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.

Brandy's dandy

Here's the product of this year's holiday craft binge: cranberry and pomegranate cordials. I mixed the liquor; Scott made the labels.

The recipe is simple, and comes courtesy of Molly W.: 6 cups cheap red wine, 5 cups sugar, one bag of cranberries. Simmer together until cranberries pop. Cool to room temperature, then refrigerate for a few days to let berries steep. Strain, stir in 3 cups brandy, then bottle.

For the pomegranate mix, I used white wine, a mix of POM juice and fruit, and a little less sugar. Unfortunately, I wasn't measuring as I did this, so you'll have to wing that one.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Everybody needs a little time away

Wow. Ten days since my last post. Sometimes you just need a break, you know? Especially when you think about food for a living. My friend Julia calls it "being fooded out."

My other excuse is that we had my sister's family here for ten days. We did all sorts of fun things, very little of which was food-related, thanks to my niece and nephew. Unless you count the cotton candy at Disneyland.

But last night I made a really nice pan-roasted monkfish on mushroom ragout. Here's the recipe:

I minced 4 cloves of garlic and 4 shallots, finely chopped 1 yellow onion, and diced 3 portabella mushroom caps and about 5 large chanterelles. Then I rendered 3 diced strips of thick-cut bacon (I like Niman Ranch) over medium heat until browned. Removed the meat, but left the fat, increased the heat to medium-high, and browned the garlic, shallots, onion, and mushrooms. Added a bay leaf and a handful of halved pear tomatoes. Seasoned with salt and pepper, Portuguese allspice and a tiny bit of regular allspice. When everything was nicely caramelized, I deglazed with a little chicken stock.

In a separate pan over medium-high heat, I seared the salt-and-pepper-sprinkled monkfish in a little olive oil, then roasted it at 425 for 7 minutes. Took it out, realized that wasn't enough time, and put it back in for another 5. Took it out, realized it still wasn't enough time, and put it back for 4 more.

The monkfish looked a little pale on the ragout, so I sprinkled it with some dried tomato powder that my mom had given me. Pretty! Unfortunately, I didn't manage to pull out the camera before we dove in. But this is a photo of the lovely Masút Pinot Noir I drank with it. This is a small biodynamic winery in Mendocino County founded by Robert Fetzer (yes, that Fetzer). If you can get your hands on a bottle (about $32), you'll be happy indeed. As my boss said when she tried it today, "This is true Pinot Noir."

Wine before noon, a little too soon

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.)

See you later, frialator

I have often thought, since we moved to San Francisco, that the city looks like a place out of a child's drawing, with its exaggerated landscape and ornate houses and bright flowers. Even the people look like the cast of Free to Be You and Me.

And then there's Santa Cruz, where we spent the day on Saturday. If ever a town was not merely drawn, but designed by a child, this is it. Who else would line the town beach with an arcade and a boardwalk/amusement park? "It's like all the best of California condensed into one place," Scott marveled. It should have been named Happyville, and I can't believe the grownups let this one through.

Our personal source of childlike delight came in the form of a deep-fried Twinkie that we bought on the boardwalk. This was a first for us (surprising, given our love of carnival food) and I’m happy to say it was better than I had expected. I thought the Twinkies would break down into something oozy and chemical in the cooking, but the result was rich and almost buttery. Mmmm...twinkies. Score one for deep-fried everything.

After a ride on the Hurricane, a really violent rollercoaster which left us feeling dizzy and old, we drove up to Bonny Doon's tasting room, 8 miles north of town. I love this place. Whereas Roshambo's anti-wine-snob posturing left me cold, I find Bonny Doon's quirky approach totally charming. And the wines are delicous. I took home some bottles of the Pacific Rim Chenin Blanc—a light, aromatic white—and their signature Rhone blend, Le Cigare Volant, along with a bottle of the Cardinal Zin. After tasting 6 or 7 wines, we still felt a little dizzy, but old no more.

Our last food stop was at Fambrini's Farm Fresh Produce for some $.99/lb apricots. I've had apricot jam on the brain lately, as I miss the apricot-lime preserves from Hi Rise Bakery in Cambridge. I'm going to try to recreate the recipe sometime this week; I'll let you know how it goes. Starting with discount apricots might not have been the best idea. Blame it on the rollercoaster.

Behind the Music

Two Rivers Winery
Originally uploaded by amytraverso.

I had lunch last week at Cafe Niebaum-Coppola in Palo Alto. I wanted to try the pizza, since the cafe is one of just 12 U.S. restaurants named to the Associazione Vera Pizza Napoletana. Seemed prestigious, but...eh. It was about as good as any pizza I've had so far. Which is to say, not as good as I had expected. We have had pizza from Pauline's and Pizza Express and so far, nothing to write home about. Haven't yet made it to A-16. Suggestions are welcome.

After lunch, I went back to the office to face 12 Thanksgiving desserts, 2 salads, and some beef tacos, all of which needed tasting and rating for a recipe contest and a wine club premium, respectively. This part of the job? It's tough. Just a bite or two each, and I'll skip dinner tonight, but on days like this it's impossible to not feel like a fatted calf, sacrificed to the glory of food writing.

Which brings me to Colorado. Bad transition.

We had incredible food on our Colorado wine tour. Delicous, abundant food. Tell a chef that 10 wine and food writers are coming to the restaurant and s/he's going to aim for the bleachers, so we had exactly one meal with fewer than 6 courses. Follow the just-two-bites rule all you want, but you won't be getting up from that table for at least 2 hours. It can, at times, feel like an endurance test.

My trip was sponsored by the Colorado Wine Industry Development Board to introduce food and wine writers to their growing wine trade. At the moment, there are about 60 wineries around the state, concentrated within the two AVAs (American Viticultural Areas): Grand Valley and West Elks. Boosters point to the region's warm days, cool nights, abundant sunshine, and well-drained soil. New Mexico has had some success with sparkling wines, so why not Colorado? In fact, grapes were grown all over the Western Slope more than 100 years ago, but the vines were torn out during Prohibition and replaced with peach trees, which thrived and became quite famous. Western Slope peaches are even served on Air Force One. What a waste of a good peach.

We visited 8 wineries and tasted wines from about 15-20 more (my notes get a little slurry). A lot of wine for three days. The verdict? Well, there's tremendous momentum here, and I felt lucky to be on the first-ever CO wine tour. I can't wait to see what the landscape will look like 5 and 10 years from now. The wines were mixed, but there were some real stand-outs and some terrific bargains. The vines are relatively young, growers are still figuring out which grapes thrive in each zone, and vinification methods vary. But the winemakers are a passionate, committed bunch, carving a wine industry out of high desert orchard land, despite the perils. Everyone had a bad frost story to tell. And they're seeing some success with Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Riesling, Gewurtztraminer, and fruit wines.

Some of my favorites, in no particular order:

1) Two Rivers Cabernet Sauvignon
2) Graystone Winery Port
3) Boulder Creek Riesling
4) Canyon Wind Rosé
5) The Winery at Holy Cross Abbey Merlot Reserve
6) Spero Cherry Wine (like bottled cherry pie)
7) Carlson Vineyard Gewurtztraminer
8) Garfield Estates S2
9) Stoney Mesa's Ptarmigan Vineyards line
10) Trail Ridge Lemberger (yes, Lemberger)

I also fell in love with the cheeses from Haystack Mountain Goat Dairy. Check 'em out!

Sonomapalooza

Originally uploaded by amytraverso.

Went back up to Sonoma this weekend. I can't help it. I never knew love like this before. My mother-in-law sat obediently in the back seat while we carted her to Iron Horse and Roshambo wineries. Sometimes it's hard to remember that other people don't live for this kind of stuff. But she was a good sport, and we all got a kick out of the contrast between Iron Horses's backyard shed tastings and Roshambo's fabulous, fabulous, la-la high-concept wine salon. Can you tell I didn't fall in love? In an effort to wrest wine from the stodgy elite, they've gone the way of self-conscious hipsterism, with their Rock-Paper-Scissors contests and their t-shirts. But I really did like the 2002 Chardonnay (need to double-check the vintage), and I'm not a big Chardonnay person. I also picked up a few bottles of the 2004 Iron Horse Rosato di Sangiovese, which struck me as a perfect summer wine. I'm impaired, though, by my reluctance to pay more than $30 a bottle. Do I need to overcome this? Everyone else seemed to be doing it.

We had lunch at Willi's Seafood in Healdsburg. Very tasty small plates, but so ladled in butter that I felt like an overdressed piece of lettuce. Perhaps a better metaphor would be "like a live trout thrown in a tank of melted butter." Either way, too oily. Just down the street in the town center, we walked off lunch by browsing the best flea market/antique fair ever in the world. Would that magazines paid better! But you're not here to read about shopping...