Not to be all francophile, but the U.S. contestants were so far in the basement we didn’t want to sip them with a ten-foot straw. As a cocktail mixer, if the somewhat caramel / vanilla flavor of the Applejack doesn’t interfere, we actually preferred its taste…not to mention price…over the Clear Creek offering.
But did we LIKE the two bottles we’d schlepped (and when I say “we” I mean K) back from France? Both bought at small farms with hand-written signs pointing up their driveways?
Oh HELL yes.
I mean, oh enfer oui.
They were very different but both delicious. The “Quest Calvados” has a darker color and quintessential Calvados nose of apple and brandy, with a hotter finish. The “Fine Bretagne” has an amazing apple nose, and is completely smooth going down. Though not sweet, it has an aspect of sweetness on the tongue. While both are excellent for sipping, only the heat of the true Calvados would suffice for a trou Normand.
K, the traditionalist, preferred the Calvados. bb, the diplomat, wouldn’t declare a favorite, b2 held off on a pronouncement…I suspect so that he’d have to come back to try them again. And wishy-washy me didn’t have a favorite: different drinks for different moods.
To do a true scientific test, we’d need to buy a few Calvados’ of different ages (I thought the quest bottle was an eight-year-old, but it’s hors d’age, which Wikipedia tells me means aged at least six-years), and a few bottles of Fine Bretagne, to see if the differences are truly regional or just age, distiller style, barrel wood, etc.
Next time. Next quest……
*Côtes-d’Armor, a department (like a county) in Brittany, has nothing to do with love nor armor. It’s derived from ar mor, which means “the sea” in breton. Makes sense. Here’s a shot from our walk less than ten minutes from where we bought the Fine Bretagne apple eau de vie.
]]>As I write, a small lonely bottle of Calvados sloshes its way cross country in the back of a UPS truck. Will it make it intact? Will rough treatment do it in? Will its liquid state make it suspect, leading to its destruction at the hands of the ATF or homeland security, hauled away on the last leg of its long journey?
Plucked from an apple orchard in the brilliant green and yellow Norman countryside where it was grown, distilled, and aged to eight years, it made the journey to Paris with a few of its brothers in the back of a rental car. Wrapped tenderly in dirty socks, scarves and coats cast off in the early spring heat, it was gently nestled into luggage, dragged across cobbles to the #68 Clichy bus, to lâ€Opera and the Roissybus, to CDG and into the hands of uncaring baggage handlers, into Iceland, over the pole, and landing in the Pacific Northwest to become a US citizen. One bottle stayed in the rainy NW, while the other still has 2,400 miles to travel, over mountains, across prairies, past cornfields…into the open arms of its adoring new papa.
How did this intercontinental adoption story start?
As with all great love stories of the 21st century, it began with the internet.
Obsessively planning (as I do) for two weeks in France led me to the Chowhound board (of course…the first stop for food obsessed travelers to get a local community’s first-hand advice and opinions), and searches for Bayeux / Normandy / Caen led me to this August 2010 cry for help:
Alert: I am in need of a favor from anyone traveling to Bayeux
To whom it may concern;
There is a farmhouse (dds note: more like an impossibly ramshackle chateau) outside of Bayeux where I bought a bottle of Calvados some time ago. I am now down to my last glass and I am in desperate need. I know precisely where the farm is but I am unable to contact the owner as he speaks no English. For anyone traveling there from the States, please help me procure another few bottles. If you are interested or able to help, I will happily furnish you with the requisite info and capital. If you are unfamiliar with the area, I can also provide you with some favorite places in the area and meals that I enjoyed.
My sincere thanks! E. Diamond
Several Chowhound posts ensued, with helpful advice, possible couriers, aborted trips and Google satellite identification of the farm. Six months later I happen along. (You can see the whole string on Chowhound here.) Hmm, think I. Our Normandy/Brittany to-do list looks something like this:
– Mont St. Michel
– Calvados
– Omaha Beach
– Oysters
– Scallops
– Galettes de Pleyben
– Salt-marsh lamb
Calvados is already on the agenda, maybe I can help.
I fell in love with Calvados as a college freshmen in a basement restaurant in Les Halles—I even remember the glassware: tiny white ceramic cups, akin to a thimble-sized sake set. “Down the hatch!†says Dad, “To burn a hole and make way for the rest of meal.†It was smooth and appley, and the taste coupled with the surprise and ceremony of this fiery amuse bouche cemented the Trou Normand in my memory and affections.
This was 1981, and let me tell you, Calvados was cheap back then. Maybe it was the franc-to-dollar rate, maybe it was more commonly produced, maybe we were drinking younger stuff, but even back in the States I remember being able to buy it for the price of a mediocre brandy. Fast-forward 30 years and our classic cocktail habit (see Dr. Cocktail, see Boozehound) had us scouring Oregon liquor store shelves for Calvados again, only to find $70 French stuff and more affordable but not-quite-right Clear Creek Distillery apple eau de vie (sorry guys, I respect what youâ€re doing but you still have a ways to go, imho) made right in our own back yard.
So of course, E. Diamondâ€s request caught my eye.
“Iâ€ll take the recommendation and the adventure on,†says I, “but selfishly, we may not be able to give your bottle any precious luggage space, since I anticipate stuffing our extra suitcase with cheap eau de vies of varying fruits, Galettes de Pleyben (a story for another post), and calvados.†“No worries,†says E., “do what you can. Enjoy, take some pics, and eat here, here, here and here.†(All his restaurant recs were closed on the Wednesday night we were in town…of course…oh those wacky French. But Iâ€ve posted his email below, for anyone else traveling to Bayeux.)
After a beautiful albeit drizzly night in Bayeux (where we broke into an okay but young Calvados from Honfleur), we piled into the car, wrinkled directions clutched in sweaty fists, four navigators hollering directions to one poor, mussel-poisoned driver. “It says exactly three miles from where the D6 and the N13/E46 intersect, on the left.†“Yeah but I googled it and only saw a farm on the right there. Maybe itâ€s 3 kilometers.†Maybe itâ€s on the right.†“Wait! Thereâ€s a bunch of trees!†“No, those are elms.†“Okay, weâ€re at 3 km…nothing here.†“Wait! There it is there it is! On the left! Weâ€re at exactly three miles! Thereâ€s an orchard! Hereâ€s a sign!†<with tortured pronounciation…> “Vente de Vieux Calvados A.O.C a la Ferme >>>â€
Youâ€re right Ernie, we never would have been brave enough to get out of the car if not for your instructions.
Ramshackle, deserted, and save for THE sign, no sign of Calvados. But then the door opened, a sweet old dog trotted out, followed by a woman in her rubber boots, motioning us in while she changed into her slippers, and the 10 a.m. Calvados tasting ensued. It was everything I remembered and everything our local apple eau de vie is not, though with the weak dollar, it also wasnâ€t cheap at 30 euro a pop. In non-existent French my sister and I tried to convey the story of who and what brought us to her doorstep: food obsessions, a complete stranger seven states away, Chowhound, Google satellite…. Lord only knows what she understood, though the internet made it through the translation somewhere (her children use the internet, but not she, oh heavens not she).
Et voila, the deed was done, handshakes were made, did we want more to drink?, and back out into the light we stumbled. Adventure complete, a fun form to our French wanderings, and now all thatâ€s left is to wait patiently to see if the-little-bottle-that-could finishes its journey intact. Ernie, let me know when it arrives, and we can raise a glass simultaneously on nearly opposite ends of the country. Maybe the old dog at the Calvados farm will prick up his ears, and Mme. and Mssr. Calvados will grow restless in their sleep, dreaming of strolling in an American apple orchard.
]]>QUESTION: What happens in Paris when rain quits, drops stop, puddles dry, and sunshine explodes over the city of light? What happens in Paris when the spirit of winter retires and the spirit of spring arrives smiling and bright?
ANSWER: From nowhere people appear like blossoms on naked branches, from everywhere like green leaves on hibernating trees. In the midst of this fantasy, how to imbue the magic and join the festival of color and dance and extravaganza?
By taking to the streets old man! Bathe in the Paris fountain of everlasting youth, a Shangri-La youth still young at 900 years!
Walk! Walk along Boulevard de Clichy, but donâ€t stop for a dozen oysters at Weplerâ€s sidewalk cafe. Continue past the Moulin Rouge toward tawdry Pigalle down the four-lane park dividing cars and buses and raging motorcycles.
Find a street going south toward the center, always the center.
Maybe rue des Martyrs with Montmartre and the mushroomed domes of Sacre Coeur at your back, among mouthwatering, nose-tempting, eye-pealing shops—bright red strawberries neatly arranged in vertical boxes, cheeses of every region, color and odor, meats bold and red or subtly shaped, folded, encased in unidentified membrane, restaurants new and brash of plastic and neon or old and warm with scripted paneling set in shining walnut frames that say history, continuity, tradition.
Or perhaps sur le rue dâ€Amsterdam, cleaned up since Jacque Brel sang about it at the Gare St. Lazare,
Or turn left on rue Clichy at the corner near our apartment, pass theaters, wine shops, boutiques,
Always heading to lâ€Opera or Rivoli or the Louvre, Concorde, Tuileries among sun happy crowds walking with a spring or sitting-sipping in cafés released from the cold hold of winter rigor. Infused with heated vigor, the world opens like overenthusiastic tulips, pistils shooting skyward.
And if youâ€re lucky, pass through passages with exotic ware into tiny squares youâ€ve never stumbled on: this restaurant, that café or the other bistro tempting you with tongue teasing tidbits.
But you have already stopped for lunch or coffee or beer to see what world passes by when you look.
Later sated, arrive at the river or perhaps Place St. Eustache, at the foot of a monumental church, filled with families sitting on grassy steps watching children kicking balls or just running for the joy of running,
Or a grassy tree-lined confine like Place des Vosges. Having stood in long lines to pick up a falafel in the Marais, spread out now in view of Victor Hugoâ€s home and not far from the intimate “hotel†filled with work by Picasso.
Thatâ€s when you might decide to head home: by bus through the crowded ways youâ€ve already passed, by speeding through dark tunnels of the Metro, or if your “dogs arenâ€t barking†you might just rewind the experience on foot.
Because finally, in the end, the heart of Paris for any visitor, is in the character of his sole.
Bernard della Santina
(aka Dad)
DDS: Am I right in thinking (if you know, or have an opinion) that the place to eat in Bayeux is Le Pommier?
E.D.: Le Pommier was very good. I was trying to do the local thing as much as I could so I had the tripes a la mode du Caen there. Fantastic. I must say, though that if you are looking for good food and a quirky setting, Fringale is excellent. It is very casual and rustic in all the right ways. When we were there, the crowd was very small and so the owners spent as much time in the dining room with us as in the kitchens. I had the Andouillettes du Troyes (there are many different kinds of andouillettes) when I was there and won major points for my selection. The owner and I had a very impassioned pantomime conversation in equally broken French and English about andouillettes following the meal.
My meal at La Rapiere was good, very good actually but I didn’t find as many local (read rustic) offerings on the menu as I wanted. I did, however have a slice of foie gras from a terrine that was the inverse of the foie to bread ratio you generally see here; the foie was as big as a piece of texas toast, the bread came in the form of three small dominos. Outrageous.
In order of ambiance, from nicest to casual, it went;
Rapiere
Pommier
Fringale
In order of preference, from favorite to least, I may inverse the order. I liked Fringale. I desperately wanted to get to La Table du Terroir but wasn’t able.
If you are looking for provisions in Bayeux, there are two very good charcutiers in town. Just ask around, you can’t go wrong with either. My very first move when I arrived was to buy boudin noir, a bottle of cider and some pommeau (apple juice fortified with calvados). Boudin noir, by the way is very good cold. Oh! Just remembered! You may be able to find jars of babas au calvados, which is babas (little cakes) soaked in a syrup of sugar and calvados (think baba au rhum). These were an absolute treasure. They can be found in those clamp top mason type jars around town, maybe even at the charcutier. Save room for at least one jar as a souviner. I held mine for as long as I could before succumbing to temptation. They are dessert and a stiff shot all in one.
As far as cider, it is for sale everywhere as you might expect and the best kinds are cheap, local and light. If you snoop around, you will probably be able to find farms that sell it for far far less than what it is sold for in the stores and cafes. Not to be too gross here but if you drink solely cider, as I did then your pee will smell like apple skins. :) Don’t kill the messenger! It’s an interesting phenomenon! Cost from local producers might top out at four euro for a 750ml bottle. I paid almost half that for bottles that were still sticky from filling. The good stuff is only 3-4% alcohol, sometimes less so drink up!
(DDS: And so we did. Our favorite was the less sweet Brut, with a seriously funky smell that offset the apple sweetness. Fantastic! We paid about 4 euro a bottle and it was about 5% alcohol.)
On to calvados! The place was DEAD when I arrived. Don’t be put off if there is no one around or things appear closed. When we finally got the attention of someone, he was in the garage and came out covered in grease. I am still unclear if he was the owner or a caretaker or what but he happily let us in, showed us around and poured us samples (of which he took one or two) before selling us a bottle.
I hope you find this helpful. I LOVED my trip to Bayeux. It is a beautiful town in a fantastic setting. The best thing you can do there is get yourself hopelessley lost and then look around for good food. You can’t help but to find it.
— Ernie Diamond
]]>Back in July I vowed to do shorter posts. Heh…see the novellas that ensued. But since the excess of Christmas looms, let’s try this again. We rented a cottage on Hood Canal for Thanksgiving. It was adorable, well appointed, a great deal and takes dogs.
BB did the bulk of the cooking, and I’ll respect his first rights to blog fodder as he brags about his insane short-ribs, lamb shank pasta, turkey and mashed potatoes. Much of them are already here at Eat. Think. Drink. but I think he should brag some more. If nothing else, about w’s crazy pumpkin cheesecake and ginger snaps.
I just wanted to share two things:
1) The grilled stix lunch / app we put together, inspired by snax at Biwa and Tanuki. Simple, quick, all using some combo of: lime, fish sauce, garlic, brown sugar, chili, soy. Pretty unanimously I think they ranked: pork belly #1, quail #2, tofu #3, scallops #4. Last-minute-pickled Japanese turnips, turnip tops and Chinese spinach added a bit of acid. Together, they were a nice complement to refreshing beverages provided by our in-house mixmasters.
2) The oysters, we plucked off the beach just steps from the cottage. The triplet we threw back.
The bowl we ate. At 10 pm. After a huge dinner. (Tides were super high during the day, so we had to wait til night.)
That’s cool: a dip in the icy waters and a salty slide down our throats is just what we needed to chill out between heated rounds of Mille Bournes.
]]>My first foray was a banh mi canapé riff (mini-mi? banh mi slider?) for the ever-delightful and deserving Bruce Bauer’s 50th birthday celebration. I threw everything but the kitchen sink atop rounds of toasted white bread and results were good…if a visual mess. I also suspected the complexity (marinated and fried pork belly mixed with the pork butt) could be dialed back with no discernible ill effects.
Then Jade Teahouse & Patisserie moved into Sellwood and the impetus to make my own disappeared. They’re not classic, and in fact after one bbq pork sandwich I switched, at April’s suggestion, to their sublime Vietnamese meatball banh mi, and have never looked back. Yes, the veggies are awkwardly chunky, but the baguette…oo-la-la, tres jolie. And the spiced pork is light as air and bursting with flavor. Not to mention the warm vibe, great tea selection, $5 salad rolls and addictive sesame balls. If they’d always steam their bao instead of microwaving them? It would be my perfect escape.
But wait, this is all about “mi”.
A Sunday potluck cocktail party to warm the house of ethereal E. provided the perfect excuse to try again. And this time I did my best to document a recipe. Cyndi, Billie and Judy, this is for you! Remember, it’s all by feel and taste, so take the measurements with a grain of salt. (Or is it two?)
The Gist
Simmer pork butt with spices until it’s fall-apart tender. Shred, marinate and fry the cooked pork, shred and marinate julienned veggies, and assemble. Whether you put them on Wonder bread, baguettes or kaiser rolls doesn’t much matter (imho); as long as the bread’s tender enough to bite through, crisp enough to support and hold the fillings, you can’t go wrong. Active cooking time is 1 to 1.5 hours. The more pre-shredded veggies you get, the faster it goes.
Simmer Stock:
Cover a (4 lb?) pork butt / shoulder (as much as you get, you’ll eat, trust me) generously with cold water and add:
– 3-5 star anise
– cinnamon stick
– large chopped onion
– chunk of ginger
– 4 rough-chopped cloves of garlic
– a generous splash each of soy and fish sauce (nam pla)
– a rough cut jalapeño pepper
– whatever else you want to make the stock tasty. A stalk of celery and a carrot are fine, maybe even a bay leaf. Though I think star anise is critical, you can substitute it and the cinnamon stick with a generous pinch of Chinese 5-spice.
Simmer covered for about two hours (InstaPots are great for this!) uncovering it halfway through if you have plenty of liquid and want to start reducing your soup (more on that bonus later). When it’s fork tender and pulls apart into shreds, remove from the liquid and cool.
The Veggies:
Cilantro is critical, Thai (or plain) basil are good, and mint is nice. Simply clean and remove the biggest stems. Set aside. Peel, seed and julienne a cucumber and jalapeño. Pickle a melange of julienned vegetables: carrots are critical, daikon is classic. I had high hopes for a Fubonn (local Asian grocery superstore) tub of pre-sliced carrot and daikon, but found it too daikony and badly julienned. But their finely shredded green papaya? A cheater’s dream! Instant crunchy fabulousness. Cheat as you see fit, especially if you don’t have a wondrous knife or mandolin.
For about 2 cups of julienned veggies, mix in:
– Fish sauce (4 T?)
– Rice vinegar (quarter cup?)
– Juice of 1 lime (why lime and vinegar? Because I’m not sure which I prefer so I split the diff. You can use one, the other or both, lime is slightly more sour)
– Asian sweet chili sauce, found everywhere these days—5-10 “plops.” If you don’t have any, add 1-2 T brown sugar and 1 tsp chili sauce, such as sriracha or olek sambal, even harissa.
Taste and correct the balance of salty, sweet and sour. If it tastes yummy, it’s right. I keep the cucumbers out of the shredded veggies because of the water they give off.
The Meat:
Shred the cooked pork into medium-sized chunks when it’s cool enough to handle. The smaller your bread, the smaller the meat. Toss any chunks of fat, drain off liquid that’s collected. Assuming you have about 4 pounds of pork, mix with:
– 4 cloves chopped garlic
– Fish sauce (4 T?)
– Soy sauce (3 T?)
– The juice of 1 lime
– Sweet chili sauce (1/4 cup?)
Taste and correct the balance of salty, sweet and sour. If it tastes yummy? Yeah…you know.
Heat a frying pan with 3T peanut or canola oil. Dust the meat with cornstarch, toss, and transfer a single layer to the hot pan. Turn as it carmelizes (2-3 minutes), transfer to a paper towel, repeat til all the meat’s fried. Replenish oil if needed. Is frying necessary? Probably not, but I’m trying to duplicate the chewy, fried texture of the Saigon banh mi, and this was the least decadent way to do it. Would a sandwich be good and quicker using just the spiced meat? Yup.
The Secret Ingredient
And here it comes, the critical component………garlic mayo. All the trouble we’ve just gone through and it’s mayonaise? Sad but true. Without garlicky mayo, the whole thing would fall flat. Crush 2 cloves of garlic in a half cup of mayo,and spread it on anything you can lay your hands on.
The Bread
While some claim bread is the key to a great bahn mi, my standard is simply that the bread not suck (too dry/hard to chew/crumbly). As long as it serves as a neutrally crisp receptacle for a massive amount of filling / topping, I’m happy. If you happen to be lucky enough to live near Jade, you’ll see Mom Lucy’s baguettes—simultaneously toothsome, tasty and ‘bite-able’—are the exception that proves the rule.
If you’re making a full-sized sandwich, err on the side of a softer…but crisp on the outside…bun that can mold itself around your fillings and hold things in place. You don’t want a rigid bread or they end up too dry. For the cocktail party I split and toasted up Trader Joe’s mini baguettes, about the size of a large breadstick, five to a bag. Perfect with a parchment paper wrap and a toothpick. (Keith ate my photo sample. I’d yell at him but it’s his birthday. Oh wait, I did yell at him. “Dude, seriously, you ate my prop?”)
Assembly
Toast your bread, slather with garlic mayo, heap on meat and pickled veggies, slide in cuke, a few sprigs of cilantro and basil, smush together if it has a lid, “fluff it” if you’re trying the canapé.
The Soup
Aside from the sandwich, here’s your reward for all your hard work: steaming hot, flavorful pork broth. Strain out the flavoring agents, add a bunch of watercress and boil til cooked. Or just eat the broth refreshed with lime and maybe some green onion or cilantro. Eating it makes you feel like you’re healing things you didn’t even know needed healing. In fact, I think I’m going to finish off the pot right now to try to stave off this sore throat. Sorry Bruce…I’d planned to bring it down to you.
Mmmm, better already.
]]>The farmhouse was rustic but perfect: the kitchen large enough to all cook together. We ate well out as well as in, going to the butcher and farmer’s markets for amazing meat and produce. We took side trips to neighboring San Gimignano, Montalcino, the Church at Saint Antimo, and Florence, but much got left undone, like hiking trails through the villages from Gaiole to Sienna, leaving some for the next trip back.
Cinque Terre
Vernazza is all that itâ€s billed to be, with its pastel buildings, clear water, blue and white fishing boats “parked†in the harbor, barrels of fishing nets alongside the narrow streets where cars aren’t allowed except the delivery trucks early in the mornings before most tourists have arisen. English was more prevalent than Italian, which was a little disconcerting, but that made it an easy entrance to the culture and language. Early on, we observed that the “thing to do†was to bring a bottle of wine to the harbor (perhaps even a picnic) so, like good tourists, we followed suit. The weather was perfect, giving us a beautiful show both evenings as well as a swim on the last.
The Millers and Lambertys had already checked into their modest but clean and perfectly located rooms (Francamaria Rooms, 70 & 80E). Our room was down the alley a bit, also clean, small and all we needed (BBGemmy, 70E). Breakfast was supposedly included, but we were up and out earlier than our hosts, so we were never able to take advantage.
Our first dinner was at Gianni Franzi, which seems to have a monopoly on the town square overlooking the water. Portions were tiny but the food was outstandingly fresh. Was it because weâ€d been on planes, trains and automobiles for 24+ hours, or that the food in Italy is simply better? It turned out to be the most expensive meal of the trip, partly because we were ripped off by three grappas for 18E and because the cover charge was 3E pp. Such was our introduction to the practice of the copertino.
– Salted anchovies
– Fresh anchovies
– Mussels
– Octopus and potatoes
– Pesto pasta (ugly quills)
– Fish ravioli with ink pasta
– Pesto ravioli
– House wines, white and red
We hiked from Vernazza to Corniglia (not the town to stay in; something like 400 steps from the train station to the village, cute but not as much personality as the others). We had a coffee and continued on to Manarola (Ed note: where K and I stayed in 2001) where we decided to have lunch. Starving, we almost made the “mistake” of eating on the waterfront. Instead we had a beer (always a good choice) with some nuts and crackers, to think about our options. With something in our tummies we were able to hike up the narrow streets looking for a place called Trattoria del Billy. With a name like that, we were unsure of what to expect. Though not cheap…or easy to find…it was worth the effort.
As they were telling us the catch of the day, we had to wait a few minutes. New, fresher fish was on its way up the hill from the harbor, and it remained to be seen what was included. “It will be here in a minute….â€
We sat on the terrace overlooking water, hills and town, enjoyed our wine, and listened to…a train? No, rolling thunder. Fortunately, the enormous umbrellas protected us from the downpour as we enjoyed a delicious meal served by Billy himself…aged 60? …running up and down the two flights of stairs from the kitchen to the terrace. He served, sang, and told stories of being born and raised in the hills around us, and about the snails they would pick after rains such as this, to cook up and eat.
– Mussels in white wine
– Grilled eggplant and zucchini
– Black (squid ink) pasta with all kinds of shellfish as below
– Pasta of the sea
– Mixed grill of seafood including variety of whole fish and shellfish razor clams, mussels, vongole, etc.
On the short walk to Riomaggiore we shared a pint of limoncino…for dessert. At Riomaggiore we had a round of beers to celebrate a successful hike and looked for the ferry to return us to Vernazza, to get a waterfront perspective of the villages clinging to the cliffs. Though we saw it running along the coast it never came into our teeny, rocky cove, perhaps due to the wind, so we trained back to Vernazza, bought some wine and watched a spectacular sunset show: thunderheads mixed with orange sky and the setting sunâ€s rays.
A “light” dinner was at the unlikely named Blue Marlin. The food was reasonably priced and very, very good. Scott chose it because of all the Italian kids hanging out and eating. Some may argue, but I thought this was the best pizza of the trip. For 60 E, for six people, we had:
– 2 Margarita pizzas
– 2 prosciutto crudo
– 2 mussels a la marinara (not the freshest, but we were forewarned it was the bottom of the barrel)
– 3 salads
– 2 liters of vino rosso
The next day we headed to Pisa enroute to Florence. Checking our bags at the bagliagi deposito, we wandered the city, had some cappuccini, ate a few panini, took pictures at the leaning tower, duomo, baptistery…it was more beautiful than I remembered in spite of the overcast, drizzly day and our slightly hung over states from the six bottles of wine the night before. Hmm, and the two at lunch. And the limoncino, and the beer…. In addition to the tower, I highly recommend using the beautiful bathrooms at the train station. Seriously, pay the .60, itâ€s well worth it!
Amassing in Panzano and the Podere Felcetto
The Kulies will have to tell their own story, but suffice it to say they had an adventure finding our house, Podere Felcetto, in the wilds of Chianti (outside the village of Panzano). Jet lagged, they picked up their car, started driving…and driving…four hours on the Autostrada, 11 euros of tolls, their incomplete directions eventually got them “homeâ€, bobble headed, but the first to arrive.
After stocking up on fresh mortadella and a couple salumi and bread in Pisa for the trip to Florence (Ed note: what is that, Cyn, like a whole hour and a half? Good thing you werenâ€t without some cured meats to sustain you!), we were back on the train. In Firenze we met the Fransons and separated into a bus group and a rental car group. By the time the drivers had rented the car, found the farmhouse, unloaded, picked up beer, wine and a few other staples at the local co-op, the bus-ers were having beers on the square. (Even after a two-hour wait no thanks to a bad schedule.)
Around this time, we got a call from the missing Heynes and Estrems. Their rental car had broken down an hour outside of Rome, just before Spoleto. They were stranded on the side of a busy highway for hours, trying to get help. Thanks to Markâ€s gentle nature, Debbieâ€s refusal to accept anything less than a final destination of Panzano and Estremâ€s support of each of those approaches, they were loaded on a flatbed truck, girls in the cab, boys in the car on the flatbed, wound back through the precarious roads to Rome, handed a different car, turned back around and headed north again.
We werenâ€t sure if it was the right thing to do at this point, but we had 9 pm dinner reservations at the famous Butcher of Panzanoâ€s (Dario Cecci) Solociccia restaurant for 30E pp. Since we had no food and it was too late to cancel, we stuck to the plan. And weâ€re glad we did; what a show! Well worth it: course after course of food, wine from their own vineyard, and good cheer continuously flowing.
First, we met Dario at his butcher shop, where he served us very good Chianti from his vineyard, lardo bruschetta, and fresh bread with olive oil with his special salt. We were then welcomed across the street into his new and modern restaurant. The 15 of us settled into our private room just off the kitchen and started with raw vegetables in baskets and cups of their own flavored salts, ground to a fine, fine grain.
Then the courses started flowing: smoothly, efficiently, and with perfect timing:
– Fagioli (best white bean ‘soup†we had all week)
– Slices of bread with generous portions of Bolognese, dubbed by our table, (forgive the sacrilege) Sloppy Joes
– Raw beef meatballs (crudo) flavored with olive oil, salt and pepper
– Deep fried eggplant, zucchini, fennel, carrots (not the best)
– Braised beef and cabbage stew, slow, slow, slow cooked. Great flavor
– Olive oil cake! So good!
– A selection of four “military digestiviâ€, including grappa, amaretto, licorice and…hmm…oddly fuzzy at this point.
– Bottomless carafes of wine which we expected to pay for after the first few complimentary, but no, they were all included. (Ed note: In the future, when hit with a reservation from Minnesotans, theyâ€ll know to tack on a surcharge.)
Though the food wasnâ€t all spectacular, it was good, plentiful, fun and well worth it. For the next people who go, it may be worth paying the 55E pp for the beef dinner across the street and up the stairs, on a deck facing the city parking lot.
Sunday in Panzano and Greve
The next morning was the Panzano Farmerâ€s Market: artichokes, a vast variety of fresh greens, fruits, fruits and more fruits…I could have spent hours at one stall alone. It was organized chaos: take a number and watch the show. We didnâ€t have a plan for the day but figured we could just ‘get shitâ€. We were going to buy prepared meats from the large food cart which had chickens of all sizes on the rotisserie, stuffed rolled porchetta, fried or roasted coniglio (rabbit) but Roberto of our farmhouse told us we shouldnâ€t buy the meat at the market. If we wanted chicken, we were to go to the butcher in the old center of town. And with chicken? No pasta! It MUST be roasted potatoes! Okay, okay!
Why would we want old, mass-produced chicken when we could get young fresh locally grown ones from the market, we wondered? But going against our instincts, we took his advice and located the Macelleria de Checcucci. The chickens were really yellow, the skins were dry (I always have to wash and dry a chicken for 24 hours in the States before seasoning it to roast, but already dried out chicken?). They had the heads on, the feet on and were filled with pin feathers. But we finally decided, once again against our better judgment, hell with it, weâ€re in Italy, ‘when in Romeâ€â€¦so we bought three chickens. (Or was it four?) They asked how we were going to cook them. Roast? No, a la griglia. Would we like them to spice them? Um…sure? They took them in back and we waited…then smelled something. Ah! That oh-so-familiar smell from my childhood days of singed pin feathers. Then they split them in half, sliced into the breast, smashed the halves to flatten slightly and filled the meat with their own herb-flavored salt. How glad we were we hadnâ€t walked out of there chickenless!
We then went to Greve for wine tasting on the square (also stipulated by our farmhouse “generalâ€, Roberto), while some had beers and pizza in the square. We went to the fantastic, not to be missed, Antica Macelleria-Norcineria Falorni. Go there for the viewing and the wine tasting adjacent to the place, though the little macelleria down the street has better cured meats
Back home, outdoors on the beautiful terrace overlooking the vineyards and old building on the faraway hilltops, we had a family meeting over antipasti and vino and prosecco to discuss who wanted to see what on the trip. We made our choices, slimmed down the list and assigned days. Scott made-do with a small grill and no charcoal for the chickens, while we roasted the flavorful potatoes, fresh artichokes, and a mixed green salad with four kinds of lettuces. We dressed the salad as we would every night at the table with olive oil and flavored salt weâ€d purchased at Dario Cecciâ€s. Some added balsamico, others didnâ€t. A FINE, Sunday dinner on the terraces of Podere Felcetto, Panzano en Chianti!
Monday in Panzano, SanGimi & Radda
Monday started out warm and rainy, and by early afternoon it was blustery and COLD! Poor Pete was sick in bed, some went to San Gimi and others kept it local. We thought weâ€d check out a few local villages in Chianti, but only got to Radda in Chianti. We walked the cobblestone streets, appreciated the view, and when it started pour, found a warm and cozy restaurant in the old part of town. The smells coming out of La Peghera di Baccio increased the rumblings in our tummies. By this time it was 2 pm and they were slammed but happened to have enough space to seat us. The owner and other help were scurrying around, taking care of three large tables in two separate rooms, running up and down the stairs from the kitchen to the dining rooms. Service was uneven, the food took too long, they were apologetic, they forgot to bring my soup, (I didnâ€t need it) but what we did get was superb and we werenâ€t disappointed. It was rainy and cold outside, cozy and warm inside, with no agenda. Prices were typical (soups and salads 5 E, Antipasti and primi: 7-8 E, Secondi 12-16 E):
– Pulpi carpaccio with some sort potato tartin. Simple and delicious, in part, thanks to the amazing, local olive oil
– Pasta al funghi, mushrooms were not the most flavorful
– Zuppa di Fagioli, scrumptious!
– Lasagna, scrumptious!
– Ensalata Mista
After a couple beers at the local bar/restaurant and a visit to the Radda co-op to stock up on more groceries, we took the craggy hilltop, scenic route home…unintentionally: rocky dirt roads across the hilltops looping around past a cypress-lined driveway to an estate called Camprollo (some locals stopped on their way by as we were taking pictures and gave us the name as if it were to mean something to us?) down past Montefioralle into Greve. We got home about the same time as the San Gimi group, made fresh pasta…YUM!…which we served with shredded leftover chicken, stewed fresh tomatoes, sautéed onions, zucchini, garlic, basil, rucola and grated, aged pecorino. YUM! And, green salad. YUM!
Tuesday around the Podere Felcetto
Gary had kindly used one of his connections to set up a private wine-tasting and tour of the Albola estate, a popular imported Chianti wine. Before departing, ever mindful of our next meal, we quickly skewered lamb on rosemary branches and left them to marinate for the day with some olive oil and salt. The tour was informative and beautiful of a grand and ancient estate with gorgeous views of the surrounding Chianti countryside with a warm sun in spite of the cool air. The wine was extremely good, it was accompanied by platters of meats and cheese, olive oil and bread, and the tasting was a great thing to do early in the week so everyone could establish what characteristics we liked, and learn about what weâ€d be drinking all week long.
We had planned to hit another winery, Verazzano, which was highly recommended by the del Mastioâ€s (farmhouse owners). By the time we found it and got there, however, we realized it was a huge tour bus destination. Spoiled by Garyâ€s fine, private tour, we simply looked around then took off. A stop at the ‘leather factory outlet†in Greve was also a bust, but it was a wonderful day nonetheless.
With head chef Debbie in the kitchen, Scott back at the grill, and a dozen willing assistants, we had grilled skewered lamb, grilled eggplant piled high with barely cooked sautéed zucchini, tomatoes, peppers and herbs, starting of course with a ubiquitous antipasti of cured meats, sheep cheeses of various ages, prosecco and wine. Another delicious meal.
Wednesday, from Panzano to Florence
We took the bus from Panzano to Florence (minus poor, sick Pete and Beth), splitting up after touring Santa Maria Novella by the station. Scott and I searched for and found the two food markets: Mercantale Centrale where we shared a bowl of pasta and meat sauce and the Market at San Ambrogio which was closed by the time we got there. We shared a tomato soup and bitter green salad at the café of El Cibreo, to check out if we should suggest coming back with the gang on Saturday. The answer? Yes. We loved the Piazza San Spirito outside the San Miniato but, unfortunately, Deniseâ€s ‘free and fab†church was closed for renovation. When it re-opens it should be even more fab…but maybe not free…. This side of the Arno seemed to be the place to be in the evening; especially on a Saturday night. Unfortunately, we never made it back…something for next time.
Back in Panzano, we went to the Enoteca Baldi for beer and wine…and eventually dinner. The pizza place weâ€d hoped for was closed on Wednesdays. On Monday it had appeared closed, when really, it just hadnâ€t opened yet. Enoteca Baldi was JUST what the doctor ordered. Delicious, aromatic, fresh, creative cooking, friendly and welcoming by the owner/chef. Some of our favorites:
– Bruschetta mista: chicken livers, tomatoes and olive spread
– Herby and fragrant white beans and sausage,
– Panini of tomatoes, basil, mushrooms, cheese
– Salad piled high in the same style as the Panini with melted cheese
Thursday in Panzano, Montalcino and Castellino
While some went to Castellino and others to Radda, Kim, Scott and I went to Montalcino and the Abbey of San Antimo, where we arrived in time for the 12:45 Sext service. Upon entering the old, Romanesque chapel, we could still smell the incense and candles from the 11:00 mass. After a 20 minute service of Gregorian chanting (them, not us) we wandered and appreciated the columns, almost pagan in their design, and the grounds. Itâ€s a wonderful, self supporting abbey with vineyards, grazing cattle and its own town built up around the castle. If we werenâ€t starving (as always) (Ed note: What, no cured meat and fresh bread in your pockets? Shocking!) we could easily have spent more time checking out the monastery complex and little town. Bring a snack/picnic, come for the mass and tour the grounds and castle. Or, better yet, stay in the rooms, join the brothers for a meal, and visit Montalcino from there! (Ed note: This is one of my all-time favorite churches, and certainly the plainest. Its butter-soft walls seem to glow, the crucifix over the altar is rough-hewn and primal, and the carvings are, as Cyn said, practically pagan. This place is the epitome of calm.)
Our meal in Montalcino was one of our best in Italy. (Ed note: So jealous. Loved the town, but when we stayed overnight everything seemed closed.) Trattoria lâ€Angolo is a tiny, cozy, fragrant (arenâ€t they all?) place with mostly Italian speaking people. It used to be called Trattoria Sciame (Ed note: Monkey?! Really? Excellent.) The large group next to us had all ordered grilled steaks.
– Antipasti platter of bruschetta and prosciutto
– Scott splurged and ordered the special of the day, tagliatini with tartufo bianco, fresca, thinly sliced and generously scattered all over his plate along with a glass of Brunello.
Kim and I took it down a notch (not much) by splitting the
-Strozzapretti (“priest stranglers†pasta) with Brunello bolognese sauce (8E) and
– Mixed grill of meats charcoal grilled pork chop to die for, chicken, sausage, beef fat and gristle on a skewer that only I could appreciate (12E)
– House wines, 3E for ¼ liters, 7E for a glass of Brunello
– 2pp copertino for a total bill of 70 E
We walked around town, visiting the ramparts, climbing to the top for spectacular views of the surrounding Montalcino countryside (Kimmer, I owe you for that, BTW), tasted/bought Brunello and some vino rosso from the area, visited a couple churches and made it back to Podere Felcetto in time for happy hour before heading in for pizza (finally!) at Conca del Oro.
Conca del Oro, according to some, is the best pizza in Italy (I maintain my vote for Blue Marlin’s pizza). We proceeded to eat our way through the menu of pizzas ranging from 8-16 E. The chef was “trained and certified in the methods of Italian pizza makingâ€. Crusts were chewy, almost hard and….tough? (Ed note: Curious as to how you’d rate it against Apizza Scholls†crust?) The best part, imo, were her home made desserts that she gave us compliments of the restaurant. They were so good, we ordered two more of each: a flourless chocolate torte and a custard in a cheesecakey, eggy crust to die for.
Friday at the Podere Felcetto in Panzano and Lucarelle
The last day was slated to ‘hang out†in the area, and we tried out a restaurant recommended by a fellow tourist at the Butcher of Panzano: Osteria le Panzanelle in the nearby village of Lucarelle. Outstanding!
– Eggplant rolls with cheese, tomatoes and capers
– Crostini misti
– Sformatino di cavolfiore (warm cauliflower torte)
– Fagioli all olio
– Insalata mista
– Patate fritte
– Spaghetti with sausages and wild mushrooms was the best mushroom flavor Iâ€d tasted to date. First time I wasnâ€t disappointed by the lack of wild mushroom taste
– Lasagne with a ragu and cheese so chewy and wonderful with a rich béchamel
– Roast Coniglio (rabbit) con olive, capers and anchovies, KILLER good!
– 3 liters house red
– Copertino 2E pp, 7 E pastas, 6 E wines / liter, 3-5 E sides
One of the wines we really liked at Enoteca Baldi was from La Massa, right down the road from our house. But because of the sudden cold snap, they were too busy harvesting to give us a tour. They donâ€t make a business of doing tours, but maybe next time?
We wandered around Panzano, bought a few more veggies for a last “light meal†in the farmhouse kitchen. Ha! Somehow, we found ourselves back up to Macelleria de Checcucci, purchasing three-3 inch thick bistecca to make Bistecca Fiorentino
– Antipasti misto and prosecco
– Leftover roasted potatoes and rosemary
– Huge salad with par boiled string beans
– Steak
– Vino rosso
– Biscotti, vin santo, limoncino
Last Day, in Firenze
We said our goodbyes to the famiglia del Mastio and off we went on another adventure: three cars following each other, making moves through the autostrada, incomplete directions, and high hopes that weâ€d all end up at the hotel together to check in, drop off bags, return the cars to the airport and get back into Florence in time to catch lunch at the Mercato.
Miraculously, and with minimum fiasco, we did. We saw sunset atop the Piazzale Michelangelo, had wine and beer on the south side of the Arno, Teri and Kim went to the Uffizzi, Teri managed to keep from melting at the Hemingway Tea Room / bar (which she strongly recommends). We shopped at the artisan market set on the Piazza della Signoria Saturday afternoon (recommended) and, finally, ate at the Trattoria El Cibreo, which surpassed expectations. It was a five star meal for a three star price (284E for eleven people; unbelievable). We were served with cheer, humor, efficiency and aplomb. They included extra plates of menu items to ‘sampleâ€, such as a fish soup, the likes of which Iâ€ve never tasted – even the expensive soup de poisson in the south of France – and complimentary desserts in addition to the five we ordered. And no coperti!
Antipasti 6E
– Insalata Trippa: vinegar and olive oil, cooked with onions, cold
– Crostini di Pate
– Gelatino di Pomodoro two more gratis!
Primi 6E
– 2 Polenta alle erbe Verdi
– Minestrone di pane
– 2 Minestrone di pesci
– Fish stew, gratis!
– Zuppa di Funghi with the most mushroom flavor of the week!
Secondi 14E
– Cold veal loaf with pistachio
– Chicken…something…
– Eggplant parmesan
– Rich wine sauce and squid w/pasta
– De-boned and stuffed chicken leg
– Cold chicken loaf
Dolci
– Chocolate torte
– Cheesecake
– Bavarian crème coffee custard
– Bavarian crème vanilla custard
– Panna Cotta
– Chocolate pudding
– 2 additional desserts, gratis
– 4 liters of wine, 3 of water
Deemed by many their best meal ever. What an end to a wonderful trip to Italy. And Scott and I weigh in at less than when we left. I was going to say, perhaps itâ€s the fact that we were eating fresh and unprocessed foods…but can we really call all that salumi unprocessed?
Thanks, everyone for being such a fun, loving, (and fun-loving), game, go with the flow, ‘weâ€re in Italy!†jump in with two feet, make the most of it, group of great friends. Thanks Denise, for your recs of Enoteca Baldi, El Cibreo, Piazza Santo Spirito, Santa Maria Novella, Abby de San Antimo, Marcellario in Greve, and all the others too!)
And thanks Cyndi, and for letting us live vicariously…and Beth for the extra photos!
This is a love letter to my new knife. Keith, who gave me this weapon of delicious destruction is pretty great too, but he’ll have to wait for a Hallmark-sanctioned holiday to get his love letter. He loves tools. I’m notoriously cheap. You can see the collision course. I’ve been perfectly content with the same knives for 25 years: a Chicago Cutlery 8″ chef, 6″ chef and paring knife (of which, whether slicing a roast or coring an apple, I pretty much only use the 8″ ).
 K keeps them meticulously sharp and I hone them in between with Grandma’s 10 pound steel, so the fact that they’re ancient, thick and clunky hasn’t been an issue. Friends with badass blades frequently exclaimed over my finely honed edges, and the accolades of others was enough for me.
But then I have a birthday (insert scary pipe organ: dum-dum-dum) and my tool-loving husband goes into a last-minute-must-buy-something-after-work panic. I wince when I open the package. Internal dialog: don’t need this, jeez it must have been expensive, omg he got it at Sur la Table: r-i-p-o-f-f, aren’t they awfully brittle I’ll probably break it…
But it’s awful darn pretty. And maybe it IS time for me to have a big-girl knife. And besides, wouldn’t it be nice to be grateful for a gift for once, rather than being a practical bubble-burster? Out loud: “Thank you darling, I love it.”
And oh. my. god. How I love my Shun 8″ Chef Knife. My poor Chicago knives have been cast aside like so much refuse, as unwanted as copyediters at The Oregonian. My former nemisis, the carrot? We’re having an affair. I relish the mire poix. I melted carrots into stroganoff last night (Tzar Nicholas is spinning in his grave-y) just so I could fine-dice a carrot. See?
I know America’s Test Kitchen says a $24 Victorinox is all you need, but they couldn’t be more wrong. Wielding my Shun I feel invincible. I am Uma Thurman in Kill Bill Volume 2. The insane schoolgirl killer and her gang? Just so many carrots.
]]>I have it on good authority that a combination of economic crisis and harvest have conspired to create another Central Valley / Central Coast grape glut. From my trench-coated, rubber-booted inside informant (with no stake in sales) comes this:
For obvious reasons, sales of pricier wines have suffered over the past year. For many, it makes no economic sense to spend the money bottling new juice that will simply end up being severely undervalued.* With the harvest coming up, the rubber’s hit the road and wineries are being told to clear out their stored juice from, where else? Charles Shaw. With its millions of gallons of storage (oak barrels and stainless tanks) and massive bottling plants, Fred Franzia’s Bronco Wines operation (aka Charles Shaw) is once again in the catbird seat, buying up juice for pennies on the dollar.
The good news for us is that this $15 to $20 wine-worthy-juice will soon become Three Buck Chuck.
For some, no number of “really’s” before “good” can make a $3 Chuck good enough. It’ll always be swill and you’d rather stick with a reliable $15 Cotes du Rhone. I get that. But I’ll also be picking up periodic cabs and merlots (I don’t know if this affects all varietals or one in particular) along with my milk, yogurt and tunafish, especially after the “2008” on the label switches to “2009”. If it’s swill, the bottles will still make a respectable braising liquid for winter short-ribs, oxtails and pigs’ feet.
*Why higher end wineries don’t just bottle their juice and sell it for cheap, I don’t know. Brand dilution, perhaps?
P.S. Pssst! Look at this gorgeous bowl of tomatoes! Our bedraggled little plants have been cranking fruit out heroically since the first of July. Okay, couldn’t resist. Now pretend you didn’t see this.
]]>Despite the 90 degrees broiling up outside, Iâ€m aware of fall creeping in like never before. Without kids to send to school the seasons usually pass seamlessly, one to another, year after year, me glued to a computer 12-hours-a-day. Like everyone, Iâ€d wake up periodically to, “Oh crap, Christmas is in four days and I havenâ€t bought anything.†Or, “If we donâ€t get a dry day soon Iâ€ll need to add a fourth raincoat to my repertoire.†Or, “Hmm. Mid-July. Perhaps time to swap the shorts†box from the basement with the sweater drawer in the closet.â€
But this summerâ€s been different. Except for a slight Twitter and blog addiction, the computer’s been a choice, and I have been aware of every blissful long, warm, sunny day. And the occasional stormy one. I didnâ€t do a single house project that I shouldâ€ve, but we had a steady flow of guests, parties in the backyard, countless bottles of rosé. And the dog and I bonded. Almost every day weâ€d walk through the quaint streets of Sellwood, along the train tracks, through the ‘forbidden fieldâ€, under the Springwater Corridor, through Oaks Amusement Park, down the stairs to the beach, along the water, up into the Monkey Trail, out to the dog park, back up along Oaks Pioneer Church, and home. Weâ€ve watched green turn to gold, gray to blue, brown to purple, and every day Iâ€m amazed that this is my neighborhood.
So one day not long ago I grabbed my camera in an attempt to capture a little bit of this urban oasis that my stubborn, socially inappropriate, bully of a dog has forced me out into. Thanks Koko.
P.S. Iâ€m a terrible photographer and I donâ€t even have the rudimentary ability to crop. If you want great photos, go to my friend Leslieâ€s site…holy mama! But this is my story (and I’m sticking to it).
P.P.S. Thereâ€s not a crumb of food in this post. And Iâ€m breaking a self-imposed rule not to talk about my dog. Next thing you know Iâ€ll be sharing feelings…God help us all.
Since Kokoâ€s not great with other dogs itâ€s best to burn off some energy before she mingles. Walking along the tracks and into the Forbidden Field (so named because of the giant Dogs On Leash signs…but Koko never, er, hardly ever, chases the birds) is perfect for this. Plus the ever-changing wildflowers and weeds are always amazing.
Then under the trestle to that magical white-trash wonderland that is Oaks Amusement Park. I particularly love it in its abandoned winter state, but summer brings its own treats too…..
But now to Kokoâ€s amusement park, where she can run off-leash again. Downtown’s on view from one end of the beach and the Sellwood Bridge anchors the other. Did I mention this is all one walk from home? It amazes me every time.
And looping back up to the chapel, again with the iPhone because at this point Koko was in the doghouse and we were booking miles.
And so we end. This is my thanks to you Koko, for getting me out every day to enjoy the summer and this amazing neighborhood. We have our battles, you and I. Your sense of loyalty is severely misplaced. I despair of you ever learning what, “Get your kong!” means, or learning to fetch. And some day your bullying ways will will land you, not just me, in hot water. But you do have your moments.
]]>From humble beginnings in Loretto, Kentucky to the shelves of a California Costco, smuggled lovingly into Oregon…such provenance…we lay our cherished friend to rest.
You were like a grandfather, embracing, warm, good for a lot of laughs, mellow in a glass after dinner. But you could be sassy, too, with a shot of sweet vermouth, a cherry breaking your icy surface. And loverlike, surprising, Benedictine heightening your natural sweetness, leaving behind a rosy glow and the desire for a smoke.
We celebrate your 1.75 liter, larger-than-life…life, as we mourn your demise. Kicked to the curb to join the crush of the hoi polloi, to be reborn…as what?
You lived a good life, you amassed good karma. I predict good things.
You shall be missed.
]]>Thanks ladies at exercise class for the giant bag of perfectly ripe Italian plums. Of course they turned into a crisp that used an entire cube of butter and nearly a cup of sugar, thereby negating a month’s worth of senior aerobics, but what the heck.
K said it was the best ever. Using, once again, a variation of the crisp topping I found on Eat. Think. Drink., which bb found on blazinghotwok, which Darlene modified from Ina Garten. Phew. When summer fruit season ends it’ll be back to store-bought-cookies and ice cream for our guests. Poor guests.
(Modifications, since K is trying to cut down on sugar, included 100% of the butter, half the sugar throughout, and half the flour though 100% of the lovely oats and almonds. And I made it in an 8×8 square pyrex instead of individual ramekins. What can I say? It was midweek and not for a dinner party, we were being casual.)
]]>But back to tomatoes.
It’s been a weird year. Some people had blight before the fruit could ripen, we had the smallest crop on record. And the earliest. It seemed that ours were the only plants to hit their stride in mid-July (see photo below); oh how we cackled with glee over the 2009 plan to under-water. It was working! True, the plants were sad, bedraggled little things, but the tomatoes were delicious, early (for Portland’s wet spring), nicely sized, with skins not overly tough (as ours usually are). But then…
The fruit got smaller and smaller until normally small Stupice shrank to the size of cherry tomatoes. The beefsteak? Roughly the size of a golf ball. Lemon boy? Like a junior baseball.
The flowers? Very few flowers. And by mid-August, very few tomatoes.
We started sneaking water.
Then madly dousing to coax along the few green ones left on the vines.
We have a healthy crop of Romas on the way, the Sun Gold’s continue indestructable as usual, and time will tell if the others rally. With the extreme heat, this may not have been the year to experiment, but really, can one complain about a steady stream of delicious fruit over several months? And as ours peter out? I figure friends will be looking for a home for their excess.
For YOUR extras, here’s one of my favorite Jacques Pepin recipes from 1992’s Today’s Gourmet. I’ve made it countless times, and the proportions and herbs are endlessly forgiving and flexible. I’ve even cut up regular tomatoes to make up the difference, if the cherries measure short. Bon appetite!
Cherry Tomato Gratin
1 1/4 pounds cherry tomatoes (approx 3.5 cups)
3 oz day-old french bread (about 3.5 cups) cut into 1″ cubes
4-6 cloves garlic, peeled & sliced (about 2 T) (interesting; had forgotten these were sliced. I’ve always chopped)
1/2 cup coursely chopped flat-leaf parsley (mixing basil and parsley is nice)
1/2 tsp freshly ground pepper
2 T virgin olive oil (I use a bit more, usually)
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese (even good w/o this)
Preheat the over to 375. Wash tomatoes and discard stems. Mix tomatoes and all ingredients in a bowl. Transfer the mixture to a 6-cup oven-proof dish. Bake at 375 for 40 minutes, serve immediately.
Four servings: 185 calories; 6 gm protein; 21 gm carbohydrates; 9.4 grams fat; 2.1 grams saturated fat; 5 mg cholesterol; 506 mg sodium.
]]>I wandered in an innocent, a fool, a virgin, though the “No kids, no sushi†sandwich-board sent a frisson of warning up my spine. Tiny, I knew, but not a single four-top? With only half our party on hand we meekly backed out the door, bowing and scraping, vowing to be Johnny-on-the-spot should adjacent two-tops open up. (Okay, bb is never meek, but even HE was on good behavior.) Out in the sun, away from the cold cynicism of weary eyes, I was once again able to draw a deep, clean breath. But after a whiff of your darkness, it tasted a little saccharine, a little too bright.
Attitude can come in many forms and have many causes: ignorant youth, flat-out-stupid, a surfeit of shallow beauty, undeserved strokes, a lifetime of paying dues, a singular vision. I was well-primed to find the source of Tanukiâ€s brashness, and prepared to enjoy the ride.
Just as our Basta happy hour snacks were set on the table our fourth arrived and frantically flagged us from across the street. Four chairs together! Ready! Team RacoonDog deploy now! Slamming drinks and money on the table, ignoring the food (well, I may have snagged a calamari) we scampered across, and though nothing was said, I detected a hint of approval that weâ€d so obviously hustled to play by the rules. We were ready–nay eager–for whatever Tanuki wanted to dish out.
And dish it out, it did.
The spirit of our $30/pp omakase mealâ€s well documented at Eat. Think. Drink., but it took a team effort to recall everything we ate. Edamame, dried anchovy and seaweed salad paved the way as we discussed and poured sake, settling more deeply into our seats. Skewers of bay scallop, shrimp (overcooked, unfortunately), meat (beef? heart?) and Portuguese sausage helped ease us into the dark universe. Then a plate each of hamachi with white miso and uni slammed us into Tanuki-land. No color commentary needed beyond OMFG. Followed fast by raw oysters with kimchee ice, all we could do was hold on. Hold on, taste, revel, and bask in the fresh flavors and the adventure of not knowing what was next.
And what was next? In no particular order, a large fillet of unagi, with salty-sour umeboshi to cut the sweet bbq sauce, a fresh and flavor-filled clear soup with raw…nearly raw? razor clam, a slightly sweet rice-dish of clams, sausage and cherry tomatoes, and another of vegetables with monkfish liver. bb has a photo of salmon tartare with cuke and green onion…how can I not even remember that? Iâ€d accuse him of hiding it on his lap but the variety of food was so generous, there was no need to covet. Out of this bounty there was only one item, which Iâ€ve dubbed “Band-Aid Flavored Soup†that was not to my taste. K opined that the meal, like Moulin Rouge, had a brilliant first act but then got a little messy. That may have been our fault for increasing the serverâ€s recommended $25 budget to $30, but for a first visit, I donâ€t regret having had the variety. In the famous words of, well, pretty much every hedonist, “Too much of everything is just enough.â€
So what makes one serverâ€s snark and anotherâ€s ditzy misstep (Shared Plates post part 1) so off-putting, while Tanukiâ€s rules and attitude draw us in like a magnet? Why did Park Kitchenâ€s foie mess leave such a lasting impression, while bandage soup was easily shrugged off? Perhaps itâ€s ascribing a price to a whole meal rather than valuing individual dishes…or even courses. If weâ€d gone with the prix fixe PK menu, we may well have been happier…but the dishes would still have been overworked. Tanuki, at its most successful, showcases a hero, and then supports, frames or twists it for added depth. Iâ€ll leave the debate of “authentic†blah blah blah to others. All I know is that I like a hero, especially when it rides in on white miso. Or sleeps on a bed of home-made kimchee.
Finally, thereâ€s the whole vibe, the ability to embrace oneâ€s vision and lock it down in a death grip. Which MBA program instructs biz owners to taunt its detractors and potential customers via social media? (“Dear Idiot…†“Please donâ€t breed…†“Bite me…â€) If such a program doesnâ€t yet exist, it should. When you run 10 to 12 tables itâ€s your world, your rules, your vision, your domain, and “bite me†sounds like a pretty good idea with food this good.
Tanuki, youâ€re a black-hearted bitch. Delectably skewered and grilled, and I want more.
BTW, our server was lovely. Recommended a great sake, kept water flowing, and unobtrusively shuttled full plates to, and empty ones away from, our table. No exaggerations in this post should reflect on her. I hope we tipped well…but between my food drunk and the flying cash due to the rule against split tabs, I can’t say I remember.
]]>Drinks and dinner at Beaker & Flask, other than too bright at a non-shaded table, was a nice surprise: comfy circular booths in a soaring space, minimalist but smart decor, and unique cocktails. (While “unique†is great, some clean classics amidst the plethora of chartreuse, absinthe, cynar and blueberries would be a relief. No doubt they’d mix up a stellar classic cocktail upon request.) In any case, as GoodStuffNW stated, it really was “… the food here [that] was the surprise…†I didnâ€t expect anything beyond the ordinary and instead found a dining experience that was a cut above. (One of the “cuts,” beef, to the left.)
Four of us shared the trout deviled eggs, corn on the cob, fried oysters, spot prawns, which, from left to right were: good; good and fun but the thrice-promised knife would have been helpful; great/crunchy/moist/ woulda done NOLA fried oysters proud; fabulous, especially the half of the dish that was the raw prawn. For shared entrees C&S had the grilled beef shoulder: nice, though my bite of meat was under-salted and the carmelized cauliflower looked like the best thing on the plate. And K & I shared the barely seared tuna with aioli on…if I recollect…greens, bacon & croutons? Too many Walk Donâ€t Runâ€s by then (White Rum, Grapefruit/Wormwood Soda, Angostura Bitters). In any case, it was delicious. (But if I can channel my mom here for a moment, prices felt a tiny bit steep.)
With so many great places to eat in town, both old and new, it’s time to compile some lists to keep myself both branched out and on a budget. While their happy hour selection isnâ€t amazing, making it far too easy to stray onto the dinner menu, Beaker & Flask is a wonderfully civilized way to unwind after a busy day of…err…unemployment.
]]>Aside to Portlanders: Remember early July? Temps in the mid-70s, cool breezes that we mindlessly accepted without a whit of gratitude? Sleeping with a sheet…or jammies at the very least? (Our poor, unfortunate neighbors. Open windows, no clothes or blankets, weâ€ll just leave that mental picture unfinished.) Cooking, running the dishwasher, hopping a bus, sitting out on the sidewalk sipping lattes, going to a restaurant without first calling to see if the a/c is working…ah the good old days.
Happy hour at 50 Plates was pleasant but forgettable. Not much enticing in the way of drink specials and the plates were hit and miss. The mushrooms on toast and shrimp ‘n grits, both dishes Iâ€d loved before, were again fantastic: rich and bursting with mouth-filling flavors. The silver dollar sammies were a mixed bag (and a tiny clutch-sized bag at that, they take the silver dollar part very literally): forgettable pulled pork, but a great little kobe burger. The artichoke roll was bland and lifeless with no discernible artichoke, the crab jalapeño poppers had no crab flavor…nor any pop…and the Not a Cobb was not only not a Cobb, it wasnâ€t much of anything else, either. Simultaneously watery and gooey, it was a bland disappointment after the Not a Cobb at Quinnâ€s in Seattle. Our elevated sidewalk seat was great for people-watching, but the 70s rock classics blaring from the speakers and the slightly snarky-but-not-in-a-clever-way service didnâ€t really go with the white wine thing that was happening at our table. Iâ€ll definitely go back for real food, but itâ€s not knocking Andina off the top of my Pearl happy hour list any time soon.
Dinner at Park Kitchen was also a mixed bag. (Adore their logo. No mixed feelings about that at all.) Having gone to Toro Bravo with out-of-towners twice in June, we were determined to branch out. So we shortlisted: Park Kitchen, Laurelhurst Market, Le Pigeon, Toast and Nostrana. All are pretty and / or unique, and they seemed a good variety of off-beat, new and hot, tres Pdx French, neighborhoody and solidly good. Our guests both put PK at the top of their list, and having had great meals there in the past, we all felt good about the decision.
We started at the bar with two white wines, a refreshing and unique Violette (Meyerâ€s rum, crème de violette, Cointreau, orange bitters, lime twist), and an excellent Trace Bourbon Manhattan, and soon moved to our table. Is there any better location on a balmy evening than a Park Kitchen sidewalk table? Our four-top was just outside the rollup door where we could experience the buzz of the room and the ever darkening shadows of the trees in the park, as we perused the menu. Due to one particular eater, we ordered a la carte, though the $40/pp chefâ€s choice looked like a great deal when allâ€s said and done.
Letâ€s do this laundry list style:
A misstep can happen anywhere, but this one got compounded by the serverâ€s dingbat response to our honest but polite assessment. In an attempt to stem her misplaced gushing I pronounced the dish “a mess.†SO not Portland-nice of me…oops. She stalked away and handed us off to another (more seasoned) server, but there was a lot of meal to go and we all felt the effects of my tactlessness. May I suggest that if you’re going to ask how something is, maybe listen to the (unanimous) answer without offense? I’m not at your home and bound by the “everything’s delicious” rule.
Nothing on the dessert menu called to me, though the boys had chocolates from Xocolatl de David, which they dubbed “interesting…?â€
K. pronounced the pork and green beans a hit. A. liked the lavash-style crackers in the bread plate. “Nothing else? Not even the sturgeon?†“Well, the bread was good, too.†Ohhhh snap! Ouch. J and I appreciated the creativity and effort but agreed it was an uneven experience for the pricetag. At mealâ€s end we noticed by chance that theyâ€d comped the pistachio-sauce course. While wonderful and appreciated, a verbal acknowledgment would have gone a long way to putting things into perspective. As it was left, this debacle of a dish and the serverâ€s handling of us left the biggest impression.
]]>A friend and new Portland transplant who writes things like:
“Cooking
Like jazz
(Like all art, really)
Is an expression of love, joy, pain and sorrow.
The delicious sustenance that results is almost an afterthought.”
Heâ€s also an Excel whiz. And he doesnâ€t like to be bound by the constraints of pre-figured directions or maps (which, considering that quote, shouldnâ€t come as a surprise), as I found on a recent field trip to Uwajimaya. The next time I get turned around in the US-26 / downtown spaghetti tangle Iâ€ll try to remember Iâ€m not lost at all, merely “riffingâ€.
What else to know? My dog loves him. She has no use for Google maps either.
I donâ€t know if Ezra would have needed extra inducement to Koko-sit during our Seattle trip, but I figured that opening the pantry and pointing out all the weird foodstuffs he could play with wouldnâ€t hurt. And indeed, that clinched the deal.
Now letâ€s be clear: Ezra has a large, gorgeous kitchen at his disposal, filled with healthful, vegetarian products, while mine is tiny, battered (mmmm…batter) and sullied by all manner of questionable ingredients. But he kept his eye on the adventures that he could concoct within this small, tiled space, transcending physical limitations, ethnic boundaries and, once or twice Iâ€m sure, common sense.
In this guest post, Ezra describes his time. “A lot of ideas really crystallized for me during that week.†says he, and for that Iâ€m so glad!
The Space
I pause for a moment at the entrance to the kitchen. Itâ€s the same whenever I enter an unfamiliar house. Iâ€m thinking about how this room reveals the soul of the house and of the people who have made it their home. I cross the threshold and suddenly Iâ€m an anthropologist. What do I know about the inhabitants? What is their relationship to food? What traces of life do I sense in this place?
A quick tour of the garden, pantry and cellar reveals that these folks have a healthy and positive relationship with their food. Iâ€ve cooked in many kitchens, but this one is set up perfectly for an improvisational cook. The utensils are in their proper place. Spices and herbs wait patiently in their containers and packets. This is a kitchen where good food is honored.
The Preparation
Before cooking I envision the food to be created. I breathe in the smells of the kitchen, orienting myself among the shelves, racks and cupboards. I feel the temperature and humidity in the air.
For me cooking is about creating and maintaining optimal conditions for food. I enjoy the prospect of creating food out of whateverâ€s available. This kitchen is bursting with possibility. Wherever I turn there is culinary inspiration.
Eating
Eating is one of my favorite aspects of food. Itâ€s easy to take this step for granted. But it is just as important as all the other parts. And it is equally rewarding.
Cleanup
Thereâ€s an old saying, “when you are finished eating, clean your bowl.†This is most true when practicing food preparation. A fundamental aspect of cooking is care for utensils. They are for the cook what brushes are for the painter.
When Iâ€m finished eating I lovingly clean every knife, bowl, spoon and pan. Ingredients are replaced in their original location. A ninja chef, I leave the kitchen with barely a trace behind me. Perhaps the space has been altered subtly by this process. But everything is just as I found it, ready for another food adventure.
P.S. Two other things came to mind as I was writing this. Big surprise, they are both about food and are both Japanese. Hmmm… I definitely see a pattern emerging here.
Kitchen (Banana Yoshimoto) is one of my favorite books. A major theme throughout is food in general, but especially the energy created by the kitchen space and different types of people and kitchens.
Tampopo (Juzo Itami) is one of my favorite movies. It’s all about food, cooking, eating, food culture, the art of food, etc. Basically it’s two straight hours of Ramen. Every time I watch it I want to make miso soup with noodles.
Editorâ€s Note:
“But what did you MAKE, Ezra?†I wail.
“The trouble is I don’t know what I made. I know what I used, what I did, and it was all really good. But I was aiming for *formless* food (ed: and by this he means without boundaries or limitations, not literally formless), going by what I know about the way the food works, and whatever inspired me. So I could list the ingredients, the specific processes. But in a sense these are accidental and it’s the finished product which matters. These are meals which will never, can never, be made again.
Perhaps this is an unsatisfactory answer. Or maybe I’m just trying to maintain an air of mystery. But I really am trying to develop an approach to cooking which is scientific, creative and focused on the larger issues of what food is all about.â€
(What I do know is this: our aged, DOC balsamic hand-carried back from Italy in 2002 had been shifted. My, what good taste he has! And the jar of South African salted, green papaya was open in the fridge. As long as he didnâ€t use them together, Iâ€m pleased.)
“Not unsatisfactory at all, Ez. Just hard for a process-oriented, donâ€t-like-to-get-lost person such as myself to accept. But okay. There. Iâ€ve just accepted it.â€
To read more of Ezra’s posts, check out his eclectic thoughts on cooking, movies and inspiration here.
]]>Summer Corn Soup
Michael Chiarello (italics=dds modifications)
4 c corn kernels (~5 ears corn; reserve cobs)
6 c water (or 2 c low sodium chix stock/4 c water)
1 onion, chopped, divided into 2 piles
1 celery rib, chopped
1 bay leaf
3 T butter, preferably unsalted
1/2 c heavy cream (optional)
Salt
Topping / garnish of choice
Cut corn off cobs and set aside. Cut cobs in half and add to water with celery, half the onion and bay leaf. Bring to a simmer and cook for 20 minutes; remove the cobs.
Saute the remaining half of onion in butter until soft, add corn and salt, saute another minute, add to stock. Bring to a boil until the corn is tender, about 3 minutes. Remove bay leaf, adjust salt, add cream.
Transfer in batches to a blender and blend thoroughly (start at a low speed & then ramp it up to avoid lid eruptions). Strain through a fine mesh sieve placed over a clean pot, pushing on the solids to extract as much liquid as possible.
Reheat the soup gently to serve; do not allow to boil! Serve warm, cool or cold, and top with garnish. A dollop of pesto, creme fraiche, basil or tarragon leaves….
I also froze a bit of this, stirring as it hardened to produce crystals. Delicious corn ice resulted, but I have yet to think of what to put it on. Not interesting enough to stand on its own. I keep thinking about chorizo…..
]]>By coincidence, I was having vegetarians to dinner the same day, and tomatoes (cherry) and corn (soup) were most in-season on the west coast, and precisely what were on the menu. But that’s neither here nor there, since we bought both and this was supposed to focus on eating what our garden produced. Damn my wandering attention span…
And the winning plant for first ripe tomato of the year (last week) is….Stupice! Once again. Tiny even for a Stupice but we’ll take it. And the Sungold cherry tomato plant is starting to squirt out some ripe babies. Mmmmm, tomato candy. And in third place, after this weekend’s heat, Stupice plant #2 has red clusters galore. Tomorrow I’ll be able to slice them on toast with olive oil, pepper and salt…the best breakfast in the world.
Because I keep forgetting to use it, we had enough lettuce to feed six for a first course on Saturday. My typical French vinaigrette weighs down the tender leaves, so we had a semi-successful light dressing of lemon, oil, worcestershire and salt. [Oh gads! Just realized that’s not vegetarian! A thousand apologies…it was just a dash…. So much for mindfulness.] Had intended to add whole parsley leaves along with the thinly sliced radishes, something my Persian cousin does which is so simple but unique, but it got left behind in the flurry of plating. (Which is more acceptable than the post-bbq marinade that got left off shish-kebabs the week before, but that’s a subject for a different day.)
Whole “needles” of fresh garden tarragon adorned a simple vegetarian corn soup for the second course of that same dinner. Bright and licoricey, and a nice change from basil. I can share that super simple recipe (actual recipe! From a book and everything!) if the experienced vegetable eaters thought it was tasty enough. Cold the next day, on a palate unpolluted by raw garlic & tomato drenched bread, it tasted richer. Next time I’d double the onion and saute it and the corn kernels in a bit of butter and salt. Cuz y’know, what’s not better with a bit of butter and salt?
A cup of home-grown basil provided the base for course #3’s pasta sauce: basil blended with two cups of cherry tomatoes (courtesy of New Seasons), toasted almonds, garlic and oil. Cooks Illustrated said to mix a half cup of parmesan into the pasta, but I think it dulled the bright taste of the “pesto”. Thanks to Skip’s shrimp pasta, I thought to mix in a big batch of raw arugula, which leant a peppery, fresh bite.
All boy flowers on the pumpkin so far. Except for the first girl back in June…before there were any boy flowers for fertilizing. Isn’t that just the way it is in love and life? Well, I suppose if we get no pumpkins we’ve at least enjoyed the vines carousing across the lawn. Next year I know I’ll be brave enough to harvest the blossoms. It’s one of my favorite things to eat but I have a mysterious block against picking and cooking them. (The photo at left is two weeks old. After consuming a boot and a neighbor’s cat, we reigned in the vines with a climbing corral.)
Ah, and a footnote, appropriate because it’s directly related to Oregon’s bounty. I made this Berry Crumble for the second time, this time using local blueberries and boysenberries from New Seasons. It was, once again, spectacular and I can’t wait to make it with peaches. The boysen wasn’t as bright as the raspberry, even after adding extra lemon and cutting the sugar by 1/3, but it still killed. After seven years in Portland, I still can’t get over the size, flavor and variety of these monsters.
]]>Problem #1: Half my Twitter followers (ascetics / vegetarians / intellectuals), only do it because @Havi put me on a list. And I can guarantee they don’t want their iPhones gummed up with endless tweets of my eating excesses.
Problem #2: I can’t manage to do a post shorter than a thousand words. As Havi says, “I feel compelled to write 10 pages about everything.”
Problem #3: It takes me ten ridiculous days to write a post.
So instead of a post I saved up unsent tweets. Ha! So there! (But the laugh’s on me because it still took 10 days to get this up. Sigh.)
Researching Seattle from the room instead of out exploring. Duh. And on the iPhone to-boot rather than paying $9.95 for access thatâ€s only valid til 3 pm.
5 more Starbucks spotted on the way to a corner grocery.
Bud and peanuts await mah manâ€s return for swanky cocktails en suite. V nice 10th floor corner room at the Paramount. Recommend, aside from the annoying connectivity (even the iPhone needs continuous log in).
Finally out in the world! Tom Douglas†Serious Pie for meh flatbread pizza (good sausage/pepper, bland-ola tomato/basil). This is no Apizza Scholls. Fabulous branding/graphics, convivial, and 3 excellent starters though…
…1) artichokes, proscuitto, baked egg; 2) duck proscuitto, pickled apricot, arugula; 3) baby lettuces, radish, muscatel vinaigrette. Iâ€d recommend for the salads, vibe, pizza as a snack, and e-z proximity to downtown.
Breakfast a bust. Typical in-room coffee (can you say “coffee-mate� mmm. When I open MY hotel, the honor bar will be stocked with free cream). Llandro “bakery†and cafe across the street has no baked goods to speak of.
Out in the 3-D world. Hooray! Belltown is deserted and more…barren?…than expected. So many “For Lease†signs, ouch.
Thereâ€s Lola, Dahlia Lounge, Flying Fish, but Iâ€ve got my eye out for Macrina Bakery recommended by a local friend…voila. Adorable.
Small cappucci off to a shaky start, though it would be a good tiny latte. Coffees in Seattle? 4. Great coffees? 0.
Semi-related pet peeve: not correlating # of shots with the size of the cup / milk. Especially places that should know better (Pdx Bar-cough-ista).
Hmm, sandwiches were recommended but Iâ€d rather sample more variety. Quiche velvety, liquid-feeling eggs that hold together beautifully. Howâ€d they do that? Piadina (proscuitto & cheese in toasted flatbread) so-so. Indifferent service but nice stop.
Help…too…bright…need shade…forgot my sunglasses. Curse you Seattle and your blue skies. (ed. note: #seattlerainconspiracy)
Walkin†walkin†walkinâ€
My Sculpture Park Tour:
Ellsworth Kelly: “I’m not interested in the texture of a rock, but in its shadow.†Excellent save on explaining that rust stain (been living with a public art conservationist too long). The “stain†is great, actually, and intentional I think…
Rawhrrr! Calderâ€s Eagle eats the Space Needle. “Help! We paid $16 to get up here and now Iâ€m being…a-a-aiyee!†Chomp chomp chomp.
Oldenburg (and Coosje van Bruggen)â€s Typewriter Eraser. If youâ€ve used one of these raise your hand. Time for the nursing home for us. “Racing” down to erase the freeway and cars.
Love the Sculpture Park, but the red chairs are my favorite thing. What a bumpkin.
Walkin†walkin†walkinâ€
Piers to my right, freeway, parking structures and self-storage to my left cutting off town from the water. Like the Embarcadero pre-quake.
Good God! 20-story cruise ship dwarfs everything in the bay. Itâ€s too easy to heckle the snaking line of cruisers waiting to get back on, so Iâ€ll resist. Mostly. (Honey, pour a gallon of aloe on that expanse of sunburn and maybe spend tomorrow in the casino.)
Walkin†walkin†walkinâ€.
Finally, a free bus the last 6 blocks to Pioneer Square. Blessed shade. Bricks, ivy, trees, this is how I pictured Belltown for some reason. More “For Lease†signs but a great stop for a cool beverage. #Sanbitters.
A crochet lesson. “Hey, I’ve never done this before!” as I’m busted taking his pic. I’m not here to judge you, sir.
I resist going into Grand Central Bakery, despite the inviting ivy-covered walls.
International District looks bleak. Too tired to see if Iâ€m missing some magical street so itâ€s Uwajimaya and out. Even I canâ€t muster up the appetite for kalua pork at Aloha Plates or noodles at Samurai. What good is an enormous belly if it canâ€t rise to the occasion?!
Four hours to get here, three minutes to free-bus it home through the tunnel. Sweet.
Poor monorail, so worn and dated. Seattle Center public spaces not bad on a warm evening. I wander as K and the convention ‘swells’ swill drinks at a $50 gala.
Conference tidbit: In what area of life besides green awareness would “sustainable” be an acceptable goal? “How’s your marriage?” “It’s sustainable.” “Excellent.”
Chef Ken-san Yamamoto, marry me? Geoduck & shitakes in butter…[insert Homerâ€s drooling sound] Tempura shrimp heads! Toro! Sake! Hamachi! Amaebi! Ikura…and another Hamachi for dessert.
Shiki
4 W Roy
Queen Anne
Thank you Yelp. I take back all the bad things I was saying about you.
We should have bbq pork bao for breakfast every day. Is there something about the water in Portland that renders them impossible to make? Even this day-old guy is spectacularly yummy. Like a donut…with meat.
With two special exhibition galleries closed for changeover, the SAM seems like the perfect size for 3 hours. Intriguing contemporary, quality “old stuff†without the filler (IMO) of PAM.
Artist Do-Ho Suh’s “military dogtag†robe spectacular. I love this whole contemporary section.
Titus Kaphar exhibit an oversized gem of wit and tragedy.
Why an atheist is so drawn to the religious paintings of the Renaissance is a conundrum worthy of some prayerful meditation.
Wall-filling South African video “Shadow Procession†riveting. “Things that seem whimsical, incidental, inauthentic may be trusted to provide entry into the heart of one’s material.” William Kentridge, artist.
From the visually stimulating SAM to Cafe Campagneâ€s palate stimulating oeufs en meurette. Sublime poached eggs on brioche, a-swim in a sauce of pearl onions, pancetta, wine and emulsed foie gras.
The less said about the sad croque monsieur, the better. Fortunately the eggs and accompanying pommes frîtes to swab up the sticky, rich leavings are (rich) enough for two. #didImentionit’srich?
Fortified, we enjoy the new downtown library. Agreed: the atrium is spectacular & the womb-like meeting room floor interesting. K admires the moxy, I worry about how this slanty / slopey / tilty building will wear.
I seem to have shaken off my identification as a San Franciscan. Comparing Seattle more often to Pdx, and home is coming off very favorably. Thatâ€s a nice realization.
If a martini says, no returns on the menu, how stupid does one have to be to order it?
About to embark on a $3.50 (non-happy-hour) martini. Hold me, I’m scared… [real tweet]
“The Dan” is on the sound-system, penants on the ceiling, the hair is big, and the world’s cheapest martini ain’t bad. 3 big olives, too. [real tweet]
Kaya Korean: A tragedy in 2 acts. The Hero? Spectacular meat at good prices. The downfall? Hubris (appalling service leads to missing panchun & lack of flavor.) The victims? 4 of us who drove to fumbuck Aurora on a rainy night. SO sorry, J&J!
(Ed Note: Frustrations just taken out in a Yelp review; must save others from a similar fate. Will probably get hate mail. I should write a letter to the Seattle Weekly, too…their rave is what steered us wrong.)
Brunch at Tilth nearly washes away the bad taste of last night. Charming, light yet flavor-packed, first good coffee Iâ€ve had in Seattle. Very good, and they left the pot. The kitchen was backed up and we didnâ€t even care.
Sous vide eggs on a crab benny…scrumptious. French toast more like mini squares of unctious bread pudding…perfect to share. Even the oatmeal was delicious. Oatmeal, for crying out loud.
This is where J wanted to eat last night. Guilt over Kaya settles even deeper.
Pikeâ€s too crammed; should have come at 7 am. I recall my 16-year-old selfâ€s visit here in minute detail. If only Iâ€d known what to do with the bolt of energy that hit me as I wandered the food-laden halls lo those many years ago.
Delighted to see friends on Bainbridge Is. I feel like Iâ€m in a Crate & Barrel photo shoot: beautiful people, charming children, glorious old farmhouse dusted lightly with impeccable taste. Even the neighborhood dogs gather here to play.
Dinner at Quinns, brother (literally) to Restaurant Zoe. Nice gastro-pubby (loud) space, the beer list and our waiterâ€s vast knowledge of said list truly impressive. Not a wrong note on the menu, but execution….
Good/competent. Ribs tasty but overcooked, mussels fine, boar sausage bizarrely dense, cobb with creamy egg and pork belly great. (Iâ€ve had more eggs this trip…all delicious. Could it be the barometric pressure? Seattle sous vide au natural…)
If thereâ€s a next time weâ€ll try the steak tartare and sloppy joe. Worth another trip for that and beer. Appreciate our thin, healthy local friends’ ordering compromises; left to our own devices we’d be dead under the table.
Saw my first twirling pasties at the Pink Door! And at my advanced age…sad really. Drinks pretty awful. Oops, another ferry to Bainbridge missed.
Heading home. The seats are hard but the view lovely from the top deck of Amtrak’s Coast Starlight. [real tweet]
Damn you bus #70 and your screwed up schedule! It’s too hot to be dragging a suitcase a mile down SE 17th.
PigCat Pale (deLIcious!), home-made challa, & a happy dog, all thanks to @ezra_brooks, @richardMiller & @Havi. #BestHomecomingEver [real tweet]
Iâ€m giving Seattle a B / B-. I give MY visit to Seattle a B/B-. There are treasures a-plenty to be savored, I’m sure. Will try again (and next time I wonâ€t fight restaurant recs just because they sound too predictable).