Before leaving for adventures abroad, Tony and I met for our annual holiday dinner, choosing Zuni Cafe over cooking an extravagant meal. He just started a new job, I was stressing about finishing reports and packing, so simplicity won out.
Zuni is in an odd shaped space - a number of rooms clustered around large kitchens. While following the hostess to our table, I pointed out the raw counter, with ocean delectables displayed on ice for patrons to admire. In the right seat, we could have seen the chef shuck oysters, open clams and prepare the rest of the fruits de mer that we eventually dined on. Rather, we were able to watch one chef pull freshly roasted chickens from the brick oven, efficiently cut into pieces we recognize and plate with salad. And, a youngish chef made salads.
Tony wanted champagne, and paused to ask if it was all right with me. I laughed, "When have we had a Christmas dinner without champagne?" He ordered an excellent bottle of Schramsberg Brut Rose, pink and very drinkable.
After oysters, clams, cockles and shrimps, I had a very rich ricotta gnocchi with toasted and chopped hazelnuts. We shared a delicious coconut cake for dessert: light-as-air sponge cake encased in a fluffy layer of whipped cream frosting and fresh shaved coconut. One of my favorite desserts in a while.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Zoya
A number of new restaurants have, and will be opening in my neighborhood, Hayes Valley (in San Francisco): Paxti's, a Chicago-style pizza place; Zoya, California cuisine; and soon to be opened sushi, North African/Moroccan (Yeah!), Phlugers, of unknown pedigree; and a tea house serving meals (ok, I do question the last one, but we'll wait and see, although it is opening in a location that seems to be doomed to failure).
Needing to get out, and curious, I hit Zoya for lunch the other day. It's in the space formerly inhabited by Midori Mushi, and considering the space constraints (9-sided, two-story closet attached to the Days Inn), the new owners have done an amazing job making it look at big as possible.
Zoya focuses on California cuisine, with an emphasis on organic foods. They also have a great beer and decent wine selection, not quite organic, but when it comes to alcohol, certain things can be forgiven.
I had a portobello mushroom and goat cheese sandwich. Not too bad, although I felt that the juices from the mushroom and melted cheese got a little difficult to manage between the sliced baguette. Alas, I survived with minimal damage to my shirt. A very tasty side salad of spinach and pear accompanied the sandwich.
I'm planning to go back - it's nice to support the neighborhood restaurants.
Needing to get out, and curious, I hit Zoya for lunch the other day. It's in the space formerly inhabited by Midori Mushi, and considering the space constraints (9-sided, two-story closet attached to the Days Inn), the new owners have done an amazing job making it look at big as possible.
Zoya focuses on California cuisine, with an emphasis on organic foods. They also have a great beer and decent wine selection, not quite organic, but when it comes to alcohol, certain things can be forgiven.
I had a portobello mushroom and goat cheese sandwich. Not too bad, although I felt that the juices from the mushroom and melted cheese got a little difficult to manage between the sliced baguette. Alas, I survived with minimal damage to my shirt. A very tasty side salad of spinach and pear accompanied the sandwich.
I'm planning to go back - it's nice to support the neighborhood restaurants.
A New Visitor
I caught Jai caressing the beets in Whole Foods. This was after he had carefully studied the produce stacked up as he approached the beets, about halfway down the long counter stocked full of refrigerated vegetables, fruits and herbs. He also made several exclamatory noises along the way, during the beet caress incident and while proceeding to the next unsuspecting, and previously innocent piece of produce. All of this, and before seeing the Whole Foods deli section, which having been recently renovated, is now even more impressive than before.
The next day, before the Big Game, we stopped by Fry's in Palo Alto, favored home of the Bay Area's geeks. I usually avoid - the pasty skin of the employees and shoppers and unorganized nature of the electronics scattered throughout make me nervous. Jai loved it, so much that we went back again the following evening. It may be worth pointing out that Jai loves electronics (he even picked out a new wireless PCI card and installed it on my PC). I believe that during his time in the store, he repeated his Whole Foods performance, although since I was enjoying a mediocre chai and listening to the chatter of bored employees, missed seeing his reactions.
Obviously, Jai doesn't live in the U.S., and I have to admit, seeing the reaction of someone who had never experienced what I take as a normal, every day shopping experience (for Whole Foods, not for Fry's) made me realize just how lucky I am. Practically anything I'd need to create multiple meals and concoctions is available, all in high quality produce, and all, as Jai pointed out, "labeled". There are some good things about our society, after all.
The next day, before the Big Game, we stopped by Fry's in Palo Alto, favored home of the Bay Area's geeks. I usually avoid - the pasty skin of the employees and shoppers and unorganized nature of the electronics scattered throughout make me nervous. Jai loved it, so much that we went back again the following evening. It may be worth pointing out that Jai loves electronics (he even picked out a new wireless PCI card and installed it on my PC). I believe that during his time in the store, he repeated his Whole Foods performance, although since I was enjoying a mediocre chai and listening to the chatter of bored employees, missed seeing his reactions.
Obviously, Jai doesn't live in the U.S., and I have to admit, seeing the reaction of someone who had never experienced what I take as a normal, every day shopping experience (for Whole Foods, not for Fry's) made me realize just how lucky I am. Practically anything I'd need to create multiple meals and concoctions is available, all in high quality produce, and all, as Jai pointed out, "labeled". There are some good things about our society, after all.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
BBQ in Kansas City
A business trip several years ago took me to Austin. Being with eating/traveling partner Bryan, we wanted the best dining experience and were told by countless people that we needed, it was required, we go to the Salt Lick for bbq. We went, drug our boss, got lost and eventually made it to an oasis in the middle of nowhere serving the most incredible bbq that I'd ever eaten. Not at all like the bbq that I'd grown up with, it was different and incredible, focusing more on the smoke and quality of the meat rather than the bathing in bbq sauce.
It's a well known fact that I love bbq. I'm even trying to talk my mom into brining and BBQing the Thanksgiving bird next week.
A few days ago, Kansas City was the destination for another business trip (and yes, I've been traveling a lot of late, maybe 25K miles in the past month and a half? WOW). My good friend from college, Michelle, now lives in Kansas City with her husband and two kids (actually, Overland Park, but no need to get caught up in technicalities). We decided to have dinner, and she offered up a French bistro, adding an aside of "or if you'd like to go to bbq, we can do that too". Of course I opted for bbq. BBQ in California is like Mexican food in Boston: it's doable and ok, but nothing like the real experience (or even the ok real experience).
When pulling into the parking lot of Fiorella's Jack Stack BBQ, I warned Michelle that I'd be like a vacuum - nothing would be left. I think she may have thought I was crazy, but we were talking about KC bbq, after all.
I ordered the sliced meat and ribs plate, substituting coleslaw and beans for the french fries and whatever other nondescript side they offered. BBQ in KC had to be done correctly.
As I gazed at the plate of meat, I thought that the restaurant was a bit cheap with only a drizzle of bbq sauce over the sliced beef. But all was forgiven as I used my fork to cut the tender beef. Yes, I used my fork to cut the beef. WOW. It turned out the sauce was just the right amount - nice and tangy, accenting the beef rather than overpowering it.
The ribs were perfectly smoked and basted with the slightly vinegary bbq sauce. The meat literally pulled off of the bones, and when done, lacking any pretense of politeness, I licked my fingers. Hopefully, Michelle didn't notice. I was also wondering if I could ask for a second helping of ribs, but considering I was fed non-stop over the next couple of days, probably best that I withheld. Plus, it would have probably been a social faux paus.
Michelle had a sandwich - with the beef and coleslaw and whatever else they added. Between sighs on my part, I noticed that she seemed to be enjoying her plate.
Our host in Kansas City planned a very nice dinner the next night at the Kemper Contemporary Art Museum. A lovely setting, modern art and a string orchestra. I ordered the KC strip steak, with gorgonzola butter and port wine sauce. I convinced my colleague Dave to get the steak as well, although since he thinks gorgonzola tastes like feet (how do you know what feet taste like, Dave? I asked, to which he said, smells like feet, I meant smells like feet! Uh-huh, Dave, uh-huh), he got the steak sans butter. The steak was delicious - beef in the heartland really does taste different.
Dave and Randy and I talked about going for bbq before catching our flights, but sadly, the KC airport is in the middle of nowhere - meaning even decent or ok bbq is nowhere to be had. The logistics with flights and needing to get home were just too difficult to overcome, even with the pull of bbq.
It's a well known fact that I love bbq. I'm even trying to talk my mom into brining and BBQing the Thanksgiving bird next week.
A few days ago, Kansas City was the destination for another business trip (and yes, I've been traveling a lot of late, maybe 25K miles in the past month and a half? WOW). My good friend from college, Michelle, now lives in Kansas City with her husband and two kids (actually, Overland Park, but no need to get caught up in technicalities). We decided to have dinner, and she offered up a French bistro, adding an aside of "or if you'd like to go to bbq, we can do that too". Of course I opted for bbq. BBQ in California is like Mexican food in Boston: it's doable and ok, but nothing like the real experience (or even the ok real experience).
When pulling into the parking lot of Fiorella's Jack Stack BBQ, I warned Michelle that I'd be like a vacuum - nothing would be left. I think she may have thought I was crazy, but we were talking about KC bbq, after all.
I ordered the sliced meat and ribs plate, substituting coleslaw and beans for the french fries and whatever other nondescript side they offered. BBQ in KC had to be done correctly.
As I gazed at the plate of meat, I thought that the restaurant was a bit cheap with only a drizzle of bbq sauce over the sliced beef. But all was forgiven as I used my fork to cut the tender beef. Yes, I used my fork to cut the beef. WOW. It turned out the sauce was just the right amount - nice and tangy, accenting the beef rather than overpowering it.
The ribs were perfectly smoked and basted with the slightly vinegary bbq sauce. The meat literally pulled off of the bones, and when done, lacking any pretense of politeness, I licked my fingers. Hopefully, Michelle didn't notice. I was also wondering if I could ask for a second helping of ribs, but considering I was fed non-stop over the next couple of days, probably best that I withheld. Plus, it would have probably been a social faux paus.
Michelle had a sandwich - with the beef and coleslaw and whatever else they added. Between sighs on my part, I noticed that she seemed to be enjoying her plate.
Our host in Kansas City planned a very nice dinner the next night at the Kemper Contemporary Art Museum. A lovely setting, modern art and a string orchestra. I ordered the KC strip steak, with gorgonzola butter and port wine sauce. I convinced my colleague Dave to get the steak as well, although since he thinks gorgonzola tastes like feet (how do you know what feet taste like, Dave? I asked, to which he said, smells like feet, I meant smells like feet! Uh-huh, Dave, uh-huh), he got the steak sans butter. The steak was delicious - beef in the heartland really does taste different.
Dave and Randy and I talked about going for bbq before catching our flights, but sadly, the KC airport is in the middle of nowhere - meaning even decent or ok bbq is nowhere to be had. The logistics with flights and needing to get home were just too difficult to overcome, even with the pull of bbq.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Saturday Night Dinner
Tony recently bought a flat in San Francisco, so invited me over for dinner and to see his new home. It's a great place - he did an excellent decorating job, the kitchen is fully modern and well designed.
He made pork chops for dinner. A healthy dose of cayenne pepper and multiple other supporting spices were rubbed onto the chops, which he then pan-seared. He tossed a bunch of miniature carrots and some dill into the pan and roasted it all in the oven. While it was cooking, he sauteed spinach and garlic. While the meat rested, he juiced an orange into the carrots and let the liquids reduce. While the flavor combinations may seem a bit strange, the overall combination of worked extremely well together. So simple, so easy, I stood in the kitchen with a glass of wine and chatted while he cooked. Hurrah!
I contributed a fig and raspberry galette for dessert.
He made pork chops for dinner. A healthy dose of cayenne pepper and multiple other supporting spices were rubbed onto the chops, which he then pan-seared. He tossed a bunch of miniature carrots and some dill into the pan and roasted it all in the oven. While it was cooking, he sauteed spinach and garlic. While the meat rested, he juiced an orange into the carrots and let the liquids reduce. While the flavor combinations may seem a bit strange, the overall combination of worked extremely well together. So simple, so easy, I stood in the kitchen with a glass of wine and chatted while he cooked. Hurrah!
I contributed a fig and raspberry galette for dessert.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
the Dukes Martini
In celebration of my 33rd birthday, Nilay, Gabe, Carrie and I went to Dukes, purportedly home of the best martini in London.
The more than stuffy bartenders in Dukes make martinis the way that the inventor of the martini intended. He carried a small table to us, which held an icy bottle of vodka, a small carafe of vermouth, extremely well chilled martini glasses, a few lemons and a knife. Smirking of an elaborate ritual, he shook a few drops of vermouth into each glass, then carefully filled with the vodka. In one swoop, he sliced peel from the lemon, twisted it over the vodka to extract the oils in the peel, waved it over the rim of the glass and added to the drink. And then, we were allowed to drink what has to be the finest martini that I've ever experienced in my life.
I've been thinking about why the martini was so good (good enough, in fact, that I had a second). Partly the quality of the vodka, no Smirnoff, I believed he used a Polish vodka which I'll be looking for at bev mo shortly, partly the atmosphere, partly the bouquet, partly the company. All combined together - the perfect martini.
Gabe suggested Fakhreldine for dinner. Great Lebanese food. Incredible bottle of chateau de-neuf (I may have messed up on the French name of the bottle).
It was a very happy birthday :)
The more than stuffy bartenders in Dukes make martinis the way that the inventor of the martini intended. He carried a small table to us, which held an icy bottle of vodka, a small carafe of vermouth, extremely well chilled martini glasses, a few lemons and a knife. Smirking of an elaborate ritual, he shook a few drops of vermouth into each glass, then carefully filled with the vodka. In one swoop, he sliced peel from the lemon, twisted it over the vodka to extract the oils in the peel, waved it over the rim of the glass and added to the drink. And then, we were allowed to drink what has to be the finest martini that I've ever experienced in my life.
I've been thinking about why the martini was so good (good enough, in fact, that I had a second). Partly the quality of the vodka, no Smirnoff, I believed he used a Polish vodka which I'll be looking for at bev mo shortly, partly the atmosphere, partly the bouquet, partly the company. All combined together - the perfect martini.
Gabe suggested Fakhreldine for dinner. Great Lebanese food. Incredible bottle of chateau de-neuf (I may have messed up on the French name of the bottle).
It was a very happy birthday :)
Monday, November 07, 2005
Good German Food
Traveling in Germany is probably bad for vegetarians. Lots of meat, potatoes, soups, heavy foods. Luckily, I was spawned from good Polish stock and grew up in a meat and potatoes family food environment, so for me, German food is close to comfort food.
I loved my cheese sausage with fried potatoes. Vegetables, as in a salad, may have accompanied, but I don't recall. I do remember some excellent beer. And after watching Nilay and Bryan try to decipher the German menu, smartly ask the waiter for the English version. It worked, we ate well. I bet that they don't ask for directions, either.
Meatballs in a cream sauce (and yes, I know I'm not a big fan of cream sauces) were quite scrumptious, especially because the sauce was studded with capers and it was all served with plain boiled potatoes, which cut the richness. Again, more beer. Actually, much beer was consumed on the trip. We were in Berlin, after all.
I should also mention the beer hall pretzel. Soooo good.
And Turkish for lunch during one particularly hungover day, mainly for Bryan and Nilay. (the hangover, not the food) In fact, when I ordered a beer, they adopted squeamish looks and groaned. I had a tasty lamb kebab served with a spicy tomato source over pieces of bread and a huge dollop of plain yogurt. While the combination sounds odd, it worked well. Nilay ordered the same dish, and after all, great minds do think alike.
BTW, Berlin is incredible. A very young and vibrant city. Amazing nightlife. Great and friendly people. And good beer! I can't wait to go back.
I loved my cheese sausage with fried potatoes. Vegetables, as in a salad, may have accompanied, but I don't recall. I do remember some excellent beer. And after watching Nilay and Bryan try to decipher the German menu, smartly ask the waiter for the English version. It worked, we ate well. I bet that they don't ask for directions, either.
Meatballs in a cream sauce (and yes, I know I'm not a big fan of cream sauces) were quite scrumptious, especially because the sauce was studded with capers and it was all served with plain boiled potatoes, which cut the richness. Again, more beer. Actually, much beer was consumed on the trip. We were in Berlin, after all.
I should also mention the beer hall pretzel. Soooo good.
And Turkish for lunch during one particularly hungover day, mainly for Bryan and Nilay. (the hangover, not the food) In fact, when I ordered a beer, they adopted squeamish looks and groaned. I had a tasty lamb kebab served with a spicy tomato source over pieces of bread and a huge dollop of plain yogurt. While the combination sounds odd, it worked well. Nilay ordered the same dish, and after all, great minds do think alike.
BTW, Berlin is incredible. A very young and vibrant city. Amazing nightlife. Great and friendly people. And good beer! I can't wait to go back.
Dining in the Dark
Somehow, dining in darkness sounded like a good idea. Nilay heard about the Dunkel Restaurant in Berlin, which offered just such an experience. When committing, I imagined that a few strategically placed tea candles, maybe in the corners of the room or perhaps, even one or two on the tables. For not the first, or I'm fairly certain, the last time in my life, I was wrong.
Imagine being unable to see the person sitting across from you while eating. Imagine not being able to see your face in front of your hand. Literally. Then think about eating is this environment. That was my night.
At first, entering the restaurant was disconcerting. Nilay, Bryan, Pete, Sufern, Nina and myself were linked together and shuffled in, following Manfred, our waiter. It took several minutes for me to orient myself, to adjust myself to the pitch black darkness. I understand how panic could have set in for some. Once adjusted, it was a very interesting experience, especially once the food arrived and we all confessed to repeatedly stabbing what we thought was food with our fork, only to discover that we had somehow missed the food once the fork passed through our lips. And laughed about that, and through the conversation, as all good dining companions should do.
It's not worth spending much time discussing the food. We were given clues and a general theme for each four course meal that we chose, and then discussed amongst ourselves and figured out exactly what we were eating. The food was decent, certainly not de kas, or even any of my other favorites throughout the world. (For future reference, I had an appetizer of veg and ravioli, pumpkin soup, lamb and potatoes and pineapple and oranges for dessert).
Imagine being unable to see the person sitting across from you while eating. Imagine not being able to see your face in front of your hand. Literally. Then think about eating is this environment. That was my night.
At first, entering the restaurant was disconcerting. Nilay, Bryan, Pete, Sufern, Nina and myself were linked together and shuffled in, following Manfred, our waiter. It took several minutes for me to orient myself, to adjust myself to the pitch black darkness. I understand how panic could have set in for some. Once adjusted, it was a very interesting experience, especially once the food arrived and we all confessed to repeatedly stabbing what we thought was food with our fork, only to discover that we had somehow missed the food once the fork passed through our lips. And laughed about that, and through the conversation, as all good dining companions should do.
It's not worth spending much time discussing the food. We were given clues and a general theme for each four course meal that we chose, and then discussed amongst ourselves and figured out exactly what we were eating. The food was decent, certainly not de kas, or even any of my other favorites throughout the world. (For future reference, I had an appetizer of veg and ravioli, pumpkin soup, lamb and potatoes and pineapple and oranges for dessert).
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
the Finnish Breakfast
I'm now in Finland for business - and for those of you paying attention, yes, I left Europe for two weeks and am now back here for about two weeks. Gotta' love business travel and am ample pool of PTO time allowing for extended trips.
I've always enjoyed the Finnish breakfast. Cheese, cold cuts, cucumber, tomatoes and tasty bread. Plus herring and 5 minute eggs. It's a simple breakfast, one that fills you up but doesn't leave the sickly full feeling of the American breakfast of eggs and bacon and hash browns, etc.
Every time I'm in Finland, I think, I need to start eating like this more like this at home. Certainly, I have the bread and cheese part down, and do the weekend egg thing, now I just need the rest.
Sauna tonight. Yeah!!!
I've always enjoyed the Finnish breakfast. Cheese, cold cuts, cucumber, tomatoes and tasty bread. Plus herring and 5 minute eggs. It's a simple breakfast, one that fills you up but doesn't leave the sickly full feeling of the American breakfast of eggs and bacon and hash browns, etc.
Every time I'm in Finland, I think, I need to start eating like this more like this at home. Certainly, I have the bread and cheese part down, and do the weekend egg thing, now I just need the rest.
Sauna tonight. Yeah!!!
Friday, October 21, 2005
Heels + Cobblestone Streets = California Cuisine
In part because I'd brought along some nice clothes and I was in a festive mood - I was on holiday, after all! I decided to dress up for dinner at de Kas. We'd heard great things about the restaurant, located in a green house in a park south of the center of Amsterdam. In retrospect while I'm sure that I looked great, wearing heels wasn't such a good idea. Cobblestone streets and getting lost (repeatedly) caused some discomfort. Nilay can happily explain why we got lost, and he should also let you know that I was amazingly calm, considering.
The paragraph of whining doesn't matter, really. De Kas was amazing. Simply amazing. As in amazing enough that I forgot how much my feet hurt and we decided to return for another meal, lunch, slightly more than 12 hours after being the last ones to leave that evening. And again, the last ones to leave around 4:30 after lunch the next day.
Dinner:
We started with a glass of Moet & Chandon with a sprig of lemon thyme (mental note - this is how I'm going to serve champagne going forward). Four appetizers, accompanied by two white wines: an oyster with chiffonnaded spinach and a piece of some type of beef; warm white bean soup topped with a frothy asparagus blend served in a shot glass; a piece of white fish accompanied by a hunk of celeriac wrapped with a thin piece of bacon; a slice of pumpkin squash with sweet onion compote. The main course was a grilled venison chop with a healthily rich sauce and served with potatoes and some type of mushroom and carrot sauteed, surrounded by basil oil. I noted that the carrots were cut into almost perfect little squares. As expected, a deep red wine (a cabernet, maybe?) accompanied dinner. We rested with the cheese course, a handful of red grapes, and port.
By this time, we had become friends with the waiter, who kindly gave us extras on the port; he had recognized the trend towards serious eaters and drinkers. A pear tart with vanilla bean ice cream and some pistachios arrived with a glass of dessert wine. Followed by a plate of cookies and candied oranges dipped in chocolate and lemon verbena tea, a de Kas specialty. Just when we thought it was safe, he brought us two small glasses of prune liquor, similar to limoncello. And delicious - who knew prunes could be so good?
Somewhere between the main course and the cheese course, Nilay mentioned that the chef must have been influenced by Bay Area restaurants like Chez Panisse and French Laundry. It wasn't only the quality of the food and its preparation, but the emphasis on organic and the open space and casual feel. Nilay is very smart.
Lunch:
Lunch was just as good as dinner. The chefs even made sure that our meal was not exactly a replica of dinner, and it was fun to see how they managed to change up the courses. Appetizers were comprised of an oyster with red wine vinaigrette and shallots (my favorite, by far); a small piece of seared/baked salmon; a shot glass of broccoli soup (which I at least tried, before wrinkling my nose and letting Nilay have the rest); and another dish which I have forgotten. A generous piece of white fish with a crunchy parsley topping, spinach and cabbage and carrots served as the main dish. Again, a cheese course with port and whole walnuts. Dessert was delivered to the table by the chef: deep fried pieces of milk chocolate, candied prunes and vanilla bean ice cream with some pistachios. Trust me, the combination was better than it sounds. By this time, I was so full that I couldn't even touch the obligatory plate of cookies and candied chocolate dipped oranges delivered at the end. (A few weeks later, I wish that I'd been able to take the cookies to go. I'm kind of hungry as I write this).
The head chef made a personal visit to our table while we were immersed in the luncheon cheese course. I got a little fluttery (funny how I can meet with CEOs of major game companies without breaking a sweat, yet get nervous when meeting the head chef of a brilliant restaurant). He had lived in the Bay Area and worked in a variety of restaurants, including Chez Panisse. Not surprisingly, Chez Panisse, as well as French Laundry, Zuni Cafe and others served as inspirations for de Kas. Amazing how California cuisine has worked it's way throughout the world.
The paragraph of whining doesn't matter, really. De Kas was amazing. Simply amazing. As in amazing enough that I forgot how much my feet hurt and we decided to return for another meal, lunch, slightly more than 12 hours after being the last ones to leave that evening. And again, the last ones to leave around 4:30 after lunch the next day.
Dinner:
We started with a glass of Moet & Chandon with a sprig of lemon thyme (mental note - this is how I'm going to serve champagne going forward). Four appetizers, accompanied by two white wines: an oyster with chiffonnaded spinach and a piece of some type of beef; warm white bean soup topped with a frothy asparagus blend served in a shot glass; a piece of white fish accompanied by a hunk of celeriac wrapped with a thin piece of bacon; a slice of pumpkin squash with sweet onion compote. The main course was a grilled venison chop with a healthily rich sauce and served with potatoes and some type of mushroom and carrot sauteed, surrounded by basil oil. I noted that the carrots were cut into almost perfect little squares. As expected, a deep red wine (a cabernet, maybe?) accompanied dinner. We rested with the cheese course, a handful of red grapes, and port.
By this time, we had become friends with the waiter, who kindly gave us extras on the port; he had recognized the trend towards serious eaters and drinkers. A pear tart with vanilla bean ice cream and some pistachios arrived with a glass of dessert wine. Followed by a plate of cookies and candied oranges dipped in chocolate and lemon verbena tea, a de Kas specialty. Just when we thought it was safe, he brought us two small glasses of prune liquor, similar to limoncello. And delicious - who knew prunes could be so good?
Somewhere between the main course and the cheese course, Nilay mentioned that the chef must have been influenced by Bay Area restaurants like Chez Panisse and French Laundry. It wasn't only the quality of the food and its preparation, but the emphasis on organic and the open space and casual feel. Nilay is very smart.
Lunch:
Lunch was just as good as dinner. The chefs even made sure that our meal was not exactly a replica of dinner, and it was fun to see how they managed to change up the courses. Appetizers were comprised of an oyster with red wine vinaigrette and shallots (my favorite, by far); a small piece of seared/baked salmon; a shot glass of broccoli soup (which I at least tried, before wrinkling my nose and letting Nilay have the rest); and another dish which I have forgotten. A generous piece of white fish with a crunchy parsley topping, spinach and cabbage and carrots served as the main dish. Again, a cheese course with port and whole walnuts. Dessert was delivered to the table by the chef: deep fried pieces of milk chocolate, candied prunes and vanilla bean ice cream with some pistachios. Trust me, the combination was better than it sounds. By this time, I was so full that I couldn't even touch the obligatory plate of cookies and candied chocolate dipped oranges delivered at the end. (A few weeks later, I wish that I'd been able to take the cookies to go. I'm kind of hungry as I write this).
The head chef made a personal visit to our table while we were immersed in the luncheon cheese course. I got a little fluttery (funny how I can meet with CEOs of major game companies without breaking a sweat, yet get nervous when meeting the head chef of a brilliant restaurant). He had lived in the Bay Area and worked in a variety of restaurants, including Chez Panisse. Not surprisingly, Chez Panisse, as well as French Laundry, Zuni Cafe and others served as inspirations for de Kas. Amazing how California cuisine has worked it's way throughout the world.
Friday, October 14, 2005
My Love Affair with Cheese
I love cheese. I always have, I always will. Given a choice, I almost always choose cheese over dessert. If I could roll around naked in cheese, I would. Ok, maybe not. But you get the point.
France is heaven for cheese lovers. I remember walking into fromageries, breathing in the deep, rich, complex smell of hundreds of cheese and wanting to cry. Last week in Amsterdam, I discovered that while a bit different, Holland cheeses are simply amazing and just as good as those from France. Luckily, I was traveling with Nilay, who loves cheese almost as much as I do. He probably never thought about rolling around naked in cheese, but now that I've planted the idea...
Appropriately enough, Gouda hosted our first meal involving a cheese course. When we asked the waiter to tell us about the selection, he furrowed his brows, pointed to the first cheese, and said, "it's normal cheese". It was anything but normal: an aged soft gouda with a slightly tangy flavor, layered with more depth than I thought a gouda could possess.
We ordered the cheese service with both meals at de Kas in Amsterdam. WOW. A parmesano reggiano shot with rocquefort cheese. A runny and gooey yellow tangy cows milk. A gouda studded with cloves and cumin. Some creamy white firm cheeses. More runny cheeses, similar to brie, but better. And many others - Nilay, help? I was in heaven!
We picnicked in Monnikendam, purchasing lunch at a farmer's market. Two kinds of cheese accompanied lunch - a strong, somewhat traditional gouda and a firm goat's milk cheese. (Mental note to self: why did I think I only needed to bring along a wine opener from the apartment when I knew we would be picnicking? I rooted through a cheese slicer and knives in the drawer to grab the wine opener and even picked up plastic cups from the car rental agency. Yet, I never thought about utensils until we were ready to purchase the food. Nilay now owns another swiss army knife).
This afternoon at Cheese Plus in San Francisco, I told the salesperson about the incredible Holland cheeses. She told me how lucky I was, and explained that although raw milk cheeses are now allowed in the U.S., the FDA still has a number of requirements about length of aging, composition, etc. So technically, while we're able to get raw cheese, we're not able to get young raw cheese, which provides a different dimension and depth to the cheese, partially accounting for the incredible taste of all of that cheese in Holland.
I want to go back to Holland. Soon.
France is heaven for cheese lovers. I remember walking into fromageries, breathing in the deep, rich, complex smell of hundreds of cheese and wanting to cry. Last week in Amsterdam, I discovered that while a bit different, Holland cheeses are simply amazing and just as good as those from France. Luckily, I was traveling with Nilay, who loves cheese almost as much as I do. He probably never thought about rolling around naked in cheese, but now that I've planted the idea...
Appropriately enough, Gouda hosted our first meal involving a cheese course. When we asked the waiter to tell us about the selection, he furrowed his brows, pointed to the first cheese, and said, "it's normal cheese". It was anything but normal: an aged soft gouda with a slightly tangy flavor, layered with more depth than I thought a gouda could possess.
We ordered the cheese service with both meals at de Kas in Amsterdam. WOW. A parmesano reggiano shot with rocquefort cheese. A runny and gooey yellow tangy cows milk. A gouda studded with cloves and cumin. Some creamy white firm cheeses. More runny cheeses, similar to brie, but better. And many others - Nilay, help? I was in heaven!
We picnicked in Monnikendam, purchasing lunch at a farmer's market. Two kinds of cheese accompanied lunch - a strong, somewhat traditional gouda and a firm goat's milk cheese. (Mental note to self: why did I think I only needed to bring along a wine opener from the apartment when I knew we would be picnicking? I rooted through a cheese slicer and knives in the drawer to grab the wine opener and even picked up plastic cups from the car rental agency. Yet, I never thought about utensils until we were ready to purchase the food. Nilay now owns another swiss army knife).
This afternoon at Cheese Plus in San Francisco, I told the salesperson about the incredible Holland cheeses. She told me how lucky I was, and explained that although raw milk cheeses are now allowed in the U.S., the FDA still has a number of requirements about length of aging, composition, etc. So technically, while we're able to get raw cheese, we're not able to get young raw cheese, which provides a different dimension and depth to the cheese, partially accounting for the incredible taste of all of that cheese in Holland.
I want to go back to Holland. Soon.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
the Joys of Cupcakes
I've developed a love affair with cupcakes. There's something just perfect about the cupcake, a little piece of cake in its own container with a generous dollop of frosting. Inherently, it's perfect, and while the experience could be replicated with a simple slice of cake, it is in its own way better, more desirable, more wanted.
Cupcakes are the rage right now, but really, have cupcakes ever gone out of style? I remember baking cupcakes with my mom when I was a little girl for my kindergarten teacher Audrey Zipp's surprise birthday party. It's the perfect mother-daughter dish - easy to make, lots of room for error and always, always fun to frost each litte cup of cake.
Over the past few years, Cooks Illustrated has published two different cupcake recipes, white and chocolate cakes. As expected, both are excellent, and many batches have been made as dessert for dinner parties, and fairly recently, a champagne fueled divorce celebration. Cupcakes are not pretentious, but elegant enough to go nicely with champagne. Go figure - how many desserts can really make that claim?
Cupcakes are the rage right now, but really, have cupcakes ever gone out of style? I remember baking cupcakes with my mom when I was a little girl for my kindergarten teacher Audrey Zipp's surprise birthday party. It's the perfect mother-daughter dish - easy to make, lots of room for error and always, always fun to frost each litte cup of cake.
Over the past few years, Cooks Illustrated has published two different cupcake recipes, white and chocolate cakes. As expected, both are excellent, and many batches have been made as dessert for dinner parties, and fairly recently, a champagne fueled divorce celebration. Cupcakes are not pretentious, but elegant enough to go nicely with champagne. Go figure - how many desserts can really make that claim?
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
food of late
I haven't been as diligent as I should about entries, but then, have I ever been?
A few thoughts...
Pizzeria Delfina: WOW. I LOVE this place. Located next door to Deflina, one of my all-time favorites, it carries over a few of the dishes (mainly sides) from the formal place, but the primary focus is on an original menu, centered around, of all things, pizza. The pizza is simply amazing - perfect crusts, not too thick, not too thin, with great toppings. One with mozzarella and heirloom tomatoes. The other with a rich red sauce, capers, anchovies and nicoise olives. I want to go back, right now.
Scallops: Of late, I've experimented with scallops. My cooking method is still not perfected, but salt and peppering each scallop and then searing in butter is showing promise.
Range: I heard raves from two different people about this new place in the Mission. Thus, I ducked out a tourney round of flip cup with the Dusters to join Gabe and Jason for a late night dinner. My white sangria drink at the bar was so so. My escarole soup was fabulous - creamy soup with an escarole base, topped with a poached egg and drizzled with olive oil. The waiter didn't ask me how well I wanted my salmon cooked, and it was overdone. The "melted" fennel was decent, but the blob of mayo (probably aoili) on top of the salmon was simply distracting. Dessert was a disappointment, best not to dredge up bad memories.
Zuni Brunch: Using aged balsamic vinegar, Zuni makes excellent bloody mary's for Sunday brunch (the cute bartender who talks sports helps the situation, of course). Besides the alcohol kick, brunch at Zuni is quite tasty. I've been twice in the past two months, both times dining on eggs. The first folded fresh corn and goat cheese and chives into the creamy scrambled eggs. The second combined some type of cheese and squash blossoms with scrambled eggs. Both were simply wonderful. I bought fresh corn at Whole foods and added it to my eggs the following two weekends. Wow.
A few thoughts...
Pizzeria Delfina: WOW. I LOVE this place. Located next door to Deflina, one of my all-time favorites, it carries over a few of the dishes (mainly sides) from the formal place, but the primary focus is on an original menu, centered around, of all things, pizza. The pizza is simply amazing - perfect crusts, not too thick, not too thin, with great toppings. One with mozzarella and heirloom tomatoes. The other with a rich red sauce, capers, anchovies and nicoise olives. I want to go back, right now.
Scallops: Of late, I've experimented with scallops. My cooking method is still not perfected, but salt and peppering each scallop and then searing in butter is showing promise.
Range: I heard raves from two different people about this new place in the Mission. Thus, I ducked out a tourney round of flip cup with the Dusters to join Gabe and Jason for a late night dinner. My white sangria drink at the bar was so so. My escarole soup was fabulous - creamy soup with an escarole base, topped with a poached egg and drizzled with olive oil. The waiter didn't ask me how well I wanted my salmon cooked, and it was overdone. The "melted" fennel was decent, but the blob of mayo (probably aoili) on top of the salmon was simply distracting. Dessert was a disappointment, best not to dredge up bad memories.
Zuni Brunch: Using aged balsamic vinegar, Zuni makes excellent bloody mary's for Sunday brunch (the cute bartender who talks sports helps the situation, of course). Besides the alcohol kick, brunch at Zuni is quite tasty. I've been twice in the past two months, both times dining on eggs. The first folded fresh corn and goat cheese and chives into the creamy scrambled eggs. The second combined some type of cheese and squash blossoms with scrambled eggs. Both were simply wonderful. I bought fresh corn at Whole foods and added it to my eggs the following two weekends. Wow.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Top Dog in Berkeley
"I can't believe you lived you went to Berkeley and never ate at Top Dog!" was repeated emphatically by a guy I had just met at the Patel sibling party (which btw, kudos to Nilay for his incredible grilled cedar plank salmon). I didn't really have a good explanation - I was a vegetarian for a good many years while living in Berkeley, I never paid attention, I'm not quite sure why not.
So while walking to the Cal football game a few days ago, Top Dog on Durant became a destination point, for lunch and in part, so I could try to figure out the appeal. I had chicken apple, it was served on a slightly stale bun, and frankly, after eating the dog and throwing away about a quarter of the bun, I realized I didn't miss out on much. Maybe the experience is different on a non-football day, when Top Dog's mission is to make good dogs, not simply feed the hungry masses passing by on their way to the stadium. But I have to say, the dogs we bbq every Thursday at kickball are better.
On the other hand, I had an excellent margharita pizza, and of course, beer, at Jupiter. It's a great bar on Shattuck, near the BART station, that I used to frequent after I graduated from college. I closed down the bar several times (Marty, if you're out there, I won't forget) and I celebrated my 27th? 28th? birthday at Jupiter...I'll never how excited I became when the guy I had a crush on appeared at Jupiter to help me celebrate my birthday...
Did I miss anything by not eating at Top Dog? NO. I frequented other Berkeley places, some of which still exist, others of which are now legend. Barneys. Zachary's. Zona Rosa. Raleighs. The salad places on both sides of Raleighs, one which was really popular, but the other was so much better, Coffee Source maybe? The Japanese Place, which moved from Durant to Durant Alley. Steve's Korean BBQ, with a giant rice cooker. Togo's. Noah's. Yogurt Park. Campus dining. SO I can't quite remember what happened ten years ago...but I can try, right?
Maybe I'll try Top Dog again. But I have a feeling, Top Dog is good because it is cheap for college students who just don't have a lot of $$ for food after writing checks to "the UC Regents". Even when the monetary situation improves with real jobs, Top Dog plays on nostalgia, allowing one to relive the memories of college. I'm glad I finally got there....at least now, I can say I ate at Top Dog.
So while walking to the Cal football game a few days ago, Top Dog on Durant became a destination point, for lunch and in part, so I could try to figure out the appeal. I had chicken apple, it was served on a slightly stale bun, and frankly, after eating the dog and throwing away about a quarter of the bun, I realized I didn't miss out on much. Maybe the experience is different on a non-football day, when Top Dog's mission is to make good dogs, not simply feed the hungry masses passing by on their way to the stadium. But I have to say, the dogs we bbq every Thursday at kickball are better.
On the other hand, I had an excellent margharita pizza, and of course, beer, at Jupiter. It's a great bar on Shattuck, near the BART station, that I used to frequent after I graduated from college. I closed down the bar several times (Marty, if you're out there, I won't forget) and I celebrated my 27th? 28th? birthday at Jupiter...I'll never how excited I became when the guy I had a crush on appeared at Jupiter to help me celebrate my birthday...
Did I miss anything by not eating at Top Dog? NO. I frequented other Berkeley places, some of which still exist, others of which are now legend. Barneys. Zachary's. Zona Rosa. Raleighs. The salad places on both sides of Raleighs, one which was really popular, but the other was so much better, Coffee Source maybe? The Japanese Place, which moved from Durant to Durant Alley. Steve's Korean BBQ, with a giant rice cooker. Togo's. Noah's. Yogurt Park. Campus dining. SO I can't quite remember what happened ten years ago...but I can try, right?
Maybe I'll try Top Dog again. But I have a feeling, Top Dog is good because it is cheap for college students who just don't have a lot of $$ for food after writing checks to "the UC Regents". Even when the monetary situation improves with real jobs, Top Dog plays on nostalgia, allowing one to relive the memories of college. I'm glad I finally got there....at least now, I can say I ate at Top Dog.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Emil in Potrero
After languishing in the suburbs and commuting almost daily to San Francisco for his social life, Emil decided to move to San Francisco. He found a cute loft in Potrero, hired movers and is now living amongst unpacked boxes.
One of the great things about Emil's move (besides that he won't need to camp out on my couch) is having a new neighborhood to explore. The heart of Potrero is exactly two blocks up a steep hill. While not a huge neighborhood center, enough restaurants, bars and other assorted shops will happily occupy us for a few months.
Unfortunately Lingba was closed for a private party Friday night (although the drinks glimpsed through the window looked very tasty). But, Goat Hill Pizza was in full swing, and we gorged on Prohibition Ale and excellent pizza. I noticed that Goal Hill has a second location in SOMA, and most importantly, delivers. That's all goodness, just like Emil's move to the city from the suburbs.
One of the great things about Emil's move (besides that he won't need to camp out on my couch) is having a new neighborhood to explore. The heart of Potrero is exactly two blocks up a steep hill. While not a huge neighborhood center, enough restaurants, bars and other assorted shops will happily occupy us for a few months.
Unfortunately Lingba was closed for a private party Friday night (although the drinks glimpsed through the window looked very tasty). But, Goat Hill Pizza was in full swing, and we gorged on Prohibition Ale and excellent pizza. I noticed that Goal Hill has a second location in SOMA, and most importantly, delivers. That's all goodness, just like Emil's move to the city from the suburbs.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Wedding Food
I can't help but notice that wedding food has increasingly grown better as I've aged. Not every wedding provides a spectacular meal, but for the most part, the food, and as a corollary, the alcohol, has become much less forgettable.
Case in point - during wedding season 2004, I wanted to ask for seconds. The food was that good. I went to Hayzell and Ilmo's wedding last night; amazing appetizers and main course, accented with sake, plum wine and some tasty wine.
No more buffets. I view the absence of buffets at weddings as a good thing - very few seem to have more than just mediocre food as the selection tries too hard to provide something for everyone, rarely succeeding.
Why the improvement? Certainly, age plays a role. I recognize my own (slightly) snobby taste buds, and know that food which was deemed acceptable when 22 is out of the question at 32. Along with age comes the ability to spend more money - after all, making six figures in our early 30s versus the just out of college minimum wage allows my friends to spend more. Maybe the state of food is also reflective of where we live, our food tastes, our experiences, our lives.
Case in point - during wedding season 2004, I wanted to ask for seconds. The food was that good. I went to Hayzell and Ilmo's wedding last night; amazing appetizers and main course, accented with sake, plum wine and some tasty wine.
No more buffets. I view the absence of buffets at weddings as a good thing - very few seem to have more than just mediocre food as the selection tries too hard to provide something for everyone, rarely succeeding.
Why the improvement? Certainly, age plays a role. I recognize my own (slightly) snobby taste buds, and know that food which was deemed acceptable when 22 is out of the question at 32. Along with age comes the ability to spend more money - after all, making six figures in our early 30s versus the just out of college minimum wage allows my friends to spend more. Maybe the state of food is also reflective of where we live, our food tastes, our experiences, our lives.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Welcome, Lolita
It's been a while since updating, and again, I really don't have any excuse.
Except one.
I bought a new car.
Let me rephrase that: I bought a very fun, cool, the perfect car for a single girl in the city. I bought a Mini Cooper.
About four years ago, I purchased a blue VW Jetta. For many reasons, I was never happy with my choice. From the moment that I left the dealership with my new car, I had pangs of regret. It was a car - I needed it for function, but it wasn't the car for me, it didn't excite me, it didn't seem right.
A few years ago, my roommate Dan mentioned how much he'd liked test driving a Mini. My first thought: what a stupid and impractical car. A few months later, he drug me to see the Italian Job. A fun, twisting little caper starring a very beautiful Marky Mark and Charlize Theron. And at the center - the Mini Cooper. I suddenly took notice of the little car and proceeded to rethink my initial reaction. I test drove a Mini, spent too much time reading online articles, pointing out every Mini that I passed and thought about whether I should make the purchase. For a long time.
At dinner a few months ago, Tony mentioned that he was considering a Mini. In fact, he'd made several trips to the dealership; for some reason, I'd never told him that I was thinking about one. Soon, two great minds decided that now was the time to own.
On April 30, we went to the dealership, printed out our specs for Jason, our Mini Advisor, paid a $500 deposit and went home and waited. I religiously checked the progress of my car on the Mini Owner's site, from "On Order" to "Manufacturing Queue" to "Waiting to Transport" to "En Route" and finally, "At the Distribution Center". It was supposed to stay at the distribution center for a few days, but after languishing for a week and a half, Jason called and discovered that she was missing a visor and the part was on order. Finally, on July 6, I got the call - my Mini was ready.
On July 7, following the requisite two hours of negotiations, financing, and walk through of every feature, the Mini was mine. I promptly christened her Lolita. Jason snapped pictures of me driving out of the showroom (which I e-mailed to friends and family, figuring that since I had looked at more pictures in my life of their kids than I would ever snap of my own [probably zero] they could look at pics of my new car). And I'm now proudly driving the car.
A few years ago, someone once told me that psychologist's have found that while people expect big purchases, such as a new car, to make them happy, the happiness is really only short lived. This makes sense; simply purchasing a new object of affection doesn't provide the means to solve many of our problems. But, sometimes, the new purchase can add a different level of unexpected pleasure and happiness. I find myself grinning when I realize, "hey, I'm driving a cool car, the car of my dreams". I smile and wave at other Mini drivers (especially those that were smart enough to buy a silver Lolita look-a-like). I never thought that a car would make me happy, but it has.
And that's why I haven't been updating the blog. Happy motoring.
Except one.
I bought a new car.
Let me rephrase that: I bought a very fun, cool, the perfect car for a single girl in the city. I bought a Mini Cooper.
About four years ago, I purchased a blue VW Jetta. For many reasons, I was never happy with my choice. From the moment that I left the dealership with my new car, I had pangs of regret. It was a car - I needed it for function, but it wasn't the car for me, it didn't excite me, it didn't seem right.
A few years ago, my roommate Dan mentioned how much he'd liked test driving a Mini. My first thought: what a stupid and impractical car. A few months later, he drug me to see the Italian Job. A fun, twisting little caper starring a very beautiful Marky Mark and Charlize Theron. And at the center - the Mini Cooper. I suddenly took notice of the little car and proceeded to rethink my initial reaction. I test drove a Mini, spent too much time reading online articles, pointing out every Mini that I passed and thought about whether I should make the purchase. For a long time.
At dinner a few months ago, Tony mentioned that he was considering a Mini. In fact, he'd made several trips to the dealership; for some reason, I'd never told him that I was thinking about one. Soon, two great minds decided that now was the time to own.
On April 30, we went to the dealership, printed out our specs for Jason, our Mini Advisor, paid a $500 deposit and went home and waited. I religiously checked the progress of my car on the Mini Owner's site, from "On Order" to "Manufacturing Queue" to "Waiting to Transport" to "En Route" and finally, "At the Distribution Center". It was supposed to stay at the distribution center for a few days, but after languishing for a week and a half, Jason called and discovered that she was missing a visor and the part was on order. Finally, on July 6, I got the call - my Mini was ready.
On July 7, following the requisite two hours of negotiations, financing, and walk through of every feature, the Mini was mine. I promptly christened her Lolita. Jason snapped pictures of me driving out of the showroom (which I e-mailed to friends and family, figuring that since I had looked at more pictures in my life of their kids than I would ever snap of my own [probably zero] they could look at pics of my new car). And I'm now proudly driving the car.
A few years ago, someone once told me that psychologist's have found that while people expect big purchases, such as a new car, to make them happy, the happiness is really only short lived. This makes sense; simply purchasing a new object of affection doesn't provide the means to solve many of our problems. But, sometimes, the new purchase can add a different level of unexpected pleasure and happiness. I find myself grinning when I realize, "hey, I'm driving a cool car, the car of my dreams". I smile and wave at other Mini drivers (especially those that were smart enough to buy a silver Lolita look-a-like). I never thought that a car would make me happy, but it has.
And that's why I haven't been updating the blog. Happy motoring.
Monday, May 30, 2005
E3 2005
I'm trying to end the nightmares that resulted from this year's E3. Too many people, too many missed meetings due to the difficulties of trying to weave my way through people who were in no mood to go anywhere except to check out the nearest booth babe or game video, too many parties. Actually, the last one wasn't so bad, come to think about it.
Really, only one meal of note - Wednesday night with Virve at Patina, a 5-star establishment in the Disney Music Hall in downtown LA. The meal was incredible - we both had tasting menus (I, the ocean, she, the chef's) and enjoyed every bite. They seem to like using foam - and no, not the birth control type for all of you who may not be familiar with the process of blending certain foods until foamy and then serving as a complement to the dish.
We chose to take a cheese tasting between the last meal course and dessert. The site of the "matre fromager" wheeling a giant cart covered with at least 80 different kinds of cheese nearly brought me to tears. After a brief discussion, he proceeded to cut us five succulent, amazing and complex wedges: epoisses de bourgogne, fougerus (favorite #2), mahon, monte enebro (favorite #1), and valdeon. Wow...I need to save my $$ and take a serious cheese trip to the local whole foods.
Only bad item of note: when ordering wine, the sommelier kept trying to steer us to separate glasses as I had the fish themed tasting and Virve the meat themed. We had to gently remind him three times that we wanted a bottle and I (the fish person) was more than happy to drink a red with my meal. The sacrilege!
Really, only one meal of note - Wednesday night with Virve at Patina, a 5-star establishment in the Disney Music Hall in downtown LA. The meal was incredible - we both had tasting menus (I, the ocean, she, the chef's) and enjoyed every bite. They seem to like using foam - and no, not the birth control type for all of you who may not be familiar with the process of blending certain foods until foamy and then serving as a complement to the dish.
We chose to take a cheese tasting between the last meal course and dessert. The site of the "matre fromager" wheeling a giant cart covered with at least 80 different kinds of cheese nearly brought me to tears. After a brief discussion, he proceeded to cut us five succulent, amazing and complex wedges: epoisses de bourgogne, fougerus (favorite #2), mahon, monte enebro (favorite #1), and valdeon. Wow...I need to save my $$ and take a serious cheese trip to the local whole foods.
Only bad item of note: when ordering wine, the sommelier kept trying to steer us to separate glasses as I had the fish themed tasting and Virve the meat themed. We had to gently remind him three times that we wanted a bottle and I (the fish person) was more than happy to drink a red with my meal. The sacrilege!
Sunday, May 15, 2005
the Bay to Breakers
The city of San Francisco hosts an annual bacchinalian festival called the Bay to Breakers mid-May. Not quite a marathon, it is long enough and still holds a position of respect to attract serious racers - most of whom manage to secure a spot in the front of the race. It's probably a good thing.
Within a half an hour, racers have morphed from serious runners barely breaking a sweat to a representative sample of the mass of humanity. From my vantage point, a few miles in, at the bottom of the Hayes Street hill, it looked as if thousands were fleeing en masse. And, wearing varying degrees of costumes - with a few choosing to wear a costume of no clothing - and heading into the heart of the city, Golden Gate Park. Some actually wheeled floats with bars. If a plague hit San Francisco, I'd like to think that people would be fleeing in a similar state, full of life and party and dressed in costumes, even some choosing to meet their fate in the same state that they entered this world, that is, sans clothing.
I spent maybe 35-40 minutes watching. Someone around me fretted about the nudity, which made me wonder why would they choose to live in a free thinking city like San Francisco, considering they could move to someplace else that is cheaper and more conservative? I think I totaled around 50 without clothing. After around 25, though, it gets hard to keep track. Mostly male, and the phrase, "grower, not a shower" came to mind more than once. Men, doesn't physical exercise without support cause issues?
Fairly close to the beginning, a serious runner with barely a gleam of sweat was happily moving with a budweiser in hand. Exercise and alcohol - dedication and skill, all together. About 5 people wore cardboard Mini cut-outs, so that their bodies stuck out of the top of the cars. The site made me feel warm and happy, as I reflected on the fact that Lolita is working her way through the Mini birth canal in the well-organized factory somewhere in the U.K.
I made Cooks Illustrated excellent sticky buns with pecan topping. Mimosas and bloody marys provided liquid sustenance throughout the morning. No one complained, which I take to be a good thing in the grand scheme of things.
Within a half an hour, racers have morphed from serious runners barely breaking a sweat to a representative sample of the mass of humanity. From my vantage point, a few miles in, at the bottom of the Hayes Street hill, it looked as if thousands were fleeing en masse. And, wearing varying degrees of costumes - with a few choosing to wear a costume of no clothing - and heading into the heart of the city, Golden Gate Park. Some actually wheeled floats with bars. If a plague hit San Francisco, I'd like to think that people would be fleeing in a similar state, full of life and party and dressed in costumes, even some choosing to meet their fate in the same state that they entered this world, that is, sans clothing.
I spent maybe 35-40 minutes watching. Someone around me fretted about the nudity, which made me wonder why would they choose to live in a free thinking city like San Francisco, considering they could move to someplace else that is cheaper and more conservative? I think I totaled around 50 without clothing. After around 25, though, it gets hard to keep track. Mostly male, and the phrase, "grower, not a shower" came to mind more than once. Men, doesn't physical exercise without support cause issues?
Fairly close to the beginning, a serious runner with barely a gleam of sweat was happily moving with a budweiser in hand. Exercise and alcohol - dedication and skill, all together. About 5 people wore cardboard Mini cut-outs, so that their bodies stuck out of the top of the cars. The site made me feel warm and happy, as I reflected on the fact that Lolita is working her way through the Mini birth canal in the well-organized factory somewhere in the U.K.
I made Cooks Illustrated excellent sticky buns with pecan topping. Mimosas and bloody marys provided liquid sustenance throughout the morning. No one complained, which I take to be a good thing in the grand scheme of things.
Dining with Gabe
Gabe enjoys good food, and as such, is a fount of knowledge about cuisines and fine dining in San Francisco and other cities.
We recently dined at Laurels, a quite tasty Cuban restaurant in my neighborhood. Very nice yucca appetizer and breaded red snapper main course. The sangria was also quite tasty.
Last week, Gabe organized a little dinner party at Oola, a hot spot in SoMa, which conveniently, is open until the early hours of the morning. Good to know. The dinner party was comprised of game industry fellows, all tied together by Gabe and most of us not knowing each other. While it's best not to discuss the details of the dinner conversation, the food is worth noting.
The kitchen brought us starters of foie gras and ahi tuna. Shaped into a piece of fruit, the foie gras was served with figs and vanilla sauce and toast points. The tuna was served with a vineagrette. I'm still a bit upset that the other side of the table ate most of the tuna, but I guess I'll eventually get over it.
I began with seared scallops in a slightly salty and soupy mixture of fava beans. Have I mentioned how excellent and tasty I find fava beans? Some type of white fish (whose name escapes me but involves several syllables, bracato maybe?) served as the mainc course. It required that the very kind French waiter slice off the head and tail and extract the bones.
Sadly, dessert fell flat and isn't really worth mentioning.
We recently dined at Laurels, a quite tasty Cuban restaurant in my neighborhood. Very nice yucca appetizer and breaded red snapper main course. The sangria was also quite tasty.
Last week, Gabe organized a little dinner party at Oola, a hot spot in SoMa, which conveniently, is open until the early hours of the morning. Good to know. The dinner party was comprised of game industry fellows, all tied together by Gabe and most of us not knowing each other. While it's best not to discuss the details of the dinner conversation, the food is worth noting.
The kitchen brought us starters of foie gras and ahi tuna. Shaped into a piece of fruit, the foie gras was served with figs and vanilla sauce and toast points. The tuna was served with a vineagrette. I'm still a bit upset that the other side of the table ate most of the tuna, but I guess I'll eventually get over it.
I began with seared scallops in a slightly salty and soupy mixture of fava beans. Have I mentioned how excellent and tasty I find fava beans? Some type of white fish (whose name escapes me but involves several syllables, bracato maybe?) served as the mainc course. It required that the very kind French waiter slice off the head and tail and extract the bones.
Sadly, dessert fell flat and isn't really worth mentioning.
Food in London
Common wisdom holds that British food is, well, not good. While the British excel at several things - a monarchy, beer, public scandal among elected officials, pubs and the paparazzi - they are not known for food. Luckily for all of us, the British once practically ruled the world, and as a result, cuisine in (at least) London is fairly multi-cultural and delicious.
Two highlights of cuisine to note.
**Pret a Manger: Pre-made sandwiches, which having worked two summers in a deli in college and thus learned to avoid pre-made sandwiches, that have actually made me reconsider my anti-pre-made sandwich mandate. These are good, and happily, I discovered that pret has also moved into "breadless sandwiches" (also known as salads to most of the rest of the western world) and sushi.
**Indian. Maybe it was because I was hanging out with friends of Indian descent, maybe it was because we were in the UK where chicken tikka masala is supposed to be the most popular national dish. Regardless, the Indian food in London is quite good. Exceptionally good. Even mediocre Indian food tends to be better than some of the better Indian food in the states. Tiffenbites and Masala Chai were favorite places to dine, specializing in chaat, small dishes similar to tapas, or also known as Indian street food. I am now fond of aloo tikki chaat and bitter melon. Who would have guessed?
Two highlights of cuisine to note.
**Pret a Manger: Pre-made sandwiches, which having worked two summers in a deli in college and thus learned to avoid pre-made sandwiches, that have actually made me reconsider my anti-pre-made sandwich mandate. These are good, and happily, I discovered that pret has also moved into "breadless sandwiches" (also known as salads to most of the rest of the western world) and sushi.
**Indian. Maybe it was because I was hanging out with friends of Indian descent, maybe it was because we were in the UK where chicken tikka masala is supposed to be the most popular national dish. Regardless, the Indian food in London is quite good. Exceptionally good. Even mediocre Indian food tends to be better than some of the better Indian food in the states. Tiffenbites and Masala Chai were favorite places to dine, specializing in chaat, small dishes similar to tapas, or also known as Indian street food. I am now fond of aloo tikki chaat and bitter melon. Who would have guessed?
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Of Sideview Mirrors
On the strangely sunny Saturday in London, Nilay, Jai and myself set off on the B.C. Tour of the countryside, in this case, B.C. referring to "Before Christ". Ancient stones - Avebury and Stonehenge - and Roman baths in a small town conveniently named Bath beckoned us. Public transport would have been difficult, and thus, Jai rented a car, Nilay drove and I observed life from the backseat.
For a still unexplained reason, the Brits choose to drive on the wrong side of the road. It's a convenient set-up for those that happen to live in a wrong side driving country, but not so convenient for those coming from a country that wisely drives on the right side of the road (read, most of the rest of the world). Of many problems for those not used to driving on the wrong side of the road is an issue we dubbed "drift", in which the driver's natural instinct for order and reason kick in and the car begins drifting to the left side of the road. When this happened, especially in the first half of the day, Jai's hand would flutter in front of the steering column, visually reminding Nilay to move over. My reminder was not so subtle; from the back seat, I would exclaim "drift, drift, drift".
Nilay did quite well, considering he was driving on the wrong side of the road, and did I mention that Jai has still not been able to adequately explain why he decided to rent the car in Mayfair off of Oxford street in downtown London? Considering the long list of potential objects that could be hit as a result of drift - pedestrians, buses, autos, monuments, sideview mirrors on parked cars, etc. and the complexities of driving in downtown London (for which cab drivers study for years) Nilay managed to hit only two cars, no pedestrians, no monuments, no double decker buses. The first occurred about 1.5 miles from the Avis station, when an innocent sideview mirror on a BMW interfered in the range of motion of the passenger side mirror of our rental car (which had been driven only 12 miles when Avis gave us the keys). Jai was more than a little startled. Once Nilay and I grasped what had happened - and being from a car culture which encouraged us as teenagers to tell creative tales about minor scrapes and bruises to our cars - began to laugh hysterically. Throughout the day, once of us would begin to snicker and within seconds, we would all be laughing uncontrollably.
The second occurred in a tiny village, somewhere between Avebury and Stonehenge. Again, an innocent car, again the thud of our mirror connecting with an innocents', although the second time was not as loud, not as surprising. Perhaps we were already desensitized?
More on food during my holiday to the UK to follow.
For a still unexplained reason, the Brits choose to drive on the wrong side of the road. It's a convenient set-up for those that happen to live in a wrong side driving country, but not so convenient for those coming from a country that wisely drives on the right side of the road (read, most of the rest of the world). Of many problems for those not used to driving on the wrong side of the road is an issue we dubbed "drift", in which the driver's natural instinct for order and reason kick in and the car begins drifting to the left side of the road. When this happened, especially in the first half of the day, Jai's hand would flutter in front of the steering column, visually reminding Nilay to move over. My reminder was not so subtle; from the back seat, I would exclaim "drift, drift, drift".
Nilay did quite well, considering he was driving on the wrong side of the road, and did I mention that Jai has still not been able to adequately explain why he decided to rent the car in Mayfair off of Oxford street in downtown London? Considering the long list of potential objects that could be hit as a result of drift - pedestrians, buses, autos, monuments, sideview mirrors on parked cars, etc. and the complexities of driving in downtown London (for which cab drivers study for years) Nilay managed to hit only two cars, no pedestrians, no monuments, no double decker buses. The first occurred about 1.5 miles from the Avis station, when an innocent sideview mirror on a BMW interfered in the range of motion of the passenger side mirror of our rental car (which had been driven only 12 miles when Avis gave us the keys). Jai was more than a little startled. Once Nilay and I grasped what had happened - and being from a car culture which encouraged us as teenagers to tell creative tales about minor scrapes and bruises to our cars - began to laugh hysterically. Throughout the day, once of us would begin to snicker and within seconds, we would all be laughing uncontrollably.
The second occurred in a tiny village, somewhere between Avebury and Stonehenge. Again, an innocent car, again the thud of our mirror connecting with an innocents', although the second time was not as loud, not as surprising. Perhaps we were already desensitized?
More on food during my holiday to the UK to follow.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
An Update, Not too Late
Yes, I know that it's been quite some time since something was posted on this page. I could come up with any number of half-baked excuses. Such as, I've been too busy type-type-typing at work to spend more time writing a few entries which may or may not be interesting. Nothing memorable has passed between my lips. An individual of the opposite gender has recently entered my life. Sadly, these would be half baked excuses with a heavy dosage of fiction.
The truth is much less juicy. Nilay, owner of the server which hosts these musings, recently moved to London and it took a longer than expected period of time for the server and Internet to become reconnected. But, all is now happily working away, and until the services company cuts off his access because he has failed to secure the proper bank cards and other permissions required for any type of basic service in the United Kingdom, everything should work.
Some highlights of note since mid-February:
--Dinner at Fifth Floor. Of the seven-course meal, the maple-touched fois gras was the highlight. If ducks or geese or whatever animal made the excellent delicacy must be force fed, so be it. I can't describe how good it was. You'll just have to believe me.
--Stir fry based in a peanut sauce in Seattle.
--I taught Gabe how to make excellent brownies. He taught me how to add other ingredients. Like mint. I would never engage in any illegal activities.
--Guacamole at Tommy's. Pork and chicken combined in a tamale was mmmmm.
--Delfina. The pasta with fava beans and pig cheeks was incredible. While I was expecting a sliced morsel of pork to arrive, instead, pieces of pork resembling bacon were mixed in with the pasta. Pig cheeks are very similar to bacon, only better than bacon. If that can be believed. And, best dessert ever: rhubarb tart with ginger ice cream.
--Crab feed in Napa. We were among the first to be served, we were among the last to finish eating. Nothing more needs to be said.
--Airport dinner. For years, I've been walking past the Seafood Pot or Fishmonger's Stew or some other trite name of a restaurant located opposite of the security run through in the United terminal at SFO. Greg suggested we eat there when we met at the airport (I was flying home from Seattle, he was taking a red-eye, and the only thing dorkier could have been if we were actually married and meeting for dinner). While trying to squeeze a lime into his Corona, the bottle shot out of his hand, skidded across the table and shattered into a million little pieces of glass on the floor. The meal continued without any other incidents demanding the attention of servers. HOWEVER, I believe that our conversation probably provided more than enough entertainment/food for thought to the traveler wearing the three-piece suit sitting behind us. The food was much better than passable - recommendation worthy.
The truth is much less juicy. Nilay, owner of the server which hosts these musings, recently moved to London and it took a longer than expected period of time for the server and Internet to become reconnected. But, all is now happily working away, and until the services company cuts off his access because he has failed to secure the proper bank cards and other permissions required for any type of basic service in the United Kingdom, everything should work.
Some highlights of note since mid-February:
--Dinner at Fifth Floor. Of the seven-course meal, the maple-touched fois gras was the highlight. If ducks or geese or whatever animal made the excellent delicacy must be force fed, so be it. I can't describe how good it was. You'll just have to believe me.
--Stir fry based in a peanut sauce in Seattle.
--I taught Gabe how to make excellent brownies. He taught me how to add other ingredients. Like mint. I would never engage in any illegal activities.
--Guacamole at Tommy's. Pork and chicken combined in a tamale was mmmmm.
--Delfina. The pasta with fava beans and pig cheeks was incredible. While I was expecting a sliced morsel of pork to arrive, instead, pieces of pork resembling bacon were mixed in with the pasta. Pig cheeks are very similar to bacon, only better than bacon. If that can be believed. And, best dessert ever: rhubarb tart with ginger ice cream.
--Crab feed in Napa. We were among the first to be served, we were among the last to finish eating. Nothing more needs to be said.
--Airport dinner. For years, I've been walking past the Seafood Pot or Fishmonger's Stew or some other trite name of a restaurant located opposite of the security run through in the United terminal at SFO. Greg suggested we eat there when we met at the airport (I was flying home from Seattle, he was taking a red-eye, and the only thing dorkier could have been if we were actually married and meeting for dinner). While trying to squeeze a lime into his Corona, the bottle shot out of his hand, skidded across the table and shattered into a million little pieces of glass on the floor. The meal continued without any other incidents demanding the attention of servers. HOWEVER, I believe that our conversation probably provided more than enough entertainment/food for thought to the traveler wearing the three-piece suit sitting behind us. The food was much better than passable - recommendation worthy.
Monday, February 21, 2005
The Highs and Lows of City Dining
Nilay chose Boulevard for dinner Tuesday night, one of many "farewell Nilay" dinners (some of which he didn't attend. Go figure). Boulevard is definitely on the high end of San Francisco dining - it has that kind of a reputation. You will leave the restaurant spending at least $75 a person and you will be rewarded with a memorable and elegant meal, with few shortcuts and served in a grand tradition.
We started with drinks at Slanted Door. The new space at the Ferry Building is elegant and an excellent place for after work drinks and a few appetizers. That would be, if we worked in downtown San Francisco. For now, we'll improvise. I don't quite recall the name of my cocktail, only that it involved lime juice and some sort of rum that left a pleasant aftertaste of cloves. Yes, I once used to smoke cloves and I still miss them.
Nilay, Emil, Carrie and I shared appetizers. Seared scallops. Venison tartare with shaved truffles. Salad with walnuts and blue cheese (actually some type of blue that I'm unable to remember the name of, but we did debate the correct pronunciation.) Emil and I both had the filet, medium rare. It was perfectly salted and peppered (I must remember, more seasoning on my meat), plated on top of sauteed spinach and topped with a light bearnaise sauce. Perfect square of fried potatoes were served alongside. Nilay had halibut, which if I were a halibut fan, would have loved, but am not and still thought it was good. Carrie had a tasty duck "I can make steak or fish at home, I never make duck!" We shared a chocolate tasting, three scrumptious desserts.
Boulevard was a great meal. Not the best ever, but great. The only down note occurred at the end, when we realized that someone had walked away with Carrie's ultra-cool umbrella, and my four-year old slightly broken down and "good for the rest of this rainy season and then to umbrella heaven", which I had thoughtfully looped around the stolen item. The manager gave us cheap replacements, making me think that Boulevard's clientele may suffer from a case of kleptomania.
The next night, Nilay, Emil and I met at Jade for drinks and appetizers (fyi, Jade makes excellent tuna tartare). We then went to Midori, our favorite sushi place, and for what became our last dinner at Midori. Gerard, the masterful and somewhat stoned chef owner, had been evicted. He was in a sad and verklempt mood. We had two mediocre rolls, and then he said, no more. Nilay bought some records from him (ostensibly for Carrie, who is babysitting his turntable while he's in London), and we ended the night with take-out hamburgers and fries at Flipper's.
Four very different extremes in dining over two days, a quintessential San Francisco experience.
We started with drinks at Slanted Door. The new space at the Ferry Building is elegant and an excellent place for after work drinks and a few appetizers. That would be, if we worked in downtown San Francisco. For now, we'll improvise. I don't quite recall the name of my cocktail, only that it involved lime juice and some sort of rum that left a pleasant aftertaste of cloves. Yes, I once used to smoke cloves and I still miss them.
Nilay, Emil, Carrie and I shared appetizers. Seared scallops. Venison tartare with shaved truffles. Salad with walnuts and blue cheese (actually some type of blue that I'm unable to remember the name of, but we did debate the correct pronunciation.) Emil and I both had the filet, medium rare. It was perfectly salted and peppered (I must remember, more seasoning on my meat), plated on top of sauteed spinach and topped with a light bearnaise sauce. Perfect square of fried potatoes were served alongside. Nilay had halibut, which if I were a halibut fan, would have loved, but am not and still thought it was good. Carrie had a tasty duck "I can make steak or fish at home, I never make duck!" We shared a chocolate tasting, three scrumptious desserts.
Boulevard was a great meal. Not the best ever, but great. The only down note occurred at the end, when we realized that someone had walked away with Carrie's ultra-cool umbrella, and my four-year old slightly broken down and "good for the rest of this rainy season and then to umbrella heaven", which I had thoughtfully looped around the stolen item. The manager gave us cheap replacements, making me think that Boulevard's clientele may suffer from a case of kleptomania.
The next night, Nilay, Emil and I met at Jade for drinks and appetizers (fyi, Jade makes excellent tuna tartare). We then went to Midori, our favorite sushi place, and for what became our last dinner at Midori. Gerard, the masterful and somewhat stoned chef owner, had been evicted. He was in a sad and verklempt mood. We had two mediocre rolls, and then he said, no more. Nilay bought some records from him (ostensibly for Carrie, who is babysitting his turntable while he's in London), and we ended the night with take-out hamburgers and fries at Flipper's.
Four very different extremes in dining over two days, a quintessential San Francisco experience.
Friday, January 21, 2005
the Dutch Oven
Several years ago, I mentioned to my mom that I wanted a dutch oven (which for those of you who don't know much about cooking, "dutch oven" is a fancy name for a cast iron pot). I'm not sure why I wanted a dutch oven, but it seemed like a good item to own. Mom suggested that I ask my grandma for hers - Grandma was very generous and hadn't used her dutch oven in quite some time. A few months later, when I went to visit, I became the owner of Grandma's cast iron dutch oven.
Grandma acquired the dutch oven in either 1942 or 1944. I think she paid $2.50 for it, maybe $5, at the Sears Roebuck. My grandma was an excellent cook; in fact, as a teenager, she worked in a logging camp as a cook and after her daughters (my mom and aunt) were old enough to take care of themselves, spent several years as a cook at a convalescent hospital. I'm not sure that Grandma ever measured everything. I distinctly remember that she'd throw stuff together, mix it up until it felt right, and then toss it in the oven or put it on the stove. While I believe that cooking is an act of precision, she must have believed it was an act of touch and feel.
While Grandma's dutch oven doesn't register in my memories, my mom and aunt remember it being used in their childhood and teenage years. Grandma made her famous fried chicken (flour, salt, pepper, love?) in the dutch oven on camping trips. She made pot roasts. Most likely, several meat pies. And probably several other dishes that I will never know about.
In the past year, I've used the dutch oven for risotto, chicken with balsamic vinegar and polenta (that I can remember). Clearly, the cuisine that I use the circa 1944 dutch oven for is quite different than that Grandma spent almost her entire life cooking. In fact, at Christmas in 2003, Grandma was amazed at how much time Eddie and I spent composing Christmas dinner. But the why of how the dutch oven is used remains so similar - to feed those that we care about, the best that we can.
Food is often used as an emotional release. I can think of at least a dozen friends who reach for the chocolate when depressed. From another emotional center, food is a way to show love and compassion for those around us. When I host a Sunday dinner, or offer to cook for friends/family, it's because I care and believe that creating the perfect meal is a way to show my feelings for those around me.
I don't know how my grandma felt about the food she cooked and its relation to those around her. A good portion of her childhood was spent during the depression, when food was not always plentiful. She married young, worried over my grandpa while he was fighting the war and raised a family when he returned. Even after she went back to work, she continued to make meals every night, can vegetables and fruit (including excellent pickles), bake pies and cakes. She even made her own laundry soap - this was the mid-1960s, after all. She did it all, before "doing it all" became a difficult and almost unattainable task in the 1990s.
Looking back into my childhood, I believe that my grandma showed love for others through her food. When we were children, my brother and I would spend at least a week each summer with Grandma and Grandpa. We were completely spoiled - while Grandpa would play countless games with us and tell us stories (why was it always a little girl named "Schelley" on the hill in front of their house?), Grandma would cook us our favorite foods. Some of my favorite childhood food memories surround Grandma's cinnamon rolls, fried chicken, meat pot pie, berry pies and homemade ice cream.
Pie and ice cream for breakfast probably upset our parents, but it delighted the very spoiled Olhava siblings. She loved us very much - and by cooking us our favorite dishes, I think she showed us love and caring. I hope that I can continue the tradition over the years. While my life has taken a very divergent path from hers, the ties of cooking and food remain. Whenever I use her dutch oven, which is a certainty throughout my life, I will always think of my grandma.
My Grandma, Alberta Lorraine Graham Luttrell, passed away on January 15.
Grandma acquired the dutch oven in either 1942 or 1944. I think she paid $2.50 for it, maybe $5, at the Sears Roebuck. My grandma was an excellent cook; in fact, as a teenager, she worked in a logging camp as a cook and after her daughters (my mom and aunt) were old enough to take care of themselves, spent several years as a cook at a convalescent hospital. I'm not sure that Grandma ever measured everything. I distinctly remember that she'd throw stuff together, mix it up until it felt right, and then toss it in the oven or put it on the stove. While I believe that cooking is an act of precision, she must have believed it was an act of touch and feel.
While Grandma's dutch oven doesn't register in my memories, my mom and aunt remember it being used in their childhood and teenage years. Grandma made her famous fried chicken (flour, salt, pepper, love?) in the dutch oven on camping trips. She made pot roasts. Most likely, several meat pies. And probably several other dishes that I will never know about.
In the past year, I've used the dutch oven for risotto, chicken with balsamic vinegar and polenta (that I can remember). Clearly, the cuisine that I use the circa 1944 dutch oven for is quite different than that Grandma spent almost her entire life cooking. In fact, at Christmas in 2003, Grandma was amazed at how much time Eddie and I spent composing Christmas dinner. But the why of how the dutch oven is used remains so similar - to feed those that we care about, the best that we can.
Food is often used as an emotional release. I can think of at least a dozen friends who reach for the chocolate when depressed. From another emotional center, food is a way to show love and compassion for those around us. When I host a Sunday dinner, or offer to cook for friends/family, it's because I care and believe that creating the perfect meal is a way to show my feelings for those around me.
I don't know how my grandma felt about the food she cooked and its relation to those around her. A good portion of her childhood was spent during the depression, when food was not always plentiful. She married young, worried over my grandpa while he was fighting the war and raised a family when he returned. Even after she went back to work, she continued to make meals every night, can vegetables and fruit (including excellent pickles), bake pies and cakes. She even made her own laundry soap - this was the mid-1960s, after all. She did it all, before "doing it all" became a difficult and almost unattainable task in the 1990s.
Looking back into my childhood, I believe that my grandma showed love for others through her food. When we were children, my brother and I would spend at least a week each summer with Grandma and Grandpa. We were completely spoiled - while Grandpa would play countless games with us and tell us stories (why was it always a little girl named "Schelley" on the hill in front of their house?), Grandma would cook us our favorite foods. Some of my favorite childhood food memories surround Grandma's cinnamon rolls, fried chicken, meat pot pie, berry pies and homemade ice cream.
Pie and ice cream for breakfast probably upset our parents, but it delighted the very spoiled Olhava siblings. She loved us very much - and by cooking us our favorite dishes, I think she showed us love and caring. I hope that I can continue the tradition over the years. While my life has taken a very divergent path from hers, the ties of cooking and food remain. Whenever I use her dutch oven, which is a certainty throughout my life, I will always think of my grandma.
My Grandma, Alberta Lorraine Graham Luttrell, passed away on January 15.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Infidel Tour 2004
Thanks to Gabe's organizational skills in the area of trips and travel, I found myself traveling on Christmas day to Marrakesh, Morocco through January 3. I'll leave out the gruesome details of the getting there and getting home, although it is fair to point out that I had the fortune to sit next to interesting and cool people on many of the flights (in contrast to the weird/lechy/rude people I usually end up next to).
Morocco is an amazing tour in culinary adventure. Situated in a convenient spot along the spice route, Moroccan cuisine has benefited from an influx of good spices throughout its history - cumin, paprika, pepper, cinnamon, turmeric, ginger, saffron, just to name a few. Or in other words: spices that rate high in Schelley's culinary palette. (And yes, I bought enough that if the customs people had actually checked, could have violated some regulation about bringing outside foods into the country).
A group of 8 (winnowed down to six after the third day) rented a riad, a Moroccan condo built with an open courtyard in the center, and rooms branching out on all four sides. The riad came with Amena, the cook extraordinaire, and houseboys Ronnie (modified from his real name, which we had difficulties remembering) and Mohammed. Both catered to practically our every needs.
On New Year's Eve, Amena made us my favorite meal in Morocco: couscous with meat and vegetables. No American-style instant couscous; rather, it was made by steaming three times, including a few with braised meat and vegetables (zucchini, squash, carrots, cabbage) added. She even made a caramelized onion, golden raisin and chickpea topping. It was amazing.
In Essourria, we picked out fish and shellfish from a colorful display, sat down to crusty bread and tomato and onion salad, and within a few minutes, the grilled fish (which was practically alive when we picked it out) began to arrive. Flounder, bass, crab, giant prawns, shrimp and calamari were fabulous. Marty's very colorful phrase used to describe the meal will not be repeated, but was very apt.
We spent several nights eating in the main square, Jemna al-Fna (or something like that). The FDA would have shut down the square within a matter of seconds in the U.S., I happily enjoyed as much as I could eat. Grilled meat (with a piece of fat for flavor) with spice in flat bread. Fried pieces of fish with fresh tomato sauce, deep fried eggplant smashed just before serving with lemon juice and bread. Lentil soup. Navy bean soup. Egg and potatoes with flavored oil in bread. I didn't have a chance to enjoy sheep heads or sheep brains. Someday.
Morrocan mint tea is a wonderful sweet, almost syrupy concoction of sugar and mint. We also ended meals in the square with ginger tea, served from a giant pot and with some sort of sesame paste dessert. Tea is such a dignified tradition.
Morocco was simply amazing. Writing about the food doesn't quite include everything that we experienced or saw. Or as well, all of the funny inside jokes and stories that we shared with one another over margaritas (yes, I brought tequila and triple sec along), tea and Moroccan wine.
For those of you wondering why this is titled "Infidel Tour 2004"? Well, unfortunately, the real reasons for this must remain in Morocco. As the saying goes, what happens in Morocco/Amsterdam/Ibiza/Dublin, stays in Morocco/Amsterdam/Ibiza/Dublin ;)
Morocco is an amazing tour in culinary adventure. Situated in a convenient spot along the spice route, Moroccan cuisine has benefited from an influx of good spices throughout its history - cumin, paprika, pepper, cinnamon, turmeric, ginger, saffron, just to name a few. Or in other words: spices that rate high in Schelley's culinary palette. (And yes, I bought enough that if the customs people had actually checked, could have violated some regulation about bringing outside foods into the country).
A group of 8 (winnowed down to six after the third day) rented a riad, a Moroccan condo built with an open courtyard in the center, and rooms branching out on all four sides. The riad came with Amena, the cook extraordinaire, and houseboys Ronnie (modified from his real name, which we had difficulties remembering) and Mohammed. Both catered to practically our every needs.
On New Year's Eve, Amena made us my favorite meal in Morocco: couscous with meat and vegetables. No American-style instant couscous; rather, it was made by steaming three times, including a few with braised meat and vegetables (zucchini, squash, carrots, cabbage) added. She even made a caramelized onion, golden raisin and chickpea topping. It was amazing.
In Essourria, we picked out fish and shellfish from a colorful display, sat down to crusty bread and tomato and onion salad, and within a few minutes, the grilled fish (which was practically alive when we picked it out) began to arrive. Flounder, bass, crab, giant prawns, shrimp and calamari were fabulous. Marty's very colorful phrase used to describe the meal will not be repeated, but was very apt.
We spent several nights eating in the main square, Jemna al-Fna (or something like that). The FDA would have shut down the square within a matter of seconds in the U.S., I happily enjoyed as much as I could eat. Grilled meat (with a piece of fat for flavor) with spice in flat bread. Fried pieces of fish with fresh tomato sauce, deep fried eggplant smashed just before serving with lemon juice and bread. Lentil soup. Navy bean soup. Egg and potatoes with flavored oil in bread. I didn't have a chance to enjoy sheep heads or sheep brains. Someday.
Morrocan mint tea is a wonderful sweet, almost syrupy concoction of sugar and mint. We also ended meals in the square with ginger tea, served from a giant pot and with some sort of sesame paste dessert. Tea is such a dignified tradition.
Morocco was simply amazing. Writing about the food doesn't quite include everything that we experienced or saw. Or as well, all of the funny inside jokes and stories that we shared with one another over margaritas (yes, I brought tequila and triple sec along), tea and Moroccan wine.
For those of you wondering why this is titled "Infidel Tour 2004"? Well, unfortunately, the real reasons for this must remain in Morocco. As the saying goes, what happens in Morocco/Amsterdam/Ibiza/Dublin, stays in Morocco/Amsterdam/Ibiza/Dublin ;)
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