Update

So I launched my New England Eating blog with every good intention of tracking the food scene here. Oh, the fun we'd have on the back roads of Vermont! And then I found out that we were expecting this little guy. And, to be honest, all food sounded pretty bad to me for a few months there.

Just when I started to eat again, my employer announced that I was now obligated to blog for them. For free! And I was blogged out.

This is just a lengthy way of saying that I'm sorry for the bait and switch (if you clicked on the link, that is). And, also, that all is well here in Boston.

UPDATE 7/1/09: I'm back! Come see me at the new New England Eating blog.

Come to my new blog!

New England Eating

All's well that ends

A couple of weeks ago, after the moving truck pulled away with all of our earthly belongings, we took a trip up to Seattle and Vancouver for one last hurrah. We had great meals at (going from south to north) Tilth, The Oyster Bar, and Vij's. We grazed among the food stalls of the Granville Public Market (highlight: Oyama Sausage Co.). We also tried the dim sum at Sun Sui Wah, which, sad to say, didn't quite meet expectations. It was perfectly good, but no more so than anything I've had in San Francisco. We had heard so much talk about Vancouver's world-class dim sum that I was anticipating dumplings like the ones I'd once had in Canton (during the Reagan administration!). No such luck.

We flew back to San Francisco on Thursday. On Saturday, we closed the door our our California adventure and boarded a plane. It's such a sad thing, leaving. California already feels like another lifetime.

But arriving has its comforts. As I get settled back into my home turf, I'm going to start keeping a new blog, New England Eating, so head over there if you've found these posts useful or interesting. I may still post here occasionally as we make return visits. But it's time to close this page.

Wow. What an adventure it was.

Bake a cake

The biggest highlight of the past month, food-wise, was having the opportunity to make a wedding cake for a stranger. Well, a friend of a friend.

I was introduced to T, the bride, through a friend at Sunset. T lives in Boston, and our mutual friend thought we'd hit it off. We exchanged "let's have coffee" emails and that was that, until she emailed me for some restaurant recommendations. She and her fiancé had decided to elope to San Francisco. Where should they go for dinner afterward? Oh, and they both have the same birthday, June 26, so their wedding day was also going to be their joint birthday.

Who wouldn't find that plan at least a little bit romantic and inspiring? Actually, I know several people, but they just came out of divorces, and I don't blame them. Once you see the flip side of something, it's hard to get caught up in the flourishes. But meanwhile, I had a bunch of time on my hands. So I said "Go to Quince or Fleur de Lys. And hey! Let me make you a wedding cake."

After I hit "send", it occurred to me that this was the sort of offer that scares people. It could certainly read as an odd, vaguely inappropriate idea to propose to a stranger. I wondered if she'd worry that saying "yes" obliged her to, I dunno, be my best friend for life. There was a good chance she'd just thank me for the recommendations and politely ignore the cake part. But she got it.

The cake was made up of two layers, with each layer split and filled. Based on the couple's favorite flavors, I made a tres-leches layer cake for the bottom section, then put a simple chiffon cake with lemon-mango filling (really just store-bought mango butter doctored with lemon juice) on top. I frosted the whole thing with whipped cream and covered my mistakes with roses. It was my first wedding cake and I'm no master. But man, it was fun (that's the bride with the just-delivered cake). It's an honor when the food you cook can have a place of importance in someone's life.

Saying goodbye

I've been avoiding the blog because it meant talking about The End, which inevitably led to maudlin thoughts and sentimental ruminations that I should probably keep to myself. But here we are, the day before we fly home. Empty house, full heart.

A couple of weeks ago, we went for a walk at my favorite spot in the Marin Headlands. It was a shockingly clear day, a rare event in July. To the west, we could look far out to a fogless sea, and, to the south, see the bright city stacked up on its seven hills. It was so beautiful. I can't think of another town that compares to this, and yet after two-plus years, it's now clear to me now that I'm a Bostonian by nature. For whatever reason, I love New England in a way that goes down to my bones. It speaks to why so many creation myths have us popping out of the ground. That sense of place is a physical experience.

In my last post, I had promised news about some job interviews I did back in June. Now that I've been OK'd to go public, I'm happy to report that as of next week, I'll be the new food editor of Boston Magazine. It's a fantastic job–to dig around my favorite city, tracking restaurants, purveyors, and food trends–and I can't imagine a better time to take on this charge. So much growth, so much to cover. I just hope I'll do the city justice. There's also a satisfying full-circle geometry in this move, since it was at Boston that I got my start in magazines back in 1998. It's where I met Scott. So that's two good reasons for being a loyal employee. I'm chomping at the bit.

Still here

So much catching up to do, but this freelance life is busier than I had expected. I'm in Boston once more for some job interviews. I hope I'll have good news to share about that in the coming weeks. Meantime, I'm also working on a story for 7x7 Magazine about the gourmet/artisan food economy. It's awfully fun. I had forgotten how much I missed reporting.

I promise to earn my keep very soon with restaurant recommendations and a joke or two...

Unemployed

It's been a hectic week, mostly because Wednesday was my last day at Sunset. We don't move until mid-July, but I need to do some work on the book, which includes a couple of trips up to Washington and Mendocino. I've also picked up some freelance assignments, and I'm relishing this freedom to work in a t-shirt, with a cat in my lap.

In honor of my departure, Margo, my boss, organized a goodbye lunch featuring some of my recipes. I managed to get through the day without crying. Meanwhile, Scott and I had a great Memorial Day weekend in Sonoma, with so much wonderful food that I'll need to devote a separate post to it. After I get some work done...

This is important

It takes just a moment to ask Congress for a Farm Bill that supports healthy, affordable, locally-grown food. The existing bill subsidizes monoculture at the expense of family farms and hurts poor farmers in developing countries.

Sighting

Last night, we returned to Quince for another birthday*. They certainly are the go-to place for special occasions. Given the number of candlelit desserts that make their way out of the kitchen, it's a wonder the staff can muster such enthusiasm each time. Kudos to the management. The service really is perfect.

Dinner was excellent, as always, especially the pici pasta with fiddlehead ferns and pancetta. I thought my salad (asparagus, cucumber, radish, and green almonds) could have used one rich element for contrast. Green almonds are light and fresh, with the soft texture of grapes. The ones in my salad had been lightly pickled, so they were crunchy, more like cucumber flesh. A light sprinkling of cheese or hard-cooked egg, or even roasted almonds, would've been nice.

The highlight of the night, though, was spotting Jacques Pepin at the table behind us. I don't know him, but I've met him at conferences and I'm always impressed with how warmly he welcomes strangers and fans. A true gentleman, and a Renaissance man. If you haven't read his memoir, The Apprentice, add it to your summer reading list.

*Happy Birthday, Marilyn!

Savoring

It's a gorgeous evening. Looking out from our living room window, I can see the valley of Glen Park backed by the steep ridge of Miraloma Park. Across the street, a cluster of Cordyline trees is blooming, and the air is just misty enough that the lowering sun shoots the whole scene with gold light. Lately, when coming across a view or a setting that seems so typically Californian, I can't help but stop and take it all in. It's so beautiful here.

There have been some great meals of late. I discovered that Pizzaiolo, in Oakland, has the Best Pizza in the Bay Area. If only we'd met sooner! It'll have to be a summer fling. Of course, I still love Gialina, but Pizzaiolo's crust was even more flavorful, and the Margherita pizza was as good as any I've had in Italy.

Last night, we paid our first visit to a new Peruvian spot, Piqueo's, in Bernal Heights. Peruvian food is an incredible mash-up of Incan, Italian, Japanese, African, Spanish, and Cantonese flavors. With each wave of immigrants, the cuisine expanded. Consider our favorite dish from Piqueo's small plates menu: the Pobrecito, a highly seasoned white bean and rice cake topped with plaintains and a fried egg. Where did that combination come from? Everywhere.

I haven't studied Peruvian food in enough depth to hold forth on it here, but when I eat it I often find myself craving more aromatic notes, such as you find in Southeast Asian cooking. Flavors like basil, mint, lemongrass, cinnamon. Peruvian food has such range, but the flavors tend to be quite earthy: vinegar, sofrito, sharp heat, corn, and soy. But I suspect there's more to it than that. Maybe the Peruvian food cooked in American restaurants represents only one or two regions. It'll be interesting to find out.

We also discovered a great wine bargain with our dinner: a 2004 Viña Rey "70 Barricas" Tempranillo for just $28. It had all the lightness and fruit of a good pinot noir, with plenty of acidity to hold up against the rich dishes.

Referred

Every so often, I like to check my site statistics to see how people find their way to this blog. Often it's through a Google search. Something like, "Eating in California," or "Best pizza San Francisco."

Today, however, I found something different. A Google search for the following:

"cool smooth people who are hot photos"


Dear reader, I have failed you.

The best cake

I edited a story in this month's issue of Sunset about Doña Tomás restaurant in Oakland. It's just a simple party menu, but these recipes were some of my favorite yet: garlicky shrimp-cilantro tacos, crisp chicken tacos, beet and orange salad, and tres leches cake.

That last recipe is so unbelievably good that I'm copying it here in the hope that someone will make it. We were literally making up reasons to keep retesting it ("Uh, let's see if the whipped cream sets up differently on an overcast day." "Did you weigh the raspberries?"). Forget any mushy, too-sweet tres leches cakes you may have had. This is more like a dulce de leche cake. And who doesn't like that?

The method is simple: Bake the cake (a foolproof genoise), split it in half, soak with the three-milk syrup (condensed milk, goat's milk, and cream cooked down until thick and caramelized), and layer with whipped cream and raspberries. It's easier than you'd expect. And it tastes best when made a day or two ahead of time. It's my new birthday/holiday/dinner party standby.

Tres leches cake with raspberries

For cake:
6 large eggs
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
6 tablespoons melted butter

For tres leches sauce:
1 can (12 oz.) evaporated goat milk (see Notes)
6 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 tablespoons corn syrup
1 stick cinnamon (about 2 in.)
1/8 teaspoon baking soda mixed with 2 tsp. water
2/3 cup canned sweetened condensed milk
1 1/4 cups whipping cream

For filling and frosting:
1 3/4 cups raspberries
1 1/2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 cups whipping cream
2 teaspoons vanilla
1/2 cup powdered sugar

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 350°; position rack in center of oven. Butter and flour a 9-in.-wide cake pan (at least 2 in. deep) with removable rim; set aside.

2. Make cake: select a large stainless steel bowl (at least 10-cup capacity) that can nest comfortably in a large pot. Fill pot halfway with water and bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce heat to a gentle simmer. In bowl, combine eggs and sugar. Set bowl over water; with a handheld mixer, beat eggs and sugar at high speed until pale and thick enough to fall from a spoon in a wide ribbon, about 10 minutes.

3. Remove bowl from heat. Shake flour through a sieve over egg mixture and fold in gently. Add melted butter and fold in gently until no streaks remain. Scrape batter into prepared pan. Bake on center rack until cake is evenly browned, just begins to pull from pan sides, and springs back when lightly touched in the center, about 40 minutes. Set pan on a cooling rack and let cool at least 10 minutes. Run a thin knife between pan and rim. Remove rim and let cake cool completely.

4. Make tres leches sauce: In a large pot (at least 6-qt. capacity) over high heat, combine goat milk, sugar, corn syrup, and cinnamon stick. Bring mixture to a boil. Stir in baking soda mixture (sauce will foam up) and reduce heat to medium. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until sauce turns a caramel color and reduces to 3/4 cup, 10 to 12 minutes.

5. Remove sauce from heat; discard cinnamon stick, and stir in condensed milk and whipping cream. Use warm (see Notes).

6. With a long, serrated knife, cut cake in half horizontally. Leave bottom half on cake pan bottom. Lift off cake top and set, cut side down, on a flat plate.

7. Put cake bottom (with pan base) on a wire rack set over a rimmed baking sheet. Poke cake bottom all over with a toothpick, being careful not to poke all the way through. Slowly spoon enough warm tres leches sauce (about 1 cup) over cake bottom to saturate well but not cause it to ooze. Let stand until cool, about 10 minutes.

8. Make filling: Reserve several raspberries to go on top of the cake, then put remaining fruit in a bowl and mix gently with granulated sugar. Set aside. In a chilled bowl, use a mixer to whip cream until it holds soft peaks and is thick enough to spread. Add vanilla and powdered sugar; mix well.

9. Scoop about 1 1/3 cups whipped cream onto cake bottom and spread level to edge. Dot with sugared raspberries, pushing them down into cream. Carefully set cake top, cut side down, onto cake bottom and neatly align. Poke top all over with a toothpick as before, then slowly spoon about 1 cup tres leches sauce evenly over cake top to saturate well. Smoothly frost top and sides of cake with remaining whipped cream; transfer to a clean serving plate. Cover cake without touching (invert a large bowl over it) and chill at least 2 hours. Cover and chill raspberries if held longer than 2 hours. Cover and chill remaining tres leches sauce.

10. Uncover cake and decorate with reserved raspberries. Serve with remaining tres leches sauce.

Makes 10 to 12 servings

Chef: Thomas Schnetz

In praise of excess

Hot diggity! Cherry season has begun. This past weekend, I bought 2 pounds of Brooks from Frog Hollow Farm* and another pound of Tulare. Scott thought this was excessive, but did the cherries last until Monday? No. I have eaten cherries to the point of self-injury. No other food has this effect. To put it in analogy form:

"Amy is to cherries" as...

a) Bush is to privacy
b) "Lost" is to narrative
c) Cats are to catnip

Answer in my next post. Meanwhile, I'm sure cherries are chock full of antioxidants or somesuch. It's not like I'm eating Pringles, right?

There's plenty of other good produce in the market, too. Last night, I steamed some asparagus, fava beans, and baby artichokes and made a lazy aioli with store-bought mayonnaise and leftover basil vinaigrette. All green! So simple and delicious.

*Scott, my birthday and Valentine's day are very close together.

The long goodbye

It has been a busy couple of weeks, with a recent whirlwind trip back East to visit with family and do some pre-move groundwork. It was good, and strange. More on that later.

Around here, I've been trying to cram in as many restaurant visits as possible. I've enjoyed terrific meals at Dottie's True Blue Café (best breakfast in the city), Antica Trattoria (Wow, real Italian, not Cal-Ital!), and Pescheria (Noe Valley's charming--as if that needs to be said--Italian fish house). San Francisco sure loves Italian.

I would have really enjoyed my meal at Maverick if the dining room didn't hit junior-high-cafeteria decibels. Seriously folks, there's no reason it has to be that loud. Stick some foam under the damn tables.

As for going home, I'm fully in the "What have we done?" phase of cross-country relocation. Not that I don't know, fundamentally, that it's the right thing. Not that I'm not excited about many, many things. Not that I don't love the energy of the New England food scene. But I'm also well aware of everything we're leaving behind. I want to spend every spare moment at the farmers market and drive every back road of Sonoma between now and July. A Boston friend recently said, "Don't worry. The restaurants here are really good. It's just the shopping that sucks." Except during the growing season, of course. And there's Formaggio, which is wonderful (though they certainly haven't embraced the localvore trend. I saw Flemish strawberries for sale at about $9/lb). There's the great seafood and cheese (again with the cheese!). And Vermont. And Wellfleet! But it's an adjustment. Like going back to your childhood home and finding it a little bit smaller than you had remembered.

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.