quite blame them). The pigs, well they are another story. Loving the mud and rooting around in the dirt, they couldn't have looked happier. Large sows laid on their sides, teats exposed for the little 2 week olds running around. There were about a dozen 2 month olds and quite a few beheamoths oinking and snorting and sticking their noses through the fence. I wanted to stay there all day watching them be their pig selves.

We finished the tour walking through a large open barn where the Smith's hold events and parties, inviting the community to experience their way of life, and turning people on to their CSA meat boxes, $35 or so dollars a week, with an alottment of fresh meat, chickens and vegetables, perfect for a small family and way healthier than anything you will find at Safeway. Tara Firma feeds about 100 or so families a week off their produce and meats, and connect the folks in our community to the freshness and health of non-factory farmed organic meats and greens. Tara Firma also has a farm store that you can stop by and pick up their seasonal offerings without the commitment of a weekly drop.

http://www.tarafirmafarms.com/
Tours Sundays starting at 10.

For the love of Quark - The Petaluma Creamery

2010-02-05T12:29:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday morning's sunshine was welcomed with a nice long walk out to the edge of town, up to the end of B Street, and looping back down Western Avenue. Happy horses and cows munched on grass probably enjoying the sun as much as I was, and a huge-sounding bullfrog exercised his lungs, echoing off a tumble of rocks that traversed a small stream. The green hills sparkled with early spring mustard blossoms. Even though its not quite spring, as it was still January, but who could tell? It was 58 degrees and the rolling farmlands were simply shimmering with emerald lushness.

Down on Western, just a few blocks from the center of town, I happened upon the Petaluma Creamery. Being a neighborhood institution since 1913, the Creamery (as the locals call it), was recently purchased by Spring Hill Jersey Cheese Company and revived, keeping alive the ability for small local dairies to process their milk there. The other great thing about Spring Hill Jersey Cheese Co. is that most of their products are organic! Yay! The Spring Hill Farm is only 7 miles out Western Avenue (which eventually turns into Spring Hill Road) in Two Rock Valley. This land of dairy farmers harkens back to well over 100 years ago when Italian, Swiss, German and Irish immigrants set up homesteads, bringing their native traditions with them. I imagine the landscape doesn't look much different now than it did then, as many of the farmhouses are original and the nearest neighbors are still quite a walk over to the next hill.

You know I've never been a purist (well, it sorta depends on what we're talking about), but organic dairy products are a must. They don't contain the fat soluble pesticides and hormones that other products unknowingly have (they certainly look the same though, right?). Not to pontificate, but most people don't realize that butterfat concentrates these toxic and disruptive substances. I was once taught by the local well known herbalist, Adam Seller, (although hard pressed to find a reference on the Web about it) that butterfat is one of the only fats absorbed directly across the gut into our bloodstreams, bypassing the liver. So, in essence, not to be morbid, but standard "non-organic" butter has scary stuff possibly piggybacking across our gut walls, getting a free ride to wreak havok on cells and tissues. Hmmm, food, or I should say, fat for thought, eh?

Back to the Creamery though (even though I may have now ruined your appetite). Housed in the original wooden clapboard building from the early 1900's and looking straight out of an old western, the Creamery makes an impressive array of organic cheeses, various butters (some flavored, some not), and ice cream! Samples abound, some made with goat milk, and some with Jersey cow milk (hence the name), many flavored with herbs. The Jersey milk has a higher percentage butterfat than regular Holstein dairy cows, producing richer products. Large scale commerical dairies usually don't use the Jersey breed because their yield is so much less than the Holstein's, making them not as economically viable. (and we know, in large scale food production, it all comes down to the almighty buck...) Speaking of which, I had no cash during my first visit to the Creamery, having been out exercising, and felt a little guilty working my way through the samples, using way too many toothpicks (no double dipping, of course!).

Some cheeses were deliciously sharp and distinctively "grassy" tasting, and others, like my favorite, quark, creamy and indulgent. I'm a huge ricotta fan, sneaking bites as a kid when my Mom was making lasagna and stuffed manicotti. The Creamery's quark reminds me of a cross between ricotta and cream cheese. German style in origin (as opposed to French style, which is firmer like a brie or camembert), quark has about the same fat content as lowfat cream cheese, which means I can happily eat it by the spoonful without even the need for a bagel (ha ha, just kidding, sort of).

Sold in half pint tubs, quark comes plain, garlic infused, vanilla bean, or my personal favorite: lemon (pictured on right).
A few days later, money in hand, I went back and bought some quark and a pound of fresh butter. The Creamery also sells fresh local free range eggs and straight curd (milk solids without the watery whey), the essential start to fresh mozzarella making. I have yet to dig into their small organic ice cream collection, but with flavors like lavendar, lemon chiffon and espresso, and $8 a quart, I'm sure to make this a destination spot with friends and out of town guests, old school style and just 3 blocks from my house.
http://www.springhillcheese.com/

Rocker Oysterfeller's, Valley Ford, CA

2010-01-31T02:34:00.000-08:00

It took only a slight twisting of the arm to get my girlfriends to drive out to Rocker Oysterfeller's Kitchen + Saloon in Valley Ford on my last Friday night off (for a while at least). It had been raining for days, and even though I looked forward to some southern fare in the “country”, I understood their trepidation after commuting at 20 mph in huge downpours earlier that day. This week between jobs has been no vacation, as moving on Wednesday was done in the midst of torrential downpours, my brother and I muscling my inflexible couch up the narrow stairwell of my new Victorian flat on B Street. The Temperapedic mattress posed another unwieldy challenge. Not to mention I basically have too much shit.

So back to Valley Ford and why the hell I picked a restaurant in the middle of nowhere on a rainy-ish Friday night? Situated about 20 miles west of Petaluma, on Hwy One, Valley Ford forms the eastern apex of a triangle between Bodega Bay to the north, and Tomales Bay to the south. I passed through there last September on my quest for oysters (Oysters in Marshall post, September…). And a few weeks ago in my search for a place to call home, I met a guy who happened to be one of the chefs there. While we stood in his kitchen and chatted about the fact that there was no way I could live all the way out in Bloomfield (yes, there is a town named Bloomfield about 15 miles west of Petaluma), I sipped on his incredible homemade Kombucha and made plans to go check out the restaurant, as I’m always up for a road trip if food is promised.

Having looked at their website with good reviews of hearty southern fare, I coerced my friends to go check it out with me. My sister was only committed to pre-dinner drinks at my new flat, but after a little wine she gave in and decided to join us. As we pulled up, I felt like we were way out west, as it is truly in the boondocks (did I already mention that)? Nothing but big sky, cows and sheep roaming the pastures. Rocker Oysterfellers is housed in the base of the Valley Ford Hotel, an old clapboard style building with the saloon up front and dining room in the back. We thought of sitting in the bar to eat, as it was pretty lively, but there wasn't a table to fit the four of us, so we continued on to the dining room.

Sparsely populated with a few local families finishing up their suppers, the room's wooden tables were adorned with paper placemats, nice wine glasses, and cloth napkins, giving the place a rustic elegance. A local artist's Sonoma County landscape paintings randomly accented the walls. It was only 7:30 but I got the impression that folks around here eat early. Got to get up and milk the cows and all that, you know. Us girls were in great moods and had to be reminded to “simmer down” as we were shooshed by the elderly group at the table next to us, digging into a giant piece of chocolate cake. "Did they just shoosh us?", I leaned in to ask my sister. Yup, they did. It is folks like that who have no idea how most places keep afloat. Scaring off people like us, new customers out to spend a little money and have a good time, could put their local “sanctuary” out of business. You know what I’m saying?

Anyhoo, Kimberly is from the south, and I saw her face light up at Rocker Oysterfellers’ down home menu boasting quite a big southern influence with cheddar grits, jalapeno corn biscuits, fried chicken, two different types of gumbo, fried okra and Tomales Bay oysters prepared every which way. While I pondered which oysters to order: fried over a Caesar salad, barbequed with either traditional style bbq sauce, Louisiana Hot, or their house signature “Rocker Oysterfeller” with bacon, arugula and cream cheese, a combination plate magically appeared on the table, compliments of the chef. Yay, gotta love that! After finding out that both Lisa and Kimberly aren’t big oyster fans, I could barely stop myself from slurping all 6 within seconds. But I had to share (with sister), my favorite being the one with Louisiana Hot sauce, but really, I wouldn’t kick the other two out of my, oh, I mean, off my plate.

After much discussion about what to order off a menu that included Crab and Artichoke cakes, numerous fresh salads boasting the pedigree of local farms, grilled local halibut and a huge sounding New York steak, we decided on a bunch of southern style comfort foods to share. Lisa and I chose Little Farms Romaine salad with Creole caesar dressing and fried oysters (yes, more oysters), the Gleason Ranch Fried Chicken and a side of Mac n' 3 cheeses. My sister and Kimberly chose cups of gumbo with andouille sausage and seafood, fried okra (not exactly listed as a side but we managed to fanagle that) and cheese grits. A side of Jalapeno Corn Biscuits automatically comes with dinner, and we wished we had more as the texture of the corn played off perfectly with a hint of heat and cheddar cheese. More please...

The caesar arrived, with chopped romaine and cornmeal fried oysters dotting the edges. I was happy with more oysters to indulge in, although they could have used a remoulade or some more dressing, as the lettuce was very sparsely adorned. In the meantime Kimberly and sis were contending with bowls of dark brown gumbo, unsuccessfully fishing around for seafood, shrimp or even a piece of andouille sausage. The soup lacked salt and unfortunately, flavor in general. Lisa and I occupied ourselves in between courses with small carafes of Unti Dry Creek Valley Grenache, from a well priced tidy, yet well represented list of both local and european producers.. The also have a full bar and good array of specialty drinks.

Next came the Gleason Ranch fried chicken with Lagunitas Ale-caraway gravy and crushed potatoes. We quickly forgot about the gumbo and caesar hiccup, as this comfort food dish still has me craving it a week later. A large thigh and breast were perfectly encased in a crunchy crust: moist and flavorful. The Gleason family has been farming sustainably out in Bodega for over 100 years and it shows, as the intensely flavored chicken was the most "chicken-ey" in recent (and not so recent) memory. The delicious gravy, rich but not overwhelming, and "crushed" potatoes were so good, we had to guard them, as our dining companions kept reaching over to steal That's okay though, as their Estero Gold cheese grits, made with an asiago type sharp cheese from the Valley Ford Cheese Company, kept finding its way over to my side of the table. The mac and 3 cheeses was out of this world. I didn't get a chance to try the fried okra, which my companions said was just "so so". I really can't imagine what were were thinking on this carbo load mission. However, it was a rainy Friday, and one couldn't deny this was perfect "stick to yer ribs" kind of fare.

You may or may not believe that we actually decided to try one dessert, the eponymous chocolate cake our "shushy" neighbors were having. The four of us couldn't even finish one piece, generously filled with a layer of house-brandied cherries. They added a serious touch of the incredible, as even though we were stuffed to the gills, we couldn't stop picking at them.

Rocker Oysterfellers definitely has its share of items to return for, as well as much to look forward to: They are open for weekend brunch, a perfect stop on a Sunday drive in the country and lucky for me, just a few miles out of town.

Fred's Place - Sausalito

2010-01-23T18:33:00.000-08:00

My Sunday morning ritual not broken by moving boxes and packing tape, I headed to Fred's Place on Bridgeway for a pre-moving feast and another chance to say goodbye to this funny little town. Okay, I know, I'm not moving to Washington or anything. My nostalgic nature has been seriously kicking in though, so it was quite fitting for me to spend my last Sunday at this quintessentially Sausalito breakfast joint, perched precariously at the counter on a barstool practically on top of the cash register, the perfect birds-eye view down the line: plates flying, pancakes griddling, rows of bacon and piles of hash browns sizzling away on the flattop. It also gave me a chance to chat with Tien, who is always there, running the floor, the register and the counter, spinning like a top with his eye on everyone and everything. Knowing most of the customers by name, Tien has worked the counter at Fred's for 6 years, which is a drop in the bucket to the old timers there: Toto has been expertly working the flattop for the last 26 years, and his sidekick, Sergio, for the last 16, scrambling eggs, and making omelettes on the smallest 2 burner stove you've ever seen. Wait a second, what's the deal with all the sixes???

On any given day Fred's is rifled with locals of every shape, size and economic status, sharing communal-style tables with tourists since way back before communal tables were chic and in. Let me just set things straight right now (in case you had any reason to think otherwise), Fred's is about as local and lowbrow as one can get, and I say that in the fondest way possible. In fact, most breakfast places are pretty lowbrow when you think of it. Eggs, cheese, bacon and fried potatoes aren't exactly haute cuisine. No, they aren't organic or serving nitrate-free meats with producers prominently displayed on the menu. A place that turns tables every 30-45 minutes (I was seriously in there for less than 30), is no place for a food snob or someone wanting Riedel crystal for their Mimosa. And they do have Mimosas by the way, great fresh O.J., decent coffee and even better lattes and cappucinos.

As I waited for my bratwurst and poached eggs, dry rye and hash browns (yes, a walking contradication), I watched Toto carefully whipping eggs and pancake batter in a Hamilton Beach shake blender, you know, the old-school kind with 4 heads and fast spinning parts that look like a bitch to clean (been there, done that!). What a great idea to keep the pancake batter the right consistency and the eggs fluffy. See, Fred's has its own way of doing things and that's what keeps this place hopping 364 days of the year (they are only closed on Christmas, Tien tells me, as the cooks are "Catholic and that is their holiday"). They don't have website, so it was hard to find out just when the original "Fred" passed-on and exactly when the Korean family that efficiently runs the place took over. As far as I can see though, they are doing a grand job with Fred's creation.

Fred's menu is huge, with every kind of sausage imaginable: Polish, Linguica, Chicken Apple, Breakfast Links, the aforementioned Bratwurst... Their lunch menu has the usual suspects: club sandwiches, BLT's, burgers and the like. They also have Korean-style short ribs, deliciously teriyaki-ed medium rare, grilled right along side the toast. Yes, you heard right, Fred's doesn't have a toaster, but instead has a guy dedicated to grilling each and every piece of toast they put out. Their pancakes are the thin, swedish style, perfect to soak up the huge slather of butter (although it looks yellowish, like margarine from where I'm stationed) and they do have real maple syrup, but you have to ask for it. I'm pretty sure the hash browns came from a freezer bag, and that hollandaise sauce I saw Toto whisking with a dinner fork, it probably came from a packaged mix. However, somehow the ambiance, the bustling activity and the locals make it all not matter. If you're worried about saturated fats, and knowing which farm your pork came from, then Fred's is probably not for you. If you want a great old fashioned, down to earth breakfast, with interesting conversation, a snapshot of locals mixed with tourists and other Marinites from neighboring towns, then Fred's Place is just the ticket.

Skinny Words

2010-01-16T10:27:00.000-08:00

HA! You thought it had something to do with weight, right? The "skinny words" title, conjuring images of recipes touting lowfat ingredients, or perhaps some advice on how to slim down after all of that holiday indulging, or some sort of New Year's resolution to speak only of healthful eating. Well, I guess the last one is true. Not the resolution part, but the part about writing about healthful eating. In my small corner of the planet, all eating is healthful as long as it doesn't include anything "partially hydrogenated", with "sugar substitute", or some sort of "left handed" fat (when our bodies can only digest the "right handed" variety).

But no, that's still not what I'm talking about. I'm speaking of my blog, and how sparsely I've written in the last few weeks. Please bear with me as I scrounge boxes from behind the local grocery and stash my worldly possessions in some sort of organized fashion so that unpacking isn't as much of a nightmare.

Who would have thunk that I had so much damn kitchen shit packed into my impossibly small kitchen? Mandolins (the cutting kind), stick blenders, two food processors (although one is going to goodwill), a huge noodle pot with four different strainers in case I decide to cook 4 kinds of noodles at once (this one doesn't get a box), numerous pots and pans, pitchers, a rice cooker, bento boxes, tupperware, a crockpot, OH MY! That doesn't sound like much, but the smell of old cardboard permeating my house, and the maze I have constructed to get through to the door is starting to drive me batty. Not to mention the bleach I repeatedly spray on those fricken bathroom tiles making me nauseous in my sleep, bathroom door closed, window open and two rooms away... I can't believe I will have to scrub my shower while wearing contacts (cuz' it really looked fine enough to me while showering yesterday, sans glasses, of course).

All for the better though. I signed my lease a few days ago and strolled about my new neighborhood. Located just a few blocks off downtown, my new pad is located in a gorgeous turn of the century (the last century) victorian, complete with wainscoting, curved ceilings, crown mouldings, and a tub. A TUB, which I haven't had the luxury of for the last 6 years. Hurray!

The neighborhood is awesome, with cute homes every step along the way, front yards filled with lavender, herb gardens, rambling roses and jasmine just waiting for spring to burst forth their fragrant goodness. As I sat outside The Tea Room Cafe, sipping Assam tea, and nibbling on a goat cheese and balsamic chicken salad, I remarked to my friend that even the young punk rock wanna-bes at the next table were friendly. They said goodbye and smiled to us as they slid away on their skateboards. That would NEVER happen in Marin or San Francisco. Sad but true.

So please excuse my lull, as I will be back full tilt in a week or two (with a few shorties in between). I'm now off to pack my closet.

A farm I can't wait to visit

2010-01-07T11:14:00.000-08:00

I stopped by my new restaurant (well, not my restaurant, but you know what I mean) to learn a few things from the manager, Misja, who I'm replacing. Come to find out, I used to work with her father, Peter Nuyttens, during my time with The Lark Creek Restaurant Group. Small world, small world, small world (well, its not like I'm hundreds of miles away). After she visits her Restaurateur-turned-Yogi father in France, Misja is moving to Green Strings Farm for a 3 month internship. How exciting!

I've driven by Green Strings many times in the last few weeks on my traverses here and there looking for places to live. Occupying 140 acres of emerald green rolling hills on the east side of Petaluma, (now you understand why I'm moving), Green Strings not only grows for some top restaurants in the Bay Area (and my new employer), they have a farm store that I can't wait to visit. Boasting some of the happiest chickens in Petaluma (which, incidentally, has often been called "chicken-luma"), one can buy eggs straight from the coop, organic vegetables picked that day, beef that they raise a few hundred miles north, and even cheese made from the milk of those same cows.

Misja learned about Green String's intern program through another farmer. For three months, about a dozen or so interns learn all they can from farm owner and sustainable food veteran, Paul Cannard. Many go on to get their graduate degrees in agriculture, some jump into the restaurant business from the backside, and others start their own farms outright. I told Misja I was coming out there as soon as possible to write about Green String in my blog. I'm happy to report that once a month they do a farm tour. I can't wait to tour, but also, watch out Whole Paycheck, I'll now have a new place to shop!

For more information on the farm, what they sell, when their tours are and how to get there:
http://www.greenstringfarm.com/
For a nice snapshot from the interns (and I won't be mad if you join), check out their blog at http://www.greenstringfarm.blogspot.com/

Petaluma finds

2010-01-04T11:09:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year to all.

The first day of the year found me dragging my friend Marcelo around Petaluma, looking at houses for rent.  The drizzly Friday couldn't have been more sleepy. Absolutely NO ONE was out and about, and many downtown eateries were closed. Both of us starving, we headed over to Dempsey's, the dependable brew pub across the bridge at the end of Western (and a stone's throw from my new job at Central Market). I hadn't been to Dempsey's in a long time, and just as expected, we had very dependable lunches: His was a crispy Pork Sandwich stuffed into some homemade flatbread with melted provolone and arugula, served with a large mound of greens just a forks reach away (from me). I chose the Calamari Salad, which was more calamari than salad: Arugula tossed with fried calamari and crispy onions.  Thankfully I asked for the herb aioli on the side, but I'm not sure why, because between the calamari and the side of sweet potatoes, crispy from oven roasting then frying, we scarfed the whole ramekin down. The calamari was fresh and lightly battered, just as one would expect, but I don't know if I'd order it again, as it was screaming for more greens (which explains the forkfuls of salad I kept stealing from across the table). However, it certainly hit the slightly hung-over spot that needed filling. Dempsey's also has a great array of home brewed beers as well as a pretty eclectic menu.  It seems the housemade sweet pickles are the thing to have, as evidenced by the large mounds I saw on numerous tables around us. I suppose that's what separated us from the locals, who were clearly in "the know".

An hour or two later, with some spare time between appointments, we cruised up to the Tea Room Cafe for a coffee, a cute breakfast/lunch place on Western Avenue just East of Howard Street. It's so exciting to find neighborhood gems around my new town, and the Tea Room Cafe is definitely one. Unfortunately they were closing, so the nice gal out front sent us over to the Aqus Cafe', at 2nd and H Street. Slightly away from downtown, 2nd and H is a block long corrugated metal building occupying the space of an old foundry. New construction gives it an upscale industrial warehouse feel. Aqus is front and center on the corner and the new Cowgirl Creamery Petaluma Annex just a few storefronts down. I had hit mini-paydirt in the up and coming industrial section of town (mark my words!).  Just up the street at H & Petaluma Blvd South is SEA Thai Restaurant (a good spot I had heard of from my old friend Rik Barr).
Replete with a knit cap, a Les Claypool band t-shirt and some counter culture looking friends, our coffee guy couldn't have been nicer and poured us up some beautiful lattes that even had leaf artistry in the mocha colored foam. The menu looked good, with tasty sounding sandwiches and a nice selection of sweets. Numerous local artists' works (some great and some not so much) dotted the walls, and flyers abounded with announcements of live music here Thurs - Sundays.

The house hunting for the day ended shortly thereafter with a funny little cottage that had stuccoed walls reminiscent of cake icing, and a landlord that looked like a retired roadie from Journey. I may not have found my perfect place to live, but I did find some perfect places to hang out.

http://www.dempseys.com/ 50 East Washington Street, Petaluma
http://www.tearoomcafe.com/ 316 Western Avenue, Petaluma
http://www.aquscafe.com/   189 H Street, Petaluma
http://www.cowgirlcreamery.com/ 419 1st Street, Petaluma

Cibo, Sausalito

2009-12-26T12:19:00.000-08:00

Lately I've found myself having a confused relationship with Sausalito. Sort of like when you break up with a boyfriend but he's still living at your house. You start wondering if getting back together wouldn't be so bad after all, the cap off the toothpaste and dirty laundry not really bugging you as much as it did when you made your BIG decision to dump him. The comfort of his warm body in your bed much more predictable than the cold, unknown world out there.
You see, I'm on the eve of departure from my home of 4 years. I've given notice at my job in the City and have decided to make a big change: I'm moving to Petaluma, the gateway to the SF North Bay's vibrant farming community. I've taken a job at Central Market, a popular sustainably-focused restaurant, literally front and center on Petaluma Boulevard North and Western Avenue. Across the street is the Mystic Theater, built in 1911 for Vaudeville acts, where these days one can see wildly varying musicians such as G Love and Special Sauce, The John Corbett Band and even Camper Van Beethovan. The historic integrity of Petaluma is alive and well in the architecture downtown, the gorgeous Victorians on the westside, and the farms and ranches within a mile of town center that provide many Bay Area chefs with their organic riches.

Back to Sausalito though. As I sat outside its newest and hippest cafe', CIBO, soaking up some Christmas Eve rays at a patio table, and sipping on Blue Bottle coffee, brewed to order and served in a fabulous Heath Ceramics mug (can't get any more Sausalito than Heath), I pondered my decision. I wouldn't call it regret, but I began to have a longing, a "shit, I should have done this more often" sort of feeling. Started by the Ancona family of Angelinos (a longstanding southern Italian restaurant a few blocks up) CIBO is such a gem: Metallic orange banquettes line its walls, whiter than white formica tables contrast with rough exposed brick and displays of housemade jams, compotes and cookies tastefully packaged for sale. I pondered the idea that if I had spent more time here instead of jumping into my car to get to work, perhaps this town would have successfully entranced me. My wonders were further evidenced when the super cute Chef personally delivered a perfectly toasted Chicken Panini: chicken, apples and Pt Reyes blue, pressed and heated together into melty goodness. The pickled carrots, red bell pepper and celery garnish, deliciously crunchy, spicy and vinegar-ey added a high note of contrast to the sharp blue while simultaneously clearing my palate. I know, washing this all down with coffee, which I hardly drink anyway (except for here at CIBO), has echoes of my parents, but it was only 12 noon, and there was a slight chill to the sunny December air, and it was Blue Bottle, for Chrissake!

Besides sandwiches, CIBO has great poached eggs, served simply with roasted winter vegetables and toasted focaccia. Fritattas, soups and salads are also available as well as a beautiful array of pastries and dolci made in house. The artisan movement has definitely made its mark here. Only open for breakfast and lunch, I can definitely see myself making a frequent pilgramage here to meet up with Marin friends, or enjoy my Blue Bottle solo under the crisp Sausalito skies.

http://cibosausalito.com/

Our local wilds

2009-12-23T10:27:00.000-08:00

For years now I've noticed beautiful strings of pink pearls weeping down from the willow-like pepper trees that seem to be everywhere in the SF Bay Area. So, earlier this week, when I went out to pick wild fennel to make Chai, I was pleasantly surprised to see one in "full seed" right up the block from me. Someone long ago had told me these were the same kind of peppers that when dried, you could put into your grinder and save yourself a few bucks at the grocery store. I've got a preponderance for this sort of thing, not really "saving the few bucks" (believe me you!), but of harvesting the local bounty that's to be had right outside the door. Here, on the edge of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and not too far from Point Reyes National Seashore, there's a plethora of wild plants that have common useage in our kitchens and, for the herbally inclined, in our medicine cabinets.

After some investigation, I discovered that the California Pepper Tree, Schinus molle, is not in the same Genus as true black pepper, Piper nigrum, which grows as a vigorous vine, native to South India and spread throughout the tropics. Schinus' uses are not interchangeable either, damn. It is easy to see how one could be mistaken for the other, as when you crush the California pink peppercorn between your fingers, it certainly smells of fresh black pepper. But no, Schinus molle, is originally from the Peruvian Andes, and a close cousin to the Brazilian Pink Pepper Tree, Schinus terebinthifilious. S. terebinthifilious turns out to be more culinarily used, as it is often the exotic pepper put into mixtures and billed as "prized pink peppercorns". The S. molle that grows up the street from me can be used sparingly as a seasoning, as the dried seeds have a slight piquant taste with a hint of peppery tone, but can cause stomach upset in large amounts. The Native Americans commonly use all parts of this tree for a myriad of medical ailments. My fantasies about using it interchangably with black pepper were unfortunately dashed, and without reliable enough firsthand information on its medicinal uses, I've decided to admire the sweeping branches of these beautiful trees from afar.

However, just this year I spotted a milk thistle plant growing out of the decorative bark near my kitchen door, next to the huge stand of peppermint that can't be beaten down (but thankfully finds its way into my drinks). I'm used to only seeing milk thistle on my hikes, and usually don't make it back to the same spot often enough to harvest any of the dried flowerheads. So, I put a note on the milk thistle in broken spanglish "este planta es medicina, por favor, no cortar", as the mow and blow gardeners plow down anything not natural looking. I waited for it to go to seed, and clipped the tan furry flowerheads into a paper bag. I later donned gloves and tweezers and picked each black seed off the prickly flower head, a medicine that is important to liver health and regeneration and a good thing to ingest if one has an affinity for alcohol (the drinkable kind, that is), or works with volatile compounds (oil paints, thinner, varnishes). Incidentally, it this amazing seed which is also the only antidote to the unsettling incidences of death cap mushroom poisoning which happen around here every winter. There's always a few stories in the paper about someone's grandmother who picked wild mushrooms and poisoned their entire family within a few hours of dinner. Its very sad, as there are a huge amount of edible wild mushrooms in this area, but you will never find me ever attempting to decipher good from bad, I'll buy mine from Whole Paycheck, thank you. Unfortunately, unless treated with Milk Thistle, death cap poisoning is usually fatal, if not, at the very least, cause for a liver transplant.

I learned about Yarrow, Achillea millefolia, from a local herbalist on my first hike with a knowledgable professional back in the early nineties (his name escapes me at the moment). He pointed out the furry leaves(pictured), the broad flat white flower heads (hence the millefolia) and trailing rhizomes. It turns out that yarrow is a well known blood stauncher, stopping bleeding quite effectively. He mentioned being on a backpacking trip when someone fell and cut their leg on a rock. In the middle of nowhere this can be alarming, as a deepish puncture wound with blood gushing could set off a bout of panic. However, yarrow was nearby and he instructed the hiker to chew up the leaves and flower heads, making a pasty poultice, and shove it into the wound. The bleeding stopped within a minute and by the next day, the wound was well on its way to healing. Turns out the yarrow also has antibacterial and immune stimulating properties, so it will help cuts heal from the inside out, preventing nasty infections. Once I was sawing a piece of wood (yes, I'm a bit of a tomboy at times) and the saw jumped out of the curf and sliced a jagged tear in the fleshy part of my hand near my thumb joint. Shit! Looked like I needed a few stitches but I'm not one to rush to the ER (esp with no insurance at the time), so I ran to the backyard instead, did the requisite chewing and chomping of the yarrow, and shoved it into the wound. A bandaid kept it all in place and by the next day, I kid you not, the wound was 50% better. A wash and fresh yarrow a few more times had it healed in a week. Incidentally, the dried flower stalks: long, straight and stripped of its leaves, are used to cast the I Ching, an ancient chinese oracle/advice giving text. Back in the day I used to cast my own readings, it took about 20 minutes to sort the 51 sticks and cast a 6 line hexagram. With all that time to ruminate on the question at hand, the result was usually more accurate than the modern "coin toss method" which could be repeated quickly if one didn't like the result.

The yarrow you'll find at the nursery (pictured here) will have similar yet much weaker medicinal properties, but much more showy bright yellow or even rose colored blossoms. Have those in your garden for show, and a small stand of wild yarrow nearby by snagging a few wild seedlings, being sure to get some root matter with them. They easily take hold in your garden or pot, yet won't flower quite as readily or be as hearty as the one found in the wild. For medicinal use, the leaves are okay without the flowerhead.

As with all medicinal herbs, before ingesting or experimenting with the effects of these magical plants, consult an herbalist and take a few classes in plant identification and uses, cross toxicity and interaction with western meds. The Pacific School of Herbal Medicine in Oakland is a SF Bay Area mainstay. Adam Seller, Director, is one of the best herbalists and teachers around http://www.pshm.org/.

A toast to the holidays!

2009-12-18T11:38:00.000-08:00

Every year I have a drink that I gravitate to. If you've been reading my blog (and can identify the photo on this page), you can probably already guess what it is. To digress though (because what would my blog posts be without a little digression?), in recent years it has been vodka with St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur and lime juice, shaken and served up, martini style. Mojitos have made their appearance, but usually more frequently in the summer, a refreshing minty alternative to the Margarita. This year its the Pisco Sour, using Peruvian Pisco (not the Chilean variety), simple syrup, lemon juice and the white of one egg. As I ponder this drink (and pondered one more closely near my Christmas tree last night after work), I rationalize that it is a Christmas-ey drink after all. I mean, isn't it similar: a little eggwhite and pisco (a clear variety of brandy made from grape spirits), to some eggnog and brandy? (and less caloric, I'm sure).

Pisco Sour

1.5 ounces of Peruvian Pisco (found at any large liquor store)
.75 ounces of fresh lemon juice
.75 ounces of simple syrup (I bought mine at Trader Joes but you can make it yourself)
1 fresh egg white (the yolk, well, you could make some aioli with it, why not?)

Angostura Bitters (or Peychaud's Bitters)

Add all the ingredients (except the bitters) to a cocktail shaker without ice (this part is important, as it allows the egg to get frothy). Use a good egg white, organic, free range, natural eggs. Why would one use any other kind anyway??? Shake the hell out of it, for say, 30 shakes. Add a few ice cubes and shake the hell out of it again. Strain into a rocks glass (or a martini glass if you must, but that is not traditional). There should be a nice 1/4" of foam on top. Sprinkle the top with a few dashes of bitters. Drink slowly and savor the heady goodness of the pisco and bitters marrying in the creamy matrix.

I'm blaming it on the Butternut Squash Gratin!

2009-12-05T11:11:00.000-08:00

My posts have been abruptly halted by the incredibly lame right neck and arm pain that has kept me off my laptop for over a week.

Once I took the time to retrace what brought this on, all paths led to the huge pan of Butternut Squash Gratin I made for Thanksgiving last week (although, I have yet to disclose this to my frustrated chiropractor). You see, I cut 4 large butternut squashes into 1/8" slices with the dullest damn (Global) knife on the planet. Why didn't I use a mandolin? Well, I only have a cheap-o model that doesn't have an adjustable blade (take note all of you out there wondering about what to get me for Christmas! ha!). The squash would have disintegrated had it been any thinner and the texture of the gratin would have been one big pile o' mush instead of the delineated layers of goodness that it was.

However, that fricken squash was hard (as it should be) and my knife was painfully (literally) duller than you can imagine. Funny thing is, the reason I even have this lovely piece of steel is because my chef friend Jon was prepping a side dish for one of my dinner parties a few years ago, and was shocked at my poor stock of kitchen knives. Next occasion to buy me something, a global knife appeared at my door (and he isn't even my bf!). Okay, well that was a few years ago, and let's just say my sharpening skills are, um, non-existent.

Which brings me to the current issue, I can't type anymore without producing mucho pain later, so, don't worry, my posts will pick up as my arm chills out. Stay tuned for more local eats as well as new posts about the naturally edible world outside my door.

Chai Tea with Wild Fennel Seed

2009-11-23T15:53:00.000-08:00

I had to get up early this morning to take my car in for maintenance in Mill Valley. On the 45 minute walk back home, across the marshlands of Richardson Bay, past the cranes and other water birds making a quick breakfast of the grubs and bugs in the deep grasses, I had a few moments of respite, the kind that help us catch up with our thoughts, remembering those emails that we haven't yet tended to, or the projects we are aching to begin. A sort of "mental accounting time" I guess you could say. It was just then, wondering about the grasses and plants of this wild land, that I began pondering the Chai tea recipe my friend Linda sent me just yesterday. You see, Linda was the only friend of 20 or so that complied with my forwarded recipe-exchange email. I had gotten it from a friend's mom and it seemed simple enough: Type up a quick recipe, the kind you can recite off the top of your head, send to the #1 person on a list of 2 people. Move the #2 person into the #1 position, and place your name into the #2 position. In a few days I should receive 20 recipes, sort of exciting, really. Well apparently my friends and family are way too busy for this sort of thing, as I received multiple emails saying they just "didn't have the time". (my thought was, "what-everrrr," in the best valley girl accent I could come up with). I did receive one recipe though, for chicken breast sauteed with noodles and garlic, and heated through with DiSorrento Alfredo Sauce. The recipe said it was optional to serve this dish with Texas Cheese Toast. I was about to be judgemental, using terms like WT and the like, but considering it was the only recipe I recieved, I was thankful for the effort (despite the fat cells I imagined expanding on my thighs). I managed to rattle off an easy version of Butternut Squash Gratin, layering Bechemel with a sprinkling of parmesan, nutmeg and thyme, and topping with gruyere cheese. (Yes, my thighs are expanding at the thought of that calorie-laden dish as well). So, back to Linda, who facebooked me that she did participate by sending a Chai Tea recipe to the first person on the list (thanks Linda). To date, she hadn't received any recipes in return...
Chai Tea? "Can you forward me the recipe?" I called out over the airwaves.

After I arrived home, after a quick inventory of the cupboard revealed I had all the ingredients except fennel seeds, Foeniculum vulgare. I had hardly ever used them, and seriously could not remember if I had ever used them in my cooking before (although eaten plenty of them in restaurants). After having wondered about unidentifiable marsh plants just moments before, I felt confident and proud that I could solve the no fennel problem in a matter of minutes. Wild fennel is practically everywhere in the SF Bay Area that's not deliberately landscaped. After a little online research, I found the ideal time to pick is when the seed pods start to turn slightly brown. Of course one should choose a patch away from traffic and the overspray of neighboring gardeners' weed killers. (an important point as I witnessed just today a neighbor spraying small grasses in her driveway with Roundup just feet away from the Fig tree I had been sneaking fruit from a few weeks back.) Oops, back to the fennel. So, after picking , rinse the seed pods off, spread them out (on a screen or sheet pan) and let them dry naturally for a few days. When dry, the seed on the inside of the pod releases easily. These are exactly the same seeds you will find in a fancy jar in the spice aisle but instead are FREE. I strolled up my street and clipped a few fronds, some in later stages so I could use them immediately.

Here's her recipe:

Chai tea

3 pods cardamom, cracked
1 (3-inch) stick Ceylon cinnamon
2 whole cloves
1/2 tspn whole coriander
1/2 tspn fennel seeds
1 tspn black peppercorns
2 (2-inch) strips orange zest
1 tblspn black tea (or 5 decaf tea bags)
1 cup plain regular soy milk
2 tblspns honey

In a medium saucepan, combine the cardamom, cinnamon, cloves,coriander, fennel, and peppercorns with the orange zest. Add 2 cups water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer 5 minutes. Add the black tea. Cover and remove from heat. Let steep 30 minutes.Strain the spiced infusion. Pour it back into the pot. Add soy mik and honey. Heat, pout into cups and serve. Serves 4.

I must admit, being an avid tea drinker, the idea of steeping my PG Tips for 30 minutes was offputting. Usually more than 2 minutes and the tea is bitter and tannic as hell. Somehow that didn't happen. Don't forget to crush open the cardamom pods though, as the flavors just don't extract if you leave them whole (I forgot the first time). I used a few extra cloves and wasn't anal about the measurements of the other spices. Also, I highly recommend using organic oranges, as the zest is the semi-permeable barrier between the pesticides the grower used and the fruit inside. If your fruit is not organic, these creepy substances will be released into your delicious concoction, making it not so delicious seeming after all.

Grass for Dinner

2009-11-20T13:03:00.000-08:00

I had a rare Saturday night off last weekend and headed up to Napa to see an old favorite of mine at the Napa Valley Opera House, Greg Brown. "Greg Brown?," you're asking.  Yeah, Greg Brown, got a problem with that? I got tired of explaining to people that he's a great guitarist and blues/folk singer, probably at his height in the 80's and 90's; okay, his height amidst the coffee house crowds. I'm sure he's popular somewhere, like in the backwoods of Ohio where he toils in the dirt on his Grandmother's farm. And opera, "Napa has an opera?", was another common response. So anyway, that's how I found myself in Napa on Saturday night, my friend Kimberly in tow, a free ticket as the lure.

Where to dinner, where to dinner?  That's an exciting question for me always.  Downtown Napa, Old Town, has experienced a revival in the last few years with Main Street being, well, the main street through this part of town. The Opera House sits smack in the middle with restaurants dotting the road and side streets between 3rd Street and Pearl.  We were surprised how hard it was to find parking at 6 pm along this stretch, with many public parking lots to choose from. We sneaked into the Wells Fargo parking lot, and the attendant turned a blind eye as we scampered away from the car.

I had been (happily) pondering our dinner option all day, having checked online for any I may be missing. I had narrowed it down to a couple of choices: Zuzu, on Main at 3rd, a favorite of mine and pretty much the only place I ever eat in Napa proper. I was hankering to branch out though, and looked at Bounty Hunter's menu online, thinking their famous beer can chicken could be the ticket. I had heard great things about their menu and wine list, but was a little offput when I noticed they didn't mention anything about organic or sustainable on their menu. I've never been that much of a food snob, but the more I know about factory farming, the more I don't want to know about factory farming. As a matter of fact, just last night before bed I was reading Michael Pollan's "Omnivore Dilemma" and found, to my dismay, that even Rosie chickens from Petaluma Poultry are factory farmed. Whaaa! Speaking of blind eyes, I really can't turn one this time. I'm actually sort of pissed, but I'll explore that tangent in another post...

Another viable option for dinner could be Ubuntu, the Michelin Star appointed vegetarian restaurant and yoga studio which is literally right next door to Cole's Chop House, an old style steak house where Kimberly and I decided to enjoy a cocktail while we pondered our options. I hadn't remember hearing much about Cole's before, but then again, I realized I didn't know jack about Napa dining when it really came down to it. My friend Laura was to be celebrating her birthday there in just a few hours and had invited us to meet she and her husband for drinks after the show. That's the only reason it was on my radar.

The drinks almost didn't happen, as Kimberly was grumpy that there wasn't a seat at the bar, and I was trying not to be the pushy I-must-have-cocktail-now type friend. Just then, a couple got up to be seated in the dining room and voila, we had seats. Nowadays most cocktail lists are fancified with infusions and syrups and herbal concoctions. Not that I'm against that, anything that masks the alcohol artfully is okay in my book - otherwise, I'd just be ordering a Hendricks Martini up, please. But no, I'm a wimp when it comes to this stuff, so I chose a ginger-y vodka concoction (as they didn't have my current favorite, Pisco Sour); Kimberly chose a pomegranate vodka concoction and all was good, finally.

It was only 6:15 and we still hadn't decided where to eat. A phone call to Zuzu reassured us there would be plenty of seats at 6:30, Ubuntu was still an option, but I was in the mood for some meat and as much as I did want to try it, I wasn't very excited by the idea of going there. Kimberly had eaten a late lunch and was only up for a salad. Once the steak was placed in front of the guy next to us, my canines began watering, and the longer I sat there staring at his steak, the more I wanted a bite. Okay, let's look at the menu here, I thought.

Their menu boasts "21 Dry Aged Prime Steaks". But how many of the 21 would I feel good about eating?  I'm no purest, just last year I had a quite delicious ribeye at the Outback Steakhouse near my house, and I'm pretty sure the Mongolian Beef from the place down the block came directly from a Sysco truck, but everything I've read (thanks a lot, Michael Pollan) makes me cringe at the idea of factory farmed, corn (and other ingredient) fattened prime beef. Don't get me wrong. Corn fattened beef is delicious: Well marbled, fatty goodness. But these days when I'm going to eat a solid piece of meat, a big, deliciously charred slice of heaven, it's going to have to be grass fed, damnit. So, after perusing the menu, and nixing the Chicago dry aged porterhouse (awwww) and New York, I decided on the Five Dot Ranch's ribeye. Not only is it my favorite cut, but also "naturally raised" and 28-day California dry aged. I'm not prepared to argue on the merits of California vs. Chicago dry aging processes. But just the fact that they were aged in Chicago, didn't have natural or grass fed in any description, recalled the factory feed lot mentality of most ranches in the midwest and pretty much grossed me out.  A quick check by the bartender reassured me it was prairie fed, as up to that point I had never heard of Five Dot Ranch. The guy next to me seemed a little put off that I cared that much anyway, being completely oblivious to the corn fed, antibiotic ridden, feedlot nightmare his hunk o' meat had gone through. (ignorance is bliss)

I ordered a 1/2 bottle of Mi Sueno "El Llano" Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah blend, an almost sacrilege combination but something I've seeing popping up more often nowadays. I love the story around Mi Sueno, owned by the son of migrant vineyard worker who got his start in the food and wine business as a dishwasher at Auberge du Soleil, then worked his way around the valley, finally making wine at Stag's Leap Wine Cellars. The "American Sueno" at its finest. (that's American Dream for you gringos). Not to mention, the wine was spectacular, rich, very extracted, leathery, slightly tannic, with a hint of spice from the Syrah.

The steak and caesar arrived simultaneously as requested, with the 12 oz ribeye practically covering the whole plate. Perfectly medium rare (or "mid-rare" as we say in the biz), there was nothing separating the rich flavors of my steak from my neighbor's "unnatural" counterpart (in my opinion, of course). And there was nothing separating me from my steak, save for a few bites I regretfully gave Kimberly in between sips of unctous Napa Valley juice. "Grass for dinner" you may be asking yourself? Why yes, haven't you been paying attention? With the caesar, the croutons (made from bread, which is made from wheat, which is, of course, a grass) and my prairie fed steak, what wasn't grassy about it? Watch out Ubuntu, you may have some competition.

http://www.coleschophouse.com/ - for a true steak house experience
http://www.misuenowinery.com/ - for a heartwarming story and some great wines, located in the southern end of town.
http://www.fivedotranch.com/ - located in Lassen County, they graze their herds in several open grasslands around California, even making it to Napa Valley.

http://www.gregbrown.org/ - you may be surprised to know a few of his songs.
http://www.zuzunapa.com/ - using only organic and sustainable ingredients and Argentine grass-fed beef.
http://www.bountyhunterwinebar.com/ - one of the best wine lists around and despite my issues, I still wanna try the beer can chicken!
http://www.celadonnapa.com/ - not mentioned in my post, this is the sister restaurant to Cole's and has a great wine list and asian/world fusion style food.
http://www.ubuntunapa.com/ - my next stop in Napa when I'm feeling forage-y.

A Peruvian Feast

2009-11-12T11:43:00.000-08:00

I can't believe my right running shoe still smells of paprika, even after the washing machine and dryer? How the hell is that possible?

Please allow a recap: I stopped by my friend Gary's birthday party on the way home after a day out on a boat. That explains the running shoes. I was the dorkiest dressed (well at least I thought so): a white hoodie, banana republic jean shorts (the tighty kind that go to your knees), and running shoes (no socks). I guess my choice to not change before the party sort of backfired as the other guests arrived in cleanly pressed dress shirts, cutey patootie shoes, make-up (imagine that) and blow dried hair. I had blow dried hair alright, the kind that is naturally messy from the wind and salt water.

Okay, enough said about that. I was clearly uncomfortable, so proceeded to try each and every fine wine that Gary opened. I was surprisingly impressed with the Coppola Claret, the kind of wine that one can sip without food. So impressed that I had a wine epiphany. It may not sound like much of an epiphany but here goes: there is wine that goes with food and wine that goes alone; often the wine that goes with food is not very good without food (too acidic), and the wine that goes alone can be overly cloyying, (too much fruit, high alcohol etc.) But, there is a definitive place for both. Being in the industry, many of the wine geeks I have the pleasure of knowing (quite a few by the way) don't like those big Napa County Cabernet blends that sometimes have the tendency to hit you over the head with their bold flavor profiles. The snobs that have been at it for a while look down on the "less refined" nature of these wines, opting for a leaner style, "food friendly" they call it. I can appreciate those too: A gorgeous Cote du Rhone, a juicy Nebbiolo, a true Burgundy. However, sometimes there is a need for a wine that stands alone, one that doesn't require a bite of food to enjoy, one that lingers like dried plums, dusty earth, and bittersweet chocolate. That's how I felt about the Claret: dusty, dark fruit, coco powder, raisins, balanced goodness. Like a good Guinness beer, almost a meal in itself.

Oh that's right, I'm supposed to be talking about food here, hence the "Peruvian Feast" title. And my shoe, what the hell happened there?

Michelle, Gary's adorable half-Peruvian wife, had whipped up a huge batch of Chupa for the birthday celebration, a Peruvian cream based stew of potatoes, onions, hominy, chiles, tons of paprika and fresh shrimp. Her mother had made the most delicious Papas Rellanas I had ever had: mashed potatoes folded into a disk and stuffed with a mixture containing hard boiled eggs, ground meat, olives and spices (secret recipe I'm told). The papas are then topped with vinegared red onions to give them a little zap and zing. I was so overjoyed with the flavors that I threatened to sing at the top of my lungs (which my tablemates staunchly prohibited). The shrimp stew was perfectly seasoned and texturally stunning with the crunchy hominy, sweet shrimp and just enough chile to make you want to eat a bite of the papas. The papas rellanas were crispy on the outside (from the fryer, I imagine), soft on the inside, with that hidden pocket of seasoned meat that would make any mashed potato lover run off to the wilds of Peru forever. I had a second one, as Michelle's mother had made a load of them.

Due to my weirdness at parties (or at least at this party), I insisted on helping serve the guests, passing around plates of food like the professional that I purport to be. After I had my fill, I helped with the clean-up, "bussing" everyone's plates into the trash (okay, they were paper and why not, as who wants to be washing dishes for days?). This is where the shoe fiasco came in. In my overzealousness, I had several bowls stacked on my arm at once (just call me "Flo"). I aimed into the trash, and just then the wine must have gone to my head, as I missed the bag and slid the bowls right onto the kitchen floor, and my right shoe. Well, it doesn't take a brain surgeon to imagine remnants of Chupa broth soaking directly into the soft fabric of the Asics. (I can't believe I was wearing running shoes at a party!)

Instead of tracking Chupa all over the apartment's white carpeting, I decided it best to remove my shoes to the outside. This final layer of embarrassment and humiliation got the best of me, walking around the party barefoot as if I were hanging on the beach in Maui. I scooted out the door, no regrets for having helped a bit and of course having partaken of this incredibly memorable feast, but vowing to never come to a party without properly coiffing again.

Taste of the Bay Food Event October 2009

2009-11-05T12:17:00.000-08:00

I wasn't sure what to expect as I headed over to Pier 3 a few weeks back to represent Terzo in the Taste of the Bay Event, an annual fundraiser put on by the Hospitality Management program at San Francisco State University.

Chef Mark was out of town, and I was told I'd have an intern to help, so I went alone, the solo flyer that I prefer being (or control freak, you choose). My dish was simple with no need for cooking or much fussing: Marinated Feta with Lemon, Mint, Oregano and Olive Oil on Crostini. He planned it perfectly. Even though I'm no rookie in the kitchen, getting ready for the guests translated to smearing feta on toast and schmoozing with the other restaurateurs, chefs, former colleagues and wine industry professionals.

Positioned between Paragon Restaurant who was serving housemade sausage and Luce, where chef Dominique Crenn was putting together pork belly mini-burgers with red cabbage (yum), I couldn't have asked for a better locale. The Bay Bridge loomed behind our boat, the docked San Francisco Belle, donated for the event by Hornblower Dinner Cruises.

It was readily apparent after the 10 minutes it took to decorate my table and set up the mis en place that I would need some vino, as the event was still an hour away from beginning, and was slated to last 3 hours! I perused the other vendors, many still an hour away from being ready (and some not even yet arrived), but was a little shy to ask if any would start popping their corks this early. Who moi? I have a small amount of restraint, sometimes. My intern, Monica, was a bright eyed freshman, having never worked in a restaurant, but in the hospitality program nonetheless. When proded about why she chose this major, she responded that she wanted to be an event planner "because I helped plan my senior prom and loved it". Awww, the naivete' of youth!

As Luce set up I marveled at their almost life-sized poster of Dominique, fresh from the set of Iron Chef, and all of their propaganda promoting her pending television appearance. This was perfect fodder for giving her shit, as she was clearly incredibly embarrassed by their insistence on the large poster. She slipped me a pork belly mini burger to keep me quiet, piled on the most delicious brioche buns that she "had a friend make, as the brioche here in the states is just not as good as in France". Well, that friend should work at Luce with her, because the brioche was incredible, and judging by the fact that she had just earned a Michelin Star that very day, I must be seriously missing out on a great place. Another one to put on the list.

Dominique loves Terzo and promised to come in and give me an equal dose of shit the next time she had a moment free. I couldn't wait.

Once the event got rolling, my intern well trained in swiping the proper amount of feta on the crispy toasts, I cruised around the room again to see (and sample) the other chefs' goods. Damn, I was sad I had a late lunch at Le Garage (yes, I went there again...), as there was ample food to be had. I sampled anyway: Delicious chili from Henry's in the Hotel Durant (Berkeley), a place I once worked for a week over a decade ago while finishing my degree. Lark Creek Steak had its famous Butterscotch Pudding, a dessert I've had more than my share of during my time with their organization, One Market, and Isaac, the nicest chef one has ever met and who has worked there over 10 years, had delicious crab cakes on little spoons. Kuleto's was serving little toasts with incredible duck liver and marmalade. Oyaji, a Japanese restaurant far into the Richmond, was serving sushi, but wait, they were already gone. Why is it that sushi at these events disappears as if it were the latest thing to hit the dining circuit?

I circled back to my table, Peju being right next door, my wine needs met. The beer at this event was crisp and perfect too: Pyramid was pouring their Snowcap seasonal ale and Heifeweisen; Anderson Valley was pouring their famous Boont Amber. The room was hot and full of people who couldn't get enough crammed onto their small plates. I was watching the cocktail style high tables fill with unwanted food morsels and the restaurant manager in me couldn't look the other way as I motioned to the interns to bus the hell out of them. Once a boss, always a boss, I suppose.

As things wound down, Dominque admitted she was drunk which was another opening to give her a hard time. I reminded her she had to stay in top shape to sign all those autographs that were certain to be solicited. I packed up my table a few minutes later, loaded up the cart and said goodbye to all, and then proceeded to scoot around the line of culinary students who were, you guessed it, lined up for autographs at the table next door.

Osteria Stellina - Pt. Reyes Station - Worth the Drive

2009-11-04T11:07:00.000-08:00

Plugging this restaurant's name into the Google search engine to check their hours of operation, I was surprised by Tom Sietsema's (of the Washington Post) description of the "scenic and sometimes hair-raising (the twists! those turns!) 90-minute drive from San Francisco."

"What??" I asked myself. I don't know what back alley route he took, but I made the comfortable and, yes, scenic drive from Sausalito (just 10 minutes north of the City, and if you are all the way across the city, well, maybe 20 minutes to the bridge) in 38 minutes. Just 36 miles door to door. Tom, you should be ashamed of yourself for not knowing the insider way to this lovely little hamlet, having worked as a food critic for The Chronicle all those years. But then again, you probably didn't have much reason to venture into Marin for a food review, and especially to Point Reyes Station, because back in your day the only reason for traversing the Golden Gate was to get to Napa or to do an occasional mountain bike ride on Mt. Tam.

Well, things have changed, or let me put it differently, they are changing s-l-o-w-l-y.  Any reason to take a leisurly drive out to Point Reyes Station, through oak studded rolling hills, still green from early fall rains, warmed by the lovely November Indian Summer sun, is a good reason. In my world the landscape doesn't get any better than this. Every time I make this drive, I plot and fantasize about how to move out here, a single woman, living on these amazing pastures, waking daily to the wingspan of hawks circling for their breakfasts, the steam rising off Tomales Bay as the sun warms the surface and feeds the creatures within. The term "spinster" just may be in my future, like it or not. Besides being one of my all time favorite places, this is the heartland of Marin Organic, a local organization committed to an organic Marin and dedicated to the local producers that supply the Bay Areas top restaurants with their produce, cheeses and meats.
It is really hard to not be in a good mood after taking the easy drive up 101 north to Lucas Valley Road, turning left past quiet subdivisions, and further on past the secretive Big Rock Ranch (3838) and Skywalker Ranches (5858). You can't see either George Lucas enterprise from the road, so don't even slow down, as their private fire department/security force won't even let you past the front gate, trust me.  It's a mild wind out to Nicasio, a tiny town that has a festive restaurant and bar, Rancho Nicasio, as well as a quintessential little red school house. Driving through this one block town and roughly north past horse pastures and pumpkin patches lands you at the corner of the Petaluma-Point Reyes Road. Nicasio Reservoir will be on your left as you make the turn. I got stuck behind a landscape truck that was filled to the brim with cleared pampas grass and often spit out stray reeds from the back. Not to worry though, just a few miles down is the "bridge" in some state of local colorful paint (graffiti to some) where you will turn right, Point Reyes Station just 3 miles further. By the time you arrive, you will have been transformed into a hungry traveller, a little over half and hour later and seemingly a world away.

I had been wanting to try this restaurant for a while now, as it opened at some point last year. I had read a few reviews in my searching for hours (their website is http://www.osteriastellina.com/) which were spotty and spoke of poor service. I always take these with a grain of salt, as my restaurant background gives me an eye for the not so obvious and I am often more forgiving than most "yelpers" and other recreational reviewers that have an unrealistic expectation if their salad is over $5 and their entree over $10.

For Monday at 1:00 pm, I was genuinely surprised that the place was over 1/2 full, with a lot of locals: farmers and merchants and people like me.   A few bed and breakfasters were there lingering over their last moments before heading back to reality.

I sat down in the empty left half of the dining room, as the only table available to the right of the partition was in the middle of the floor and I preferred to have my back to the wall. No one was in this section, but I could see the kitchen perfectly past the neat row of low bar stools bordering the counter for more casual dining. I usually like the counter, but I was wearing jeans and not really in the mood to be monitoring whether or not my butt crack was showing. A couple of tattooed hipsters were dining at the bar and as I sat down, a tall, weathered and sturdily built customer (on a first name basis with the staff) negotiated his bill, clearly on trade, for the wild arugula, the beets or the beef he most likely dropped off earlier that morning.

A couple of minutes later my server approached my table. Wait a minute, I know this guy, I thought. A look of recognition also lit up his face, and we soon realized it had been many years, and many restaurants ago.  Mark used to date a friend of mine, and is the lead man for the band "Death Angel". He used to pal around with Metallica back in the early 90's. The early 90's! Geez, I should feel old, but his unlined face and eponymous dreadlocks made me feel that we both hadn't aged a day. Considering I had just safely entered my mid 40's a few days earlier, this was a good thing.

I am usually pretty quick in deciding what to eat (usually) and this time was no different. I didn't need much help navigating the not too big menu, and Mark suggested a couple of his favorites: GBD Grilled Cheese Sandwiches (I'll have to get back to you on what the GBD means) and the Saffron Stew with Tomales Cove clams, mussels, Lunny's hot links, shrimp and potatoes. Had I not been dining solo, I would have definitely had the soup as a mid course, but unfortunately, the curse of having friends that work during the day (ho hum) and my skinny pocket book, limited my foraging to two things: The Star Route beet salad with Marin Route Farm wild arugula, ricotta salata and aged balsamic ($9); and, pizza with Roasted tomatoes, fontina, basil, and crushed chiles ($15) with added Italian Sausage for $2. Yes, these may seem like somewhat middle of the road selections, but I actually like to try the basic stuff my first time at a place so I can get a snapshot of what they're about.

It was a few days post birthday, and I thought, what the hell, so ordered a glass of 2007 Margerum Pinot Gris ($8) from the Colombia River Valley (WA), a crisp wine with a slight hint of pear and medium body, served Italian style in a rocks glass. I have to say, I do prefer regular stemmed wine glasses, but I also appreciate design particulars of places, and the italian style glasses gave the place the casual feel they are going for.

A few minutes later my salad arrived. I declined the bread offering considering I was having pizza, but I'm sure it would have been great, as it is from Brickmaiden Bread Company, a local bakery sporting a huge, wood-fired, brick oven. Next time, next time. The beets were thinly sliced and arranged on the bottom of the plate with a pile of lightly balsamic dressed arugula neatly on top. Shavings of Ricotta Salata garnished it, the sheepy dry Ricotta cousin enough to carry me through each last bite of the delicously fresh salad. I love Ricotta Salata on salad, enough said.

As I waited for my pizza to arrive I admired the surroundings, hardwood tables, silver plated, mostly matching flatware, linen napkins, leather chairs. Like going to a friend's warm house for Sunday supper. A little while later my pizza arrived, about a 10 incher, not that huge and if I was being a glutton, I could have wolfed the whole thing down. The first thing that popped into my mind when I viewed this plump looking disc studded with roma tomatoes, basil and sausage was the Pizzeria Uno from my childhood. No, not the one that was on Lombard Street for years, but the one from my southern California town, El Toro, a place where the crust was made with olive oil and a hint of sugar, where the crunchy doughyness gave way to oodles of cheese. Of course, I was only 17 at the time, and the experience was heightened by appetite enhancing recreationals and the several pitchers of beer that we somehow got away with being served (well, there was one person with us who was 21 - that pedophile! ha).

Flash forward to the present and my premonition wasn't that far off. The puffy crust was olive oil infused, maybe just the smallest amount of sugar (to help those yeast) but the perfect amount of salt. The pizza was amply dressed with the fontina and tomatoes. The sausage was mild and fresh, as if they ground it that morning. The chiles, what chiles? They must have forgotten them, as I didn't get even a hint of any chiles anywhere near this pizza. Unlike the current trend in neopolitan pizza with their uber-thin crusts and minimal toppings, this pizza was a definite knife and fork affair. The crust was so flavorful, I may be easily converted back. Not that it was a thick crust, Chicago style pizza, as this was not. Let's just say the leftovers were just as good and the crust held up to being refrigerated without that crackery, cardboardy texture that often requires a zap in the microwave (no zap needed). The owner cruised by my table and noticed I was out of wine. I ordered a delicious glass of 2006 Unti Dry Creek Valley Grenache ($10) (I love those guys), and my meal was complete. Service was a little bit slow, but as I mentioned before, I take it all in stride, as I wasn't in any hurry, and other staff helped out when Mark was bouncing off the walls in another direction - he is a musician after all.

With guests still walking through the door at 2:15 pm on Monday afternoon, its hard not to notice that Osteria Stellina has found its niche. The dinner menu boasts an oyster pizza, slow cooked octopus, Marin Sun Farms goat, and seared Bodega black cod - a who's who list of the local bounty bordering these parts. I'm putting it at the top of my list of things to look forward to.  And don't mind me if I borrow the overused, yet to-the-point phrase from our Governator: "I'll be back".

Le Garage, again

2009-10-15T12:13:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know, it seems as if I only make it to the same places each week. Well, if you saw my options here in Marin County (okay, I owe Picco and Pizzeria Picco a visit), you would understand. I did make it back to Bushi-Tei Bistro in Japan-town for a 3rd visit, and as threatened in an earlier post, it has become my new "go to" lunch place on the way into the office, as it is right over the hill from (my job in) Cow Hollow. The Chirashi-don is a must, and I've been mixing it up with Pork Ramen or Chicken Ramen, the hugest bowl ever, leftovers fit for a snack pre-service (so I'm not drooling over the Terzo offerings all night, looking as if I'm threatening to sneak bites from my guests' plates). Yes, I supposed Terzo needs some air-time here too. Okay, okay. Now, back to my local fav, practically walking distance: Le Garage.

The rainy weather on Tuesday was perfect for a matinee, a dose of Michael Moore in his new feature: Capitalism, a Love Story. Afterward, a combination of guilt (as I always feel that way after his flicks) and many raindrops found me on the phone with Lisa, making plans for Irish Coffees at the Buckeye, a splendid idea on this windy, "storm watch" weekday afternoon. At 5:00 pm, it was easy to get a seat at the bar where we dished about our jobs, our friends, and men! (what a shocker). We were finished right when the crowds began to descend. As we departed, we laughed to ourselves at the "receiving line" of men, various ages, shapes and sizes, lined up to nab one of our precious seats (barstools, that is). Perhaps we were leaving a bit too early?

An hour or two later, I found myself home alone and not in the mood for the soba and fresh dashi I had planned for dinner. I scoured my memory bank for what I was hankering for: red wine, yes. pizza, no. mexican, no. thai, no. Le Garage, it was flashing like a psychic beacon from down the street. A quick phone call confirmed they were open until 9 pm (and it was 8:40). I better hightail it over there.

The grassy landscaping in the parking lot was blowing sideways with warm, gale force, winds. For some reason, visions of the Japanese seaside popped into my head. I made my way inside to a sexily-lit restaurant and perched myself on a barstool. The hostess/manager asked if I had just called, and I nodded yes, she astounded at how quickly I got there. (well, it is just 4 minutes from my house- I need to remember this)

Funny how things pop out at you from the menu, almost immediately. I always say this is what one should order, instead of himming and hawing over this or that, caloric content, reviewing what you have eaten already that day, or that week. For me, that night it was the squid ink spaghetti with octopus, clams and tomato concasse. I had come thinking I would order one of their amazing mussel dishes: with chorizo or the one with Pernod, but as I looked over everything, the Kobe burger (yum), charcuterie plate (yum), two mussel dishes to choose from (yum), those lovely crab stuffed squash blossoms from my last visit(yum), that lobster salad with watermelon radishes (yum). okay, okay, you get the picture. I ordered the Squid Ink Pasta with Octopus and Clams. Yup, my body knew what to get. My very friendly Japanese barman, Akira, put my order through pronto as the kitchen was about to close. (I must have had a premonition outside, and some mass consciousness programming as I was told later that the weather was due to a typhoon in Japan...) Despite Akira's busy-ness, he helped out by pouring me tastes of wine, as unlike my food decision, I was fickle about what I wanted to drink from the selection of about 10-12 selections of each white and red by the glass, divided into American and French. I finally settled on the Martin Ray Cabernet Sauvignon, perhaps slightly big for my seafood dish, but chewy and rich, exactly what I wanted. Wine selections are not always 100% about the pairing with food (okay, don't cringe). There are obviously major no-nos, but in general, I am less finickey about that and more into the flavors I am in the mood for. Okay some of you, I have just lost credibility, oh well...
My pasta arrived quickly, studded with beautiful manila clams, which I quickly released from their shells so I could enjoy each bite unencumbered. The black pasta had a slight briney-ness to it, the squid ink providing that perfect perfume; and the octopus, I still can't get it out of my head: tender, sweet, delicious flowers of tentacles, succulent, perfectly cooked. Need I go on? The manilas were also expertly cooked, sweet and chewy, mixed with the chopped tomatoes, some butter (well, it is a French restaurant, after all) and some chile flakes to keep things interesting. I savored each and every last bite. The only downside, I asked where the clams were from (local, Washington??) and no one could produce an answer, not even the handsome Sous Chef himself as he poured over his invoices seeking a source. I expected a slight bit more from this level of establishment, but then again, the French do manage to get away with a lot.

After happily chatting with the staff and inviting them to Terzo, just a hop over the Golden Gate, I exited back into the wind blown parking lot, already plotting my next visit.

Camino, Oakland

2009-10-05T11:10:00.000-07:00

CAMINO, Grand Avenue at Jean Street, Oakland http://www.caminooakland.com/
From my vantage point in the back corner of the dining room I glimpsed something unusual coming in through the emergency exit. Even though conversations with old and dear friends should have kept my attention 100%, my peripheral vision caught something out of the ordinary. Was that, wait, did I just see half of a mammal make its way into the back kitchen? "Did anyone else see the 1/2 hog that just slipped in through the back door"? My dining companions stopped their conversation, "What?", "Where's the camera?", "Shit, how did I miss that?" Cameras ready, but distracted by talk, they also missed the other half slung over the meat delivery guy's shoulder as he whisked it around the corner to be expertly handled, I'm sure, by Russell Moore, the Executive Chef and Owner of Camino in Oakland.
It was brunch, and if the pork and herb sausages I was lovingly eating were any sort of preview for what this guy could do with a hog, then I was putting this place on the top of my list for dinner. One of the many Chez Panisse descendant restaurants, Camino had been open for about a year, and I had yet to enjoy a meal there. Centered around a huge wood hearth that's flames can be seen from across Grand Avenue, the food is reported to be a bit exclusive, with a very limited dinner menu. From all accounts, people either love it or will never be back. I wonder where I will fall on this limited spectrum?
It was my best friend Erin's birthday brunch, and most of our party of 7 had worked together for many years at O Chame' (Berkeley), so a game of catch up was in order. But first, we had to figure out what to eat off a menu that included baked eggs with cream and herbs; potatoes fried in duck fat; home-made doughnuts; organic polenta with maple syrup; a pancetta, tomato and escarole sandwich; sardines with eggplant, almonds and hard cooked eggs; french toast; charcuterie; housemade jams and nut butters... Let's just say it was hard to choose.
Their cocktails looked enticing too, it was early though, and I had to scoot off to work afterward, but had a sip of one of my companion's: Gin, tomato, lemon, salt, pepper and chile - a delicious bloody mary-like concoction that would have gone down my gullet with no problem.
We settled on a few orders of the potatoes, rough-cut russets with the heady aroma of poultry wafting from the bowl, like one's home when a fat chicken is roasting in the oven. The sausages, although a tad undercooked, were seasoned with a small amount of maple syrup, memorable goodness that I snuck more than my share of during the meal. The baked eggs in cream and herbs were decadent with a rich yellow yolk that spoke volumes about their freshness. Several orders of toast , a few doughnuts and some butter lettuce salads (to balance things out) completed the meal. Drip coffee, brewed by the cup to order, and ground with a hand cranked grinder, was strong and nutty, leaving that slick in the bottom of the cup, the kind that lets you know that you've probably had enough even when you think you want another cup.
Bottom line, I'm a fan, and can't wait to return for dinner!

A few mini reviews of some favorite haunts

2009-10-04T10:17:00.000-07:00

Many of you know I am a "restaurant-a-holic". My friends put it more mildly and call me  "a foodie", which embarrasses me and also, sadly lumps me into a category with obnoxious guests that I sometimes have at my restaurant.  But I do go out a lot, it is clearly one of my greatest pleasures in life. And the thing is, I work a lot and often find myself foraging for a hearty lunch to eat at my desk, or with no food in the fridge come my day off. So, even though I do partake of dinner out at least once a week (well, I work the other 5-6 nights!), lunch is often the more affordable way to sample some of my favorite haunts without the price tag (or the alcohol that brings up the price tag! : ) Here are a few places of note that I've had the pleasure to enjoy in the last few weeks (some lunch, some dinner, some both!)

BUSHI-TEI BISTRO, Webster Street at Post (Japantown), San Francisco. (no website posted) JAPANESE
I planned on Japantown for lunch the other day on my way to work from a late morning doctor's appointment. As I scouted around for parking, thinking I'd slurp up some soba at Suzu Soba Shop (downstairs from the bookstore), I noticed the sign for Bushi-Tei Bistro on Webster Street, and a parking spot right outside. Ahhh, I had remembered that they opened this place, a more casual eatery than their fine dining venue (Bushi Tei) up the street. After checking out the menu and seeing many choices with Ramen their main noodle dish, I decided to give it a try. Modern decor and a great wine list make this place pop a bit more than the kitschy decor of most other restaurants in this area. (although, it was lunch time and I would have to save my wine sampling for another time). They had a lot of classics centered around Donburi (over rice) available, and also some Japanese/American classics (rigatoni, for example). You may remember from my earlier posts on Japan that the Japanese love their spagetti! What jumped out at me was the lunch specials on the front page: A bowl of Ramen with pork or chicken plus Chirashi (sliced raw fish on rice), or a sushi roll, or kushi-katsu (breaded and deep fried pork skewers); all for $10.95! I chose the Chicken Ramen and the Chirashi. I have to admit here, that I haven't often ordered Chirashi, as it has the tendency to be a bit boring, just fish on rice with some wasabi for dipping. Well, I think I have been wrong all this time. As this Chirashi (with a slice each of scallop, tuna, squid, shrimp and salmon) over gently seasoned rice that had been tossed with a minute chop of tomatoes. The fish slices were fanned out over the rice and then topped with finely julienned carrots, daikon and pine nuts (yes, you read correctly, pine nuts). This whole mixture was then sprinkled with a vinegar,soy sauce, black sesame mixture. The entire dish reminded me fondly of the tai snapper-don I had at the Tsukiji fish market last year.   I usually leave bits of rice in the bottom, but for this one, I used the soup spoon to scoop up every last grain. I think my feelings about chirashi have been forever changed. The ramen was a huge bowl of miso seasoned broth and noodles for 2! The chicken had nice grill marks, adding a smoky flavor to the simple but voluminous concoction. The leftovers provided a perfect pre-dinner rush snack to tide me over (as by 9 pm I am usually overly hungry).
Although the ramen was just average, the chirashi inspired me to go into the city a few days later on my day off and order the dinner sized serving (2 slices each of fish). It was almost as good (could have used more vinegar-ey sauce).  I also had the pork miso soup which was very drab, something I wouldn't recommend, along with a delicous glass of Provencal Rose wine. I will go back though, to try the rest of the menu and savor over those last bites of rice.

HARMONY, Mill Valley, http://www.harmonyrestaurantgroup.com/. DIM SUM A few Sundays ago I decided to break away from my egg-centric mid-day meal and sought out a more unusual way to usher in my workday (yes, I work on Sundays...). The thought of delicate wrappings and dipping sauces sounded just like the ticket so I cruised over to Harmony in the Strawberry Shopping Center, Mill Valley, where they serve Dim Sum 7 days a week. Unlike most Dim Sum restaurants, the staff at Harmony don't roll a cart around from which you can point and pick, but instead provide a thoughtfully descriptive menu of each dumpling as a second page to their more than ample menu of modern Cantonese.  They make about a dozen selections with wheat starch flour, a thicker and slightly chewy wrapper that is soft and bouncy, reminding me of fresh pounded rice paste, or what the Japanese call mochi.  There are several options using the more familiar egg flour wrap, the more common wrapper found around potstickers which can also which can be deep fried into wonton-like goodness.   I had the delicious broth-filled Shanghai dumplings which I slurped loudly (as it would have been a crime to burn the insides of my mouth), . Marinated Angus Steak slices come with mini steamed tea buns to eat them with. Shrimp Gao are filled with crunchy shrimp and bamboo shoots. Several dipping sauces are brought for the many flavors: plum, chinese hot mustard, soy and chili; s providing endless combinations of sweet, hot and salt. Many ingredients are organic and you really can't beat house-made wrappers from the huge crew of veterens behind the line.

LE GARAGE, Sausalito, http://www.legaragebistrosausalito.com/, FRENCH Of all of the things I could call myself, Francophile would not be close to the top of the list, but this modern twist on a traditional french bistro may be silently needling its way under my skin. Housed in a former coffee shop space down near the water, completely off the beaten path, Le Garage is one of my favorite restaurants in Marin County. Its even close enough to my house to ride my 1970's era green Peugeot bicycle over and barely break a sweat.  I smile secretly to myself after paying the bill, hoping the cute french waiter (and there are lots of them), notices that I too have a French last name, and that that sexy vintage bike outside, well of course it is mine. They certainly treat me like I'm part of their club, but then again, they treat everyone like that it seems, as my friends all feel the same. Handsome, charming, efficient. That alone would keep me returning but isn't necessary, as the food is top notch, consistent, and changes seasonally. I joined some old friends for lunch their last week, and chose the Lobster salad (because I had just dreamed of having lobster with Gavin Newsom - go figure?) and the Crab Stuffed Squash Blossoms. The salad was composed of beautiful Little Gem lettuces and thinly sliced watermelon radishes with numerous chunks of plump lobster meat, all tossed in an herb scented vinaigrette; both hearty and light at once.  It was surprisingly satisfying.  A glass of Provencal Rose was a perfect match to my shellfish kick. The lightly fried crab stuffed squash blossoms provided a great textural contrast to the salad, crunchy on the outside and filled with delicately seasoned crab meat. I reluctantly shared this dish with my companions, a small payback for the fries dipped in aioli I kept stealing off one of their plates. The burgers here are the best I have ever had, American Kobe Beef, served a true medium rare and dripping with melted Morbier cheese and sauteed onions. There are many lighter selections available, but you know, when in France... I may be soon purchasing a Rosetta Stone language CD to be able to flirt with the waiters.

SIDEBAR, Oakland, http://www.sidebar-oakland.com/, MODERN AMERICAN   I still can't believe how many excellent restaurants have opened in Oakland in the last few years. Its as if the culinary explosion that occurred 20 years ago in San Francisco has finally reverberated over to the East Bay.   The reality is that the cost of doing business in the City is ridiculous these days, with healthcare mandates and a close to $10 minimum wage. It's no wonder people are flocking to this underrated hamlet on the other side of the Bay Bridge. To the rest of the nation, Oakland is gang infested and dangerous. To those of us in "the know", Oakland is a great cultural mix of citizens in all sizes, shapes and economic levels. Just like any other city, one knows which neighborhoods to stay out of, and which ones to frequent. The Grand-Lake neighborhood is one of them to make a destination, as bordering Piedmont to the north, with its amazing mansions and Oak lined streets can't be all that bad of a place. I met my brother at Sidebar to celebrate his 50something birthday earlier this week. I got there a bit early, so plopped down at the copper topped , U shaped bar and ordered a Pisco Sour, my new favorite cocktail. I wasn't the least bit surprised this time when the bartender told me their Pisco Sour had just been voted the best cocktail in the East Bay by the East Bay Express, the left leaning free rag published in these parts. Yes, again, the Pisco Sour, voted - best -drink - and - I - was - apparently - unknowingly - on - the - pulse - of - this - kind - of - stuff.   I laughed to myself and recanted the story of El Bazaar in L.A. and having the exact same experience (read earlier post). Pisco sours are great though, and they made it expertly, applying a small dropper-full of house-blended bitters from a tincture bottle. Well, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know I would be smitten by that, house blended bitters, I was going to like this place. When Mark finally arrived, I quickly ordered the duck livers on toast and ordered him the shrimp stuffed deviled eggs. I was so busy consuming the liver on toast and small salad that accompanied it, that he scarfed up all of the deviled eggs. Well, I guess we were even, cuz' I didn't offer him any liver (and he didn't ask either). I got the chopped salad for dinner and by that time was ready for a glass or two of the Three Saints Willamette Valley Pinot Noir. The salad was nicely balanced with radicchio, little gems (well they are in season), provolone slices and salami. Mark got a monstrous ribeye steak (which I encouraged him to order, it was his birthday after all), on a heaping pile of shoestring fries. It was a expertly grilled and I snuck pieces when he wasn't looking. We finished with Profiteroles (in which they forgot to place a candle): Pastry shells filled with chocolate ice cream with a fountain of chocolate sauce cascading over the top. I barley got a bite in edgewise.

Oysters in Marshall

2009-09-17T11:19:00.000-07:00

After a nice work retreat on the Russian River in Monte Rio, meetings about budgets and facilities, and a few dinners involving a lot of wine and excellent food (we were lucky to have the chefs present), I made the decision to take the coastal route down Hwy One back to my house in Sausalito. This is no small drive, as Hwy 116/12 winds its way 10 miles to just east of Jenner and then joins Hwy 1, south through Bodega Bay, past expansive beaches, seagull laden rocks, and warm September skies. The weather was perfect early Indian Summer, practically no fog, and bathing suit worthy heat radiating off the empty mid-week sand. I stopped for a leisurely run down Doran Beach, a long spit of land that hems in Bodega Bay to the south, and looks head-on at the northern tip of Point Reyes Peninsula. I have always enjoyed this little known beach, as its orientation protects it from the blinding winds that can ravage these parts.

Working up a 40 minute sweat had afforded me a little lunch along the way. All I could think about were oysters, delicious Sweetwaters, coined by the Hog Island Oyster Company, getting their name from the local streams that form rivulets through the numerous oyster beds that populate their shoreline on Tomales Bay. I hadn't driven on this portion of the coast in some time, and smiled at the one-block row of shops and the old Inn in Valley Ford. I loved the rambly feel of the smallish town of Tomales, with the best coastal native plant nursery around. As the highway made its way back out toward the coast, a feeling of peace washed over me. These gorgeous grassy hills, dotted with dairy and horse farms and an occasional winery, are practically in my backyard. After travelling at least 2/3 of the coast of California last week, I felt blessed to have such beauty so close at hand.

Oysters, that's right, I had to fulfill my mission. The default plan was to stop for barbequed oysters at the Olema Farmhouse Inn before turning inland at Sir Francis Drake Blvd. I was actually craving fried oysters, and if they had them, I would get them instead. I passed Nick's Cove in Marshall, the nicely restored property by Pat Kuleto and team. I was feeling a bit too sweaty and underdressed though, so decided to plow on, acutely aware that I had entered oysterland, where most small places dotting this windy shoreline would have oysters in some way, shape or form. Next was Hog Island Oyster Company, my absolute favorite spot, with small and firm Kumamotos, their famous Sweetwaters, and briny Atlantics to satisfy any oyster afficianado. I didn't stop there though, either, as my gut was wanting something warm. After passing Tomales Bay Oyster Company and Tony's (which still had their chairs up), I saw the Marshall Store coming up on the right. Several signs out front advertised oysters, and I made the last minute decision to pull in. I had never been to the Marshall Store, but had passed it on many other drives to and from neighboring destinations.

It's not really much of a store, but more of a small lunch place, with sandwiches, chowder, chili and oysters. The menu had a few choices: 1/2 dozen raw on the half shell, 1/2 dozen barbequed with chipotle butter sauce, 1/2 dozen oyster Rockefeller. Oysters Rockefeller it was. It was still warm enough to sit on the perimeter deck and take in the fishing and sail boats, Inverness and Point Reyes Peninsula across the water. A sizeable herd of sea lions barked away, as they vied for space on the small sailboat they had taken over (unfortunate for the absentee owner). I read my book, enjoyed the breeze, and gazed at the other diners who had chosen the tables along the parking area, no longer on Marshall Store's property, but a place they could enjoy a beer or glass of wine, as the store has only an "off site" liquor license. After about 20 minutes, a plate of 7 oysters (a baker's half dozen?), flecked with chopped greens and bread crumbs, were set before me.

I attempted to recall exactly what comprises an "Oysters Rockefeller", as this one consisted of cooked and roughly chopped chard, spinach, onions and croutons. The scrumptous gems were plump and juicy, and even more enhanced with a dollop of Tapatio hot sauce. I was thankful that they weren't too buttery, and no cream or bacon studded these babies. A subsequent Google search on Oysters Rockefeller gave a variety of answers. The Marshall Store's version seemed a little conservative, but hit the spot nonetheless.

Regrettably, I got in my car, reality beginning to hit, as tomorrow would signal the beginning of my work week, and the official end to vacation.

http://www.themarshallstore.com/ open 7 days until 5 pm.

For shuck and serve yourself, these two places offer barbeques and picnic areas so you can fill in the blanks with wine, cheese and beer:
http://www.hogislandoysters.com/:   daily, 8-5
http://www.tomalesbayoysters.com/   daily 8-6

Here are a few other full service restaurants for oysters along HighwayOne between Marshall and Olema
    (it is worth noting that most offer lodging so you don't have to make the trip back so soon):

Nick's Cove, Marshall, CA http://www.nickscove.com/ Open 7 days, breakfast, lunch and dinner
       Full service restaurant restored by award winning restaurant designer Pat Kuleto. Menu is worthy of
      destination dining.

Tony's Seafood Restaurant, Marshall, CA: Only open on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, live music.

The Station House Cafe, Point Reyes Station, CA  http://www.stationhousecafe.com/ closed Wednesdays
       They have a large menu with many local specialties, a full bar and many oyster dishes including        Hangtown Fry, Oyster Po'Boy, and good old fashioned Oysters on the Half Shell.

Olema Farmhouse Inn, Olema, CA http://www.olemafarmhouse.com/ open 7 days
       A casual bar atmosphere with Oyster Stew (Fri, Sat and Sun only) and many other local specialties
       Look for them at the intersection of Sir Francis Drake Blvd and Highway One.

The Olema Inn, Olema, CA http://www.theolemainn.com/ Dinner 7 nights, Sat and Sun Brunch
     A definitive foodie destination for locally sourced ingredients including Marin Sun Farms beef, foraged
     vegetables and, of course, local seafood and oysters on the half shell.

Big Sur

2009-09-10T22:06:00.001-07:00

Setting off this morning from Pismo Beach, I made the last minute decision to ditch the 2 hour Hearst Castle tour and slowly make my way up to Big Sur, taking in random sites along the way and visiting Esalen for a 4 pm massage. It was the last official day away from home and I needed to not be on much of a schedule. I made my way to the famous rock at Morro Bay, which was barely visible yet amazing looking through the fog. I next stopped in the picturesque town of Cambria, ordering an incredible Turkey, Avocado and Pancetta sandwich from Soto's Market downtown.

I passed Esalen at 3 pm and decided to go check in at the Glen Oaks and make my way back down to take advantage of the cliffside natural hotsprings before my massage. I had chosen the Glen Oaks Motel because they had redone it recently, having been a state of the art "modern" hotel back in 1950 when they originally built it. It had been updated with all organic linens, soaps, bamboo flooring, a working fireplace, and looked almost as nice as the Ventana and the Post Ranch Inn down the street, at 1/4 of the price.

It had been years since I had been to an alternative culture place like Esalen. I had forgotten the vibe of the at times spacey wanna-be hippy culture: peace, love and clothing optional. The setting was fantastic, perched on the edge of the cliffs, natural hot springs in a cast cement building; a place well worth letting one's guard down for. A 75 minute massage with use of the facilities was only $165. That may sound like a lot, but considering the standard rate for a 50 minute massage in these parts was $120, it was a steal. To boot, the sound of the crashing waves and the warm sunshine on my battered body leached any remnants of stress away. This place is not for the conservative minded, as nude women and men basked in the sunshine and layed together on couples massage tables. I was surprised I even noticed these things and was even a tiny bit self-conscious (for like, one second), a sign to me that I am aging and changing. Damnit, I need to get out more.

The fog had never quite lifted from the shore that day, hanging at the coastline and sinking into each crevice and valley after sunset.

After a very relaxing few hours at Esalen, I opted for a contrasting experience and went for a drink at the posh Sierra Mar Restaurant at the Post Ranch Inn. I was dressed very casually and even had a hint of post massage sulphur spring pool wafting from my still glowing skin. If I wasn't driving a semi decent car, I probably would have been too shy, as it is tough to get a room there for under $600 a night. I summoned an few ounces of self importance as I parked my car, passed through the lobby and climbed the heavy wooden steps up to the top. The restaurant is probably the best in Big Sur and I was eager to check out the prix fixe menu and views. $105 for 4 courses, with each item available a la carte.

The room was very modern with a hint of rusticity in the rusty, hand-welded backdrop to the bar; floor to ceiling windows overlooked a sea of clouds. The scenery, clouds hugging the coastline, and soft sunlight illuminating from beyond gave the feeling that we were in a huge airplane looking out over the horizon, sitting in first class, of course. The cocktail menu was a good mix of innovative and classic, with fresh squeezed, organic juices making up the bulk of the specialty drinks. I opted for a drink (name I cannot recall) featuring Plymouth Gin, a splash of St. Germain (elderflower liqueur), grapefruit juice and a dollop of absinthe on top. It was delicious and refreshing. I was tempted to have the Foie Gras Trio as a snack, but somehow mustered a moment of self-control. Surprisingly (or not), the couple seated next to me were from Pacific Heights and had never been into Terzo; of course I gave them my card... Guests there were treated like locals and it was obvious there were many repeat visitors.

As the sun sank below the horizon, I snapped up some gorgeous photos and made my way down the hill, restaurant recommendations from the very friendly bartendress, Heidi, in hand. I had originally planned on Nepenthe, but was actually very happy with the local favorite she recommended, the Big Sur Bakery, which she said was right next door. In Big Sur terms, that means a mile down the road.

The restaurant seemed a bit harried when I walked in, perhaps a little short staffed. A friendly woman with a German accent seated me outside next to a large Redwood tree. Indian summer had hit on this part of the coast and I was lucky to be in such a relaxed state, the smell of forest floor hanging in air, a warm breeze caressing my skin, the Plymouth Gin running through my veins. I'm not sure if my server thought I was expecting someone else, but it took her about 10 minutes to finally come over to my table, saying "a single lady dining alone tonight?", which I found impossibly obnoxious but smiled anyway. I had already decided what I wanted, to eat to drink etc. She assured me water and bread would be over in a minute, and that it was fine that I ordered the pizza, but it would be "at least 45 minutes, if that's alright with you?" I had already scanned my other options and I was tired of big hunks of protein; salad and pizza sounded like a refreshing change. I assured her it was fine.

The wine arrived but no water or bread. The busser hadn't bothered to notice me. I didn't care much about the bread, but the massage, hot tubs and two drinks at Sierra Mar had left me parched. I had to ask a couple of times and finally did have a glass of water placed before me. The busser never did come over though, even as he refilled the glasses at the next table. Perhaps I do reek of sulphur, I wondered to myself as I watched the German lady (who turned out to be the owner) make small talk with every table except mine. I began to feel like Ruth Reichl as an undercover food critic, dressed frumpily and being ignored by head waiters in her book, Garlic and Sapphires. I pondered how interesting it was that most people are uncomfortable with a single woman dining alone; everyone but me, that is. Oh well, not my problem how other people feel, but it would have been inexcusable if my service was faltering because of this; something I would never know for certain.

I began to perk up when a nice effeminate male waiter brought me a lightly dressed Spring Green, Pistachio, Peach, Haricot Vert and Feta Cheese Salad, a hard choice from the several very appetizing sounding combinations listed on the menu. It was tasty and filled the vegetable void that had arisen in the preceding days. He was taken aback that I didn't have any bread and whisked some out to me, 3 or 4 kinds piled on a cutting board, unsalted butter and a nice pile of salt crystals for seasoning. The seeded bread was the best, crunchy at the crust, toothsome yet soft in the center. If I hadn't already begun to feel full, I would have considered buying a loaf to bring back home.

The pizza finally did arrive, exactly 45 minutes from the time of ordering. By that point my appetite was fading, but I was still enjoying the warm night. The Niman Ranch Ham, Pineapple and Serrano Chiles pizza had sounded refreshing; defiantly not a pizza for the traditionalist. I am so accustomed to our Neopolitan Pizzas here in the Bay area however, that I found the crust a little too thick and doughy for my liking. It was as if the pizza didn't cook long enough, or possibly sat in the expediting window too long. The toppings were only lukewarm, the cheese barely melted. Picking at a few pieces, I asked for my bill, suddenly feeling the need to leave and have some quiet time with the trees back at my hotel. The next day, my vacation would come to an end, work would start again, and I would begin plotting my next adventure.

Hwy 1 out of LA

2009-09-10T21:40:00.000-07:00

I'm not so sure at this point in my trip whether its good or bad to have Murakami's "Kafka on the Shore" blaring through my car's speakers. I'm so damn engrossed in the story by now that it is hard to concentrate on the scenery as I make my way up highway one for a first ever trip between LA and Big Sur. Sure, I've been to Santa Monica and Malibu, and yes, I've been to Big Sur coming in from the north, but I've never taken that eponymous trip all the way along this highway, north to the Bay Area.

Yesterday was uneventful, as just getting out of LA and the sprawling feel took practically all day. PCH through Santa Monica, past Pepperdine and beyond Malibu is the highway of the cinema, familiar in a "I've seen that before" kind of way. I had been there before a few times, but had not spent any meaningful time along this stretch, nor would I on this trip.

I stopped, completely famished (and a little hung over from last night's dinner at El Bazaar) at a strip mall along the road in Oxnard, low blood sugar and caffeine don't mix well. I didn't want to spend the time to seek out the downtown area and this little mall had a Subway sandwich shop, a few other stores, and a Filipino lunch place. By now you know I probably wasn't going to choose Subway, so Filipino it was. I was so bleary-eyed that is was difficult to choose from the various pans of food on the steam table behind the glass. Everyone in there was a Pacific Islander, and I had to remind myself that they all spoke english and I could ask whatever questions I wanted. My state of mind, however, was dulled and even though they had beautiful looking rice noodles, chicken adobo, several pork dishes and a few other things, I played it safe and ordered the Beef Colorado, basically Filipino Beef Stew. I was in a hurry and just needed some protein to get me through. After using the lysol laced bathroom, I took a few bites and got back on the road.

I passed Santa Barbara and made my way to the Cold Springs Tavern, an old Stage Coach stop off the San Marcos Pass, Hwy 154. Even though it was a good 2 hours later, my biliousness and the few bites of stew had suppressed my hunger (i love that word, both Julia Child and MFK Fisher use that to describe liver overtaxing). I stopped at this historic spot anyway, and had a coffee and a cup of wild meat chile (boar, venison and bison). It was rich and tasty, made with black beans and topped with the requisite chopped onions and cheese. I felt like I was channeling my parents, as hardly in my life have I washed down a savory item with coffee. Both my Father and Jeff James (yes, a distant relative of Jesse James) had separately told me to check this place out. I could see how it was a great stop for the motorcyclists off the very easy, rolling 154. In fact, there were a dozen bikers having an animated lunch around a large oval table in the next room.

A little further up was Los Olivos, and Neverland Ranch, which I dutifully stopped at to pay my respects. I felt sad at the gate to Neverland, perhaps because of MJ and his legend, but also because of the hangover and the pending end of my vacation.

I finally reached my hotel in Pismo Beach. I had chosen this area as a "partway point", as my sister lives right over the hill in Santa Maria and we planned to have dinner together that night. She toured me on the cute towns of Shell Beach and Avila Beach. We drove out on the San Luis Pier and viewed the elephant seals all piled up on a deck below. I was surprised that I could have walked right up to them.

We had dinner at Custom House in Avila Beach, a cute seafood restaurant right on the beach. The chowder was glumpy. I had ordered swordfish, (despite the mercury content), as it had been many many years since I had eaten it. It was dried out and unimpressive, not medium rare as I had expected. It will be another several years before I order it again...

Quickly falling asleep by 10 pm, I looked forward to an easy drive to Big Sur the next day, and checking out the sites with the engrossing characters in Murakami's novel carrying me along.

El Bazaar

2009-09-09T18:02:00.000-07:00

After a way too short a time having coffee in the adorable town of Pasadena with my old friend Robert Williams, I made my way back to Hollywood, to Ricardo's house, the starting point of my full circuit tour of the "southland". We had 8:45 pm reservations at El Bazaar , and my 8-5 friends were nice enough (and caffeined up) to indulge me with their company for one more night of good food, drinks and conversation. Earlier in the week, Marcelo (my BFF in the Bay Area) had mentioned that I should check this restaurant out. The chef is Jose Andres, apparently the former Sous Chef at El Bulli in Spain, quite possibly the best restaurant in the world. The investors and maybe even the chef himself had recently been to Quintessa (M's place of work) and talked it up. Seeing that I had never heard of it, I checked online, loved the tapas menu, and made a reservation.

Finding rock star parking right away (which some say is impossible in Beverly Hills), was a good omen, as we arrived perfectly on time, to a gracious host/mngr who asked us to wait in the bar, as the previously table had just paid. We took in the modern surroundings: low slung caramel leather couches, wide coffee tables and perfectly dimmed lighting. A 40 foot long, glass- topped bar height table ran at an angle down the room, a deliberate focal point and conversation piece, as encased in the table at every seat was a round portal of fuzzy black and white movie footage, dancing beneath the glass like holograms providing an eerie, otherworldly contrast to the modern, almost gaudy mirror encased booth just beyond.

A quick look at the cocktail list and I decided on a Pisco Sour. I recalled fondly the last time I had this drink at Adesso in Oakland, not too sour, a hint of creaminess (from egg whites) and a dash of bitters. The bartender wasn't surprised by my order, as apparently the LA Times had just crowned El Bazaar's Pisco Sour the Best Drink in LA that very morning! Had I died and suddenly become hip, my finger on the pulse of the LA dining scene? LOL The drink really did turn out to be absolutely the best of its kind. Pisco (that lovely South American liqueur made from grape spirits), fresh lemon juice and an egg white, all shaken together and then strained into a martini glass. A few dashes of peychaud's bitters garnished the top. YUM

Right when I was about to order a second, the maitre'd motioned to us to come along, our table was ready. I made a mental note to check out the rest of the bar area, as their were more tables in a completely different decor of french baroque, in the next room, next to an elaborate patisserie display and an eclectic collection of museum quality objects d'art for sale.

Our table was spacious and the lighting was bright but not glaring, which made for easy reading of the rather large menu: a fold out of 4 pages, two devoted to "traditional tapas" and two to "modern tapas". I was surprised to see the modern tapas had a distinctively japanese twist to them.

Our server was dressed in a cute vintage modern cocktail dress, no aprons or frumpy button downs in the vicinity. She expertly gave us the run down of the menu, 3-4 small plates each, and recommended we choose from both the traditional and modern sides to get the full experience of the place. There were also two chef tasting menus to choose from, one $45 and one $65.

After little discussion we each decided on 3 plates, with room to add more if we liked. Both Joe and I ordered additional items meant for singular eating: He an American Caviar Cone and me a Cotton Candy Foie Gras. Those came out first, his a crispy crepe-like cone stuffed with delicate black eggs, not as firm as I like them, but flavorful. Mine was a puff ball of cotton candy on a stick, meant to be eaten in one bite. I let Joe and Ricardo pull at the sugar before I deftly popped the whole thing in my mouth. The melting whisps gave way to a center of creamy torchon, perfectly cured with a hint of cognac. I was already in heaven, as by now you know I have a soft spot for all things liver-ey.

When the "Linguine with Miso" was placed before us, we had to quickly recap what we had ordered. As these were cellophane noodles with orange Ikura dotting the top. Not what we expected but very flavorful, just the right amount of salt, a hint of miso, and the nice crunch from the roe. It was, however, a little challenging to eat, as everything kept sliding off our forks.

Next up was the cheese course, not a bad price: 3 selections for $15 or 5 for $25. We selected the Idiazabel, a nutty and firm sheeps milk cheese, aged Manchego, and Valdeon, a Spanish Blue. Small, rustic twists of crackers were scattered about the plate as well as an ample amount of membrillo (quince) jam. Cheese plates are simple but mostly always delicious.

Cod fritters arrived next, small balls of creamy goodness, with aioli to dip them in. This turned out to be my favorite dish.

Two sea scallops then arrived on plate of rough cut romesco sauce. The scallops were plump yet lacked the caramelization that would have set them off better against the rich red pepper and almond background.

Ricardo had chosen the "Japanese Tacos": Three "tacos" were neatly arranged on a small taco building stand. Parchment paper held a thin lengthwise cut of cucumber in which was nestled a piece of barbeque eel and a slice of avocado. Popping the whole thing in my mouth at once, flavors were exactly as one would expect (from the Japanese restaurant across the street). R & J loved this dish, I found the flavors nice but common and strangely out of place.

Mid-meal, I made a quick trip to the ladies lounge to refresh, and entered a room full of mirrors with a row of marbeled sinks down the middle. A girl was talking to her boyfriend on speaker phone, and attendants wiped each door, toilet, and mirror down continuously. Very L.A. I really don't like these kind of rooms, as you can see yourself from every angle, and at this point in the trip, I should have just stopped eating right then and there! HA

That was quickly forgotton as I reentered the dining room and slid into my comfortable seat on the leather sofa. We couldn't remember what was coming next until the lamb loin arrived. A small bowl held a smooth puree of mashed potatoes, with a disc of demiglace gelee in the center, beneath which rested a fan of sliced medium rare lamb. The flavors married well and we were all happy with the richness of the demiglace accenting the mild lamb. Meat and potatoes at their best. The potatoes reminded me that we hadn't ordered the patatas bravas, usually fried potato chunks with some sort of dipping sauce. When our server stopped by to check, I threw that order in, as I was certain my companions would appreciate them. When they arrived, however, what was placed before us looked like powdered sugar coated Jordan almonds. They turned out to be small german butterball potatoes, coated with powdered salt. Yes, powdered salt. The dipping sauce, described as a Mole Verde, was pureed cilantro with a little citrus and possibly a small amount of chile. I have to say, I didn't like this dish at all. The salt was very strong, overpowering even the green sauce. Ricardo loved it though, and even dipped the salty nuggets in the leftover demiglace of the lamb dish.

Our server stopped by again, and asked if we had received the spinach yet, a traditional spanish style dish with pine nuts and golden currants. No we had not, and she scooted off to check on it. It finally was placed before us and I immediately was sad we had not had this earlier, along side the lamb course, as the flavors were nice but a strange placement in the procession of dishes. We were close to full when another forgotten dish made it out, skewers of watermelon alternating with plum tomatoes. Although a nice palate cleanser, this dish also felt misplaced.

Starting off strong and ending a little weak, we were still pretty impressed by the flavors, innovative style and freshness of the ingredients. Those last dishes put us over the edge however, and, being that it was now after 11 pm on a school night, we declined even looking at the dessert menu.

In digestive mode, we perused the gallery next to the bar, an eclectic mix of hand blown glass pieces, jewelry, japanese Anime characters, Liberacci (or Michael Jackson) styled crystal what-nots, and leather S & M wear; truly something for everyone. The patisserie bar consisted of artfully arranged glass domed delicacies, making me wish I was making one more trip to my parent's house, as Inge would have been in heaven.

An eastern San Diego thing...

2009-09-07T08:56:00.000-07:00

My sister and I made our way 1/2 hour east of Oceanside, past Avocado stands (1#/$3!), Macadamia Nut trees, Pomegranates and Palm tree nurseries, to Fallbrook, the town my Father has lived for the last 20 years.

We had agreed to go to a post birthday lunch at Pala Casino, one of the multiple Indian casinos dotting the roads winding east toward the desert. Knowing it would be a buffet, I felt a mixture of dread and genuine curiosity as we snaked our way past more nurseries and a huge Bison ranch.

The casino culture is always one that has bored me. I found this out the hard way, on a "3" day weekend in Las Vegas in my early 20's. My parents had started going there every Christmas, making the 4 hour drive, gambling all night, trading off time in the hotel room, drinking incessant cups of coffee and counting cards at the blackjack tables. I think they felt guilty one year, me, the youngest, alone in Northern California, so they decided to invite me along. My stepmother, Ingeborg, had created a cute Christmas card with money taped all over it, $100 in total. I had already lived in Reno for a couple of years (don't ask), so I knew how to play the games and wasn't a total fish out of water in a casino. Nothing prepared me for their total immersion though, my Father playing poker in the players only rooms, my Stepmother in her own world playing 21. I opted for the Keno lounge and a few games of video poker. Within a few hours, I was bored stiff, not yet my fully adventurous self, and had blown through the $100 already. I only spent one night there, and talked them into changing my flight - this Vegas thing was boring the hell out of me and seriously cramping their style.

Flash forward to yesterday and entering the huge Pala Casino, packed with people, my Father expertly pushing past the people walking as if their eyes were closed. Moving in the casino makes moving in a restaurant seem like a sleepwalk. I felt a flashback coming on, especially since the cigarette smoke hung thickly in the air (Indian casinos are apparently exempt from California State Law). The buffet line was about 100 people long. That didn't include the hoards of people shoving past us in line, joining their friends and relatives who were holding places. We were starving, not having had breakfast in anticipation of the bounty of the buffet. The wait was 1 hour.

When we finally entered and were seated at our table, both Inge and Dad, without word or sitting down, headed over to the buffet area. The room was surprisingly well appointed, reminding me very much of the buffet in the bottom of my Tokyo hotel last year. The chairs and tables were very nice, and we had cloth napkins before us.

I got up and perused the options, as I had seen King Crab legs and oyster shells piled up on the empty tables in the dining room, like an abandoned feast in Roman times. A huge salad bar stood in the middle of the room, with a large array of about 15 sliced fruits colorfully displayed down one side. Its counterpart was a grill station, with piles of steaks, ready to be grilled to order. Around the perimeter stood a seafood station with the oysters and Crab and boiled shrimp. Next was the fried shrimp, clams strips, and calamari. Various sauces with drippy ladles waited for self service. A Chinese area held char sui (a favorite of mine), steamed shrimp dumplings, pot stickers, chow mein, kim chee, pickled ginger, and a few stir fries. A carving station had roast turkey, lamb, pork loin and pork spareribs. Next over were large swords speared with sausages (very Churascurria-esque) and a huge bone-in ham. A whole section was devoted to chicken: fried, roasted, nuggets, mashed potatoes, vegetables, gravies. There was still more: A pizza station with pastas and sauces, then a breakfast station with pancakes, eggs, bacon, french toast, blinzes, hash browns. Oh yeah, I can't forget the huge dessert station with sundaes, various cakes and pastries, and a bakery style cold case with artfully decorated bite sized desserts including cheesecake on a stick, creme brulees and even panna cotta.

I started with crab legs and a salad (as remember, this was "all you can eat!"). I followed suit with many of the "regulars" and had the crab legs heated up, which I fantasized involved plopping them on the grill, but instead were dunked briefly in not so boiling water. They turned out to be watery and still chilled - being most likely frozen before entering, especially when you take into account the throngs of people they were feeding that day. I was happy they were on a separate plate, because what resulted was a messy swamp, from which I attempted to fish out the few fried clams I had taken. Thankfully, the staff was ample and quickly whisked away any dirty plates left on the outer edge of the table.

Next I perused the meat and chinese areas, no, not steak (didn't look quite right) and settled on some char siu, shrimp dumplings, roasted lamb, a sausage, mashed potatoes and a brussels sprouts, in small piles on my large plate. I got through about half of this, the meat okay, the dumplings pastey and strange, and the brussels sprouts the worst I've ever had (but the mashed potatoes amazingly good, mashed with the skins). I was sadly already full, the main dishes pretty decent tasting; but I didn't have room for the many more selections to try. My sister and I laughed our asses off as we watched Ingeborg delight over the many desserts with a Lucille Ball style antic she has become so good at imitating (without really knowing it). We wondered why she had even bothered with the savory items. I chose the panna cotta which was presented in nice little glass jars, topped with blueberries. It was quite delicious actually that I had a second. We were at a buffet, after all.

Crossing the border & Dana Point Birthday

2009-09-06T10:46:00.001-07:00

The road to the border crossing in Tecate snakes its way around the edge of town, away from the busy streets so that they don't get clogged up with the sometimes hour wait to clear the border patrol etc. We had some wine with us, which made me nervous, and the sun was hot, hot, hot, coming in the western window of the car, which also happened to be right in my face.

After an uneventful showing of the passports, the border agent said "have a nice day ladies". We jammed out of there only to find another roadblock 1/2 hour up the road, replete with drug sniffing dogs. After another 30 minute wait in the hot sun, we were on our way. Even if you aren't guilty of anything, the way these guys behave make you feel like you have something to hide.

We drove as fast as we could back to Orange County, as the rental car agency closed at 3 pm and there was no way I wanted to pay for a few more days. Thank god for that car though, as it would have been hair raising to be blasting through potholes down those lovely dirt roads in my own vehicle.

Barely making it to the rental place on time, I was overheated and sporting a sore throat (again). Shit, it was relentless.

It was Joan's 50th birthday, and we planned to meet for drinks with a few of her old friends. After a power nap, I was able to gather enough strength to at least drive her to Cannon's on the cliff overlooking Dana Point Harbor. Of course I stayed for a drink, a Hot Toddy, to soothe the throat and then another drink, and probably another: all Hot Toddies. The view from this restaurant is spectacular. Despite the not so good appetizers, it is always comforting to be in a place that is so familiar, with old friends you've known since you were 10. These beaches, harbors and roads were the stomping grounds that helped shape me, and had that feeling of "home".

We moved next to the Dana Point Yacht Club, on a small spit of land in the middle of the harbor. More hot drinks (Irish coffees this time) and okay appetizers rounded out the still warm evening.

Today I will journey to my Father's house in Fallbrook, 1/2 hour inland from Oceanside. The next few days should be pretty relaxing especially if I'm careful to nurse my throat. Lunch is planned at the buffet of the local Casino. This should be interesting...

Valle de Guadalupe, Part Two - Vinisterra & Tres Mujeres

2009-09-06T10:36:00.001-07:00

We were fortunate to have the proprietor of Villa del Valle, Eileen Gregory, and her assistant, Alejandro, make appointments for us at a few more wineries the next day: Vinisterra and Tres Mujeres. Joan and I set off first, however, back up to the east end of the valley to find a store called “Dona Lupe”. It was tucked behind L.A. Cetto (the biggest and most commercial winery in the valley), down a wide dirt road (not surprised?) and backed up against the mountains. Dona Lupe is known for their organic jams, jellies, chile sauces and other hand made goods. I was excited when we entered to earthy herbal scents and wafts of who-knows-what that they were stirring in the small open kitchen behind the cash register.

The store was filled on every wall, in some areas 3 deep, with jams of all kinds: jalapeno, quince and guava, rose petal, pineapple, basil, mint. Everything they grew in their organic gardens were cooked up and canned. I had discovered earlier that all of the jams at our hotel come from this place, as they supply the entire valley with their concoctions. Not only did they have jams, they had a wall of dried herbs with explanations of what medicinal effects they had. They also make their own cheese and even their own cosmetic oils and face creams.

This kind of store affects me like a kid in a candy store, as I am always eager to return home with as much expression of a place as I can fit in my bag. Good thing I drove on this trip, as I suspect my car will be filled by the time I make it back to Sausalito.

After spending about $100 on various items and gifts (all of those 60 and 70 peso prices really added up! BTW the exchange rate is $1 = 13 pesos), we jumped back into the car and zoomed our way to the western side of the valley, to Vinisterra Winery, near a town called San Antonio de las Minas. San Antonio de las Minas looked from the map to be about the same as Francisco Zarco, really a nothing of a town. But in person it was really much more “charming” and condensed, with a colorful row of shops and farmacias lining the main road.

We followed the signs, after turning around a few times. I finally mustered up the nerve to declare outloud to my sister that she was a terrible navigator. I suppose if she wore her glasses more regularly she would have been better, maybe… We eventually pulled up to a beautiful adobe colored building, very modern with sleek lines and grape vines coming right up to edge of the path leading to the front door. A small French woman named Agnes greeted us and we proceeded to a tour of the buildings, the cellar and the grounds. As we looked out onto a vineyard next door where the grapes were not trellised, but grew in “bush” style near the ground without pruning or training, she proceeded to tell us about the history of grape growing in Mexico and how winemaking had been thriving until the President of Spain forbade it. All of the vineyards in the various growing regions had been ripped out. Tequila became the alcoholic beverage of choice and the Mexican people from then on knew very little if nothing about wine. In the last 20-30 years winemaking has helped to stir that a bit, and the bush style vines we looked out on were done in the traditional, old way. According to the serious winemakers though, training and trellising do much to improve the quality and expression of the grapes and so you won’t see anyone who is selling their wine not pruning their vines. It was interesting though, because I did see much of these bush style plantings in small plots around the valley.

The tasting room was cool as we tasted 5 – 6 wines, each paired with a little piece of cheese, or chorizo, and finally, a lavender flavored chocolate truffle. The wines here were the best I had tasted so far, Tempranillo being the main varietal in unusual mixes with Zinfandel, Cabernet, and Syrah. The enologists of this valley are trying to create a specific flavor profile that is uniquely mexico, without trying to emulate the other wine regions of the world: Rhone, Bordeaux, Rioja, etc which is why you won’t find any “traditional style” blends, but a mix of juices one would never think of putting together.

We had to rush out, as I had hoped for a quick taco and we had our last appointment of the day in a half hour. Back out on the main road we looked for that fish taco stand we had been told about. Hmmm, not there. We flipped around at the next break in the road and settled on a roadside stand that was little more than a dilapidated motor home with I am sure no running water, the kind of place you don’t want to look very closely at. My hunger wiped out any reminant of care as I ordered a carne asada taco and my sister ordered a queso taco, sin carne. The wonderful array of salsas in a clean and iced down container were reassuring even as we declined lettuce on the tacos but did say yes to the cilantro and onions (go figure). Our logic was skewed which I was well aware of and intentionally ignored. (which may or may not have contributed to a small bout of Montezuma’s revenge the following day…) The tacos were small, good and piled with chile sauce and guacamole which I ate in about 3 bites. “Hurry up sister, we gotta go”, as she wiped the sauce from her chin and I reved the motor.

Tres Mujeres couldn’t have been more opposite in style, where Yvette and a dog greeted us and we entered their wine cave. The cave was basically a very small adobe room with wine racks lining the walls, hand made ceramics scattered about. A small barrel held a few clean glasses and some open bottles. They only produce about 900 cases of wine here per year, 300 cases each. It a collective, where the women each support one another in making their individual wines, while support themselves financially with “day” jobs. One is a business administrator, the other a biologist, and Yvette is a ceramist. The wines were a bit thin but unique, as they expressed the salinity of the soil and the valley the most of any we had tasted so far. Some others were in the room with us and we enjoyed listening to their lullabic Spanish, understanding a bit here and there. I bought a few bottles of the most interesting wine we tasted, an eclectic blend of they produce by mixing their three wines together. We picked out some ceramic tiles to purchase as we waited for Yvette to label the bottles by hand writing on them in gold pen.

Needing to mix things up a bit, Joan and I decided to stop for a beer and some chips and salsa at Mustafas, a restaurant we had passed many times and was familiar from my research. Mustafa himself was there, in fact his name is Mustafa Ali, originally from Morocco. His English was perfect though, and we chatted with him for a few hours at in the shade of large Ficus trees, views of the southern mountains of the valley in the background.

Back at our hotel and after a much needed swim and recline while watching the sunset, we had a simple dinner which started with a green salad served by Eileen herself with her small granddaughter trailing her closely. This was followed by a filet of beef for me and tombo tuna for my sister, served by our handsome young chef. We shared the dining room with a couple who were celebrating their wedding anniversary that weekend. They had married here in the valley 2 years before.

Grabbing another bottle of wine from the room, Joan and I relaxed on the patio and admired the full moon and lacy clouds that dotted the sky. The weather was perfect and all we could hear was a dog barking way off in the distance. I savored this evening, the patio, the breeze and the peacefulness, as I knew it would be my last for a long while.

Dinner at Laja

2009-09-05T07:51:00.000-07:00

In the glow of the waning sun, we made our way through the rolling and twisting roads from our Inn to the main highway. Thankfully the one on this side of the valley is paved!

Laja is reputed to be one of the nicest restaurants in this area. Despite our empanadas a few hours earlier, I was pretty hungry and ready to enjoy food that some say rivals top restaurants in the Bay Area, namely, Chez Panisse.

Because of all of the road construction going on here, Laja's sign wasn't very visible from our side of the street. The man at the hotel said it was only about 4 minutes down the main highway, and after driving for 10, we decided to turn around and retrace our steps. Ahhh, there it was, tipped sideways and dusty from, well, you know. The house like structure had ample parking, but sadly no other car was in the lot as we pulled in. We entered the large beamed room with a small bar and peaked ceiling. It was 7pm and a macero (waiter) came right out and asked us to chose whatever table we liked. I instantly felt terrible that we may prove to be the only reason they opened that evening (as I had made a reservation several weeks ago).

He presented us with a prix fixe menu (written in perfect english) from which we would chose 3 courses plus dessert. I perused the local wine list, a few from each winery I had read about. Another, more experienced waiter motioned for me to come to the bar, as his wine by the glass list would have been verbal (if we spoke the same language), so instead we got to taste through the 8 or so wines he was offering that evening by the glass. I figured we could start with a glass of white and then get a bottle of red. The crisp Chenin Blanc we chose had some weightiness to it, but not as cloying as a chardonnay. It had a pleasant almond tone and was unfiltered.

After we returned to our seats, he helped me navigate the vinos tintos (red wines), and we chose a Syrah from Adobe Guadalupe, another local boutique inn that has a winery attached. I was happy to be chosing their wine, as I was sad to not have time to go there, and was very pleased with the robust richness of the dark red juice.

We both chose salads of "tender lettuces" which turned out to be baby arugula, surrounded by some beets and slices of local cheese. The leaves were very delicate, one step beyond a sprout, and slightly dressed.

For course number two, Joan had the bonito tartare and I chose the hand cut noodles with fresh vegetables. Both were amazing preparations. The raw bonito was even fresher than I had eaten in Japan, cut into cubes and mixed with preserved lemon, avocado, spicy radishes and cress.
My hand cut noodles had a hint of parmesan cheese and butter coating the soft yet toothsome noodles, with a small dice of local zucchini and asparagus.

By this time, a couple arrived (which also happened to be staying at our inn), and sat nearby. Our two tables proved to be their only ones that night. I kept wondering (being in the restaurant business myself) how a place such as this could survive and keep their food fresh and inspired with only a few customers a night. This was even more punctuated by the fact that the large room easily sat more than 50 guests. Hopefully they are busy on the weekends...

My main course was Oven Roasted Local Lamb with Peas, Rapini and Caramelized shallots. The lamb was prepared in two ways, the loin roasted, sliced and fanned out on the plate. The shoulder was braised and had a rich reduction that coated the rapini and caramelized shallots. Was their a pea on the plate? I don't think so, but the rapini was nicely bitter to balance the richness of the braise and I was quite happy with my selection. Joan had ordered the Pan Roasted White Fish over Zucchini and Swiss Chard with Pequillo Pepper and Calf's Feet Vinaigrette. I had to ask the waiter (in "spanish") if the chef could use a different vinaigrette, as although I would have loved to try the one listed on the menu, Joan would have nothing to do with it (being a "pescatarian"). Her fish tasted a lot like a striped bass, with crisped skin perched on top of the simply prepared vegetables. It was perfectly flakey and moist.

Almost sated, dessert arrived: Panna Cotta with Strawberry Sorbet for me; Viognier and Syrah Grape Sorbet for my sister. The panna cotta was perfectly done, smooth and creamy with a hint of yogurt tang to it. The three sorbets were also expertly prepared, providing a light finish to the rich meal.

It was a satisfying meal with very attentive, yet not intrusive, service. Had I more energy, I may have asked to see the kitchen and meet the chef. Was it on par with Chez Panisse? Well, yes and no. It is hard to compare when knowing the limitations of this restaurant with its almost non-existant clientele. The ingredients were very fresh and it was clear the kitchen knew what they were doing. A wonderful place that I am sure I will return to the next time I'm here.

Valle de Guadalupe, Part One

2009-09-04T09:30:00.000-07:00

As I sit in the living room of my gorgeous boutique inn, La Villa de Valle, I reflect on the this beautiful, gentle and quiet valley. There are not many sounds save for a distant rooster sounding off well into the day and the bustle of sweet Mexican girls with their small children, making coffee across the way in the kitchen. I gaze out to the terraces surrounding this lovely oasis, the olive grove and gardens beyond, and the many dogs that run around the property, taking dips in the pool, and happily wag their tails when one approaches.

It took about 3 hours to get into the valley from San Clemente; two of which were spent navigating small border highways in San Diego County. Entering through Tecate was a breeze, they didn’t even glance at us as we readied our passports etc. We were waved on through, but I wanted to talk to the border patrol to assure I could bring wine back across (for a price of course), so I pulled over and stepped out of the very air-conditioned rental car into the hot Mexican desert, California just steps away through the fence. I was very surprised to find little if no English spoken even at this proximity to the border. I was able to verify that I could bring wine back and would have to pay duty. Mission accomplished (I was about to be foolish and try to write that in Spanish…)

The road to Valle de Guadalupe was well paved, practically empty, and super easy to navigate across dry mountains with some small valleys in between. We saw two federales guarding either side of the road in a small pueblo along the way, having set up a “speed bump” (made of I don’t know what). No issues whatsoever. Shortly thereafter we found ourselves rounding a corner with vineyards flanking each side of the road – aahhh, we had arrived. Valle de Guadalupe begins with the very commercial L.A. Cetto winery and a town called Francisco Zarco to the Northeast, and ends with the town, San Antonio de Las Minas to the south, nearer to coast and Ensenada. We were eager to stop for lunch before tasting any wines.
I had noticed from my crude map that Francisco Zarco had several streets. I thought perhaps we could get out and walk around until we actually saw the town, consisting of a dirt “main street”, with periodic signs announcing Ruta del Vino, which as far as we could tell, was the only street of town. Splitting off periodically were dusty roads leading to dilapidated buildings, homes etc. but no other businesses save for a few small grocery stores, a couple of one room “museums”, 3 or 4 “restaurants” that were basically small shacks boasting items I didn’t recognize on their hand painted signs. We pulled over at a clean looking place that had a parking lot. Little boys ran about in their underwear, chickens and a large white duck were hiding out in the shade. The patio was clean with beautiful rough hewn tables as we passed through the back door to the store in front to let La Senora know that we would like to eat something. Spiced vinegars, jams and cheeses were sparingly displayed. Nothing on the menu looked familiar, so we chose brochetas de queso y tomate (brochettes of cheese and tomatoes) and a plato containing pastries that held frijoles y queso, queso, y carne (3). It also came with pure papas (mashed potatoes) and some salad.

After a little bit (too long but we were in Mexico now…) some julienned cucumbers dressed in herb flecked vinegar and olive oil were placed before us. There was a hint of chile in the mix and the cucumbers were a welcoming beginning to our time here. The brochettes appeared, containing large chunks of goat cheese, spongy and mild, alternating with chunks of tomatoes and a similar vinaigrette drizzled over the top. We thought twice about whether we should consume the tomatoes, as it is a tough thing to eat uncooked vegetables in this country known for “Montezuma’s revenge” striking unsuspecting travelers. But then again, we had already consumed the cucumbers, so…

Our main dish appeared, three ample empanada style turnovers, served with potato puree and a salad for which the dressing was on the side. We avoided the lettuce and concentrated on the fried goodness of the three varieties before us. I happily ate the one with carne, containing potatoes and olives in a mild sauce, as my sister doesn’t eat meat. The dough was chewy and flavorful, with enough flake to give it texture but not too much so that it would fall apart.

We were now primed to visit a few wineries on the way to the inn.

We started at Monte Xanic, one of the biggest in the valley, and the first and only Mexican wine I had tasted to date. 10 years ago a Mexican tapas restaurant in Albany called “Fonda” had their Cabernet/Merlot blend. That marked the beginning of my curiousity about Mexican wines and this little known (yet I predict, soon to be discovered) wine region 45 miles south of the border. I have wanted to visit ever since, so it was symbolic for us to start our tasting tour there. The coolness of the tasting room, high on the second floor overlooking the stainless fermentation tanks, was a welcome respite from the heat wave overtaking the valley this week.

We tasted several whites: a Sauvignon Blanc, Chardonnay, Chenin Colombard and late harvest Chenin Blanc. The reds were a blend of Merlot and Cab, 100% Cabernet Sauvignon, and 100% Merlot. I have the (sometimes) bad habit of buying at least one bottle from the wineries I visit (even in the states), and left Monte Xanic with a bottle of the crisp and lemony Sauvignon Blanc, and 2 bottles of the 100% Cabernet Sauvignon. She had been boasting about the 2005 cab, and when I tasted it, the finish was odd and unpleasant. I urged her to taste what she had been pouring from the large temperature controlled, high tech pouring unit behind her. She did taste it and realized it was “off”. Once I got her to open a fresh bottle, I was happy she did, as the rich, chocolate and dark fruit tones with firm tannins seemed like a perfect wine to lay down for a couple of years.

It was already 3:00, as the tasting at Monte Xanic had gone on way too long. I was anxious to get to the hotel, clearly having to adjust to the slower way of life here. We still had one more stop to make in this part of the valley: a visit to Baron Balche’e, the oldest winery in the area and one highly recommended for its boutique Spanish blends. I had crude directions to turn right at the health clinic, which we did. After what seemed miles on a very dusty and potted dirt road, we thought we had missed it and turned into Adobe Guadalupe, another winery and boutique hotel. The groundskeeper assured us we had to keep going. A few minutes more up the dusty road, we saw the sign and entered a large brick building that was under construction. We motioned to the young man that we wanted to taste, and he led us 2 flights down into the cellar/tasting room. It was cool and smelled of must which was no surprise since one wall was raw, untampered earth. It was very mine-like. There were several elderly men talking animatedly, sipping wine poured from decanters. They had a few different tiers of tasting to choose from, starting at $5 (u.s.) on up to $50. This made sense as this winery boasts some of the finest wines in the valley, the higher end blends fetching $350/bottle. We chose a mid range tasting and took several pictures, chatting with some restaurateurs from Mexicali and sipping on a very tasty Tempranillo/Cabernet Blend. I was hoping the restaurateurs would stop talking long enough for the old men to take notice of us, and share some sips of the high end bottles, as they were the owners and winemakers; We weren’t so lucky, and my Spanish is bad anyway; we did manage to muster a posed photograph of them and a few bottles of the Tempranillo/Cab blend to share with friends back in San Francisco.

We made our way back to the Ruta de Vino and decided to cross the valley back to the main, paved road to find the way to our hotel. Crossing over involved a long and very dry, dusty/sandy road that held the possibility of spinning tires if one wasn’t driving fast enough. The valley is set up like Napa, with roads going up and down the north and south sides, and a few going across, but not similar to napa as nothing is paved and we had to cross a dry river wash to get to the other side. We laughed a lot at how rustic the valley is, and how the dry and dusty cloud that grew behind our car obliterated everything in the rear view window.

I must take a break now and go for a swim. Later this afternoon, I will share more about our beautiful inn, the log, windy and dusty road leading up to it, and the incredible dinner last night at Laja.

Baja tomorrow

2009-09-02T10:25:00.000-07:00

How strange it is that in my journey I am flanked by a terribly burning wildfire to the north, and a tropical storm/hurricaine to the south? What is up with that?

I plan to stay safely in between.

Tomorrow morning I will journey through the Tecate border crossing and 45 miles south to Valle de Guadalupe for two days and nights of good food, artisan made wines, and a nice place to rest (lavilledevalle.com).

There have been many concerns from my family who are worried about the dangers of Baja Mexico. I have done much research and feel that I am not taking much of a risk, especially once I arrive at my destination. I am, however, aware of the possibility of people trying to flag me down on the road, feigning emergency, of the Federales being jerks and rutted, pot-holed highways that look from google earth to be smooth sailing.

I am careful though, and will be doing more spitting than sipping (those of you winos know what I mean). Dinner is planned at Laja for tomorrow night, a restaurant that some say rival Chez Panisse (really?), and is a 15 minute drive from our Inn.

Good thoughts are welcome though, for no weirdos, no strange uncontrollable happenings, and a relaxing time to be had by all! Thanks for reading and more from the hotel tomorrow eve...

Behind the Orange Curtain, dinner at Javier's

2009-09-02T09:10:00.000-07:00

Yes, I am safely behind the curtain. It's really not that bad in a suburban sprawl sort of way. If I hadn't grown up here (yes, I do admit it), then I may find it actually, well, no, nevermind, it is not charming at all. As a matter of fact, strip malls, indoor malls, and huge outdoor malls, like the one I went to last night to have dinner at Javier's, an upscale Mexican restaurant.

After a hotter than hot run on the exercise path along Huntington beach, I navigated the freeways and toll roads (at least my fasttrak works here!) out to Rancho Santa Margarita to pick up my oldest and dearest friend, Amy, who just so happened to be visiting from NY. I had stopped by earlier to see another dear friend, Phil, at the firehouse in HB (not code word, he is really a Fire Captain) and he suggested I take Amy to Javier's for dinner. Javier's (there are a couple of locations) is an upscale Mexican restaurant started by a former popular waiter at the old, and closed, restaurant, Tortilla Flats, in Laguna Beach. Tortilla Flats was a neighborhood institution, so I'm glad Javier had the wherewithall (and investors!) to open his own spot. (and if my memory serves me correctly, I don't think it was a very tidy break up with the "Flats".)

We made our way back out of Santa Margarita to the Irvine Spectrum Center, a Megaplex movie theater, shopping center and restaurant destination spot nestled in the elbow of where the 405 and the 5 freeways intersect. This "mall" felt a bit like a mini Disneyland, and even dressed up characters were strolling around waving (which characters? i'm not hip enough to know).

Javier's is filled with Dark wood, dark lighting, and a chain waterfall in the foyer outside the bathrooms (a chain what???). This sculptural wall installation reminded me of the rain catchers that the Japanese put along the corners of their house, to catch rain streams off the gutter in a cascade of drips instead of a steady stream. The sculpture/waterfall consisted of about a dozen heavy, rusted chains with small streams of water flowing in from the top. The chains caught the stream and diffused it to a small drip at the bottom. Why am I going into the sculpture in such detail, well, I have to talk about something cool here, and that was the coolest thing I found at Javier's.

I apologize in advance for being disappointing. Not gushing about food is not my forte'!

After laboring over the menu which included very exotic sounding items like Maine Lobster enchiladas ($40), and a build your own taco platter for two ($35), we settled on the Prawn Fajitas ($30) and Steak Fajitas ($18) to share.

Fajitas usually come on a sizzling plate. There must have been fear of a lawsuit or maybe I'm just behind the times, but the last few times I've ordered Fajitas at a Mexican restaurant, there was no sizzling plate in site!. At Javier's it was no different. My prawns were 5 large U-10 prawns, fresh from Mexico (the menu boasted), butterflied and then grilled, and laying on a bed of crunchy julienned poblano chiles, onions, button mushrooms and corn. The "white" rice (apparently served with this dish instead of spanish style rice), was just that: plain white rice. I had asked for refried beans (instead of black), as I was concerned about keeping the calorie count up! (ha, just kidding, I have a thing for refried pinto beans, what can I say?). The prawns were well cooked, a bit chewy (in the way prawns are chewy and crunchy at the same time) but they had absolutely no seasoning on them whatsoever, no salt, lime, no oil, butter or anything to enhance their succulence. Amy's steak Fajitas were a bit more flavorful, having been sauteed with the same vegetable combination and a few seasonings. Hers also came with a generous dollop of guacamole and sour cream. The requisite tortillas on the side were small, thin flour tortillas. They were good, but I was a little surprised (and Amy disappointed) that they weren't the corn variety.

A few Javier Margaritas later (Cointreau, Sauza and Grand Marnier with fresh lime juice) made it all not really matter. The thing is, the food was average, not spectacular, not bad. The company was great, as Amy and I never run out of things to talk about. It was my fault that I had expected so much more finesse with the attentive server, the chic surroundings, and the prices. I had been tempted to order the crab enchiladas, but remembered that I would be sporting a bikini the next day. Maybe next time...

Mario Batali's Pizzeria La Mozza

2009-09-01T09:45:00.000-07:00

Holy Moley - what a fantastic, fantastic meal last night. When Chef Mark suggested I go to La Mozza for dinner while in L.A., I thought "hmmm, that might be a good idea". So I checked out the website (of both the Pizzeria and the main restaurant) and decided that L.A. had finally grown up, and this place could possibly rival our humble city restaurants, or at least sidle right up next to them. It did not disappoint!

After a little delicious White Rioja at our friend Joe's house, and much jealousy that they didn't have space for our other two friends, we made our way down Melrose and found a parking space about 1/2 block from the restaurant (Melrose and N. Highland Avenue). Parking karma, gotta love that. La Mozza fronts on Melrose, but it's little sister is around the corner on N. Highland. Seems Mario's got a little monopoly on that corner, as soon another storefront will be taken by La Mozza To Go.

We were exactly on time for our 8:00 reso, and the host whisked us past the waiting crowds to a table in the far corner of the square room, a perfect vantage point to people watch, especially since Ricardo was nice enough to let me sit in the view seat.

The menu is broken into sections of antipasti, contorni (sides), salads and pizzas. We were pretty hungry and everything sounded great. R let me figure out the starters and I told him to choose a pizza.

The smattering of antipasti started with house cured Finocchiona, a nicely dry fennel and black pepper studded salumi. Sometimes salumi's can have a greasy feel to them. This one managed to not have that at all, i'm not sure how. As we snacked on the salumi, the order of meatballs arrived and shortly thereafter chicken liver on bruschetta. I seriously thought I had died and gone to heaven the moment I crunched into the ample bruschetta holding a creamy mixture of chopped chicken livers, spices, parmesan and a thin topping of cured pork belly. It was by far the best of this type of preparation I had ever had. In fact, if someone placed a plate of those before me, right now, on this smokey, food hangover-ey morning, I would happily lap them up. I was secretly thrilled that Ricardo wasn't interested in the "liver" dish, so I would have 3 beautiful crostini to myself! (I did make him eat one, and he did love it). The salad "tricolore" arrived next (hey we are running out of room on the table!). Frisee, baby arugula and radicchio were tossed together with a Reggiano and anchovy dressing, caesar like and a good counterpoint to all of the non vegetable items in front of us. I felt like the pace was a bit brisk., but if you saw the high ceilinged room, with straight rows of tables, placed cafeteria style and only 6" apart, and the bursting crowd at the front door, you would understand their desire to move people through their meals.

We had chosen a bottle of 2003 Nicodemi "Notari" Montepulciano from the list and were having a hard time with it opening up. It smelled slightly corkey, but the palate was fine. It was a nuisance really all through the meal, as when you take a sip of wine, your nose inevitably dips into the glass as well. Our server assured us upon opening the wine that is did have this funky character that would disappear as it opened up, and that she often mistakenly had sent this wine back as "corked" when the sommelier assured her it was fine. I am usually very sensitive to a wine that is corked, as the palate has a way of giving me an instant headache. This wine did not, it was rich, raisin-ey, smokey and earthy. If the server returned more often I would have had her decant it.

A new couple sat next to us, and when I overheard her order the meatballs, I chimed in, "good move", and that is when the "oops, I'm in LA" came to light. People in LA are way more standoffish than they should be. For chrissake, she was sitting inches from me, and I understood they didn't want to have an ongoing conversation with us for the duration of the meal. And believe me, the body builder type BF made sure that didn't happen with a casual "yeah, she has them every time" comment, that had a hint of don't evesdrop ever again mixed in. Oh, they are regulars! Considering it takes over a month to get a reservation (unbeknownst to me before tonight), I perhaps should have asked them for their autograph!

Speaking of wanna be celebrities, maybe it was the wine, but I was convinced Keanu Reeves was sitting in the next row of tables. Ricardo assured me it was not him, but in this trendy spot, star sightings are not a rarity.

Don't worry, I'm not about to skip over the meatballs, another incredibly tasty dish. Three plump, ample sized balls came drenched in a zesty tomato sauce with garlic toasts flanking the edges. I had to claim my 1.5 share before R absentmindedly wolfed them all down. The menu didn't list them as beef or pork, and I suspect they were mostly (if not all) pork, perfectly balanced with enough bread and spices to produce a succulent and soft meatball. These meatballs were on par with Terzo's back in SF, by far my favorite in the City.

We consolidated plates as the goat cheese pizza with caramelized onions and bacon was placed before us. Again, we were in heaven at how good the flavors were on yet another dish. The crust was chewy and blistered from the wood oven. The onions were plentiful with just enough pieces of barely cooked bacon to give a smokey, salty goodness to every bite. We finished off an "Asparagus al Forno" also done in the wood oven and topped with thin slices of Speck (a lovely northern Italian counterpart to proscuitto).

Yes, my fullness is being recreated just writing this. We actually did box up half the pizza and the remaining slices of finocchiona that somehow managed to not get devoured.

Since we were celebrating R's 44th a few days early, I insisted on dessert. We both chose gelato based desserts. He got a trio of mint, chocolate and vanilla (incredibly rich). Mine was a caramel gelato sundae topped with marshmallow sauce and spanish peanuts, a super tasty combination, with the saltiness of the spanish peanuts balancing the sweet marshmallow and caramel background. By then we were on dairy overload. It was 9:30pm, and the crowd at the door had not diminished as we made our way out onto the still 85F sidewalk.

Today the smoke from the fires have reached Hollywood, and my car is coated in ash. So much for the work-it-off run I planned to have. I will journey now to OC, affectionately known as "behind the orange curtain", to have a run on the beach, and meet up for dinner with one of my dearest old friends, Amy. Only one photo today, as totally un "PC" to take photos in restaurant in LA, as some unsuspecting starlet may make it into the frame, damnit!

down California I-5, destination: Hollywood

2009-08-31T17:40:00.000-07:00

Onto a new subject! If those of you are still with me, I am now in L.A., affectionately known (to some) as LaLa land. Not to confuse you, the posts from Japan were from last year, and now I am posting in real time. I chose to drive this time, for the experience, the visiting different people, and the drive up highway one on the way back to Sausalito. Yes, I am a California native and have never ever ever ever driven highway one between LA & the northern end of Big Sur.

The drive down was easily accomplished in 6 hours (that even includes a stop for lunch at a very marginal Indian Restaurant (photos to follow). I am so optimistic when it comes to food. The hand painted signs on the highway advertised "healthful Indian food". At least it was a little different than the Carl's Jr., Wendy's and Taco Bell choices at most roadside stops. I entered the air-conditioned "oasis" to fake plants, various hanging glittery decorations, and a large menu board. I quickly scanned the menu, as I didn't want to get too off track from my drive. I chose the Lamb Biriani, the server asked, "Is that all?," as if the $11.75 dish would not be enough to feed my senses. Oh yeah, "and a chai", I responded. A bad Indian soap opera was playing on the T.V. across the room, dubbed with English, and blaring loud enough to distract the 2 other tables of travelers.

The Biriani arrived and was basically a large plate of rice, smattered with a few chunks of braised lamb shoulder. The spice was actually quite right, a little heat, but not too much, but way too little sauce and way too much rice. Now I understand why she asked if that was all I wanted. The chai had not yet arrived and so, in very bad restaurant etiquette (yes, I am a bad girl most of the time), I got up and asked for a Raita to accompany my meal (instead of waiting for the server to come back). the Raita arrived and was even more disappointing than the Biriani, a bowl of thinned yogurt, studded sparingly with shredded raw carrots. Not a cucumber in site. Eeeghads, "please make my chai to go," I asked as she brought me the check and still no chai. The bill was $18.

I was only in there for like 20 minutes, max, which thrilled me to stay on schedule and make it to Hollywood by 3:30 (I left Sausalito at 9:15am). My ride was accompanied by a book on (multiple) CD's: Haruki Murakami's "Kafka on the Shore". I had ordered this CD series through Amazon a few weeks back, and was shocked it came in a large set of 15 CD's about an hour each. Haruki Murakami is my favorite author and I am pleased to say that this book on CD is as captivating as all of his other books that I've read.

I arrived at Ricardo's incredibly hot (90 F) Hollywood apartment at 3:30 on the nose (i'm such a planner!). After about 1/2 hour I motioned for a walk and a beer. We walked the 4 blocks up and around the corner to Sunset Blvd and the Cat & Fiddle Pub which had a nice outdoor courtyard area. If one didn't know it, you could have been in Barcelona, Mexico City or, well, Hollywood.

I'm surprised that the air is so clear here in Hollywood, as the fire up in the Northeastern part of LA county is burning out of control. Here's to prayers and luck to all the firefighters (including a good friend of mine, I'm sure) for a break in this stifling weather.

Now off to our friend Joe's house in West Hollywood for a little cold wine and cheese, and then to La Mozza Pizzeria for dinner.

My last 24 hours, Chicken Teriyaki and harried shopping

2009-08-31T07:52:00.000-07:00

I was sad to leave Kyoto. Do you ever have that feeling of wanting just a few more minutes, a few last stores to open their doors to you, a few more hours to explore that corner of town that you just barely caught a glimpse of? There is a racing of the heart and a quickening of the breath and an overall heightening of the senses that comes with that feeling.

As I made my way to the Chicken Teriyaki cooking class, a light rain began to fall. Everything was timed just so. Do the cooking class, go back to the hotel and gather my luggage, jump into a taxi and make it to the train by 1 pm. The bullet train ride to Tokyo is only about 3 hours. Time enough to perhaps do a little more shopping around Tokyo before departing to the states the next morning, as I wanted to make it back to that print shop in Akasuka.

I arrived at the tall narrow apartment building that housed the small Women's Association of Kyoto (WAK). I was instructed to go to the 5th floor this time, to a small apartment where my cooking instructor, Akiko, eagerly awaited me at the door. I had chosen this class as a contrast to my other, more formal, cooking classes in Tokyo. This was Japanese home cooking and I was happy I made the effort to experience what people eat on a day to day basis.

The small kitchen and dining table were what one would expect of a modest apartment in Kyoto. Nothing fancy, yet all of the necessary items layed out. We were to make Teriyaki chicken (using the thigh), miso soup, and a wilted cabbage salad with miso and mustard dressing.

Akiko and I started right in, scoring the chicken skin and marinating it in a small amount of soy sauce and sake (regular sake, no sweet cooking sake, or Mirin). We set out to make the miso soup next using kombu seaweed and bonito flakes for the broth. This was very familiar to me and she was sort of impressed at my adeptness with japanese ingredients. We used a fine mesh strainer to dissolve white miso into the broth (to eliminate any solids and have a smooth final product). White miso is generally only used for New Year's Day Miso Soup, as it is the unaged variety and symbolizes the start of the new year. It was June, but we used it anyway.

After we finished the soup, we started in on the wilted salad. It was a wonderful little salad, with rehydrated shiitake mushrooms, wilted greens (like a hearty spinach or baby bok choy). We made a dressing of japanese mustard (comes in a little tube, which I picked up later at a department store in Tokyo), and miso mixed with a little Mirin. This dressing was exactly the dressing I had on the Octopus salad at Yoshida Sanso a few days prior. It was exciting to learn this simple but tasty dish, unlike any I've had in the U.S.

the Teriyaki was simple but very delicious, combining equal parts sake, mirin, soy sauce, sugar and water. The chicken was browned, skin side down, then flipped over and the lid put on to assure cooking through. In the last few minutes, the sauce mixture was poured over and allowed to evaporate, caramelize. It was delicious. Served with some rice and sauteed whole green onions.

Very productive class!

I made it back to Tokyo and my convenient hotel room across the street from the Shinagawa Station. I literally dropped my bags, grabbed my purse, and jump straight back onto the subway to the print shop in Akasuka. Damn, they are closed on Mondays! I jumped back onto the subway and got off at Roppongi hills to find a few things I had seen on my first days there. Back at my hotel I opted for a simple spagetti ala roma dinner at the street level restaurant (what is it with me and hotel restaurant spagetti??) I passed out, setting my alarm for early, to make it to the print shop which I dutifully did, bought up those ones I had been eye-ing, and then to the basement department store to snatch up rice candies, mochi, mustards and a beautiful bento of black cod that I ate in the airport while waiting for my plane to board. My luggage was 50 pounds overweight!!!! which i had to pay an extra $100 for. LOL

Oh Japan, how I will miss you.

Arashiyama and the Golden Pavilion

2009-08-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my last full day in Kyoto. I had a lot to see and do, as I had yet to explore the west side of town. I went to Nishiki-dori, the equivalent of a farmer's market except without the produce. Fresh barbequed eel, blocks of dried Bonito (for making Dashi), every type of pickle imaginable, fish, yakitori, rice crackers, seaweeds, cookware etc are for sale. Not quite as rustic as the tsukiji fish market in Tokyo, but quite picturesque (as you will see). I had to prevent myself from buying up all kinds of stuff, as I had a full day planned without a stop off at the hotel to drop stuff. Hence, some items will have to remain in photos!

I then made my way on the not so easy train system here to Arashiyama. Those are the hills opposite to Higashiyama in Kyoto. Kyoto is flat plain surrounded by hills/mountains to the north, east and west. Apparently Higashiyama means "eastern mountain" so you would think that Arashi would mean western (yama means mountain), but it doesn't...

Arashiyama was one of the more picturesque places I've been to inJjapan thus far! I can't believe i waited until the last day to go there (had no idea what i was missing). Beautiful temples and gardens and bamboo forests. They even have a place you can see the monkeys in the hills. It is the japan of woodblock prints. A wide river cuts through with a bamboo forest and other trees lining the banks. It was quite beautiful. On my way toward the temples , this group of sightseers were passing me, and from the crowd a woman came running over to me. "Hi," she said, "Do you remember me?" She was quite animated and excited to see me. Despite being Japanese her english was perfect. She was familiar but I had to search my memory bank (it had been a long 2 weeks, lots of people and sights crammed in). OHHHH, she was my translator for the first japanese cooking class I took in Tokyo! Tomoko-san, of course I remembered her. How odd and coincidental to see her all the way in the hills of Kyoto! Again, what a small "world"!

I digress...After finding and making my way through the bamboo forest, i ended up in a neighborhood that was quite exclusive and private looking. If I ever found myself relocating to Kyoto, I think Arashiyama would suit me just fine. (even the train station was the cutest thing you've ever seen). I wandered around, bought a couple of things (!?) and it was now 2:00 pm, I needed to eat. I meandered down the main street (pretty touristy) and saw this cool looking restaurant, very modern, done in cast cement or stone. It was pretty unusual to see this, as most buildings in Japan are made of wood. It was a small Unagi restaurant. As I waited for a spot at the shared tables, I perused the English menu, which consisted mostly of different sized Unagi-dons. When I finally sat down I struck up a conversation with some of the other people at the table. Little did I know (and lucky that I was) this restaurant turned out to be one of the most exclusive Unagi restaurants in all of Kyoto. (I have been so lucky with my food choices) The Unagi we get in the states is from Taiwan (did you know that?). The better restaurants here use their local Unagi. The price tag is high for Japanese Unagi. My little Unagi donburi was about U.S. $17. (and that was for the small size). But, its not everyday I am eating local Unagi!

Full, fatter and happy, I found the bus stop and made my way up to Kinkokuji Temple, where the famed "gold shrine" is. Wowee, what a beautiful setting as you will see from the photos (you would never know there were hundreds of tourists behind me taking the same photo...) It really is decorated in gold leaf!

Then i walked, yes walked, almost all the way back to my hotel (took about 3 hours). I was bushed!!!!!! However, had to eat (again), so i went out to an Italian place where i watched a pizzaiolo make a very authentic tasting margherita pizza. It looked just like a wood burning oven (same shape and door mechanism etc) and he used it as one, rotating the pizza, picking it up to crisp the crust on top. However, the oven was gas powered, with the jets shooting up in the rear.

I have to sign off and get ready to check out. On my way out of Kyoto, I am taking a last minute Chicken Teriyaki course here from a housewife through the Women's Association of Kyoto. The lady in the office is a wacko, but I am hoping the grandma chef is good!

Nara

2009-08-29T11:32:00.000-07:00

On my last entry I think i spoke of going to Nara the following day with Atsuko. It was a beautiful 1 hour train ride and the town was quaint with an old merchant house area. They have one of the largest Buddhas in Japan in the temple on the hill. Tame deer beg you for treats which they sell as "deer biscuits". The town of Nara seems to be against cigarette smoking in public, as their are signs posted around and people around town hand out little tissue packets with the universal circle slash cigarette and cartoon characters of deer. A lot of these towns are into textiles and nice cottons and washclothes, towels etc. it is hard not to just buy it all up (but managed to a little). We walked around the temple and had a great and simple lunch of soba with mackeral and pickles. There was a light rain falling when Atsuko left to catch her train; I stayed behind to poke around the shops a bit more.

On my way to the train station an hour or two later, I stopped in a convenience store to buy some water and one of those fabulous B12/caffeine drinks I had come to love. I was in line and there were some Japanese people in front of me trying to communicate in English. I heard the lady ask for "Mentos" (those weird little soft mint candies they have back in the states). I laughed a little to myself (but slightly outloud) and she turned around and to my surprise, it was a Canadian tourist from Vancouver, B.C. who I had met a few days earlier in an exclusive tea shop a few blocks from my hotel in Kyoto.

It truly is a small world.

Yoshida Sanso

2009-08-29T09:42:00.000-07:00

I had lunch at an exclusive Ryokan yesterday: Ryokan Yoshida Sanso, perched on beautiful Yoshidayama ("mount" Yoshida) in north eastern Kyoto. This place was recommended to me by Hiromi and Dan, as they had stayed there last year. It was a traditional Kaiseki lunch, beautifully prepared and delicious. I wrote down all the dishes and ingredients that I could identify,( but now can't find the paper in all of my notes!). A few of remembrance: A very seasonal green that had been blanched and tossed with fresh octopus with a mustard-miso dressing (which I learned to make later!), delicious nigiri sushi (pictured) with other bite sized morsels - the most delicious hard boiled egg with black tobiko, Miso soup, chawanmushi, cold soba, rice (of course at the end, when I was stuffed), all washed down with delicious and not too sweet plum wine. It was splendid (about 8 courses in all). The bill was about $85 USD and well worth the experience. On the way out, I picked up some lovely sauces and other foodstuffs for sale in the reception area, as this Ryokan is known throughout Japan for its fine cuisine.

The setting was upstairs in a room overlooking the trees (I was by myself). The building consisted of several closed rooms. You never saw any of the other guests or service staff besides your own attendant. It was very quiet except for the mild storm that was blowing outside. Very peaceful and self reflective, as my solo meals have become here in this country where I don't know a soul and don't speak the language. The feeling of the room reminded me of the "treehouse" in the front room upstairs at Chez Panisse. This was compounded by the fact that it was a little stormy and rainy outside, and the trees were blowing against the windows. However, despite being rainy, it was still warm and not unpleasant to walk. It is funny that again, I thought this was just a hop skip and a jump from my hotel. Somehow my instincts (or experience by this time) must have kicked in, because as I exited my hotel to make my way up the hill, I encountered a taxi and without hesitation, jumped in. Let's just say that the walk down the hill back to my hotel took me over two hours! I'm glad i didn't keep them waiting (as they didn't even ask me my name when I arrived, they knew exactly who i was - well, I had made a reservation online a month earlier).

I wandered around shopping for the rest of the afternoon. I'm not the biggest shopper, but somehow being here has changed that (for now). I think it is motivated by wanting to bring back a little piece of Japan to each and every one of you (well, most of you...).
Plus, the design and quality here is unsurpassed (probably). Maybe i'm just in love...

I went to Osaka for a fun Izakaya style dinner (sort of like robata grill style) with Liz' (from South) friend Eduardo's friend Atsuko (a friend of a friend of a friend!). I discovered that Liz and Eduardo had both lived here about 10 years ago. We had a really nice time; she speaks perfect english, having lived in Vancouver for a year while in high school. We discovered we are almost exactly the same age; she is older by 7 days... She is taking me sightseeing to Nara in a couple of days.

lunch at Carre' de M in Gion District, Kyoto

2009-08-29T09:06:00.000-07:00

About my lunch at Carre' de M:

I arrived for my reservation and without asking, they knew exactly who I was. I followed the man upstairs to a small, modern and sort of plain looking dining room, decorated in yellows and apricots and whites. Of course, they had the westernized napkins for the lap. I really wasn't in the mood for wine, but ordered a Vouvray anyway to get into the spirit of the meal. You see, I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed and was in a gruff mood. Yes, it is possible to be in a bad mood on vacation for no apparent reason.

In the hallway at the top of the stairs, there was a window overseeing the bustling kitchen which was a nice site on the way back down to the bathroom. Something I've failed to mention are the bathroom slippers that are waiting for you inside the bathroom door at every decent establishment. First, you are required to remove your shoes upon entering the establishment (and any possibility of "height" and leg length!). You dine in one set of slippers and then when using the bathroom, you carefully step out of one and into the other, without mixing up the bathroom slippers and the room slippers (does that make sense?) For example, one would never remove the slippers from the bathroom, put them on, and then enter the bathroom. NO NO NO You become adept at stepping out of your slippers backward into the bathroom (so your regular slippers are perfectly positioned for when you are finished doing your business). It is quite different and one gets the hang of it pretty quickly (when in Rome...)

The meal was in multiple courses, which I paired next with a nice red Burgundy (name escaping me). Please don't be disappointed that I don't remember any details of the actual dishes in the meal itself, save for the amazing dried soy sauce crystals, positioned in a beautiful little pile on the wide rim of a plate of sashimi. You see, I must admit, I am writing this post way past the fact, as I realized later that in my ramblings I forgot to mention the actual lunch portion of my experience at Carre' de M. After lunch which did provide a bit of an attitude adjustment, I adjourned downstairs to pay my bill and that Mabuchi-san for the hospitality. He met me at the small bar and insisted I take one of his specialty "rolled" cakes with me. The cake was literally that, a vanilla sponge cake rolled with Chantilly cream, full sized, enough for a family of 8 with leftovers. He stuffed my hand with business cards (to bring back to Bruce-san) and a small jar of something black that he said he makes there in the restaurant. We parted ways after a nice photo in front of the restaurant. I made my way back to my hotel to dutifully put my jelly roll into the small refrigerator in my room. In reverence to Mabuchi-san and his welcoming and jolly personality, I edged away at this monstrosity with my tea for the next 4 mornings in a row.

First full day in Kyoto

2009-08-29T08:50:00.000-07:00

I never made it to the medicinal herb town up in the mountains yesterday; found out it takes about 2 hours on the train, and there is so much to see here in town that I opted not to go.

I've been walking a lot! Kyoto is a very spread out city. In many ways, it seems more westernized than Tokyo, or maybe I'm just more used to being in Japan. When looking at the map, it seems like a "no brainer" to walk about 10 blocks to check something out. There is so much to look at while walking the 10 blocks. However, Kyoto's blocks are seriously NYC sized blocks. I finally am succombing to the subway system a little today... The subway system is not as extensive as in Tokyo. I discovered that because Kyoto is such an old city (1300 years old or something along those lines), that they don't like to do a lot of digging.
The rivers wind their way through town here and there, especially on the East side of town. It is quite charming and they are clean and clear. The other day I walked to the Gion district (which looked like a hop, skip and jump from my hotel, but it took about an hour or so to get there). The Gion is where the Geishas and Maiko (apprentice Geishas) entertain their clients. Consequently, there are a lot of exclusive restaurants dotted amongst the old wooden buildings. The streets are narrow and it looks very much like "old Japan" (as if I know...). Bruce Hill's friend (and former colleague from the Osaka Hilton many years ago) has a French-Japanese fusion restaurant there (not sure if that is how he would describe it), so I thought i'd try to find it. Turns out, I am pretty good and finding places - the old "follow your nose" has been working out splendidly. As I meandered around the gorgeous Gion district, its narrow streets winding this way and that, I turned a corner and looked up. There was the sign: Carre' de M (Bruce's friend's name is Mabuchi-san, hence the "M"). Anyway, right at that moment a rotund man in a nice suit entered the front door, i knew immediately it was the "Mabuchi-san" from his cartoon images on the website (http://www.carredem.com/). I hurried in to catch him and chatted with him for a couple of minutes (it was around noon and he was late for work!). He was very warm and welcoming, and I decided to make a reservation to have lunch there the following day.

I have discovered that lunch at these exclusive restaurants is the way to go without breaking the bank and still have time to walk around and walk things off. (for example, lunch starts at $40 and dinner starts at $100 at Carre de M). I know, some of you (Dad!) think I'm nuts for opting to pay those prices for food. But remember, this isn't just any food, I'm hand selecting my restaurants and when am I going to be back in Kyoto? (all of my hard work selling food is now being spent on food.... such is my life (even at home in Sausalito).

After I left Mabuchi-san's place I wandered around the Gion, toward the temples and found an exclusive prix fixe "sushi" restaurant. The sushi was good (no wasabi or soy served with sushi in Kyoto) but the real amazing dish was the simmered eggplant with a roasted local pepper (sort of like a serrano) perched atop. It also had a little daikon-roshi (grated daikon with soy and green onions). It was very tasty! (I can see where David Vardy gets his inspiration). I was served azuki bean stuffed mochi for dessert. The mochi was coated in powdered green tea (matcha). It was the softest, most delicious mochi i've ever had.

I wandered around the temples of the Higashiyama area of town for the rest of that day. About 8 hours of walking in all...

Leaving Takayama, first night in Kyoto...

2009-08-27T10:45:00.000-07:00

I'm on the train waiting to leave Takayama Station en route to Kyoto. There are not many baggage areas on these trains. Mine are stowed in the next car. Most folks in Japan are totally trustworthy. People aren’t in their shops when you come in (they are in their house in the back) and they don’t look suspicious when they do come out from behind the curtain…

Also, yesterday the carp in the river near the temple all gathered around, with their cute mouths gaping open, thinking I had food. They didn’t care what nationality I was, I was human and I probably had some sort of something for them. I was sad that I didn’t.

the next morning...

I can't sleep past 6:30 to save my life! i'm going to try to go running here in a little bit - Kyoto has a nice river that cuts right down the middle of town with walking paths along either either side. After i got to my hotel late yesterday afternoon, and checking emails and my computer (i dropped it!) iIwas starving and stupidly (but deliriously low blood sugar) ate some pasta bolognese in the hotel restaurant. What was i thinking? (pasta and wine was what i wanted and didn't want to search around town in a low blood sugar delirious state). After dealing with balancing the blood sugar, I then wandered north of my hotel, within a block were awesome looking places (some very expensive, some reasonable). Oh well there are more meals to be had for sure. I wandered across the river and found myself standing outside a little "diner" where about a dozen 75- 85 year old women were taking turns doing karaoke. It was hilarious (i clapped from outside and they laughed). In a few steps I spotted a wine and sake shop. (they are into their wine here). The proprietors didn't speak any english but i managed to ask them where i could find a wine bar and they showed me on a map. it was only about 3 blocks away but on an alley, called wine bar mago (http://www.magowine.com/). It was very nice (french style) with 7 seats at the bar and a little room at the end of the bar with about 10 seats (3 tables or so). All decorated in french style but sort of modernish (but with a "Renoir" of course). I may never have found this place on my own. No english, but i did manage to get out of the sommelier that he came to San Francisco for research last year, was in SF for one night and Calistoga for 2. (3 days total). They had Ravenswood Zinfandel on the menu for $90! And a 1999 (?) maybe younger Opus One for $450 (and many french wines). I had a little cheese plate which was quite nice. The kitchen was the size of my bathroom (maybe smaller) with room for about 2 people to stand (think studio apartment kitchen with the dishwasher in the living room). It was very chic with leather curtains which were fashioned like the strips of plastic used in walk-ins to keep the cold in. The nice bartender showed me the "private dining room" downstairs, which smelled of the houseboats (basement-ey). Very nice, i gave them one of Marcelo's Quintessa cards (would fit in nicely on their list).

Today I will venture into the northern kyoto mountains to find the village that processes medicinal herbs and has a hot spring. Apparently all the food they cook in the village is done with the medicinal herbs. We'll see. then this afternoon i guess i should dutifully go check out a shrine or something (i haven't even done that once yet - bad nipponphile I am).

Tidbits about japan: Most restaurants do not serve napkins with the meal, they give you the warm cloth to clean your hands before you eat (sometimes), (but you aren't supposed to wipe your mouth with it while you are eating). You will not find a napkin on a table except in nice restaurants (i.e. wine bar mentioned above). Yes, the toilets are hi tech (i'm not sure i'm into the heated toilet seat). yeah, bidet and all, water from all angles if you like. If you want more rice, you leave a bite in the bottom of the bowl. If you are done, you eat every grain.

Everyone is very helpful here, even with no English, we manage to communicate.

More Hida Takayama

2009-08-26T11:22:00.000-07:00

Takayama is a very sweet town, quaint (as you will see in the pictures). The call it little Kyoto - I guess how Kyoto used to be (but hard to imagine that because Kyoto is a sprawling city). There were surprisingly very sophisticated restaurants and shops there. The area sort of looked like some of the towns leading up to Lake Tahoe (with some bamboo stands thrown in for authenticity). The specialty is Hida Beef, very marbled, like Kobe but I think tastier. Melt in your mouth good. To recap, I stayed one night at a not so great hotel that had a very high quality onsen (hot spring) bath on the ground floor. This made up for the smoky room and 1970's decor and not so hospitable staff (seemed like they catered to China tour groups). Anyway, I took 3 baths and was only there for one night (one before dinner, one after dinner, and one in the morning). The quality of the shampoos etc were top notch (a little detail some of you may appreciate). Anyhoo, of course I made some onsen faux pas' (plural) such as thinking the line of slippers at the entrance was for us to use (since their was a shoe rack on the opposite side of the room where i removed my shoes). So there i was, walking around in the slippers, and the attendant kept trying to figure out where I got them (from my room?) and she put them in the locker room. then i figured out that they were someone else's slippers (belonging to the hotel, but worn to the onsen by a guest). hahahaha. that's when i just chalk it up to dumb american or something along those lines (don't worry, not giving us a bad name or anything). Good thing i had been to Kabuki hot springs in SF, as onsen etiquette is a little different than one may think.

I had a great hida beef dinner and tried to communicate for a while with the couple who owned the restaurant. for the most part, not much english was spoken in Takayama. They served me their local cold sake in a cup the size of a tea cup (large), and, of course i had two (there was a lot of food to wash down, you know). I wandered the streets, like a ghost town at night (sunday night) and found a little french cafe where i had a beer and made friends (nice locals). the owner spent a year in paris and you would never know you weren't in a french cafe except there were very few people in there and the toilet pipes were decidedly japanese (see picture). I promised to go by Masai-san's yakitori ya the next day.

I know some of you have seen the japanese movie "water under red bridge" (hiromi, david, rebecca...) - i have become convinced that Hida takayama is where it was filmed! (although, on further research it is not true...) However, it looks exactly like in the movie. i will rent it when i return.. those of you who haven't seen it, you should, as it is very trippy and okay, has a sexual theme.

I changed to the coveted Ryokan the next day (couldn't get two nights there). It was amazing. 3 beautiful baths to choose from; one housed in an old storage house (but completely redone) top class. again, i took 3 baths in 12 hours or so (one before dinner, one after dinner, and one in the morning). you could say i was squeeky clean while in Takayama!!! For those of you not schooled in onsen; it is not really taking a bath in the literal sense, as you bathe before you go in. it is just a really clean natural spring hot tub (and not "just" a hot tub, believe me you, gorgeous natural rock, views, clean). I was served dinner from 6:30 - 9:00. About 12 courses (i kid you not). i was so full, i couldn't eat any of the rice or udon which they brought near the end. The Hida beef course was served raw with a grill that sits atop a ceramic vessel with charcoal in the bottom. i can't wait to buy one of these when i get back (i think i've seen them in japantown) now that i know what they are for. that was totally amazing, grill your own seared rare served with ponzu sauce!!!! you may be thinking right now that i'm a little too much of a food aholic and that is okay because it is true true true.

i was comatose when i left the dinner (but it ended with amazing 13 layer crepe layered with pastry/custard creme). (and some fruit)

i passed out after the onsen.

The same grill apparatus was used the next day with my snack before the train. the local specialty which i had to try is called hoba-miso.. It is black miso that is sweetened with sugar and sake. it is served on a magnolia leaf that is sitting atop the grill. Mushrooms and green onions are put on that, then whatever it is you are grilling is placed next to it. In this case, it was more hida beef (hahahahaha) i'm not kidding, cut into slices and grilled and you mix all the miso, onions and maitake mushrooms together and eat it with the beef. Okay, i'm definitely importing that dish to the states!!!!! I was able to procure some local miso from the "farmer's market" outside of my Ryokan this morning. Boy, what a varied mix of stuff I am putting into my luggage!

I had a final coffee at Cafe Flore where i dropped off a Pizzeria Picco T-shirt for Masa (as a thank you for the magazines), before the driver (in a western style old huge mercedes) dropped me at the station.

More in the next post from Kyoto.

Hida Takayama

2009-08-26T11:15:00.001-07:00

In Takayama since yesterday around 1 pm.

Yesterday was a funny/weird day kind of (or at least it started out that way). A beautiful 4.5 hour train ride from Tokyo to here (about 2 hours to Nagoya, and 2.5 hours to Takayama). It was painless, not long and beautiful scenery. My damn camera ran out of battery (from all the “filming” the day before at the soba class), so I took as many pictures as I could with my camera phone, however, any pictures from a fast moving train are going to be sort of compromised.

The mountainous region I traveled through was amazing as it reminded me of childhood trips with my friend tracy woods up to her parent’s cabin near lake arrowhead. Small towns you could tell had snow just a month ago. Of course, there are no rice fields near lake arrowhead, nor are their stands of cypress and other trees that are definitely coniferous forest mixed with annual flowering trees, lots of greenery and a rapidly flowing river (when I say rapidly, I mean nice rapids!)

Takayama (my destination) is a town known for its sake breweries, eel, a sanyo miso (dark miso paste spread on a magnolia leaf) haven’t had a chance to try this yet…there are also beer breweries and last but definitely not least, this whole area is known for its traditional woodworking, something that attracted me here in the first place.

So, I digress; the train arrived around 1:05 pm to slightly spitting rain. I gathered my things and made it out to the taxi stand “takayama green hotel” I said to the driver (I may have even said Hote-ru). He basically denied me a ride, saying “no money” which gave me the impression the hotel was closer to the train station than I had anticipated. So, a bit disgruntled, (plus, had somewhat woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, heightened by the fact that my alarm mode was on silent and so I awoke a half hour after my intended time. ) Oh, and to get things off even more on the wrong foot, in my eagerness to jump on my train back in Tokyo, I got on the train that arrived 2 minutes before my train, and instead of looking at my watch and checking the name of the train, I jumped right on. It wasn’t until we were pulling out of the station, when the conductor was announcing we were on the express to “shin Osaka” that I got a little panicky. “oh fuck,’ I thought. Then my survival mode kicked in and I quickly made friends with a Japanese business man who talked to the ticket taker. I was able to change trains in yokohama, a short trip away. Whew, that was close (as trains to takayama aren’t super frequent, plus, it was Sunday).

Okay, back to takayama and the rude taxi stand. I set off down the street with my giant suitcase (on wheels, thank god) and within 2 minutes it was spitting rain, you know, not pouring, not misting, but just kind of spitting; the kind of rain that if you were walking it in for ½ hour you might get soaked. Instead, very inconvenient and also, I was still cursing the mean taxi driver. I had to ask for directions and found out my hotel was another 10 minute walk. Fuck that fucking taxi driver. Motherfucker! Not the best impression of takayama so far!!!

Anyhoo, got to the hotel before checkin. They were kind enough to hold my bags for a few hours, and I was paranoid about my laptop for the first time on the trip. I was untrustworthy for the first time on this trip! Weird. This was caused by the busloads of Chinese? Tourists that were entering the lobby. Why the fuck did I choose this place? The pictures of the onsen there lured me in. the hotel had clearly been renovated, in 1979! The staff was wearing polyester circa 1975! Eeks. Anyhoo, I dropped my luggage and then did a reconnasance mission downtown and around (dutifully stopping at the ryokan I was staying at the next night, to make sure they had my reservation and have something to look) forward to. I got yelled at on a loud speaker from a police office because I jay walked unknowingly right in front of him (and I think I scared him, perhaps he almost hit me?) (still getting used to looking for cars on the right instead of the left) (thanks dad for pointing that out!) he reprimanded me (in Japanese of course) from his roof mounted speaker, still spouting shit at me as he rolled down the street. Geez’ not off to a good start here!

The “downtown” area is super cute in takayama. Rows of traditional merchant houses with the businesses in front, houses in the next room behind the business and above. I walked around for a few hours.

I know some of you have seen the japanese movie “water under red bridge”. It is a great movie with a definite sexual undertone (or overtone, as it isn’t subtle at all), about a guy who goes to visit a town where his recently deceased boss or sensei or something told him to go; to a print shop to visit an old lady who the boss used to know. Well, he gets to the town in pouring rain (a little precursor) and finds the shop (on the river next to the red bridge) and is greeted by a young woman. They end up hooking up and I don’t want to give away the good part, let’s just say, I can’t wait to rent it when I get back home, because I am sure this bridge and setting is where it was filmed!!!!

Anyhoo, I went back to the hotel at checkin time and I think insulted them (my third faux pas?) by telling them I wouldn’t be using the dinner that was included in my room (as they handed me the coupons). I had to explain I wanted to go into town and sample the local fare since I would be eating at the ryokan the following night and…

Anyhoo, decided to relax in the onsen at the hotel. The onsen was awesome! It had 4 tubs (and there was another onsen in another area I didn’t make it to). But again, number 4 faux pas. I removed my shoes when I got into the spa area (as required) and there were shoe racks. Over by the area with no shoes were slippers lined up, all ready to wear, so I slipped a pair on and wore them into the hot tub area (unbeknownst to me, they were a guests slipper’s). oops. Of course the Hitler like spa lady was trying to explain to me in Japanese that I shouldn’t have the slippers in the spa area (and she was also trying to explain to me that she didn’t know why I should have those slippers anyway???))) I figured it out when I exited the spa…okay, let’s just call this whole experience a learning curve with absolutely no English speaker whatsoever!!! It was sort of funny and this was a time when I could just say, I’m a fucking dumb American and proud of it, motherfucker!!! Ha ha ha ha just kidding.

I figured out later that the room I was staying in (smoking room, yuckola) and very outdate d)had all the accoutrements for taking a tub. They were in the closed dresser drawers of the room, the yukuta (robe) etc. but I didn’t know and used some (extra) from the end of the hall. (I don’t think I have ever opened a dresser drawer in a hotel room, do people actually put their clothes in there?) There was no obi (belt) so I just held it together. There is a jacket like thing that goes over the robe for when it is cold. I used one that was too small (maybe a child size) and I just know that the lobby people were snickering behind my back (as I would have been too, but I just had to get back to the awesome tubs after dinner, so I had no shame).
Reflecting back on this I am laughing my head off to tears right now because of how lame-o and retarded I was. Oh well, can you just see me having to navigate through the lobby, no tie on my robe, with a jacket that was 8 sizes too small! Must have been such a sight (and I haven’t mentioned anyting about the fact that everyone else seemed to have all the supplies at their fingertips and were wearing it well!!!

Anyhoo, all worry was gone when I entered the tubs, I even liked their shampoo.

I went into town for dinner. I had my heart (no pun intended) set on Hida beef, a local specialty which looked amazing, very kobe like if not more marbled. (perhaps that was what I was viewing in Tokyo?) there were only a few places open on a Sunday night (and sort of set widely apart, on alleyways etc). I selected one that looked more down to earth, not gimmicky. I was the only diner. I chose the $36 dinner set. The steak was the best I’ve had. I’m not kidding. It was seared to rare (although I chose medium rare but at this point who cares). The interesting this is that the chef had a technique for dipping the steak in teriyaki sauce every 30 seconds or so (to just kind of barely caramelize the surface, bringing the flames to the sugar and fat of course). This is how it turned out so yummy and rare. Melt in your mouth. I want to say it was sirloin as most places around town were serving that and fillet. The owners didn’t speak a lick of English, but I still managed to “chat it up” with them over a few glasses (vats) of local, Takayama cold sake. In S.F., you get maybe 4 oz. top of sake when you order a cold sake. In Japan, you get a large tea cup size (maybe 8 oz). It is very shocking at first (I’m not complaining). After I rolled out of there, I happened upon a french style café named Café’ Flore and stopped in for a beer (there was no one on the streets and spent a major amount of time taking cool pictures (we’ll see how cool they really are when I download them). I ended up talking with Masai and Chi, a boyfriend/girlfriend duo that were very nice (well, Masai was doing all the talking, Chi was tolerating him). Anyhoo, he took me down the street to see his bar that is now closed (not enough business) but that he will reopen. It looked very cool design. It is called Aru. He was really into san Francisco, Janis Joplin (and shocked at my name) and also height ashbury and the carpenters. Yes, the carpenters (which were playing the whole time I was in there). It was very funny. But the shop owner, Hiroshi Alice, had lived in Paris for a year and did a very nice job reproducing that feel there in Takayama. Not the only French place in town by the way. I had a couple of beers with them and Masai (please call me “Masa”) drew me a map to a Yakitori-ya where he would be working the following day.

I meandered back to the hotel, back to the Onsen (which is when I made the fashion faux pas). I couldn’t wait to get out of that hotel but took advantage of the bath in the morning also (as it was quite nice) (nicer than kabuki springs or on par at least). Okay, 3 baths in less than 12 hours, let’s just say I’m squeaky clean.

I walked around town the next day, dropping my luggage at the hotel, foregoing the touristy places, and instead, finding nice handmade shops etc. The reputed furniture museum turned out to be a high end designer showroom (sort of weird). I went to a place for lunch with a large sculpted eel out front (to take in the local specialty, unagi kabayaki (bbq/teriyaki eel). Delicious and had some Korikori beer (local Takayama brew). It is unfortunate that I don’t think I will be bringing any Takayama sake or beer with me back to SF, as it is becoming cumbersome to travel with so much stuff (which is accumulating). After lunch, more walking around the back streets which are the best shops (away from the touristas). Lacquerware is also a local specialty. I made my way to masa’s Yakitori-ya via very backalley route, where a local lady pointed to a path straight up the side of a hill, meandering between people’s backyards. (oops, I guess it really was inside that giant park on the hill). There I was (not in tennis shoes) hiking as if I were in the Marin Headlands or something, in my Paolo sandals. Ha ha ha ha. I did shortly thereafter find Masa and his mother’s shop. He sat me down and proceeded to place five different dishes in front of me: grilled squid (v. fresh and soft), simmered daikon, mugwort mochi all with a thick miso sauce. Also some mochi balls grilled with soy and sake brushed on. Then the crowning glory, chicken yakitori, the best I have ever had. I was not even hungry as I had just eaten the eel about 1.5 hours before. Shoot, I can’t be impolite. I ate it anyway (and it was tasty, so not hard). Masai was cleaning the mats they use for people to have picnics on (too hard to explain here). His mother’s shop is on the grounds of a temple so a lot of tourists come there). Anyhoo, he said he had a present for me, and presented me with 3 cooking magazine from a few years back. How nice!!! I was immediately bummed I didn’t have anything for him (but may drop something by his friends bar tomorrow on my way out of town). I politely made my way out of there, as I still needed to check into my ryokan, and shop for more local treasures, as I may not make it back here for a long while.

Soba making

2009-08-26T10:53:00.000-07:00

Had my soba making class today - wowee, how cool was that.

Spent the morning in Harajuku - a nice shopping district with a fair amount of western stores (designers, Banana Republic, Gap...) mixed in with the modernized Japanese places. It is very modern, clean, a wide boulevard with a beautiful park and shrine at the top. I went to the ukiyo-e museum which was I have to say, pretty mediocre. We get the honor of seeing a lot of the great woodblock prints in the states, so I think i'm a little spoiled. However, there was a great store in the basement selling furoshiki (fabric to wrap things in). Nice fabrics - spent some money in there! Then made my way over to Asakusa (across town) to take my soba making class with "sobaliers" (sort of like sommelier...) haha
But, on the way i had to eat something, so i stopped in a Ramen-ya and had the best pork ramen i have ever eaten. My translator (who i met up with a little later), told me that place is how they make ramen in the north of japan. Also, Ramen has a lot of fat (which you can tell by my pictures has started catching up with me). (sorry to bring that up again, but I am a little reality checked by viewing all my pics!!) The pork is practically like pork belly - which really isn't a problem for me at all, but would be a problem for a lot of Americans I think. Anyhoo, I chose the one with the pork and leeks on top. The leeks were tossed in a sesame soy
mixture before topping the soup which added a tasty element.

Anyhoo, after filling up on Ramen, I made my way around the block to the soba class at a very old soba restaurant called Soba Shonin. It was very interesting, as there were about 5 students of the soba class watching me. If i were shy, this would have been a problem. (good thing that ain't the case). Again, I was the only student. I felt so honored and it was very detailed in the way we rolled out the dough. The knife and technique for hand cutting the noodles is something I've never seen before. The knife was very heavy and involved a block of wood on top of the folded dough and a cutting and pushing back of the piece of wood motion to create a space to cut. Cutting soba is very specific, it is supposed to be exactly square. Each soba restaurant has its own specifications for the width. The width at soba shonin was 1.8 mm. (we didn't measure). The interesting thing is that the cutting is a very zen like movement. You could be very impatient (who, moi?) and it reminded me of when i took japanese woodworking and my instructor saying that sharpening your tools gets rid of the monkey mind (repetitive motion is head clearing and meditative at the same time) - if you know what you are doing... I got videos on my little digital camera to show the technique.

We then adjourned to lunch (geez', i know, it was about two hours after the ramen) and i have to say, i could barely eat anything. The instructor gave me two plates, one of his soba and one of mine (as we made them side by side). His was obviously more uniform but I thought i did a pretty damn good job!!! I love the tools. It was cold soba by the way which was told to me that after you dip and eat the soba, you pour the water it was cooked in (where all the nutrients have leached out) into the dipping bowl and then drink that. That was definitely new information. He then brought me out a bowl of hot soba noodles so i could see the difference (i really only took a few bites of this, as my appetite was just not happening). (it was good though, of course). Then, he asked us if we wanted his special chawanmushi!! Geez' we had to say yes because how could you not! For those of you who aren't familiar with this dish, chawanmushi is a savory egg custard made with broth and vegetables and usually a shrimp or two. This one was interesting because there were housemade fresh udon noodles in the bottom. Needless to say I may need to skip a few meals (maybe...). I wished my stomach was as endless as my appetite!

After class I decided to walk around a little, to the local shrine which they shut right before I got all the way up the steps (it had started to rain). I was late because i got caught up in a paper store that had very reasonably priced original woodblock prints (yes, i bought a few!!) I also stopped into a spa like place that did footbaths and massages. They were booked for massages but i had an awesome 20 minute footbath while sitting on a temperpedic seat pillow and inhaling oxygen which they bring right up to your face. i probably needed it! The girl was so nice that she offered me a energy drink called "fine" (the only english word). it was awesome tasting and is somewhat pharmaceutical. it is probably loaded with caffeine or something cuz' it did the job (although maybe b12 but who can read labels in kanji? - what i don't know won't hurt me).

I liked the stuff so much that i found some in my local hotel pharmacy and will be taking it with me tomorrow for my 5 hour train ride past Mt. Fuji (i hope so much that the rain clears the view) and up to Hida Takayama in the Japan Alps!!! Two days doing hot springs and staying at a traditional japanese ryokan (where they have hot springs, baths and serve you dinner in your room). It is called Ryokan Hiranoya you can check it out on the web. looks nice!!! i will probably not write again until i get to kyoto on tuesday.

Traditional Cooking Class then Yakitori in Shimo Kitazawa

2009-08-26T10:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday (Friday) had my almost all day (10:30 - 3:00) cooking class with a very exclusive Japanese Chef, Takamitsu Aihara, at his cooking school in a very residential area of NW tokyo. He owns a small kaiseki style restaurant called Hifumi-an, but also teaches classes during the day. The subway there was very old and decrepid, very different from what I had been experiencing prior to that. I booked this class through H.I.S., they have a new program which is called H.I.S. experience Japan (I found this online). I can barely describe how fricken (yes I must cuss here to get my point across) amazing this experience was. The class was supposed to be filmed by some British media company who cancelled at the last minute, so it was just me, my translator, and a very cute young Australian girl (Simone Goldsmith) who works in the office at H.I.S. I got completely individualized instruction for a solid 3 hours making stuffed pumpkin with sweet shrimp sauce, sauteed scallops with fresh hearts of palm and asparagus and salted plum sauce (super good), fresh corn soup, and ginger rice (using this amazing shin ginger (shin is new ). This ginger is tasty and does not have all the heat of regular ginger we are used to getting in the states. This is the stuff they pickle for the famed picked ginger that everyone loves at Sushi Bars (and explains why when I tried to make picked ginger at home, it was still totally hot and not "right" after a month). I learned the subtleties of Dashi and things I can't really explain here (but will write down in more thorough detail and may make it available if anyone is interested). We ended up with a multiple course kaiseki meal including about twice as many dishes than what we made, and sake, of course. It was incredible but I have to say, by the last hour, I was fading quickly. This jet lag has put such a dent in my stamina! (i had only slept about 3 - 4 hours the previous two nights after not sleeping for a night before that!

After the class i made my way to Shimo Kitazawa, a funky shopping district with narrow streets and lots of hole in the wall places. (another recommendation of Hiromi and Dan). I didn't end up buying anything, but found a Yakitori stand that looked interesting and rustic, so I took a picture, went up the street to see more shops, but changed my mind and went back. As I walked back by, the owner had just switched the japanese lantern on, signalling he was open for the evening. Good thing I acted quickly, as it was so small and popular, I barely got a seat. I am retarded with my japanese (i think i mentioned that before) but everyone is so gracious. I had two Yebisu and some chicken cartilage (?), chicken meatballs, shi itake mushrooms, and stuffed peppers (not spicy ones). Yes, i know, i had only finished my class a few hours before. Well, you know, gotta be in the moment.

I felt so damn tired after that (and have had a sore throat left over from SF and maybe even exacerbated by jet lag and the Tokyo smog) (sorry, but it is definitely not the best air quality here), so I went back to the hotel for a needed rest.

I must finish this entry, as it is now 8 am and I have to get over to Omotesando and the Ukiyo-e museum. Then, at 1 pm, across town to the Asakusa area for a soba making class for 2.5 hours (these damn classes are getting in the way of my time to people watch!) ha ha, just kidding. We will be making soba by hand. Wish me luck!

Here are a few pictures of what I did the last few days.

Tsukiji Fish Market, Roppongi Hills, Salt Restaurant

2009-08-26T10:28:00.001-07:00

Well, yesterday was my first full day in Tokyo. What a great city and varied and interesting.

It started with getting up the nerve and the stamina to try out the subway system for the first time. In my determination to get to the Tsukiji fish market, I studied the maps, figured out that all I had to do is take one train, and transfer to another. Tokyo has one above the ground train that loops the city (the JR Yamanote line) and multiple below ground lines that criss cross every which way. Despite the somewhat menacing look of the subway map, it is surprisingly easy to navigate as lines are color coded, and as in any city containing a metro, the direction is clearly annotated on the signs, you are either going in one direction or the opposite, and you can clearly figure that out by seeing which stations are further along in the direction you want to go. Of course though, before I left the hotel, in my quest for coffee, I happened upon the huge breakfast buffet (the size of a small convention hall) and had to try some grilled salmon, grilled mackerel, pickles, miso soup, simmered daikon radish. Just a few bites each (breakfast comes with the room…). The American breakfast looked awful, uncooked looking bacon and weirdo looking sausages, like bleached out hot dogs. Wonder white toast. There was a whole pastry area that I didn’t go near, but it looked do-able.

Not starving, I made to tsukiji.

After safely making it to Tsukiji, the temperature was getting up there, close to 75 or 80F. Walking around the stalls with many hole in the wall sushi places, vendors selling everything from restaurant wares, lots of ceramics, knives, dried fish, dried seaweed, pickles, lots of bonito flake stands, and lots of fresh fish, sake and household goods too. I was searching for a specific restaurant to spock out for later, Hiromi back in Berkeley mentioned I go, called Itadori. I found an information booth and the nice gentleman helped direct me to a building outside the market. I walked over, amidst more great looking things to buy (which I will visit on my last day here as I don’t want to lug ceramics and bulky items for 2 weeks). There was an elderly lady shucking large clams and grilling them over a little hibachi. She also had kushi katsu ready to eat (like tonkatsu but on a stick). I got one of those to try (must keep those calories coming in…) not sure it was pork??? Anyhoo, I finally found the “restaurant” Itadori, in a small alley, more of a passthrough, 10 bar stools at a counter with your back to the alley. The owner said to make a reservation because he is very busy at night. I may go there tonight or tomorrow. It is very unassuming looking.

Back at the main market, I roamed for a place to get some food, wanting something cooked, as my stomach wasn’t quite in Olympic form from my jet lag which had started to kick in around then. I found a sake vendor who spoke great English, used to live in Riverside and got married in Sausalito (to a Japanese woman). Anyway, he suggested a place across the way which I would not have entered on my own because no one was in there. A young husband wife couple who made me an awesome tai don with vinegared sesame sauce, grated egg, pickled daikon, ginger etc. miso soup made with a prawn head. I had a large glass of sake (well, I had to cure my jet lag somehow) and some green tea. Total bill $23. left there feeling good but actually, the sake and the heat kicked in and I needed water immediately which I easily found in a vending machine which is at every turn here in Tokyo.

I was feeling a bit queasy and run down, all of a sudden, after having eaten, and it was pretty damn hot outside. By the way, Japan doesn’t like to show skin above the waist and they like to keep their skin white (more about that later), so you can only imagine me looking very tan and exposing my top half, spaghetti strap tank and cleavage… oh well, I’m a foreigner for christ’s sake!!

I found another metro station and decided to take a trip over toward the other side of town, to Roppongi or Roppongi Hills which is a series of high rises, a relatively new development. I had no plan in mind and it was hugely relieving to be in the airconditioned subway so I didn’t really care where I got off. I got off at the major hub of Roppongi and immediately saw and exit sign for Roppongi Hills. What followed was a major 180 degree difference from where I had just been in Tsukiji. I emerged to a courtyard with beautiful fountains like sheets of water flowing down walls and very modern architecture. The weather was breezy and balmy, as if I were in a very high class area of Honolulu. The Mori building was right ahead with its famous sky view from the 52nd floor and a modern art museum. I headed straight there after finding the bathroom which was in the mezzanine of the building, replete with warmed toilet lids and more “flushing noise” options to drown out your natural sounds of elimation. (oh, I didn’t mention that the hotel public bathrooms had those too). A very modern hand dryer with U.V. light to kill any remnant germs. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven after having felt like death warmed over just a short 20 minutes before in Tsukiji.

I paid my $15 and made my way to the sky view which was a very cool atrium with 360 degree views of Tokyo. Too bad the smog was pretty bad or you could have seen Mt. Fuji from here. Bummer. Took lots of pics. Went to the museum exhibits, one of BMW art cars painted by famous artists like Roy Lichtenstein and Alexander Calder. That was so-so. The other exhibit was avante garde retrospective on British artists and had some poignant pieces like a full size Angus cow, cut in half lengthwise and preserved in formaldehyde. You could walk down the center of it. It was gnarly seeing its innards like that (and all grey from formaldehyde) and oh, there was a baby calf too with the same presentation. Can’t remember the artist’s name, will have to look it up.

Left there and walked around Roppongi a little, as it was only 2 pm and I was meeting Yumi, Mika’s sister for an early dinner at Salt in Tokyo CBD (central business district, duhhh). Salt is one of three restaurants owned by Aussie celebrity chef Luke Mangan. The other is Glass in Sydney and the 3rd is South food and Wine Bar, where I work part time helping out manage the front of the house in San Francisco.

I meandered back to my hotel and had, for some strange reason, a major 2nd or 3rd wind. I put on my exercise gear and walking shoes, and did a one hour walk around my neighborhood here in the Shinagawa district. Pretty cool. I have to say, the Shinagawa train station is right across the street and the most major hub for all incoming and outgoing trains from Tokyo. Think grand central station in NYC, times that by 4 (in size) and then add a plethora of restaurants and shops. Anyhoo, took a 15 minute nap, by this time I was death warmed over again, may have been because of the roll and café au lait I had which had the opposite effect of a pick me up.

I realize, shit, I’m being hard on myself here. Jet lag is a real bodily phenomenon. I have never felt it quite as badly as I do here. During dinner (which I will get to next), Yumi reminded me of the long (11 + hour flight) and trip, all of which occurs without ever seeing the dark. Flying to Japan occurs in daylight (as you are flying west, in essence, beating night or chasing the day), but because you cross the international date linea wacky thing occurs: you arrive on the next day. For instance, I left San Francisco at 1:30 pm on Tuesday, Flew for several hours, took trains etc and arrived at my hotel at 8:00 pm on Wednesday. One would think you would just sleep, which I did feel like passing out since sleeping on the plane continues to elude me (even after the 5 mg valium I dutifully took). But your body becomes totally discombobulated, which explains why I was writing my first entry at 5:30 am, and explains why I’ve been writing this entry between 3:30 and 5:00 am Friday morning. ShIIT. I took some sleep stuff hopefully after getting this adventure off my mind, I will be able to get more shut eye when I sign off.

To finish off my first day in Tokyo I met Yumi Matsui (my friend Mika’s sister) at Salt. The guy on the phone said “take the main exit out of Tokyo station and you will see two tall buildings in front of you, it is the building on the right.” What??? Exiting Tokyo station is like emerging from BART in the downtown financial district of SF (except without the urine smell). Which of the twenty or so tall buildings is he talking about??? My instincts kicked in though, and I navigated to an interesting looking building that had a Banana Republic in the bottom of it. Yup, I was right, the Shin-Maranouchi building was right in front of me. We hooked up and went up to Salt. What a handsome restaurant, kind of smallish with stylish booths and a view of the city scape and Imperial Palace grounds. The server immediately poured us some Janz Brut sparkling from Tasmania. Then she announced that the chef was going to give us a tasting menu complimentary. We said, awesome, bring it on. What followed was just a few things we ate: A perfectly soft cooked quail egg, out of it shell with celery salt and something else on the outside, yum. A slice of kingfish sashimi with goat cheese, cilantro sprouts and whatnot (can’t remember). This is a preparation they do at South and it changes your perception of the whole fish and cheese thing. Great! Then some coconut broth soup with truffle oil and a tempura prawn (served in an espresso cup) then the rest of the meal becomes blurry. Let’s seen, a large plate set between us with cured salmon and some sort of roe, seared katsuo (bonito) with a tomato concasse, Raw squid with wasabi tobiko, and I’m blanking on the other one, but I think it had cheese again. And again, the cheese was great with the raw preparation.

I was ready for some meat, as I had had nothing but fish for 24 hours (and lots of it). the next course was fish again, I believe barramundi with some fabulous gnocci and a few other things, I’m a bit fuzzy. She asked if we were full which we said we were, and she returned to the table to say the chef insisted on one last plate (geez’ okay, twist my arm). The last plate was Lamb belly (very gamey and delicious) and lamb tenderloin or some other seared cut (which was so not gamey, I couldn’t even tell it was lamb??). it was tasty but I was starting to seriously fade by this time (with the obligatory wine pairings, of course). The server then mentioned we would be having two dessert courses!!! What?? The first was served in a long slender shot glass: a quenelle of white chocolate ice cream on top of blueberries which were perched on top of coffee granite! Yum and I seriously immediately perked up. Yes, some non protein item containing sugar and caffeine. It did the trick. The next was an over the top trio of desserts, one some finely julienned apples with apple ice cream on top and a candied paper thin apple cross section on top of that. The next a pear ice cream with some sort of wafer and caramel sauce. It was like streudel in flavor. The third was a custard that looked like a brulee but had gelle’ on top but it was still tasty. Okay, that was it, three hours later and yumi and I were ready to fall asleep on the table, no shit. Oh, and the bathroom was done in hues of green and had lightly tinted green toilet paper which I threatened to steal a piece of but after much contemplation couldn’t imagine justifying a trip back to sf with a square of green tp to show my boss at south. She will just have to imagine….

Day One in Tokyo

2009-08-26T10:12:00.000-07:00

Hello all, i made it here to tokyo. i'm slightly bushed, got up at 5:30 am (not intentionally) and am on my way to the famed Tsukiji fish market to check out the action and have sushi for breakfast (yes, you read correct). My Japanese language skills are non-existent and i have to get it together in that department because i keep wanting to default to spanish (hahaha ) no laughing marcelo...