I needed a quick hit before the Giants game. Instead of a sandwich, I stopped at Taco Del Mar on 2nd near Folsom. The meat selection was wanting: stewed chicken, stewed beef, carne asada, and ground beef. Chicken mole. Maybe some pork. No chile verde, no pollo asado. Weak. The chips were stale.
On the plus side: chopped cabbage was available in addition to lettuce. The homemade salsa was extra hot. Spinach and other tortilla flavors were available. The people were friendly. Could've been worse, especially since it's a chain that started in Seattle, according to this site. At least they're keeping it clean.
6/13/07
6/12/07
TJ East Bay Delay
This time, Oakland city council members (including Barbara Boxer's son) are making it difficult for two Trader Joe's to open in Oakland because of union concerns. Last time, it was uptight Berkeley neighbors fretting about secretive German families and cheap booze. When are they going to learn? You can't stop the Fearless Flyer.
6/11/07
Review: San Jose in San Rafael
A quick note this morning on a longstanding taqueria favorita, San Jose, under the freeway in San Rafael. It's the best in town, although Taqueria Maria across from City Hall on 4th St. is a worthy competitor.
I stopped in with a teammate after our game in Marin yesterday (White Sox beat the SFPD Blues 5-4 with a run in the bottom of the ninth). As usual, the free chips and homemade salsa were excellent and abundant, the fresh-squeezed juices were flying out the door, and the meat selection was varied. I opted for two tacos, one chile verde, one lengua, and Bill went for the veggie burrito. His order had a small, unexpected mishap: the burrito fell apart after two bites. Could've been faulty construction, could've been a stale tortilla. Either way, it was the first blip on San Jose's perfect record.
Taquerias in San Rafael to avoid: Las Calandrias (on Lincoln), Puentez (in the Trader Joe's mall).
I stopped in with a teammate after our game in Marin yesterday (White Sox beat the SFPD Blues 5-4 with a run in the bottom of the ninth). As usual, the free chips and homemade salsa were excellent and abundant, the fresh-squeezed juices were flying out the door, and the meat selection was varied. I opted for two tacos, one chile verde, one lengua, and Bill went for the veggie burrito. His order had a small, unexpected mishap: the burrito fell apart after two bites. Could've been faulty construction, could've been a stale tortilla. Either way, it was the first blip on San Jose's perfect record.
Taquerias in San Rafael to avoid: Las Calandrias (on Lincoln), Puentez (in the Trader Joe's mall).
6/10/07
Tainted
Well, it happened to us: I put out some burgers in the afternoon for an evening meal, and as I pull in and zip down the cowhide, Kristen says: "Check out the Gate and see if we've got bad beef." Something like that.
I look, and there it is. On my patty pack from Trader Joe's Butcher Shop, the "freeze-by" date is April 20, on the edge of the envelope. It looks like there's another date, "0422," but it's not clear what that number is. The Web site is confusing too.
Another pound of beef goes to the dump. What to do, go back for more?
I look, and there it is. On my patty pack from Trader Joe's Butcher Shop, the "freeze-by" date is April 20, on the edge of the envelope. It looks like there's another date, "0422," but it's not clear what that number is. The Web site is confusing too.
Another pound of beef goes to the dump. What to do, go back for more?
6/7/07
¡Camarones!
Mi amigo el Elbo picks me up and shows me how he rolls in Oaktown: First stop is Fruitvale's International Blvd. for Taquería San José, then a quick run for tall boys and finally greeting Susan the ticket taker at the parking lot for the Mac -- also known as McAfee Coliseum, home of the Oakland Athletics, who were hosting las Medias Rojas de Boston.
It sure would have been fun to have Manny and Big Papi over to San José, which is next to the pawn shop that's next to the Puerto Rican restaurant. (Sofrito: That place is a little too starchy and way too salty, and adding a Guinness on top of all that nearly put me over the edge once. A couple of burps later I was fine.) In the nearly 10 minutes I was in the taco place, I learned the following: Burritos are $3.50, supers with the works a buck more. Shrimp burritos are a splurge at $4.50. The staff is friendly and attentive. The salsa verde is the *best in the Bay Area.*
Wanting to see what the griddleman could do, I went with the shrimp tube. Minutes later, with our chips and salsa on the hood of the Honda, I dug in. Unbelievable crunch and spice explosion. The G-man threw a mix of sautéed red and green peppers and onions with seasoned shrimp. Spoonfuls of the salsa verde added (help me out here, Elbo) tomatillo, jalapeño and creamy avocado.
I finished that pup in a heartbeat, while the tortilla was still warm. My Tecate was not as cold as I would have liked, but I have to say, this was almost as good as the pregame eats for my last ball game. If only International Blvd. weren't in the East Bay.
It sure would have been fun to have Manny and Big Papi over to San José, which is next to the pawn shop that's next to the Puerto Rican restaurant. (Sofrito: That place is a little too starchy and way too salty, and adding a Guinness on top of all that nearly put me over the edge once. A couple of burps later I was fine.) In the nearly 10 minutes I was in the taco place, I learned the following: Burritos are $3.50, supers with the works a buck more. Shrimp burritos are a splurge at $4.50. The staff is friendly and attentive. The salsa verde is the *best in the Bay Area.*
Wanting to see what the griddleman could do, I went with the shrimp tube. Minutes later, with our chips and salsa on the hood of the Honda, I dug in. Unbelievable crunch and spice explosion. The G-man threw a mix of sautéed red and green peppers and onions with seasoned shrimp. Spoonfuls of the salsa verde added (help me out here, Elbo) tomatillo, jalapeño and creamy avocado.
I finished that pup in a heartbeat, while the tortilla was still warm. My Tecate was not as cold as I would have liked, but I have to say, this was almost as good as the pregame eats for my last ball game. If only International Blvd. weren't in the East Bay.
Sexy Pleasure: Cock in Wine
When I was a kid, Sunday dinner—always ready around 1 pm, but in contrast to weekday dinners, you could eat whenever you wanted—alternated between pot roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions, and what I believe my mother called “standing roast,” which did not include vegetables. The former was a juicy horizontal slab, the latter a tightly grained vertical monument. Both were delicious, better than steak, barbecued ribs, hot dogs, or fried chicken, which—apostasy!—I’ve never much cared for (feh! all that greasy skin).
When I think about my mother’s Sunday standards, I realize that unlike Piaf, I cannot claim to have no regrets. My mother died when I was 29, and I’m sorry that I never learned how to make my favorite childhood dishes while she was alive.
Happily, one finds one’s way to the larger world, where I was introduced to a new favorite that never appeared on my family’s dinner table and may never have shown up on any dinner table in Atwater, California, during the 50s and 60s. Or come to think of it, maybe it did. The French girl down street, the one with the mustache who aspired to the convent, would likely have been familiar with coq au vin, variously translated as "chicken stew" (Nigel Slater in The Observer), "rooster with wine" (Wikepedia), and adding an assumed adjective, "chicken in red wine" (Julia Child, The Way To Cook).
I’ve been ordering coq au vin at restaurants and attempting it on my own for 25 years nearly, with uneven results. Whether dining out or dining in, I have never tasted a version as delicious and inspiring as that served by Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser (like the quadratic equation in Billy Collins’s celebrated poem, “Forgetfulness,” Mrs. Donhauser’s first name has packed its bag) in her country house in East Chatham, New York. Mrs. Donhauser’s son was a college classmate of my ex, and he used to invite us up for the weekend from time to time. She was Belgian, which may explain her scowl the single time I offered to help in the kitchen. The glory of her version of coq au vin was its richness of taste, the perfect consistency of the sauce, and undeniably, the enchantment of feasting in the dining room of a creaky 18th-century upstate farmhouse set amid rolling woodsy hills that looked as if they had changed little in 200 years.
Last weekend, Dan and I had six friends over for a Sunday dinner—at 6, not 1 pm. I made coq au vin (recipe below) and it turned out pretty well. It was a casual evening, and I was flattered when Alex shot up and declared, “We need more sauce! Is there something I can put it in?” Naturally, I listened for compliments on my cooking and was not disappointed. I clucked approvingly to myself after dinner when I noticed that all the bread—two loaves, one a sweet baguette, the other ciabatta, both heated in the oven before serving—had been entirely consumed, evidence of rampant sauce-sopping. I joined in the accolades for Dan’s dessert, a rhubarb cobbler topped with homemade vanilla ice cream.
Our dinner was a social and gustatory success.
But I’m no Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. My coq au vin, though improved from efforts in other decades, was decent, tasty, appreciated, but not memorable. While I don’t ever expect to equal Mrs. Donhauser’s achievement, I do want to move in that direction.
So I’ve been reading up, and there seem to be several key opportunities for my future efforts:
• Use more wine
My recipe, a simplified version from Martha Stewart’s monthly digest, Everyday Food—a useful source, by-the-way, of accessible recipes—calls for a cup and a half, but most recipes call for more, up to a full bottle.
• Use good wine
Shyamala tells us, “Don’t cook with wine you wouldn’t drink.” Sure. But I drink a lot of cheap wine. Not bad wine, mind, just ordinaire. And that’s what I used in last Sunday’s coq au vin. Next time, I’ll reach for “a loud, inky Beaujolais,” as Nigel Slater recommends in The Observer or more broadly, “young red wine (zinfandel, Mâcon, or Chianti type)” as Julia instructs in The Way To Cook. Julia further allows for the option of 1/3 cup good brandy. Slater echoes this suggestion, advising 2 Tbs cognac.
• The pros seem to agree: The older the bird, the better the sauce. As Wikipedia, explains, “Older roosters are traditionally used because they contain a lot of connective tissue, which creates a richer broth when cooked.” And maybe, use the whole bird, not just thighs, as Martha in her role as the siren of simplicity, recommends. Further, Martha calls for skinless, bone-in chicken. Neither Julia nor Joy advocates going skinless. And then there’s the question alluded to in the quote above: Rooster or hen? I recall that when a culinarily gifted friend made coq au vin for a dinner party I attended several years ago, he used a rooster. He had to special-order it from a Mexican butcher in the Mission, pay extra, and drive across town to pick it up. I would do this too, if I knew for sure it was sine qua non. But it’s not this friend’s coq au vin I dream of, it’s Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s, and I have a feeling that her chicken was store-bought and shrink-wrapped.
• Use fresh pearl onions, the kind you have to peel yourself, rather than chopped whole onions. Or does it matter? I used chopped red onion, but next time, I'll parboil and peel the pearls. If nothing else, they’re decorativ—quaint if not piquant.
• Most recipes, but not Julia’s, call for carrots, and I agree: Carrots are a boon to this dish. And most call for mushrooms, which Martha eliminates. (Note: I did use mushrooms for my coq au vin, but I think I could’ve used more.)
• During her lifetime, Julia consistently advocated using only imported bay leaves regardless of what savory comestible you’re concocting. Though California born, she emphatically rejects leaves from Umbellularia californica, our native and lavishly abundant bay laurel (called Oregon myrtle one state north). I always have a sprig of dried local bay leaves handy, collected on one of my hikes, and have resisted her “prejudice,” as I’ve thought of it. But maybe it’s my prejudice that’s the problem. All the recipes call for thyme, though they diverge regarding fresh vs. dried or avoid taking a stand altogether.
• My edition of The Joy of Cooking (1975) informs me that “Abroad, in country places where chickens are locally butchered, the blood is often kept and added to the gravy at the last minute as thickener. After this addition, the sauce is not allowed to boil. Here in America, this effect is imitated by adding caramel coloring.” I’m dubious. I’ll bet the newest edition of Joy doesn’t include this augmentation. But sauce thickness is important and I suspect that part of the dreamy richness I recall from Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s coq au vin is related to a sauce thicker than I achieved. My recipe and others rely on flour. But Julia calls for beurre manié, "1 1/2 Tbs each flour and softened butter blended to a paste."
• All coq au vin recipes call for bacon or a similar ingredient. I use smoked slab bacon, though a version that claims minimum chemical adulteration. Julia warns that whether you use slab bacon or salt pork, you must blanch it to “remove its salt as well as its smoky flavor, which would permeate the rest of the food,” something I assumed was an enhancement. Joy cites only salt pork, not bacon, and makes no mention of blanching. I’ve never blanched bacon in my life and have little experience with salt pork. Nigel Slater, an advocate for staying true to traditional versions of the classics, is the most extreme, noting that “it just isn't coq au vin without some fat, juicy strips of green bacon. The rashers with which the British are obsessed are too thin—if they don't burn, they'll disintegrate. What you need is a solid lump that you can cut into thick strips. Pancetta will do nicely.”
Obviously, since the experts diverge in key respects, further experimentation is called for. Unless, that is, I get the call from an older, mellower Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. In my delicious fantasy, she not only invites me to dinner, but allows me to hang out in the kitchen. I take notes, a digital picture or two, and promise not to get in the way.
Chicken Braised in Wine
from Everyday Food, January 2007
Listed as Coq au Vin in cookbooks and on restaurant menus, the name of this hearty French dish may sound fancy, but it’s simply chicken cooked in red wine.
- 3 fresh thyme springs
- 5 flat-leaf parsley sprigs
- 1 bay leaf
- 3 slices bacon, cut into pieces
- 12 bone-in, skinless chicken thighs, about 4 pounds total (att’n: SKINLESS!)
- coarse salt and ground pepper
- 1 large onion, chopped
- 6 medium carrots, sliced crosswise
- 2 garlic cloves, minced
- 2 tablespoons tomato paste
- 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 1/2 cups dry red wine, such as a Pinot Noir or French Burgundy
- 1 can (14.5 ounces) reduced-sodium chicken broth
1. Using cotton kitchen twine, tie thyme, parsley, and bay leaf into a bundle; set aside.
2. Heat a Dutch oven or 50quart heavy pot with a lid over medium-low. Add bacon; cook until browned, about 10 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate to drain (leave bacon fat in pot).
3. Raise heat to medium-high. Season chicken generously with salt and pepper. Working in three batches to avoid crowding, brown chicken about 4 minutes per side. Transfer to a plate; set aside.
4. Add onion, carrots, and garlic to pot. Cook until onion softens, about 4 minutes. Stir in tomato paste and flour; cook 1 minute.
5. Add wine, broth, chicken, and herb bundle. Bring to a boil; cover, and reduce to a simmer. Cook 10 minutes; uncover, and simmer until chicken is cooked through, about 10 minutes. Remove and discard herb bundle; stir in bacon. Serve with steamed new potatoes tossed with parsley.
When I think about my mother’s Sunday standards, I realize that unlike Piaf, I cannot claim to have no regrets. My mother died when I was 29, and I’m sorry that I never learned how to make my favorite childhood dishes while she was alive.
Happily, one finds one’s way to the larger world, where I was introduced to a new favorite that never appeared on my family’s dinner table and may never have shown up on any dinner table in Atwater, California, during the 50s and 60s. Or come to think of it, maybe it did. The French girl down street, the one with the mustache who aspired to the convent, would likely have been familiar with coq au vin, variously translated as "chicken stew" (Nigel Slater in The Observer), "rooster with wine" (Wikepedia), and adding an assumed adjective, "chicken in red wine" (Julia Child, The Way To Cook).
I’ve been ordering coq au vin at restaurants and attempting it on my own for 25 years nearly, with uneven results. Whether dining out or dining in, I have never tasted a version as delicious and inspiring as that served by Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser (like the quadratic equation in Billy Collins’s celebrated poem, “Forgetfulness,” Mrs. Donhauser’s first name has packed its bag) in her country house in East Chatham, New York. Mrs. Donhauser’s son was a college classmate of my ex, and he used to invite us up for the weekend from time to time. She was Belgian, which may explain her scowl the single time I offered to help in the kitchen. The glory of her version of coq au vin was its richness of taste, the perfect consistency of the sauce, and undeniably, the enchantment of feasting in the dining room of a creaky 18th-century upstate farmhouse set amid rolling woodsy hills that looked as if they had changed little in 200 years.
Last weekend, Dan and I had six friends over for a Sunday dinner—at 6, not 1 pm. I made coq au vin (recipe below) and it turned out pretty well. It was a casual evening, and I was flattered when Alex shot up and declared, “We need more sauce! Is there something I can put it in?” Naturally, I listened for compliments on my cooking and was not disappointed. I clucked approvingly to myself after dinner when I noticed that all the bread—two loaves, one a sweet baguette, the other ciabatta, both heated in the oven before serving—had been entirely consumed, evidence of rampant sauce-sopping. I joined in the accolades for Dan’s dessert, a rhubarb cobbler topped with homemade vanilla ice cream.
Our dinner was a social and gustatory success.
But I’m no Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. My coq au vin, though improved from efforts in other decades, was decent, tasty, appreciated, but not memorable. While I don’t ever expect to equal Mrs. Donhauser’s achievement, I do want to move in that direction.
So I’ve been reading up, and there seem to be several key opportunities for my future efforts:
• Use more wine
My recipe, a simplified version from Martha Stewart’s monthly digest, Everyday Food—a useful source, by-the-way, of accessible recipes—calls for a cup and a half, but most recipes call for more, up to a full bottle.
• Use good wine
Shyamala tells us, “Don’t cook with wine you wouldn’t drink.” Sure. But I drink a lot of cheap wine. Not bad wine, mind, just ordinaire. And that’s what I used in last Sunday’s coq au vin. Next time, I’ll reach for “a loud, inky Beaujolais,” as Nigel Slater recommends in The Observer or more broadly, “young red wine (zinfandel, Mâcon, or Chianti type)” as Julia instructs in The Way To Cook. Julia further allows for the option of 1/3 cup good brandy. Slater echoes this suggestion, advising 2 Tbs cognac.
• The pros seem to agree: The older the bird, the better the sauce. As Wikipedia, explains, “Older roosters are traditionally used because they contain a lot of connective tissue, which creates a richer broth when cooked.” And maybe, use the whole bird, not just thighs, as Martha in her role as the siren of simplicity, recommends. Further, Martha calls for skinless, bone-in chicken. Neither Julia nor Joy advocates going skinless. And then there’s the question alluded to in the quote above: Rooster or hen? I recall that when a culinarily gifted friend made coq au vin for a dinner party I attended several years ago, he used a rooster. He had to special-order it from a Mexican butcher in the Mission, pay extra, and drive across town to pick it up. I would do this too, if I knew for sure it was sine qua non. But it’s not this friend’s coq au vin I dream of, it’s Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s, and I have a feeling that her chicken was store-bought and shrink-wrapped.
• Use fresh pearl onions, the kind you have to peel yourself, rather than chopped whole onions. Or does it matter? I used chopped red onion, but next time, I'll parboil and peel the pearls. If nothing else, they’re decorativ—quaint if not piquant.
• Most recipes, but not Julia’s, call for carrots, and I agree: Carrots are a boon to this dish. And most call for mushrooms, which Martha eliminates. (Note: I did use mushrooms for my coq au vin, but I think I could’ve used more.)
• During her lifetime, Julia consistently advocated using only imported bay leaves regardless of what savory comestible you’re concocting. Though California born, she emphatically rejects leaves from Umbellularia californica, our native and lavishly abundant bay laurel (called Oregon myrtle one state north). I always have a sprig of dried local bay leaves handy, collected on one of my hikes, and have resisted her “prejudice,” as I’ve thought of it. But maybe it’s my prejudice that’s the problem. All the recipes call for thyme, though they diverge regarding fresh vs. dried or avoid taking a stand altogether.
• My edition of The Joy of Cooking (1975) informs me that “Abroad, in country places where chickens are locally butchered, the blood is often kept and added to the gravy at the last minute as thickener. After this addition, the sauce is not allowed to boil. Here in America, this effect is imitated by adding caramel coloring.” I’m dubious. I’ll bet the newest edition of Joy doesn’t include this augmentation. But sauce thickness is important and I suspect that part of the dreamy richness I recall from Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s coq au vin is related to a sauce thicker than I achieved. My recipe and others rely on flour. But Julia calls for beurre manié, "1 1/2 Tbs each flour and softened butter blended to a paste."
• All coq au vin recipes call for bacon or a similar ingredient. I use smoked slab bacon, though a version that claims minimum chemical adulteration. Julia warns that whether you use slab bacon or salt pork, you must blanch it to “remove its salt as well as its smoky flavor, which would permeate the rest of the food,” something I assumed was an enhancement. Joy cites only salt pork, not bacon, and makes no mention of blanching. I’ve never blanched bacon in my life and have little experience with salt pork. Nigel Slater, an advocate for staying true to traditional versions of the classics, is the most extreme, noting that “it just isn't coq au vin without some fat, juicy strips of green bacon. The rashers with which the British are obsessed are too thin—if they don't burn, they'll disintegrate. What you need is a solid lump that you can cut into thick strips. Pancetta will do nicely.”
~ ~ ~
Obviously, since the experts diverge in key respects, further experimentation is called for. Unless, that is, I get the call from an older, mellower Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. In my delicious fantasy, she not only invites me to dinner, but allows me to hang out in the kitchen. I take notes, a digital picture or two, and promise not to get in the way.
~ ~ ~
Chicken Braised in Wine
from Everyday Food, January 2007
Listed as Coq au Vin in cookbooks and on restaurant menus, the name of this hearty French dish may sound fancy, but it’s simply chicken cooked in red wine.
- 3 fresh thyme springs
- 5 flat-leaf parsley sprigs
- 1 bay leaf
- 3 slices bacon, cut into pieces
- 12 bone-in, skinless chicken thighs, about 4 pounds total (att’n: SKINLESS!)
- coarse salt and ground pepper
- 1 large onion, chopped
- 6 medium carrots, sliced crosswise
- 2 garlic cloves, minced
- 2 tablespoons tomato paste
- 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 1/2 cups dry red wine, such as a Pinot Noir or French Burgundy
- 1 can (14.5 ounces) reduced-sodium chicken broth
1. Using cotton kitchen twine, tie thyme, parsley, and bay leaf into a bundle; set aside.
2. Heat a Dutch oven or 50quart heavy pot with a lid over medium-low. Add bacon; cook until browned, about 10 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate to drain (leave bacon fat in pot).
3. Raise heat to medium-high. Season chicken generously with salt and pepper. Working in three batches to avoid crowding, brown chicken about 4 minutes per side. Transfer to a plate; set aside.
4. Add onion, carrots, and garlic to pot. Cook until onion softens, about 4 minutes. Stir in tomato paste and flour; cook 1 minute.
5. Add wine, broth, chicken, and herb bundle. Bring to a boil; cover, and reduce to a simmer. Cook 10 minutes; uncover, and simmer until chicken is cooked through, about 10 minutes. Remove and discard herb bundle; stir in bacon. Serve with steamed new potatoes tossed with parsley.
6/4/07
Review: Gialina Pizzeria
We continue the pizza theme. In the gray summer fog we seek the comfort of the pie.
Da Fanch read in Sunset Mag about a new place in Glen Park, Gialina. From the menu to the no-reservation policy, it seemed at first blush a Pizzetta 211 copycat. We arrived at 6:30 on Saturday eve and had to wait 45 minutes for a table, but they do take cell numbers and will call you when your table is ready.
We soon discovered other differences:
1) Many more tables. Unfortunately, they're squeezed into a narrow room, and squeezed uncomfortably together. Mr. Loud Cackling Laugh at the party-of-eight table across from us made people turn and stare several times.
2) The pizza's not as good. It's pretty good, but not Pizzetta good. Slightly thicker crust, first of all. We split two: Italian sausage/dandelion greens, and a puttanesca. The sausage/greens came with fontina cheese, a bad arrangement, as its strength overwhelmed the delicately bitter greens and the sweet, mild sausage. The puttanesca was better, but I wasn't thrilled with the tomato sauce. It also lacked cheese, which wasn't clear from the description on the menu. We were able to sample a third pie when the couple at the next table left without their left-over box. I ran out to find them, to no avail. The waitress said, "We'll just throw it away. Why don't you take it?" Quick thinking. The leftover slices were a simple marinara and a salami. Again, tasty but nothing to justify the haut-pizza prices.
3) More menu and pizza choices. I loved our two appetizers: caramelized cauliflower on polenta that was charred on the outside, with a nice crunch, and a salad with sour cherries and almonds and fantastic goat cheese. There was also a non-pizza entree, a roast chicken that one reviewer raved about.
Prices were not different than Pizzetta. Dinner for two (including two glasses of wine) plus tip: $70.
One nugget to keep in mind: The place gets crazy busy from 5:30 to 8 when the young family crowd packs it and take-out orders keep the kitchen buzzing. But by 8 p.m., half the tables were empty and the waitress said there's usually a lull around that time. Better yet: go to Pizzetta.
Da Fanch read in Sunset Mag about a new place in Glen Park, Gialina. From the menu to the no-reservation policy, it seemed at first blush a Pizzetta 211 copycat. We arrived at 6:30 on Saturday eve and had to wait 45 minutes for a table, but they do take cell numbers and will call you when your table is ready.
We soon discovered other differences:
1) Many more tables. Unfortunately, they're squeezed into a narrow room, and squeezed uncomfortably together. Mr. Loud Cackling Laugh at the party-of-eight table across from us made people turn and stare several times.
2) The pizza's not as good. It's pretty good, but not Pizzetta good. Slightly thicker crust, first of all. We split two: Italian sausage/dandelion greens, and a puttanesca. The sausage/greens came with fontina cheese, a bad arrangement, as its strength overwhelmed the delicately bitter greens and the sweet, mild sausage. The puttanesca was better, but I wasn't thrilled with the tomato sauce. It also lacked cheese, which wasn't clear from the description on the menu. We were able to sample a third pie when the couple at the next table left without their left-over box. I ran out to find them, to no avail. The waitress said, "We'll just throw it away. Why don't you take it?" Quick thinking. The leftover slices were a simple marinara and a salami. Again, tasty but nothing to justify the haut-pizza prices.
3) More menu and pizza choices. I loved our two appetizers: caramelized cauliflower on polenta that was charred on the outside, with a nice crunch, and a salad with sour cherries and almonds and fantastic goat cheese. There was also a non-pizza entree, a roast chicken that one reviewer raved about.
Prices were not different than Pizzetta. Dinner for two (including two glasses of wine) plus tip: $70.
One nugget to keep in mind: The place gets crazy busy from 5:30 to 8 when the young family crowd packs it and take-out orders keep the kitchen buzzing. But by 8 p.m., half the tables were empty and the waitress said there's usually a lull around that time. Better yet: go to Pizzetta.
Wine: Robert Hall Recall
As they say in the NFL, upon further review...I'm going to retract my support for Robert Hall's Rhone De Robles. Another bottle of the '04, when compared to other bottles at our dinner last night Chez BrO, was weak. Its main feature was a steady sweetness that quickly grew boring. I'm not sure how I found the original bottle so worthy. I need help.
A much better buy was the Laurier 2004 Cab that Paul n James discovered at the Tower Mollystone's. Five bucks and drinkable, though no world-beater.
We also learned our lesson about decanting. The wine Tony brought -- Cimicky? Anthony, can you refresh our memories? -- started out twangy and grassy but soon mellowed into a wonderful bottle. When it doubt, air it out.
A much better buy was the Laurier 2004 Cab that Paul n James discovered at the Tower Mollystone's. Five bucks and drinkable, though no world-beater.
We also learned our lesson about decanting. The wine Tony brought -- Cimicky? Anthony, can you refresh our memories? -- started out twangy and grassy but soon mellowed into a wonderful bottle. When it doubt, air it out.
5/31/07
Review: A Place Where We Can Be Free
It's cause for celebration, or at least moderate excitement, when another decent place to eat opens in the far western precincts. I don't expect fine dining out here; as you know, I'm way more into quality cheap eats anyway. That's why I was happy to discover The Pizza Place On Noriega, an as-yet-signless outpost on the corner of 46th Avenue, just down the block from La Playa Taqueria. It's only two weeks old.
I was greeted by a sturdy blonde wooden bar near the front door, and was handed a paper menu from a cylinder sitting on it by one of the Place's two employees. One other person was waiting for pizza; the rest of the place was empty, save for someone painting one of the bathrooms. The menu didn't say there were slices available, but there were: $2.50 for cheese, plus 50¢ for the first topping and a quarter apiece for the rest. Combo deals as usual; whole pies start around $15.
I ordered a Greek slice (homeboy!), and five minutes later I received what amounted to a thin-crust slice of pizza with a small Greek side salad piled on top (olives, red onions, whole basil leaves, feta). The crust had an audible crunch to it, and the tomato sauce mingled tart and sweet elements. Best of all, they didn't overdo the queso.
I liked it so much that I stayed for another slice with pepperoni. This one was a little greasier, but still satisfying. I chose the knife-and-fork strategy for both, and if I could recommend one thing to the Place, I'd ask them to get sharper knives.
The Place is big enough to seat about 30 patrons at once. They've got about four or five microbrew beers on tap, plus a couple more in bottles and cans; there's also a very short list of red and white wines, and salads and buffalo wings are on the menu as well. It took awhile to get two slices of carry-out pizza (for my roommate), but he was pleased with the results.
I'd compare the pie with that of Pizzetta 211, but the Place is going for something a little more populist. It's still a weird enough joint that it fits right into the Outer Sunset, but I'm definitely looking forward to future meals there.
I was greeted by a sturdy blonde wooden bar near the front door, and was handed a paper menu from a cylinder sitting on it by one of the Place's two employees. One other person was waiting for pizza; the rest of the place was empty, save for someone painting one of the bathrooms. The menu didn't say there were slices available, but there were: $2.50 for cheese, plus 50¢ for the first topping and a quarter apiece for the rest. Combo deals as usual; whole pies start around $15.
I ordered a Greek slice (homeboy!), and five minutes later I received what amounted to a thin-crust slice of pizza with a small Greek side salad piled on top (olives, red onions, whole basil leaves, feta). The crust had an audible crunch to it, and the tomato sauce mingled tart and sweet elements. Best of all, they didn't overdo the queso.
I liked it so much that I stayed for another slice with pepperoni. This one was a little greasier, but still satisfying. I chose the knife-and-fork strategy for both, and if I could recommend one thing to the Place, I'd ask them to get sharper knives.
The Place is big enough to seat about 30 patrons at once. They've got about four or five microbrew beers on tap, plus a couple more in bottles and cans; there's also a very short list of red and white wines, and salads and buffalo wings are on the menu as well. It took awhile to get two slices of carry-out pizza (for my roommate), but he was pleased with the results.
I'd compare the pie with that of Pizzetta 211, but the Place is going for something a little more populist. It's still a weird enough joint that it fits right into the Outer Sunset, but I'm definitely looking forward to future meals there.
5/29/07
You Want Wine? Have I Got Wine
> Last year, Two Buck Chuck — available only in the Trader Joe's grocery chain and priced at $1.99 in California, hence its nickname — accounted for at least 8 percent of California wine sold in-state ...
http://tinyurl.com/2mnera
http://tinyurl.com/2mnera
5/28/07
Dry Creek Redux
A little birdie told me this weekend that the Dry Creek Kitchen is in trouble. Not so surprising with the constant disappointment we keep hearing, not just from this bloggership but several others we know and love. Since they won their Michelin star, a new chef has taken over, and the locals are abuzz how long the star shall remain affixed.
Wine: Robert Hall Rhone de Robles
Before going further, please note: I'd love to see more wine reviews, even if just a few lines long. If you open a bottle and have anything to say, let everyone know. A few quick notes, the price, thumbs-up or thumbs-down. Onward...
So I'm meandering my way through TJ's last week, digging "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on the satellite radio and circling back and again past the quesadilla samples, when I realize we're out of rosso back at the Bistro. I'm skeptical of Joe's wine selection, and I've gotten bad advice from wearers of Hawaiian shirts often enough to forego all confidence in their wine expertise, but I ask anyway. It helps that the guy in the wine aisle is just about the oldest TJ's employee I've ever seen: thinning hair, gray beard and moustache, wiry build. I give him my criteria: no fruit bombs, please; good with BBQ meats of all types; and up to $10, maybe a bit more if it's justified. He leads me straight to the Robert Hall 2004 Rhone de Robles.
Robles, as in Paso, as in Central Coast. $10.99, and well worth it. I went back tonight and only found the 2005. We'll see how it compares.
So I'm meandering my way through TJ's last week, digging "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on the satellite radio and circling back and again past the quesadilla samples, when I realize we're out of rosso back at the Bistro. I'm skeptical of Joe's wine selection, and I've gotten bad advice from wearers of Hawaiian shirts often enough to forego all confidence in their wine expertise, but I ask anyway. It helps that the guy in the wine aisle is just about the oldest TJ's employee I've ever seen: thinning hair, gray beard and moustache, wiry build. I give him my criteria: no fruit bombs, please; good with BBQ meats of all types; and up to $10, maybe a bit more if it's justified. He leads me straight to the Robert Hall 2004 Rhone de Robles.
Robles, as in Paso, as in Central Coast. $10.99, and well worth it. I went back tonight and only found the 2005. We'll see how it compares.
Sazeracelicious
Somehow, every few months, I find myself having drinks at the Redwood Room in the Clift Hotel. I never set out with it as my destination; I just end up there. It seems to have become the default après-ski establishment for a certain circle of my friends when we're in the neighborhood. I simultaneously like the Starckian décor and find it tries a bit too hard, and the crowd can tend toward the B&T — a couple of friends and I were once asked by an apparent bridesmaid whether we were wearing boxers and if so could she have them (I leave you to speculate on our response) — but whatever. It's comfortable and convenient and the cocktails are decent.
Last night was one of those nights, and I thereby discovered a reason why you might, with intent, want to pay the place a visit: They make an echt Sazerac, using Old Overholt, Herbsaint and Peychaud's. For some peculiar reason, they want to serve it on the rocks, but you will, of course, order it up.
Warning: You may find it difficult to stop at one.
Last night was one of those nights, and I thereby discovered a reason why you might, with intent, want to pay the place a visit: They make an echt Sazerac, using Old Overholt, Herbsaint and Peychaud's. For some peculiar reason, they want to serve it on the rocks, but you will, of course, order it up.
Warning: You may find it difficult to stop at one.
5/25/07
Review: South Park Cafe
A recipe for a perfect night on the town: a bar seat at the South Park Cafe, a martini as the evening light fades through the leaves of the trees outside, doors and transoms open to the breeze, a selection of appetizers, perhaps an entree or two split between me and my dining partners, all followed with a warm night game at Mays Field which the Giants win, led by one of their young aces on the mound.That's what happened Tuesday. The menu at the South Park doesn't change much, and why should it? I've never had a disappointing item there. In ten-plus years, I've never had a disappointing bite. Exaggeration? Absolutely not. The portions are not large, the prices are not cheap. But every flavor is well-considered, every dish its own world to explore, and the $50 one easily drops there -- an $8-10 app, a $20 entree, and two $8 drinks (OK, three) -- feels a bargain compared to so many of this city's self-important eateries.
The South Park has had the same red wines on offer by the glass for as long as I can remember. For lighter fare, the Mark West pinot noir is unbeatable: silky, warm and slightly tart. I had two glasses with the beef daube; one of the best stews I've ever tasted.
5/23/07
Dry Creek Kitchen, Confidential
My dear friends, San Francisco family and real-estate aficionados Ron and Roz were going to have us over for a seder, but schedules and responsibilities thwarted the party plan. In a burst of menschness, I let them know I could treat them, in the City or in Sonoma, wherever they wished.
A couple of gentle reminders later, Ron starts to work the phone Friday and finds a table for Saturday evening at a place that's peripherally been on my list: the Dry Creek Kitchen in the Hotel Healdsburg. I call ahead myself and ask about the dress code and corkage. I'm definitely looking forward to it.
The stakes in Sonoma are a bit high, not just because of nearby Napa but also because of places like the Harmony restaurant in the Ledson Hotel on Sonoma's town square. Dry Creek Kitchen has a reputation because it's from a name in the business, Charlie Palmer. That's him at left.
I'm told over the phone that the scene is "business casual" and that as long as the wine you bring is from the county, there's no corkage. That's an awesome touch, I think. What a note of confidence, a great way to get people to think about local wine.
So what to make of dinner? The main courses and a couple of other things miss. Dry Creek comes up short, CP.
The room, where the big money went, is beautiful. Columns sweep into the ceiling, and at one point I thought of the TWA terminal at JFK. The windows draw in evening light that fades into candlelight from the tables. There's also this cute vase for breadsticks, and a small potted plant of thyme. We shed our four bottles of wine from the Trader Joe's bag -- one sparkling (Korbel Blanc de Noirs), a chardonnay (Belvedere) and two reds (a Peterson zin and a Hop Kiln blend of syrah and grenache) -- and have the first two opened right away.
The Korbel, which K and I picked up after a quick tasting on the way back from a hike in Guerneville, has a touch of sweetness and a nice gold hue that goes great with the starters: two ahi tuna tartares for R&R, a cannelini bean and smoked tomato soup for Kristen and a special one for myself. I'm having the housemade tagliatelle with winecaps, morels, ramps (Jomo, remember these from Perbacco?) and asparagus entree as an appetizer, an off-menu improvisation I learned from my dad.
Everything is going well. I do have to ask for a flute refill, and also for cracked pepper to finish my pasta primi. The tuna tartare is creamy and the avocado relish doesn't bowl everything over, even though it's rich. It's good. The broth for the soup, poured separately on the beans at table, is full of flavor, although K isn't into the caramelized bay scallops. I try them and not sure they're warranted. Maybe an Anaheim pepper in a very thin dice would have worked? Charlie?
My pasta is fine; not sure if I can tell this tagliatelle from spaghettini. I love looking at the shapes and colors, and there are mouthfuls of mushrooms and seasonal asparagus. My favorite thing is the plate: Think of a smooth, white LP with a bowl popped out of the center label. The transition to the red bottles also happens seamlessly. They're opened early on, and the Peterson zin gets decanted. (Hop Kiln did advise having its blend otherwise sit for 20-30 minutes.)
The comments on the entrees (check 'em out) are average, except for Ron's Wagyu steak, called excellent. Roz has the duck, K has the salmon and I got trout. The presentation is knockout, especially the skin of the trout fried into a thin cracker on half a filet, then a layer of green chard, then the other half of the filet on white watercress. Ron's russet-potato fries are stacked like Lincoln logs, at right angles. But again, three out of four reviews come in as just adequate.
Roz, who's been spoiled by Aaron and Del Monte Meats, doesn't think her duck breast is that special. I try it and agree. She also reports her "cassoulet" was overly salty. (Knowing her palate, that means too salty.) Kristen isn't doing cartwheels, although her salmon pieces in miso look beautiful.
I'm not overwhelmed, either. The cracker novelty wears off quick, the so-called bacon roasted beets are a bit bland, and how come I can't cut this chard that well with this knife I have for the fish? The fish: It's fine, rendering itself as trout. The best part, though, is the watercress and "pesto."
Our wines, all acquired at reasonable prices, pair well. I do have to reach over to the nearby counter and refill my glass a couple of times. The waiter did notice eventually.
Desserts, which included cappuccino crème brulee and a chocolate peanut-butter bar, become popular. I barely get a forkful once they go around Kristen. It's an up-note ending to a $300 evening, with $40 tacked on for corkage on two bottles.
Weren't Sonoma wines supposed to be comped corkage? Only two per table, our waiter says. Why weren't we told that over the phone? Two bottles are standard, he replies. (Hey, the charge is reasonable, given that we had chilled bottles, employed a decanter and used different glassware. Just let us know, mkay?)
Next time I'm around the square and feeling saucy, I may visit again and enjoy drinks and starters. There's even something of a scene with live jazz and couches in the lounge across the courtyard. Yet I want to ask, Charlie Palmer, even for seasoned food nuts like ourselves, shouldn't there have been more standouts? The setting and presentation are in place, but doesn't that raise the bar for what you actually taste, and for what you think you're getting?
It's your name out there.
A couple of gentle reminders later, Ron starts to work the phone Friday and finds a table for Saturday evening at a place that's peripherally been on my list: the Dry Creek Kitchen in the Hotel Healdsburg. I call ahead myself and ask about the dress code and corkage. I'm definitely looking forward to it.
The stakes in Sonoma are a bit high, not just because of nearby Napa but also because of places like the Harmony restaurant in the Ledson Hotel on Sonoma's town square. Dry Creek Kitchen has a reputation because it's from a name in the business, Charlie Palmer. That's him at left.
I'm told over the phone that the scene is "business casual" and that as long as the wine you bring is from the county, there's no corkage. That's an awesome touch, I think. What a note of confidence, a great way to get people to think about local wine.
So what to make of dinner? The main courses and a couple of other things miss. Dry Creek comes up short, CP.
The room, where the big money went, is beautiful. Columns sweep into the ceiling, and at one point I thought of the TWA terminal at JFK. The windows draw in evening light that fades into candlelight from the tables. There's also this cute vase for breadsticks, and a small potted plant of thyme. We shed our four bottles of wine from the Trader Joe's bag -- one sparkling (Korbel Blanc de Noirs), a chardonnay (Belvedere) and two reds (a Peterson zin and a Hop Kiln blend of syrah and grenache) -- and have the first two opened right away.
The Korbel, which K and I picked up after a quick tasting on the way back from a hike in Guerneville, has a touch of sweetness and a nice gold hue that goes great with the starters: two ahi tuna tartares for R&R, a cannelini bean and smoked tomato soup for Kristen and a special one for myself. I'm having the housemade tagliatelle with winecaps, morels, ramps (Jomo, remember these from Perbacco?) and asparagus entree as an appetizer, an off-menu improvisation I learned from my dad.
Everything is going well. I do have to ask for a flute refill, and also for cracked pepper to finish my pasta primi. The tuna tartare is creamy and the avocado relish doesn't bowl everything over, even though it's rich. It's good. The broth for the soup, poured separately on the beans at table, is full of flavor, although K isn't into the caramelized bay scallops. I try them and not sure they're warranted. Maybe an Anaheim pepper in a very thin dice would have worked? Charlie?
My pasta is fine; not sure if I can tell this tagliatelle from spaghettini. I love looking at the shapes and colors, and there are mouthfuls of mushrooms and seasonal asparagus. My favorite thing is the plate: Think of a smooth, white LP with a bowl popped out of the center label. The transition to the red bottles also happens seamlessly. They're opened early on, and the Peterson zin gets decanted. (Hop Kiln did advise having its blend otherwise sit for 20-30 minutes.)
The comments on the entrees (check 'em out) are average, except for Ron's Wagyu steak, called excellent. Roz has the duck, K has the salmon and I got trout. The presentation is knockout, especially the skin of the trout fried into a thin cracker on half a filet, then a layer of green chard, then the other half of the filet on white watercress. Ron's russet-potato fries are stacked like Lincoln logs, at right angles. But again, three out of four reviews come in as just adequate.
Roz, who's been spoiled by Aaron and Del Monte Meats, doesn't think her duck breast is that special. I try it and agree. She also reports her "cassoulet" was overly salty. (Knowing her palate, that means too salty.) Kristen isn't doing cartwheels, although her salmon pieces in miso look beautiful.
I'm not overwhelmed, either. The cracker novelty wears off quick, the so-called bacon roasted beets are a bit bland, and how come I can't cut this chard that well with this knife I have for the fish? The fish: It's fine, rendering itself as trout. The best part, though, is the watercress and "pesto."
Our wines, all acquired at reasonable prices, pair well. I do have to reach over to the nearby counter and refill my glass a couple of times. The waiter did notice eventually.
Desserts, which included cappuccino crème brulee and a chocolate peanut-butter bar, become popular. I barely get a forkful once they go around Kristen. It's an up-note ending to a $300 evening, with $40 tacked on for corkage on two bottles.
Weren't Sonoma wines supposed to be comped corkage? Only two per table, our waiter says. Why weren't we told that over the phone? Two bottles are standard, he replies. (Hey, the charge is reasonable, given that we had chilled bottles, employed a decanter and used different glassware. Just let us know, mkay?)
Next time I'm around the square and feeling saucy, I may visit again and enjoy drinks and starters. There's even something of a scene with live jazz and couches in the lounge across the courtyard. Yet I want to ask, Charlie Palmer, even for seasoned food nuts like ourselves, shouldn't there have been more standouts? The setting and presentation are in place, but doesn't that raise the bar for what you actually taste, and for what you think you're getting?
It's your name out there.
5/21/07
Review: Blue Water Grill
I'm a few days late with this one, but for the record, the Blue Water Grill on Union Square in NYC is definitely a place to go with an editor who's paying your way. My share of the damage: two martinis, a wild mushroom maki (six pieces), two single pieces of unremarkable nigiri, and a small asparagus-leek soup. My patron of the arts had a grilled tuna steak, very rare, a few oysters, and two martinis as well. Would anyone like to venture a guess as to the price, not including tip?
A new new thing: twice in New York I was asked if I wanted my martini up or on the rocks. On the rocks? Doesn't that disqualify the beverage from being a martini?
A new new thing: twice in New York I was asked if I wanted my martini up or on the rocks. On the rocks? Doesn't that disqualify the beverage from being a martini?
5/16/07
Review(s): Gotham Falafel
Dateline NYC, baby. The world tour continues. Two lunches of note so far, both with colleagues from The Daily Capitalist:
1) Sahara's, a charming Turkish place on 2nd Ave. between 28/29. We each chose from the prix fixe menu: a choice of one app, one salad, and one entree, $13. All the veggies were fresh, down to the chopped parsley in the tabouleh, and the fried bits, such as my zucchini fritters and falafel, were light and crispy. I was impressed, and you all know I don't say that lightly. I also appreciated the menu that went a bit beyond the typical Mid-East fare: calf's liver, okra, etc. to complement the traditional dishes. Lots of veg options, too, which my colleague appreciated.
2) Kalustyan's, a revered specialty food shop on Lexington. They have a Middle Eastern deli on the second floor with a few barebones tables. I could eat the fava beans in tomato sauce all day. I had a veggie combo: beans, spinach sauteed with pine nuts, and Israeli (aka pearl) couscous with chick peas. My colleague had the cured beef sandwich on pita. The goods on sale in the shop were vast and varied. Check the inventory on the Web site. If I lived here I'd shop at Kalustyan's every day.
Next episode: Seeing and being seen with A Tall Handsome Man at the Blue Water Grill.
1) Sahara's, a charming Turkish place on 2nd Ave. between 28/29. We each chose from the prix fixe menu: a choice of one app, one salad, and one entree, $13. All the veggies were fresh, down to the chopped parsley in the tabouleh, and the fried bits, such as my zucchini fritters and falafel, were light and crispy. I was impressed, and you all know I don't say that lightly. I also appreciated the menu that went a bit beyond the typical Mid-East fare: calf's liver, okra, etc. to complement the traditional dishes. Lots of veg options, too, which my colleague appreciated.
2) Kalustyan's, a revered specialty food shop on Lexington. They have a Middle Eastern deli on the second floor with a few barebones tables. I could eat the fava beans in tomato sauce all day. I had a veggie combo: beans, spinach sauteed with pine nuts, and Israeli (aka pearl) couscous with chick peas. My colleague had the cured beef sandwich on pita. The goods on sale in the shop were vast and varied. Check the inventory on the Web site. If I lived here I'd shop at Kalustyan's every day.
Next episode: Seeing and being seen with A Tall Handsome Man at the Blue Water Grill.
5/13/07
Bloomingfood
Dateline: Bloomington, Ind., home of my sister the folklore grad student and her engineer fiance. A few things to report on the culinary front:
* Befitting a liberal college town smack in the middle of one of the reddest states in the union, the Saturday farmer's market had plenty of fresh greens (mustard greens, arugula, beautiful heads of lettuce, herbs), two grumpy alte kackers making kettle corn, a dairy-and-egg stand with Biblical passages on the product labels, a sign-up booth for Obama '08, and a guy selling beer bratwurst at 9 am. I went for the bratwurst (kraut, sweet peppers, French's mustard). Then I went for the BBQ chicken tamal two booths down (topped with a homemade tomatillo sauce). Then I couldn't resist a bag of cracked black walnuts ($3).
The Biblical dairy stand had a sign that read "Cow shares available." I asked the blond fresh-faced man what that meant. Selling raw milk is illegal, but if you own the cow -- or a share of the cow -- you can do whatever you want with the milk, even drink it unpasteurized, the way God intended. Clever, eh?
* The best restaurant in town, Tallent, was the site of our dinner Thursday night. Just my sister and I, we decided to share everything and, befitting our foodieness and over-education, got down to giving it all a full-court critique. The waiter realized what he was in for early on when, asking if our salt cod cakes were good, we said "Yes, but could you tell us what the herb is that gives the accompanying garnish a slight taste of anise?" (Can you guess? A hint: it wasn't fennel.) He stuttered a bit, backed up a few steps, and said he'd ask the kitchen.
When ordering main courses, I couldn't decide between the halibut with local morels and fiddleheads and the lamb platter. My sister said, well, if you've never had morels, you really should, and so I did. The waiter heard all this, but when my halibut arrived, there were no morels to be found. So....where are the morels? I asked the waiter. He mumbled something about the kitchen running out, but only having enough to use for garnish on the other dishes, and I said, geez, that was sort of the reason I ordered the dish. Which, being privy to the earlier conversation, he knew full well. He wandered away without any resolution.
A couple bites into my halibut, a waitress who seemed to have more authority came over and apologized. The kitchen had apparently forgotten to tell the wait staff about the lack of morels, perhaps true, perhaps covering our waiter's ass. She comped the halibut dish and let me order something else gratis.
I went for the steak frites (appetizer portion).
I appreciated Tallent's efforts: local and sustainable ingredients whenever possible, creative yet unpretentious twists to nearly every dish, friendly service and a wonderful warm room. But $25-to-35 entrees demand scrutiny, and if things don't add up, you've done your diners a disservice.
* If you're ever in Bloomington, eat breakfast at the Runcible Spoon.
* Today my sister is grilling in the backyard, but afterwards we'll wander a few blocks to the local winery and sample the fruit wines.
* Best meal of the weekend: tie goes to two dishes, both by my sister. 1) Shrimp and hearts-of-palm salad. 2) Baked phyllo triangles stuffed with zucchini, goat cheese and roasted pine nuts. With luck, she'll join us Bistrovians soon and grace us with her recipes.
* Answer to the fennel question: it was French tarragon.
* Befitting a liberal college town smack in the middle of one of the reddest states in the union, the Saturday farmer's market had plenty of fresh greens (mustard greens, arugula, beautiful heads of lettuce, herbs), two grumpy alte kackers making kettle corn, a dairy-and-egg stand with Biblical passages on the product labels, a sign-up booth for Obama '08, and a guy selling beer bratwurst at 9 am. I went for the bratwurst (kraut, sweet peppers, French's mustard). Then I went for the BBQ chicken tamal two booths down (topped with a homemade tomatillo sauce). Then I couldn't resist a bag of cracked black walnuts ($3).
The Biblical dairy stand had a sign that read "Cow shares available." I asked the blond fresh-faced man what that meant. Selling raw milk is illegal, but if you own the cow -- or a share of the cow -- you can do whatever you want with the milk, even drink it unpasteurized, the way God intended. Clever, eh?
* The best restaurant in town, Tallent, was the site of our dinner Thursday night. Just my sister and I, we decided to share everything and, befitting our foodieness and over-education, got down to giving it all a full-court critique. The waiter realized what he was in for early on when, asking if our salt cod cakes were good, we said "Yes, but could you tell us what the herb is that gives the accompanying garnish a slight taste of anise?" (Can you guess? A hint: it wasn't fennel.) He stuttered a bit, backed up a few steps, and said he'd ask the kitchen.
When ordering main courses, I couldn't decide between the halibut with local morels and fiddleheads and the lamb platter. My sister said, well, if you've never had morels, you really should, and so I did. The waiter heard all this, but when my halibut arrived, there were no morels to be found. So....where are the morels? I asked the waiter. He mumbled something about the kitchen running out, but only having enough to use for garnish on the other dishes, and I said, geez, that was sort of the reason I ordered the dish. Which, being privy to the earlier conversation, he knew full well. He wandered away without any resolution.
A couple bites into my halibut, a waitress who seemed to have more authority came over and apologized. The kitchen had apparently forgotten to tell the wait staff about the lack of morels, perhaps true, perhaps covering our waiter's ass. She comped the halibut dish and let me order something else gratis.
I went for the steak frites (appetizer portion).
I appreciated Tallent's efforts: local and sustainable ingredients whenever possible, creative yet unpretentious twists to nearly every dish, friendly service and a wonderful warm room. But $25-to-35 entrees demand scrutiny, and if things don't add up, you've done your diners a disservice.
* If you're ever in Bloomington, eat breakfast at the Runcible Spoon.
* Today my sister is grilling in the backyard, but afterwards we'll wander a few blocks to the local winery and sample the fruit wines.
* Best meal of the weekend: tie goes to two dishes, both by my sister. 1) Shrimp and hearts-of-palm salad. 2) Baked phyllo triangles stuffed with zucchini, goat cheese and roasted pine nuts. With luck, she'll join us Bistrovians soon and grace us with her recipes.
* Answer to the fennel question: it was French tarragon.
5/12/07
Adesso, Perbacco
As readers of this space know, I've had a thing for the spendy place downtown. As Jomo knows all too well, I finally was able to sit at table and partake. I report, you decide if it's a mash note.
During a hectic work week, I had planned on just after-work drinks with the lovely Kristen, before she headed off to the dining room beyond the bar with her fellow personal-finance staffers. (We bumped into da Fanch on the way in, and I'm proud to say that she has now seen the mysterious Jomo in person. Not to be confused with Mysterious Jomo.) But the pretty ornery personal-finance editor wouldn't have any of it: No way I was leaving.
At least three times I excused myself. He insisted he was buying me dinner. Actually, the company was buying, and interestingly, there was an extra spot. I'm still writing him a thank-you note.
There were nine of us in total, and we were at the far end upstairs, but we were not alone the whole night. The waiter pointed our evening's host to the super Tuscans on the wine list, and suggested several appetizers. I counted two waiters in shirts and ties, a woman who walks the floor and helps with wine and assorted runners pouring, clearing, checking.
We began with hamachi crudo, large serving plates of house salumi with pork paté (SFGate photo here), fritto misto, salt cod in a brandade style with crostini and the absolutely dynamite burata, which is folded soft cheeses that make a sort of pillow. I must be missing something, but I did note how divine the homemade rolls were -- warm, toothsome, a little sour and dusted with a touch of flour. I can't remember the last time I ate a dinner roll.
Then for our second courses, I had the salad of so-called little gems, which are like baby Romaine leaves. Burton, sitting across from me, insisted I have some of his octopus, which was bore a slight char from the grill. I'm having that when I go back.
My main dish was the Berkshire pork chop with borlotti beans, braised red chard and roasted tomatoes. It was a plump piece of pig patterned with a crosshatch from the grill, and it was perhaps the best-prepared chop I've ever had. The color within was similar to that of a flatiron steak ordered medium, and other than a little fat trimming, all of it was delectable.
For dessert, I paired homemade hazelnut cookies with a Vino Santo, and the cookies blew everyone away. Their looks were deceiving, because they seemed so rich but were so light to the touch.
On the way out later, I ask Umberto, the omniscient force on the floor at Perbacco, about the dish. "We start with a superior product," he said, and then comes the brining. As I said, Umberto knows.
We also had a little chat about the china cups for the servings of gelato, molded to have a slight dent to look and feel like Dixie cups. Umberto said that when they saw them, they thought they were the coolest.
Perbacco has staked out something people like -- upscale Italian -- and brings it with both barrels but none of the haute attitude. Burton did mention that the reservation was quite difficult to negotiate. Note for next time: Sample the five-hour pork sugo and/or roasted veal ragout. Maybe I can talk the parents into it, now that summer's coming. Also, study the wine list, since it's likely I'll be buying, as soon as the raise or Uncle Rupert comes through. I promise, Umberto.
During a hectic work week, I had planned on just after-work drinks with the lovely Kristen, before she headed off to the dining room beyond the bar with her fellow personal-finance staffers. (We bumped into da Fanch on the way in, and I'm proud to say that she has now seen the mysterious Jomo in person. Not to be confused with Mysterious Jomo.) But the pretty ornery personal-finance editor wouldn't have any of it: No way I was leaving.
At least three times I excused myself. He insisted he was buying me dinner. Actually, the company was buying, and interestingly, there was an extra spot. I'm still writing him a thank-you note.
There were nine of us in total, and we were at the far end upstairs, but we were not alone the whole night. The waiter pointed our evening's host to the super Tuscans on the wine list, and suggested several appetizers. I counted two waiters in shirts and ties, a woman who walks the floor and helps with wine and assorted runners pouring, clearing, checking.
We began with hamachi crudo, large serving plates of house salumi with pork paté (SFGate photo here), fritto misto, salt cod in a brandade style with crostini and the absolutely dynamite burata, which is folded soft cheeses that make a sort of pillow. I must be missing something, but I did note how divine the homemade rolls were -- warm, toothsome, a little sour and dusted with a touch of flour. I can't remember the last time I ate a dinner roll.
Then for our second courses, I had the salad of so-called little gems, which are like baby Romaine leaves. Burton, sitting across from me, insisted I have some of his octopus, which was bore a slight char from the grill. I'm having that when I go back.
My main dish was the Berkshire pork chop with borlotti beans, braised red chard and roasted tomatoes. It was a plump piece of pig patterned with a crosshatch from the grill, and it was perhaps the best-prepared chop I've ever had. The color within was similar to that of a flatiron steak ordered medium, and other than a little fat trimming, all of it was delectable.
For dessert, I paired homemade hazelnut cookies with a Vino Santo, and the cookies blew everyone away. Their looks were deceiving, because they seemed so rich but were so light to the touch.
On the way out later, I ask Umberto, the omniscient force on the floor at Perbacco, about the dish. "We start with a superior product," he said, and then comes the brining. As I said, Umberto knows.
We also had a little chat about the china cups for the servings of gelato, molded to have a slight dent to look and feel like Dixie cups. Umberto said that when they saw them, they thought they were the coolest.
Perbacco has staked out something people like -- upscale Italian -- and brings it with both barrels but none of the haute attitude. Burton did mention that the reservation was quite difficult to negotiate. Note for next time: Sample the five-hour pork sugo and/or roasted veal ragout. Maybe I can talk the parents into it, now that summer's coming. Also, study the wine list, since it's likely I'll be buying, as soon as the raise or Uncle Rupert comes through. I promise, Umberto.
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