I Left My Heart in San Fran-Cheesy; Part 1, Thursday.

Although I am itching to deviate, temporarily – as I do – from the restaurant writings, as there seem to be a few in a row at present, and I know everyone is just waiting with bated breath for my next story about how some very personal chunk of my life relates to one of my recipes, which I then share, I would be remiss if I didn’t discuss my recent trip to San Francisco and some dining out experiences with you.

Was that run on sentence?

Anyway, that being said, you will all have to wait a bit longer for my celery root soup with sunchoke “croutons” recipe.

Ever since food found such a prominent, and dominant, part of my life, I have wanted to go to Chez Panisse. But, as I have been able to travel little in the past seven or so years, it has not been checked off the list. Until very recently, that is.

A month or so ago I decided I was going to bust a move up the coast for one of my culinary adventures. I had fully intended to go at it alone until one night, after blathering on about my plan to Minty, it was decided: we were going to team up and conquer the food and cocktail scene in San Francisco together.

And so, two weeks ago, in my rented Toyota Corolla (my car would never make the journey, nor would anyone want to spend that much time in it), Minty and I hit the road. She, with her weekend bag. Me, with the suitcase I used when I spent two weeks in Europe – full. I am the world’s most horrible packer.

We were all set, cruising up the I-5N, had my iPod playing tunes, us, chatting away. About an hour and a half to two hours in, I look down and notice A. I’m going about 90 miles per hour, B. I have no actual clue what the speed limit is, and C. Regardless of the speed limit it is almost certain that I am speeding. And, D. right at that crucial moment, I also decide to pass the car in front of me. That car was a cop. First speeding ticket ever, check.

The remainder of the drive was glitch free with the exception of coming frighteningly close to running out of gas only moments after the whole ticket affair. Hey, I don’t proclaim to being that awesome of a driver. Just take a look at my car sometime.

The view from Carina's.

Well, rest easy, we made it there alive – and in amazing time! Upon arrival, I wanted coffee. Minty led us to wine. Oh, I suppose I can have a glass of wine. Or two.

You gotta love The Castro.

After settling in at our host, (and Minty’s friend) Carina’s place and having a little time to freshen up, the three of us headed out, on foot, to dinner. It was a beautiful, crisp night and I thoroughly enjoyed every second of soaking in the air and the city during our walk. 

That night we dined at Heirloom Cafe. The girls wanted to go to Frances, but as the wait was a bit, ahem, excessive we continued walking until we arrived at Heirloom. The girls were sweet. They knew my style was along the lines of sustainable, local, simple food – and they wanted to cater to it. Again, very conscientious of the ladies.

Heirloom was right up my alley. It actually reminded me, aesthetically, of a lot of the restaurants/cafes/bistros I grew up eating in back in Richmond. Small, and intimate, with wooden floors, vintage wall-paper, high, tin-stamped ceilings, and an airy, rustic feel. It also felt like Richmond in that we were the only guests under 50 years-old in the house. Interestingly, I discovered later that Heirloom, which opened up in the Mission District less than a year ago, is the brainflower of Matt Straus, former wine director at Wilshire and Grace, right here in sunny Los Angeles.

We were seated at a long, communal farm table that extended along the length of the middle of the room.  The wine list was tremendously impressive and about as big as a Tolstoy novel. After some dialogue with our affable server, we selected a beautiful, warm and rounded 2001 Savennieres, Baumard, which ended up pairing very nicely with everything we had to eat.

I thought the menu was small and precise. I always appreciate a tight, confident menu. We started with the Dungeness crab, endive, brioche croutons, lemon emulsion ($14), and a fresh linguine with shaved black truffles (I don’t recall the price). I was tremendously fond of the fresh, tart, and spritely salad. Those buttery, brioche croutons made me smiley from the inside out.

I am on an extreme pasta kick right now, and this was pretty great. The noodles were delicate and sanguine. And who can argue with a shaved, black truffle, especially in January! I could have had these two dishes all to myself, with that bottle of Savennieres and been fully sated and absolutely happy.

We then each ordered an entrée and sampled one another’s choices. Carina opted for the Maine sea scallops, sweet mashers, frisee, brown butter, currants ($22), Minty went with the fish soup, PEI mussels, manila clams, roasted fennel, saffron broth ($20), and I had the sliced duck breast, farro, carrots, confit cabbage, port sauce ($22). Minty also ordered the roasted yam risotto, chanterelles, crispy shallots, pistou ($15). She just couldn’t resist.

The duck, sadly, was a little disappointing in that it was under-seasoned. It was, however, cooked to perfection and its accoutrements were delightful. I loved the farro and port. Minty’s fish soup had a bold, beautiful broth and was chock full of fruits of the sea. I love fennel. I love saffron. I love seafood. I don’t normally opt for Bouillabaisse-like dishes (you never know what might float to the top), but I enjoyed my tastes of this dish. The risotto was outstanding. It was perfectly toothsome, slightly sweet, earthy and incorporated a perfect ceremony of color, taste and texture. I enjoyed Carina’s scallop dish as well. The scallops were spot on, but while I appreciated the brown butter, I was not necessarily a fan of the currants and sweet mash as plate partners. I realize I am a bit of a nut with the fruity stuff and my sweet and savory getting too muddled, but I honestly was just unsure about this dish conceptually, as a whole. I will add that I was alone with this opinion.

And this brings us to dessert – not something I normally indulge in, but what the hell - it was vacation. We got the apple and pear butter cake and a play on the Oreo, a cake-like concoction called o Ree Oh Or ee oHH cake. I loved the actual cake part of the pear and butter cake. The chocolate-y o Ree Oh Or ee oHH cake was fun, but by this time I needed a wheelbarrow to roll me out. Stick a fork in me, I’m done – you know?

Good stuff, Heirloom. If and when I return to San Francisco, I will return to you.

After dinner we met up with Donovan, a friend of Carina and Minty’s, and headed to a couple of bars where we bellied up and finished out the night. I recall a cute bartender at our second stop. I recall a cab ride home. I recall a sound night of sleep after a long drive and our first night of our adventure. I recall a couple of girls with tiny (ahem) hangovers the next morning.

More exciting San Francisco culinary adventures coming tout suite – including the eagerly anticipated Chez Panisse story, so stay tuned…

Ghost Meets Manchurian Candidate. With a Heart. In the Right Spot.

When I was in college I studied – among other things – film theory and production. And, until a disastrous Summer co-op in LA in 1994, that’s what I thought I wanted to DO with my life. I’ll expound on that in a bit.

I actually made some pretty cool films, if not technically wondrous. Bear in mind, this was pre-Avid. I was also every man: writer, story boarder, camera loader, director, grip, audio, editor. I was literally cutting the celluloid and taping it back together using either a Moviola or a Steenbeck. So I guess it looked a little Frankenstein-y. But conceptually I had some great stuff. My senior project was, perhaps, my coup de grace. It was a multi-media installation involving 16mm film, video and a dj (my boyfriend at the time). All of the elements were synced together and were supposed to be an autobiography, of sorts. The event took place in the “dance space” on campus (a dilapidated, graffiti covered, shithole) where I recreated my bedroom from home. It was entitled Play Pretties and was a "hit" (amongst the tiny population of my school). It saddens me that it will never see the light of day again – but also sort of lovely in the same sense.

 That's me setting it all up, checking the sync.

One of the other films I made was about accidentally overhearing random parts of other people's conversations. I can’t recall the title. I filmed it in a diner in Xenia, Ohio, starring Paz as the girl who is overly affected by hearing the audio clips and two girls that lived in the dorm room next to me as the “offenders”. All shots with Paz were in color and everything shot with the other girls was in black and white.

The dialogue was actual random stuff I had overheard and found compelling in some way. Things like “…that I wasn’t in that fucking car when it went down.” Or “You know old men are dirty.” There was some line about a bathtub or something, but I can’t remember much else.

I used the diner order tickets for my credits.

I thought I was terribly clever.

My Friday ritual of late is to spend hours on end at The Chateau Marmont and write. For some reason I have found it increasingly difficult to accomplish much in that department at home. The Chateau is usually quiet, serene, comfortable, and I’ve always felt at home with camping out here. This Friday, however, I was unaware that it is Golden Globe weekend. The Chateau is packed. I’m sitting a few feet away from that dude from Dazed and Confused who is now on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew (oops) Brendan Fraser, staring through the window at Matt Dillon and overhearing parts of conversation that is reminiscent of any number of scenes from The Player. “Oh, you mean THE Barry Levinson?” “No, LARRY Levinson.” “Oh, right, LARRY.”

WHAT?!?! Actually, wasn't there a JOEL Levinson in The Player?

It all reminds me of that film I made. But here’s the thing – this all also reminds me of that maelstrom of a Summer back in 1994. Right when I was so excited and in love with movies and film. What better place to do my required internship than Hollywood? I even had a good college friend, Emma, already out here doing an internship of her own. She told me she’d help me find a job and had a friend’s place I could stay. I can’t recall if that was supposed to be temporary sofa surfing or if it was cool if I stayed the entire Summer. Obviously I stayed on that sofa the entire Summer. I also never really found a job.

I was also living in Brentwood. Without a car. Hardly knew a soul. No job.

Then, one day, one of the girls I was crashing with did me a solid. I guess she was working with Tarantino and Bender’s company A Band Apart in some capacity. Or maybe the other girl I that lived there was working for Oliver Stone’s company, Ixtlan. Honestly, I can’t recall the details, but I got a gig reading scripts for Stone’s company and writing coverages. For no pay.

The thing was, I came from unusual schooling and a wild, hippie college where I was studying 16mm film production, underground, independent films, modern jazz, juggling, how to pull a massive bong hit and irreverence. So reading scripts called Surfing the Himalayas and all the other Hollywood shite I was handed was literally obscene to me. In addition to that I didn’t know how to write in a non overly verbose and non-academic way. I didn’t know or understand Hollywood. Nor did I want to. I waited with bated breath to leave this town of evil. And I was never to return.

Hey, I was also an extra in Nixon. I played a "sleeping hippie" in the Lincoln Memorial scene. Look for a blonde girl, wearing brown, so rudely interrupted by Anthony Hopkins and James Woods walking down the steps of the memorial and kicking a beer bottle towards her head. That was pretty neat. But I still hated what I saw that that Summer: This machine that makes movies - Hollywood.

That was then This is now. Fifteen plus years later. Now I live in Hollywood, I work in Hollywood, I eat in Hollywood, I drink in Hollywood and I love Hollywood. I AM a Southern Californian.

I remember at the beginning of that Summer, whenever I would walk into a café or store or what have you, I thought everyone was looking at me, checking me out, because I was so cool. Then I realized – everyone checks out everyone to see if they’re someone.

Now, here I sit, at the famed Chateau Marmont, with a glass of iced tea, lillet, and now merlot – on the Friday before the Golden Globes, surrounded by celebrities, agents, and everyone who is supposed to be someone, writing for my little food blog.

Funny how life works.

Anyway, one other thing that happened that ill-fated (or not so ill-fated) Summer, was - in my melancholy, when I wasn't reading, writing, drinking wine or watching Looking for Mr. Goodbar, I was cooking. Nothing fancy, mind you. But even when just making pasta sauces I made a point to chop as many things as possible, stir as much as possible, create food that required as much preparation and tedium as possible. It was like knitting or yoga for some. It was my Zen.

So, in the spirit of that time and this time, and my slightly more advanced kitchen capability, I share with you a dish that requires both knife skills and constant attention. It also seems very Hollywood.

Cremini Mushroom and Meyer Lemon Risotto

Serves 4 

Ingredients 

2 1/4 cups boiling-hot water
3 cups chicken stock
1/2 stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter
3/4 lb small cremini mushrooms, quartered
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons Arborio rice (8 oz)
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 teaspoon finely grated fresh Meyer lemon zest
1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan

Directions

Bring stock and 2 cups hot water to a simmer. Keep at a bare simmer, covered. 

Heat 1 tablespoon butter in a heavy skillet over moderately high heat until foam subsides, then sauté cremini, stirring, until browned, about 7 minutes. Remove from heat. 

Cook onion in 1 1/2 tablespoons butter in a 3-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, 3 to 4 minutes. 

Add rice and cook, stirring constantly, 1 minute. Add wine and simmer, stirring constantly, until absorbed. 

Stir in 1/2 cup simmering stock mixture and cook at a strong simmer, stirring frequently, until broth is absorbed. Continue simmering and adding stock 1/2 cup at a time, stirring frequently and letting each addition become absorbed before adding the next, until rice is tender but still al dente and creamy (it should be the consistency of a thick soup), 18 minutes. (There will be leftover broth.) 

Stir in zest, mushrooms, remaining 1 1/2 tablespoons butter, Parmesan and pepper to taste. (If necessary, thin risotto with some of remaining broth.) Serve immediately.