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First, the bad news: I didn't make it to Calle Ocho, or to Mosaico, or even to Joe's. The Murphy's Law of family visits is that no matter how much of a food nerd you are, you'll never eat at the fabulous restaurants in any town where your family lives.
Which is fine. 
I had my arepa, I had a tasty shrimp salad at a dockside spot in Aventura, and we had lots of cheesy fun at The Melting Pot in West Alligatorville (ok, outer Kendall). Sometimes it's nice to take a break from the la-la food scene, or even the chowhound scene, for that matter. We did share a terrific caramel apple from this spot at the Broward County Fair. But poor Broward County. It's a sorry day when your county's ag fair doesn't have enough actual agriculture left to fill a party tent. Just a bunch of sad rabbits and some agitated chickens.
Big goings-on this week: Californiaeating is off to Miami to visit the in-laws.
Miami, land of tropical fruits, arepa carts, and t-shirt suits. I love Miami. I even love the in-
laws. But since Scott does not come from a family of cooks (kitchens are more of a decorative element for them), we'll be having a catered turkey dinner by the beach. This kinda goes against all that is holy for New Englanders and food nerds, but I had my fill of Thanksgiving food this summer, so I can roll with it. And they sure know how to throw a party.
Anyone have any Miami restaurant recs? We've been to Norman's and Joe's. But we still haven't made it over to Calle Ocho in all these years. This time, I want some good Cuban and Caribbean food.
I bought some really beautiful olives this weekend at the farmer's market (at $10 for 2 pounds. Suckaa!). But better to get soaked by the hippie farmers than by Monsanto.
Anyone have advice to share about brining them? I'm planning to go the standard salt/garlic/chilies/peppercorn/bay leaf route, but I'd love some input. Anyone ever done an oil cure?
What are the chances? All my happy plans for this weekend have been felled by a double whammy of biking accident and stomach flu.
Yesterday, coasting down the final (steep) hill after a ride around the city, I hit the brakes too suddenly and went flying over the front of my bike. Thankfully, no major injuries, aside from a badly banged-up knee (I'm dragging that leg around the house like Igor) and some bruises.
Then, this morning I woke up to a gory case of stomach flu: fever, more aches, and...you can imagine. Scott comes in every so often to make sure I'm drinking my liquids (he's acting on prior experience), and he and our friend Grady have stepped in to do my share of the cooking for a movie screening that our neighbors are hosting tonight. The party will go on, while I comfort myself with saltines and ginger ale.
Our neighbor Meredith is a chef, so she's doing most of the work: braised beef with a pepper relish and biscuits; arugula, grapefruit, and avodaco salad; broccolini; and persimmon pudding with vanilla ice cream. Our contribution is a vegetarian butternut squash lasagne (this being San Francsico, it's the veggie alternative).
Grady is cooking as I type. What a treat it is to sit and read while someone prepares dinner in the next room. I can smell the sqash roasting, the garlic and the rosemary. It's Sunday night, my fever is going down, and the world feels very cozy, if a little achy still.
[Note: Scott says I soft-pedaled my description of the accident. Watching me fly through the air, he thought he was facing young widowerhood (that's a real word, I checked). But I come from good peasant stock. My people have been falling off horses for generations.]
Title-writing skills continue to deteriorate here at California Eating...
Last night we went back to Zuni Cafe to celebrate the arrival of G, a real food lover and former Boston compatriot. Some places, like Zuni and Chez Panisse, make me feel like a pilgrim worshiping at the sacred sites. California looms so large in your consciousness when you're living on the east coast and studying American food, and I still feel a little thrill when I try the signature dishes.
One classic, the house-cured anchovies, was everything I'd hoped it would be. Anchovies walk that fine line between the sublime and the foul, but these were fantastic. No oily-fishy residue here. Just a rich briny wallop in a tiny little tender package.
The roast chicken was also perfect, but the bread salad underneath was soggy with oil. It went way beyond unctuousness to something closer to greasy. Eh, it was probably just an off night.
I do have one other criticism, though, which remains constant with every visit: Could the staff please act just a little happy to have you there? They may as well introduce themselves with, "My name is Jeffrey, I'll be your waiter tonight, and I couldn't give two shits about it."
But I'll be back, because it's just that good...
Do you find that taking a couple of days out of the office almost isn't worth it because of all the work you have to make up? That's where I am right now. But I wanted to jot down some quick observations from the Worlds of Flavor conference I just attended at the CIA Greystone campus.
1) The CIA must have done some mad fund-raising because that place is swank. The stone buildings, the gardens, the platters and platters of Spanish cheeses and crab and wild mushrooms. The wine. It's so...well, it's so Napa.
2) The last week of October and first week of November may be the prettiest time of year to visit the valley. The vines changed color overnight, and the valley floor was all gold and red. And the sun was set at a lower angle, so the light never got washed out like it does in the summer. The olives were ripe, too (I took that photo on the grounds of the Krug winery).
3) I have to get to Marnee Thai as soon as possible. Chef /owner Chaiwatt Siriyan was a guest 
speaker (here he is giving a demo class), and his food was phenomenal. Great Thai food has that same heady perfumey quality as Indian food, but it's so bright and refreshing. I have been trying to recreate eggplant in green curry (I'll post the recipe when I get it right).
4. Every night, the conference organizers turned the huge barrell room into an international night market lined with booths featuring the foods of Spain, Mexico, India, Viet Nam, Thailand, Turkey, Persia, and North Africa. It was extraordinary (though packed, with nowhere to stand -- a recurring theme). The food was prepared by a battery of chefs who were flown in to speak and cook at the conference. I'm still craving a dessert from the Thailand booth: little bannana leaf packets stuffed with a sweet rice flour and coconut milk dough surrounding a caramelized coconut center.
5. For a man who spends his time traveling the world to eat at fancy restaurants, R.W. Apple is a pissy and impatient grump. This is the second time I've heard him speak at a conference, and the second time I've watched him bully and embarrass audience members who take too long to pose their questions or forget to say their names first.
If you get to have this kind of fun for a living, you have a moral obligation to at least be pleasant.
What a silly title. Sorry about that.
But I am heading up to Napa today for the CIA's annual "Worlds of Flavor" conference. Here's their description:
Each year, the Worlds of Flavor International Conference & Festival transforms the Napa Valley campus into an amazing crossroads of world food and culture. More than 50 leading chefs, cooks, cookbook authors, and other culinary experts from Latin America, the Mediterranean, and Asia as well as from across the United States will head up the prestigious guest faculty at this CIA anniversary event.
Over the last 15 years, American menus–and the chefs and operators who create them–have undergone a profound, even revolutionary transformation. For most of our culinary history, we have been largely tethered to Northern European traditions–with France often representing the gold standard in fine dining–while a host of “ethnic flavors” beckoned our palates from the fringes of the industry. In the late 80s and early 90s, however, what we now call “world cuisine” started to catch the imagination of American consumers and the dining public.
First it was broader interest in regional Italian flavors, then a collective grasp of the larger Mediterranean, then regional Mexican and other Latin flavors. Next, fascination with an expanded range of Asian flavors emerged, from China and Japan to Southeast Asia and India–and finally we have now come to a “tipping point” that represents a remaking of the American culinary landscape. Once we thought it was sensible to rank the world's cuisines, but today we see a more level playing field with many cultures contributing brilliant ideas to the world table. Whereas before we thought of “American cuisine” and “American food” asbeing separate from other cuisines of the world (the latter often referred to as “ethnic foods” or “international foods”), we now increasingly think of American food as world food.
Doesn't that sound fun? These are the moments when I think, This is my job? How in the world did I finagle that?
I'm also happy to see that, with the term "world food," the good folks at the CIA have come up with an alternative to "ethnic," which is such a ridiculous bit of imperialist residue. As if some group (Brits? The French?) are the standard-bearers of humanity. No, French food is ethnic food, too. Anyway, I'm preaching to the choir.
I'll try to post any interesting news from the conference.
One of the best things about moving to a new place is that constant sense of discovery. On weekends we like to take our bikes -- by car, ferry, or BART-- to some new town or neighborhood and spend the day exploring. Last Sunday, we did a Berkeley tour.
There were a few places I'd been eager to visit: Kermit Lynch's wine store, the Cheese Board, Breads of India, and some non-foodie shops and sights. Won't bore you with those.
I had read Lynch's excellent wine travelogue Adventures on the Wine Route, purchased two years ago at a tiny wine shop in St. Johnsbury, VT, and I was secretly hoping to get a glimpse of the man, even though I know he lives in France part of the year. Can't believe it took me six months to do this, but it's just such a nuisance to drive to Berkeley on weekends with all the bridge traffic. Now I was prepared: Bike, backpack, and willing legs for the schlepping. Counting down the addresses, I saw the barn-like building up ahead. Turned the corner, holding my breath, and...they're closed Sundays.
Next stop: the Cheese Board, the legendary collective that was there at the beginning of the Berkeley food revolution. A quick search for directions informed us that they, too, are closed on Sundays. See what happens when you give the workers a say? No wine and cheese for the hedonists.
Bravely onwa
rd. Now we were hungry. Breads of India, was open, God bless 'em. We ordered tandoori salmon and a vegetable curry (the menu changes daily), plus garlic naan. Wow. I honestly think that fish was the best tandoori I have ever had. Maybe the best salmon I've ever had. The naan lived up to its top billing. Even the raita was great. Plus, everything had that wonderful new-discovery smell. And so the day was saved.
Can you explain to me why a restaurant would charge a $10 corkage fee when they don't have a liquor license and don't even uncork the wine for you?
That was the story last night at Mangosteen, a new restaurant in the Tenderloin that's had a buzzy (though not boozy) opening: mostly enthusiastic reporting in the Chronicle and lots of foodie chatter.
My friend T met me there, toting a bottle of wine. I was wary, given the day's wine drinking, but I said I'd have half a glass. T asked the waitress for an corkscrew. The waitress came back with it, saying she'd have to charge us $10 for, "uh, bringing the wine."
"But you don't have a liquor license, right?" I asked.
"Right," she said.
"So it's not like we're drinking our own wine instead of drinking your wine."
"Right," she said.
"So why charge us for bringing something you don't have?"
"It's for the opening of the bottle."
"But you didn't open it for us. We opened it."
"Um, let me call my boss."
When the food arrived, we went ahead and opened the bottle, since our waitress had disappeared and we weren't getting any water. Then the bill arrived, with a $10 "appetizer" tacked on. We paid it, but for the first time in my life, I didn't leave a tip.
Looking back, I'm not sure it was the right way to handle it. The service was really bad, surcharge aside. Still, they did bring the food to the table, and probably should've gotten a token 10% just for that. It was just a lousy experience, and we were pissed off by the end.
I am the tiniest bit, ahem, buzzed at the moment, having just bellied up to the tasting table at work. I always feel a little bamboozled when I drink before 3pm. We're working on a "shockingly perfect wine pairings" piece, matching some down-market foods with nice (but not too expensive) wines. The results are fun and surprising, but I can't spill the beans. We know where that leads.
I can't say we drink a lot at work (and we do spit). But it came as a shock. We're drinking? At work? In the middle of the day? And not getting fired? But then I realized, duh. We're in the West. They make wine here. We write about it.
You don't realize how much you've absorbed the values of one place until you leave it, and I see Boston's puritanical streak more vividly now. When I first moved there, you couldn't buy liquor on Sundays (that law was repealed in 2003). And I didn't realize what a New Englander I was until I came here, where every supermarket has at least three wine aisles, and found it--to my chagrin--kinda shocking.
I enjoyed wine in Boston. I am Italian, after all. Gotta, um, represent. But on some, nearly inaudible level, the glass came with a voice that said, "Ah, partaking of the demon liquor, are ye?"
This way is better.
(and I keep having to go back and edit this piece. Blame the demon.)
Check it out: A San Francisco artist named Elizabeth Hickok (who, incidentally, also moved here from Boston), has sculpted the city out of jello.
My mom called from Connecticut a few weeks ago to say she was making her first apple crisp of the season. Wouldn't it be great if we could teleport? Best of both worlds: California and Mom's apple crisp. Of course, the technology would be appropriated by Silicon Valley and I wouldn't be able to afford it. And then you'd have the porous border problem. Maybe jetpacks.
This is an apple crisp worth traveling for. No Cali-hippie granola topping, more like a sweet biscuity crust drizzled with butter and cinnamon. It was my grandma Mary's recipe, clipped from a 1940s women's magazine. I found the original copy in a ziplock bag a couple of months before she died. The paper feels like worn silk and barely holds together, but I like keeping it in the bag with the others, the ones that became family standards, and the ones she set aside for some future day. "Your grandma Rose was the good cook," she'd say. But this is the recipe I make most.
With an old-fashioned apple peeper/corer, you can get it prepped in about 20 minutes. Bake it while you eat dinner, then serve hot with poured cream or vanilla ice cream.
Mary Q's Apple Crisp
1 dozen apples, peeled and sliced 1/3 inch thick (I like to mix Braeburns and Granny Smiths)2 cups all-purpose flour1-1/4 cups sugar2 teaspoons baking powder1 teaspoon salt2 eggs10 tablespoons butter2 teaspoons cinnamon
Preheat oven to 350°. Melt butter over low heat; set aside.
Mix dry ingredients in bowl. Drop in eggs and mix with a fork until crumbly (the mixture will look like streusel).
Spread sliced apples in a 9x13-inch baking dish. Distribute topping over apples, then drizzle with butter. Sprinkle cinnamon to cover. Bake 45 minutes, or until topping is golden brown and filling bubbles.
I was invited to a lunch at Delfina yesterday celebrating the publication of The Niman Ranch Cookbook. Bill Niman was there with his wife Nicolette Hahn, an environmental lawyer, along with Bill’s co-author Janet Fletcher and assorted folks from Ten Speed Press. We munched on all kinds o’ meat: grilled lamb chops with rosemary salt, roasted suckling pig, beef carpaccio, and bacon-laced pizzas.
At one point, Nicolette mentioned an op-ed piece she was trying to get published. It was about animal feed, and how most of us don’t know what’s going into the chain at the early stages. The Times had published her op-eds before, but no one wanted this one.
Which got me thinking about how little we know, or even care, about the food we eat. For all my rhapsodizing about all things organic and artisanal, and all the visits to the farmers’ market, whenever I try to think or write seriously about our food system, I trip over huge gaps of understanding. I know that the growth of Niman Ranch is a Good Thing (setting aside questions of carnivorism). Five hundred independent family farms are now raising cattle, pigs, and sheep according to Niman’s protocols. If places like Burger Joint and Chipotle are buying the meat, and people are willing to pay a little more for them, then that makes the world a better place, right? That’s easy.
But that’s also a little shallow for someone who calls herself a food writer. Food is a big subject to tackle: history, cooking techniques, ingredients, wine. A life-long pursuit. But this stuff is important, and I need to launch this part of my education in earnest. Anyone have any recommendations? Favorite books?
I went down to Valencia Street on Saturday night to take in the Lit Crawl, San Francisco's own version of a Boston-style bar crawl, with cafes and bookstores replacing the bars and published writers replacing the guy in the corner playing a strummy version of "Take It Easy." Actually, some of the readings were held in bars, but no one was doing shots that I could see.
After the readings, I wanted to take Scott to Belden Place, which has a real "Roman Holiday" charm at nig
ht, with all the outdoor tables and the lights strung across the alley. We were hungry though, and Burger Joint was right across the street.
Like many San Francisco restaurants, Burger Joint trumpets its use of Niman Ranch beef and free-range chicken. And it's nice to start a burger meal feeling virtuous, because that's a feeling you'll want to remember once the french fries kick in.
As for the food, it was certainly better than your average diner burger. But our burgers were juicy to the point of sogginess, soaking the bun, our hands, and several napkins. Fries were very good -- puffed and steaming inside, crispy outside. But Joe's Cable Car is still tops in my book.
Thanks to folks who have weighed in on the soup story. I believe the fainting episode was brought on by a pre-existing condition and not by the soup itself. But it somehow seems funnier that she did pass out during the soup course as opposed to, say, dessert.None of my own personal fainting tales are quite as funny. They tend to happen in doctor’s offices, bedrooms, or, as Scott witnessed last February, on the top floor of our house in Boston during a snowstorm. I have one fuzzy memory of being carried out in a special strap-in chair and hearing a fireman say, “Watch it guys, those steps are wicked slippery.” That particular faint was brought on by a stomach virus, high fever, and lack of food and water. But I recently met a woman who faints when she eats too much food. Something about a big dinner and a couple of glasses of wine can knock her for a loop.One of the most memorable episodes happened in Hawaii, where she was on vacation with her husband. By coincidence, they ran into his ex-fiancée at the hotel’s pool. The relationship had ended years before, and the ex was actually there on her honeymoon. But still. They did their awkward greetings and introductions and -- to show there were no hard feelings -- agreed to meet later for dinner.Dinner itself was tense, but uneventful. Forced into the role of The Woman He Picked Over Me Even Though I’m Fine Now, my friend ate and drank more than was probably advisable. They finished dinner and paid the bill, and then they went for a little stroll. The fainting, when it happened, was complete. Out by the pool, she had only the presence of mind to lie down when she felt it coming on. I think there was a little bit of convulsing, which is pretty common and not necessarily serious. And when she came to, she was so weak she couldn’t stand, or even sit up. The resort had to send a golf cart out to carry her back to the room. They lifted her into the back, bent her knees so she’d fit, and her husband got in front. They rode off, waving weakly. They never saw the ex again.
I'm an occasional fainter, and I sure enjoy a good fainting tale. Nothing intterupts ho-hum polite society better than passing out cold. Here's a new one:
This woman I work with lives in a very social neighborhood: block parties, barbecues, movie nights. As these things go, she became closer to some neighbors than others. She wanted to invite her new friends over for dinner, but she worried what would happen if the others found out. "Oh hell," she finally decided, "It's not like they'll ever know."
Can you see where this is going?
One of her guests passed out during the soup course. The hostess knew the woman had a heart condition, so she called 911. Fast on the heels of the call came 2 amblulances, 4 fire trucks, 8 paramedics...and every single other neighbor, all gathered in her living room, looking at the abandoned dinner table.
The fainting victim was fine, but as for my friend's social standing, it's touch and go.
Went for a long bike ride around the city yesterday. Over Diamond Heights and down to the Marina to take in the air show, then off to the Presidio and the Great American Highway. It was a perfect San Francisco day: cloudless and temperate. Your body never has to work very hard to keep a steady temperature here.
Before the air show, we biked to Chestnut St. in the Marina, dodging SUVs and Bugaboo strollers, looking for lunch. Does the Marina really exist in this city? Such a pretty spot by the water, but now I know why my old college friend got very quiet when, early in our housing search, I announced that I wanted to live there. It's hard to get past the impression that everyone is a recent graduate of the exact same college.
Scott got excited, though, when he saw Andale Taqueria, where he had eaten once, years ago. "Oh, this place is great!" he said. A few bites into his fish taco, his shoulders sagged and he announced dejectedly, "I guess this only seemed good because I hadn't been to La Corneta yet."
We haven't had many bad meals here, but there have been some clunkers. Here's my list of outright failures and minor disappointments:
Flat-out bad meals
1) Andale Taqueria
2) Shalimar (last mention, I promise)
3) Bistro Zinc - 2 bad meals, actually, because I didn't want to believe it the first time)
Places I just expected to like more
1) Yank Sing dim sum - this feels like sacrilege, but I was only wowed by the soup dumplings
2) Alice's Chinese restaurant, Noe Valley - great flavor, too oily
3) Manresa, Los Gatos - I can only believe that it was an off night. Too many great reviews elsewhere.
4) Pauline's Pizza - Did I miss something? I loved the Indian toppings, but the crust was your basic puffy Greek-style bread.
That's a pretty short list, considering.
Mona tagged me last week, and I'm finally following through. Here are the instructions:
"It's the 23/5 meme. The blogger tagged has to go to their 23rd post, find the 5th sentence, and then write something interesting about it on their blog."
So here's Calforniaeating 23:5-6:
"I have two things to say about that. One: Yes, it's true that the blog's a bit uh, sunny."This post chronicles the last gasp of my raging homesickness. I was responding to feedback my friends had given me about the blog: "It sounds like your life is a series of wine dinners and trips to Sonoma!" they protested. And I was pointing out that, though I was actually unhappy at the time, I wasn't sure how personal I want to get here.
The way I see it, there are three types of posts:1) Info that's useful/interesting to anyone (restaurant and travel tips, and, if I was stupid, work gossip/bitching)2) Stuff that's interesting to family and friends (daily events, observations, musings, and Clio news) 3) Stuff that may only be interesting to me (long musings about How I Feel and, uh, Clio news)Haven't made much progress in figuring that stuff out. Meantime, I'm going to tag some other suckers. You're on McPolack, FeedandSupply, Cuarentayuno, and Carolyn Tillie!
Found a terrific Indian restaurant called Chutney right across from Shalimar (of regretted memory) at Jones and Ofarrell. Great Lamb Vindaloo and Baigan Bartha, and decent breads (puffy and slightly charred - yum - but a little bland). Cheap, too.
So thank God the place is called Chutney and not Chutney's, because I can't stand restaurants named in after a food product in the possessive form. Portobello's and Thyme's and Calamari's...ugh. Normally I don't believe in cultivating silly prejudices, especially where food is concerned. But this just sticks in my craw.
So I'm wondering if there's anyone out there with equally random quirks. Not snobby quirks ("Ugh, the waiter called them g'nokeys. Idiot."). Quirky quirks.
Heading home now to bake some challah. Happy New Year!
I don't have time to write a proper post, but I just got back from a press trip to Yolo County (Northeast of Napa), and I'm feeling inspired. This must be what Sonoma was like 20 years ago. We met organic farmers at Full Belly Farm (check out their Hoes Down harvest festival this weekend), Good Humus Farm, and Capay Fruits and Vegetables. These are the people who are doing the work of revolutionizing our food chain. Their commitment to this life and this cause, and their innovation and resourcefulness...they're the real stars of the food world.
We also had a fantastic lunch cooked by Rachael Levine, chef at R.H. Phillips Winery. It's worth a trek out to the Dunnigan Hills just to try her wine pairing dinners.
We're off to Point Reyes this weekend to celebrate our first anniversary. I'm so excited that I'll start gushing, so I'll just stop here.
First, the bad news: I didn't make it to Calle Ocho, or to Mosaico, or even to Joe's. The Murphy's Law of family visits is that no matter how much of a food nerd you are, you'll never eat at the fabulous restaurants in any town where your family lives.
I had my arepa, I had a tasty shrimp salad at a dockside spot in Aventura, and we had lots of cheesy fun at The Melting Pot in West Alligatorville (ok, outer Kendall). Sometimes it's nice to take a break from the la-la food scene, or even the chowhound scene, for that matter. We did share a terrific caramel apple from this spot at the Broward County Fair. But poor Broward County. It's a sorry day when your county's ag fair doesn't have enough actual agriculture left to fill a party tent. Just a bunch of sad rabbits and some agitated chickens.
