Cheese, please

Ever since we decided to move back home, our friends and colleagues have responded with understanding murmurings about the importance of family, the value in having given it a shot, the cost of real estate. People have been kind and we appreciate it. We've made friends out here who we'll miss terribly. And I think it's a safe bet that about half of them think we're nuts. To be able to live out here and do work that you enjoy...and to choose to leave it? In exchange for Boston winters? Why would any sane person do that?

As I've been saying a lot lately, family trumps food. And even weather. But the food thing does pain me. I've grown accustomed to year-round farmers markets, strawberries in March, tomatoes in October, persimmons in November, green grass in January. I'm remembering one very sorry excuse for a persimmon that I saw in a fancy Boston produce market last December. I fear the ennui (and bloat) of being separated from all these remarkable farm-fresh fruits and vegetables.

But, on an optimistic note, I just thumbed through some press materials for Jeff Roberts's Atlas of American Artisan Cheese (June 2007: Chelsea Green Press. $35), and it gives me hope. In his definitive list of all the artisan cheesemakers in the West, Roberts lists 86. That includes all the producers in California, Washington, Oregon, Hawaii, Alaska, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, Utah, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming. Meanwhile, in little bitty New England (that's Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut to you westerners), there are 84! If you add New York state, that brings the total to 119.

This does nothing for my waistline. But it does wonders for my spirits.

Two roads diverged

We finally made it to Fish on Friday night for dinner. This was our fourth attempt, the previous three having been felled by our bad timing, their funky hours (they close at 8:30), and a temporary closure last year. But we made one final attempt because my dear friend Kristen is in town and a trip to Sausalito seemed like a good way to close out the week.

We weren't disappointed. I love fish restaurants that do the thinking for you by sourcing from sustainable fisheries. It's nice to be able to settle into a lazy dinner feeling virtuous. The harborside location is lovely, especially at dusk when the bay and the sky reach that identical shade of blue.

We started with fat spears of asparagus tossed in garlicky Green Goddess dressing. Why do we ever settle for skinny asparagus sticks at this time of year? These were so sweet and juicy. I also had house-made pasta topped with grilled hamachi. Very simple and good, toothsome and a bit buttery-smoky, but my coworker insists I should have had the crab roll. Eh, next time. Kristen had the fish tacos: no complaints. And Scott had seared, bacon-wrapped ahi, which disappeared before I remembered to ask him for a bite. He assures me it was delicious.

The restaurant only takes cash, so come prepared.

That makes one less restaurant on our list of places we've failed to try, but not for lack of trying. Scott still hasn't made it to Canteen, though I have. Too few tables, and they fill up early. I never call Town Hall in time to get a reservation, though Scott did go to a work lunch there. And Pizzetta 211 seems to be closed every time I make it to the Richmond (which must always be on Mondays and Tuesdays).

We need to get on this list because, well, time is running out. We're moving back to Boston this summer.

I love California. I especially love the food. But we love our families more. And it turns out that living 3000 miles away from all of them just doesn't work as a long-term arrangement.

The move will likely happen in early to mid-July. There's a lot of eating to do before then and I'll be writing up a storm in the meantime. After that? I'll likely go back to tracking the New England scene with my newly-Californicated taste. You might want to avoid me in that first winter back. I've seen the produce and it's not pretty.

Carmel

At the end of their recent extended visit, my parents requested a trip to Carmel, where they've been spending the occasional weekend since the late 1960s. Not much has changed since then, which is what they love about it.

Carmel is charming. Its beach is one of the prettiest in the state, and the faux English country cottages that line the side streets give it a cozy village air. But even the most most modest cottages now sell for north of $1 million, so behind its quaint veneer this former art colony is really an exclusive magnet for wealthy retired golfers.

Perhaps this explains why so many of Carmel's restaurants seem cast from earlier decades. Like a septuagenarian who decides that she's tired of redecorating the living room every decade, Carmel has settled into a contented peace with its familiar, if slightly out-of-date, offerings. There are exceptions: Bouchée and its sister restaurant Luca will both look familiar to fans of contemporary California cuisine. But many favorite spots seem anachronistic.

That's not a criticism. We were all pretty well charmed by it. At Flying Fish Grill, we had excellent seafood prepared California-Japanese fusion style. With its wood-paneled room and slightly retro preparations (almond-crusted bass, fried wonton chips), Flying Fish had an early-90s feel. But it worked.

The Little Swiss Cafe goes even further back. This small, family-run breakfast and lunch spot serves homemade blintzes, apple strudel, liver and onions, "low calorie ground steak," and stuffed tomatoes. Scott said that the blintzes were the best he'd ever had. And we were all taken with the panoramic fresco (that's a panel in the photo above) of the Dutch countryside in the back dining room. Go check it out. It's a work in progress, and the artist, André Balyon, has recently started adding trompe l'oeil effects, such as a painted nail on one wall and a piece of duck tape on another.

My boys

This is for friends and family back home.

Ok, ok. Enough with the cat. Back to the food...

The list, once more

Every year at this time, I like to revisit a challenge I set for myself when we first arrived in April, 2005. I made a list of all the foods that seemed essential to a happy urban life. I figured I'd feel at home in San Francisco once I knew where to find each of them.

Last year's answers are here. But seasons change, feelings change.

So true. Maybe my answers have changed, too?

Let's see...

1) A good pizza place that delivers

Aha! Now that the wonderful Gialina has opened just a few blocks away, who needs delivery?

2) Sushi within walking distance

Eh. Still Deep Sushi. Still pretty good. Still overrun with Bugaboo strollers.

3) Ice cream within walking distance that's just far enough away

Mitchell's is still very, very good. But if we walk just a bit further we can make it to the new Bi-Rite Creamery for some excellent salted caramel ice cream. I tip my hat to them: They knew that we were all suckers for the word "creamery".

4) A brunch place where you don't have to stand in line

My house. Seriously, it's impossible everywhere else.

5) Dim Sum, ibid

Ugh. Once more, I'm horrified that I said "ibid". I leave the original phrasing here to shame myself into never using it again. And I suggest getting to Ton Kiang early to beat the crowds. I'm also going to try to check out Joy Luck Palace this weekend. Will let you now what we find.

6) That place you recommend to visitors

Three: Slanted Door, Quince, and Bacar. With any of them, you'll leave feeling that you've had a proper San Francisco dining experience. Bacar might not be in quite the same league, but it's a crowd-pleaser with a great wine list and it's pretty easy to score a table.

I always send weekend visitors to the Ferry Plaza market because, you know, we live in a cult. And if Saturday night reservations are hard to come by, I'd send them to the food court at the Westfield Centre downtown because you can get Slanted Door food on demand and you won't see another mall food court like it.

7) That place with the young chef who just needs one good review

In a city with so many food writers, I'm beginning to question whether anything remains to be discovered. But down in Big Sur, the Big Sur Bakery and Restaurant is serving fantastic made-from-scratch food all day long, from their perfect jelly donuts in the morning to smoky wood-grilled wild salmon with succotash at night. And they're not getting nearly enough credit or attention.

8) The place with the rice pudding

Whole Foods in Palo Alto. Seriously, it's pretty good. Otherwise, it's my house once again, where I'm working on a terrific cinnamon rice pudding with apple compote for the book.

9) An Indian restaurant with puffy breads

Spice Hut in Menlo Park (and Newark, Sunnyvale, and San Jose). It's a chain!

10) The place where you meet friends for drinks

I'm in a retro mood, so I'd say the Tonga Room or Top of the Mark.

11) The place that becomes "your place."

It's not a restaurant. It's all of Big Sur. Whenever I'm there, I feel like I'm living my California dream.


p.s. Many of you (my mother-in-law) have asked how the kitten is doing. He's doing well. So well that the little 3-lb. pipsqueak has usurped 18-lb. Clio as the alpha. I can't begin to explain it, though I do wonder if things might change once Elijah is old enough for a certain little snip-and-tuck?

Twin Farms

Here's a story I wrote quite a while ago for Yankee about New England's most expensive top-secret inn. They finally published it a couple of months ago and I see that it's available online.

Miami redux

Just got back from Miami, where we celebrated Passover with my in-laws. There is a brief window this time of year in South Florida when the weather is just warm enough, just humid enough, just breezy enough. At night, the air smells like trumpet flowers. So despite the traffic and the sprawl and that ridiculous airport, I had a lovely time.

And you know what else? I like gefilte fish. All the Ashkenazis at the table turned up their noses, but I would've had seconds if I hadn't eaten so many matzo balls. My sister-in-law thinks I eat them to prove that I'm not anti-semitic, but the affection is genuine.

We also ate at Michy's. It was my second time, and, sad to say, not as good as the first. The dining room is so bold and sexy, with blue and orange walls and vintage mix-and-match dining room chairs painted glossy white (come to think of it, everything is sexy in Miami once you get close enough to the beach). But two of the lightbulbs in the chandelier above our table had burned out, which, in such a cheerful room, cast an oddly sad shadow. Our blue cheese and ham croquetas, so salty and sharp the first time, had lost their kick and oozed out into a bland, creamy puddle. The menu hadn't changed much since last summer and the overall impression was one of fatigue brought on by repetition.

On the plus side, it was a thrill to eat that ancient form of gazpacho made with bread, almonds, and grapes (Try it: It's quite easy to make and it never fails to wow a crowd).

The day before we flew back, we were adopted by a young kitten who followed Scott and his mother home from a walk. He was tiny and affectionate and seemed worth the trouble of paying for re-booked flights and last-minute vet appointments. Sometime we are inspired to do nonsensical things. It being Passover, we named him Elijah.