I Left My Heart in San Fran-Cheesy; Part 2, Friday

This day started a bit late. But we did get up and running, packed our stuff to move on from Carina’s, loaded the car and decided to amble around the city and find some lunch before we could check into our hotel in the mid-afternoon.

This landed us at Tony’s Pizza Napoletana. I think I may have heard Donovan and Minty talking about this place the night before, but I wasn’t certain. Regardless, what I thought was a stumble-onto kind of deal was that sneaky Minty’s plan all along.

I’m not historically a big pizza person, athough I do appreciate a good pie from time to time. Perhaps you may recall my Pizzeria Bianco adventure not too long ago. Tony's was actually not altogether unlike Bianco’s style. In fact, Tony Gemignani is no slouch – he is a nine time World Pizza Champion. All ingredients are authentic, and imported from the Pizza Capital of the World, Napoli.

We ordered the 2007 World Pizza Cup Winner, 900 degree wood fired margherita (limit 73 per day). It was beautiful. It was up there in the tops for me, but I still don’t think I’ve tasted better than Chris Bianco’s margherita.

Tony was on site and smack in front of that 900 degree wood fired oven, right in front of us. He is a great guy who deeply cares for his craft and his restaurant, and as a result, a man I have deep respect for.

We spent the next couple of hours driving and wandering around the city, killing a little time prior to check-in at the hotel. Minty even led us down Lombard Street for some touristy fun.

And then we checked into the hotel. And then Minty got her nap on while I wandered out into the city on foot for a few hours. And in my solo meandering, I accidentally dropped way too much money on face wash. Well, no massage for me. Lesson learned. And then I stopped into our hotel bar for a glass of prosecco before going back up to the room to rouse Minty so we could get all gussied up.

And then it was time. It was time to drive to Berkeley for our dinner at Chez Panisse.

On the drive there I commented on the fact that I was more than a little scared. I mean, I had been waiting years for this dinner. I had rented a car and driven up the coast for this dinner. How could any dinner live up to what my expectations had grown into?

The building is quaint and rustic with soft, yellowy lighting and is absolutely beautiful. Walking inside one immediately feels warm and welcome with its lodge-like ambiance, bustling energy and magnificent arrangements of seasonal fruits, vegetables and flowers. We checked our coats and went upstairs to the café for a glass of wine before dinner.

The café was crackling with activity and had a much more casual vibe to it. As I sipped my glass of lillet and perused the café menu, I sort of wished we could dine up there. But I was quickly reminded that after all this time, and it being my first experience, I really needed to experience that which was the genesis of Chez Panisse. Or I would always wonder. And we were committed. The $95 tasting menu it was.

And so, after our drink, we descended the stairs and were seated in the front room in a corner with windows all around. It was the exact table I was hoping for. The downstairs, while maintaining a consistence aesthetically, had a much calmer, more mature, refined vibe than the upstairs. More formal. Our server promptly served us our aperitif along with an amuse bouche, some gougéres and fresh bread and butter. Holy, little, baby Jesus – that bread was outstanding, as was the butter. Both so fresh and delicate and perfect in every way.

For our first course we were served the warm chicory salad with goose proscuitto, mustard flowers and orange vinaigrette. We paired this with a light, crisp white upon the suggestion of our tremendously gracious and helpful sommelier. This was a simply beautiful salad. It was exactly what Alice Waters and Chez Panisse are. It was vibrant, fresh, savory, sweet, vivid and replete with varying textures to play on one’s tongue. I pretty much licked my plate clean.

Next came the Pacific cod with potato puree and black truffle butter. A simple dish, a clean dish. My cod was a hair overcooked and the taste of truffle a bit faint, though I could see a gracious plenty with my eyes. I also wanted a little salt.

The Grilled Paine Farm squab with dates, butternut squash blinis, braised endives and watercress was on point. I adored this dish. So many robust flavors married perfectly. The squab was meaty and plentiful, and I can’t wait to start playing with braised endive in my own kitchen. We had a beautiful, light, smart red with this dish that went brilliantly. I called this a “Jill” wine. And again, here, I was a member of the clean plate club.

My prize for such a lauded membership was the chocolate fondant with bourbon ice cream and espresso caramel. Now, I’m not a dessert person, nor am I a chocoholic, but the dessert was heavenly. The cake was moist, the little pecan on top was the ideal accoutrement, and the ice cream and caramel were mouth watering. 

Howie, our sommelier, continued to offer us various sips and tastes for each course, which was great fun. Actually, all elements of service were impeccable. We were even welcomed into the kitchen to poke around and explore the driving force behind Chez Panisse.

We had a beautiful night. We were full of good food and good wine. Was it everything I had ever hoped and dreamed for? That I cannot say. I am eager to return, however. I am mostly excited to experience the café, upstairs where I can pick and choose this and that, sip wines, and graze in a more casual environment.

I have absolutely nothing but mad respect for Alice Waters and everything she has done for food and for us over the decades.

The drive back to the hotel was mostly quiet and thoughtful. Time to ruminate, I suppose. Which was nice as our next adventure involved tremendously loud, abrasive music in an overcrowded hotel bar filled with convention-goers and busted hookers.

And then there was sleep.

Stay tuned for part three, the final chapter in my culinary adventures and various other mis-adventures in the City by the Bay, coming soon…

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…

Relating to Relate with the Relationchef.

Y’all know I love a little food adventure. But, admittedly, after my culinary extravaganza in San Francisco a mere forty-eight hours prior, I was slightly daunted to travel to San Diego and back in one evening for dinner this past Wednesday night. And my car is scary.

But I said I would do it, and do it I would.

This meal of which I speak was a special preview dinner for Chef Dan Moody’s new pop up, Relate (opening night was Thursday). Yes, he hath flown from the nest of Chef Ludo and jumped into his very own venture, serving up his contemporary French-influenced fare, peppered with a bit of classic American and Asian. I enjoyed his dishes from the Sous Chef night at Test Kitchen – particularly the foie gras- powdered donuts, and was eager to see what he would do with an entire food-cosm all his own.

And so, at 4:30, I hopped in the car with high hopes of not breaking down and arriving at Bistro St. Germain’s by 7:00pm.

And then there was traffic. And then there was more traffic. And then there was none. And then I flew down the I-5S like a bat out of hell to arrive a little before 7:30, right in the middle of Dan addressing the room prior to the first course. I felt a little like a jerk. I so hate being late. Then I saw the waving hands and smiling faces of Kevin and Holly beckoning me to join them and I felt a little better.

Not unlike the Ludobites model, Dan chose Bistro St. Germain’s as it's more of a breakfast and lunch spot, quaint, very casual and looking to explore new roads. I would have liked the lights a little bit dimmer (night-time make-up and all), and perhaps some music, but I appreciated the original paintings on the walls and found the spot to be comfortable and welcoming.

The menu is around five courses at $55 with an additional $15 for pairings (that night from the Mount Palomar Winery). The French Onion Soup course and the Beet Chip in the lobster course were absent due to first night hitches in the giddyup, but this was certainly not a hill to die on.

So let us begin with our amuse; a Carrot Consommé Shooter. The shooter was soft, supple, slightly chilled and topped with a bold ginger foam. I really liked the subtlety of the consommé matched with the zing of the ginger. Pop goes the palate!

Next up we were poured a glass of 2007 viognier (thank baby Jesus, it was finally Wine O'Clock) to ride along with the Roasted Baby Beet Salad, Golden Beet Vinaigrette. Historically, I’m not big on viogniers, but have been opening up to them a bit more recently. This was very buttery and reminiscent of a chardonnay in that it seemed to have that double malolactic quality. Conceptually a good choice for the beets. This salad was beautiful, colorful and innovative – and, while executing itself simply, had a lot going on. I adored the crisp, earthy addition of the baby purple radish in the dish. The lettuce leaves on which all rested were somewhat difficult to conquer without a knife. I just used my hands.

Our next wine was the 2008 cortese, and was not unlike the viognier, but perhaps a bit milder, more minerally. This went with the Butter Poached Lobster, Warm Egg & Caviar Salad, Leeks with Fennel Jam, Onion Froth. Again, this dish was beautiful both aesthetically and conceptually. Holly loved the fennel jam, Kevin did not. I found all of the elements involved in the dish to be surprising and of interest, if not sewn together ideally. I really appreciated the challah underneath it all - it’s crispness adding a nice contrast in texture. The 63 degree egg was also a lovely element. The laced magenta micro-greens were a perfect touch as well.

I was super excited about the next dish, the Rabbit Cassoulet, as I am a huge cassoulet fan and always order it when I spy it on a menu. This, paired with the 2006 merlot, was absolutely my favorite dish of the evening. And I believe Kevin and Holly felt the same. My only beef with the dish is I wanted a hundred more bites of it! I really appreciated the shout out to the Chinese New Year and the advent of the Year of the Rabbit. Again, Moody’s use of the garnish in the micro bull blood ended up being a star element of the dish, bringing that snappy freshness in. While not being what I would want as a tremendously drinkable wine, the merlot ended up working quite well with the dish.

Moody’s calling card, if you will, the Spiced Beef, Spinach Avocado Puree, Crispy Porcini Spaetzle, Black Truffle, Guiness Gastrique was up next, paired with a 2007 meritage. This dish reminded me of a perfectly composed photograph: when the viewer’s eye lands at a precise (and intended) spot on the image and travels around for a while along the artist’s map, so to speak. This, too, had a successful (and intentional) trajectory. The beef was beautifully cooked and its spice was quite the eye-opener – BLAM! But then it was slightly neutralized by the avocado, reawakened with the gastrique and toned back down with the spaetzle. While I doubt anyone was complaining, the truffle seemed little more than an afterthought. This paring, I felt, was the most successful.

After a brief intermission for the resident artist, Christopher M., to present Moody with a portrait, we were served our final course: Smoked S’mores, House-Made Graham Crackers, Agave Marshmallow, Chipotle-Orange Ganache, Tequila Créme Anglaise (a dish of his appearing hitherto at Ludobites), paired with a port. I’m not a huge sweets gal, but I enjoyed this dish. The marshmallow embodied a succinctly campfire smoked quality that, Moody explained, was created with a smoking gun (no, not a real gun, of course). A port was the right choice, but I found this particular one to be too young and thin to even come close to standing up to the dish.

I enjoyed my meal. I related to my meal. If this pop up was, in this, my City of Angels, I would return to see how it morphs throughout the month. I am curious to see a few things pushed and pulled this way and that, and I would like to see much more innovative and daring pairings. But hot damn, Mr. Moody, big ups!

So, and then, I drove home at warp speed while listening to Mogwai’s Mr. Beast at an Earth-shattering volume, to crawl into my jammies, pour a glass of cabernet, and watch the latest episode Jersey Shore (yeah... so shoot me) with Maggie and the pups as I ruminated on yet another foodventure.

Relate at Bistro St. Germain's
1010 S Coast Highway 101, Encinitas, CA 92024
858.367.3709
www.relaterestaurant.com
Tuesday through Saturday 2/3/11 – 2/26/11, 6:00 PM – 10:00 PM

Disambiguation AKA The Egg; Part 2

Right now, the egg to me is not unlike the number 23 to Robert Anton Wilson: a clustering illusion. It would seem that, in my sphere, most incidents and events are directly connected to eggs. They are everywhere. And much like Wilson’s number 23, I continue to try to explore the rationalization behind this omnipresent egg.

I have thought about fragility and beauty: Fabergé. I have worked with bruises, breaks, repair and; deconstruction: Humpty Dumpty. I have considered love and truffles inside of a brunch. And then recently, within the course of my day, I encountered two chickens, Wilhelmina (Willa) and Sparkasse (Sparky). They reside at a house I visited. They roam free with two big dogs. And a pond full of Koi. In the middle of LA. I was taught how to properly hold a chicken. I was even given two eggs from each one. Willa’s were more rotund while Sparky’s were a bit thinner and longer.

So there I was. Holding chickens one minute and their eggs the next. It seemed so poetic and so obvious. These eggs. From these chickens.

I knew immediately I was going to do a soft scramble with fresh herbs. I needed to keep the integrity of these eggs. I needed to taste these eggs.

Maggie and I made a new friend recently who, for reasons unbeknownst to either of us, was hell-bent on preparing potato dumplings at our house. And it would take two days. Let’s just chalk it up to this late Summer bubble and leave it at that. So on the first day our new friend, Patrick, prepared the dumplings. This involved boiling the potatoes, putting them through a ricer, forming the dumplings with flour, letting them cool, so on and so forth.

The second day we cooked the dumplings and ate them. It all seemed so ceremonial. Such process. I knew that I wanted to use my special eggs to serve alongside these dumplings. 

Not to downplay Patrick or his dumplings, but Willa and Sparky’s beautiful eggs completely stole the show. They were vibrant in color, nutty and bold in flavor and ever so delicate on the tongue. They were simple, clean and elegant. As I ate my eggs I thanked the girls for their gift. I also wondered what this part of my egg framework meant.

I then realized that this was to be the last stage of my egg-ness. For now. I feel that I have resolved the conflict of the egg’s ambiguity. I discovered at the end of this bubble, this egg, that in all of its undemanding refinement, this Summer can simply be my Summer, and an egg can simply be an egg. 

Sparky & Willa's Eggs

Soft Scrambled Eggs with Fresh Herbs

Serves 2

4 fresh eggs
2 tbsp milk
1/4 teaspoon salt
Freshly ground black pepper

1 1/2 tbsp butter, in small pieces

1 tsp chives, chopped

1 tbsp basil, mandolined

1 tbsp mint, chopped

Beat eggs with milk, 1 tbsp butter, salt and pepper in a small bowl, with a fork, until combined, with a few big bubbles. 

Heat a large sauté pan over medium-low heat; once hot, add remaining butter. Once butter is melted and foamy, add eggs and pause; let the eggs begin to set up before you start nudging away at them. 

Add the basil, mint and half of the chives.

Using a wooden spoon or spatula, begin push your eggs once from the outside to the center of the pan and pause again; count to 5 if you must, before continuing with another push. Continue in this manner around the pan as if you were trying draw spokes of a wheel through your eggs with your spatula, pausing for 5 seconds after each push. Go around the pan as many times as needed, until your eggs in the center are ribbony damp pile — it should look only 75 percent cooked. Use your spoon or spatula to break up this pile into smaller chunks — to taste. Your eggs should now look almost 90 percent cooked.

Immediately remove the pan from the heat and pile the scrambled eggs onto a plate. Sprinkle with an additional sprinkle of salt, a grind of black pepper and remaining chives. Eat immediately.

Love Street

 

I have never liked The Doors. In fact I am lightning fast changing the radio station if I hear so much as one note from Light My Fire or Break on Through. But, ironically, not only do I live in their old neighborhood, and have an original print of Jim & Pam prominently displayed on my wall, and I have also recently decided that Love Street is a very, well, lovely song.

She lives on Love Street. Lingers long on Love Street. She has a house and garden. I would like to see what happens.

Yes, I certainly would. It’s unfortunate that I am so tremendously impatient, though.

It’s true: patience, timing, restraint and discipline are not my strong suits. To my credit, there are a few situations in which I have exhibited extraordinary discipline over the past two years. Well, really only one. And this was a situation I couldn’t control anyway. So I guess I didn’t exercise extraordinary discipline. But I showed strength with aplomb. I promise.

Very recently, in the situation mentioned above, my fortitude was put to the test because the external elements controlling things were no longer applicable. The driving force that I resisted and then buried was resurrected. I didn’t even know the force was still so strong. I thought I had conquered it. Or, at least, I assumed my mercurial heart had found sufficient distractions over time to keep a thick enough layer of dust on the matter to keep me from noticing.

So, here it is again. Staring me in the damned face. Getting me all dithered out. Forcing me to act patiently. Making me exert discipline. This, in the wake of the wall having crumbled. The rulebook and the game plan, as I understood it, out the window.

I know everything will be fine. I will be fine. You will be fine. But it seems like it’s been a long time since I just got what I wanted. Well, in this category of life anyway. I’m actually really lucky in most other departments.

Perhaps I simply prefer being the superintendent of a given situation. I cherish my (tenuous) control (or control issues) of most things in my life. I proudly wear my OCD badge.

I even asked the Runes for advice (No, I am not a magic kid). I drew Gebo, the partnership rune, yet it told me to “let the winds of Heaven dance between you.” Stupid Rune. Needless to say, I won’t be watching An Officer & A Gentleman or An Affair to Remember for a while. Heck, an episode of Grey’s Anatomy had me sobbing last week.

But I have been cooking. I have been going hog-wild in that little kitchen of mine. Spending a lot of time in the house and garden, so to speak. Perhaps because Valentine’s Day is coming up and I’ve been getting so many restaurants’ special menus emailed to me, I have been compelled to make unusual and (what I consider to be) sensual dishes.

I asked April over lunch yesterday what she considered a sexy dish. She mentioned a lavendar pasta. Intriguing. Then I was reading a fellow blogger’s post entitled Bread, Truffles and Champagne and nearly swooned with excitement. Truffles are rare, earthy, musty, sensual, powerful and incomparable to any other taste. I think they are wicked sexy. I also think B.O. (also musty) can be really sexy. So sue me.

What else do I think is sexy, you ask? Brunch. It is my most favoritest meal. I like to make it last hours and hours. I like it to be spent with the people I can have comfortable silences with. Those are also sexy.

So, up in my little canyon, in my house with garden, interestingly, a marble’s roll away from the real Love Street, with a mind filled with swirls of certain uncertainties, a mimosa in hand and Sarah Vaughan cooing in my ears, I prepared this and thought to myself: Patience, Grasshopper.

Eggs with Black Truffles (Brouillade de Truffes)

Serves 2

Cook’s note: Take care to continue whisking the eggs as they cook to produce this recipe’s signature curd-like texture. If you allow the eggs to cook without stirring, they will produce a scrambled egg texture - not the intended result.

Ingredients:

• 4 large eggs
• 1/2 ounce black truffles, finely chopped or shaved
• 3 tablespoons butter, softened
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon ground white pepper

Preparation:

Heat water to simmering in a double boiler. Whisk together the eggs and truffles in the top portion of the double boiler and add the butter. Continue whisking the eggs over the simmering water until they form small curds resembling cottage cheese. Remove the eggs from the heat, season with the salt and pepper, and then serve immediately, while hot.

Truffle