Mac, a friend of the family, Duchampian champion and all-around intense dude, gave me half his yogurt starter the other day. It looks like enlarged, slightly yellow cottage cheese, or from the other end of the telescope, very small misshapen lumps of mozzarella. Making yogurt from the starter is a rather complicated process that requires boiling milk, hand-held thermometers, and ice baths, so I've followed Mac's lead and made kefir -- basically, soured milk.
I pour milk over the starter curds, seal it up tight in a screw-top travel mug, and let it sit out for 8 to 12 hours. The curds float to the top, the scent is reminiscent of an Afghani goatherd's leather slippers, and it's ready to be strained through a colander.
The curds go back into the travel mug for the next round. If kept in the fridge, they stay dormant. Otherwise, they grow like mad, like Tribbles. Or Gremlins. Or bacteria, which is what they are.
Yes, it's an acquired taste. If you like the sour yogurt drinks usually flavored with nothing but mint and salt and available at most Middle Eastern places, you'll like my version. Also good: throwing it into a blender with a banana, a tablespoon of honey and/or maple syrup, and fresh mint. Call ahead and I'll have a batch ready for you.
2/20/07
2/19/07
Al's Cioppino
I've learned many things in the kitchen of Roz, but perhaps my favorite is cioppino, the San Franciscan seafood stew. There really is no recipe, per se, but as a shortcut you can start with this one and adjust liberally. Here are my tweaks:
* Dice carrots, celery and potato, each equal to about 1 cup. Add them when you add the bell pepper and saute.
* Salmon works nicely instead of the snapper or halibut. Avoid farmed salmon if possible.
* If you can't find fresh clams, use a can of minced clams.
* Seafood stock is better than bottled clam juice.
* Substitute white wine for the red.
* Dice carrots, celery and potato, each equal to about 1 cup. Add them when you add the bell pepper and saute.
* Salmon works nicely instead of the snapper or halibut. Avoid farmed salmon if possible.
* If you can't find fresh clams, use a can of minced clams.
* Seafood stock is better than bottled clam juice.
* Substitute white wine for the red.
2/18/07
From Perbacco to Taco
Readers of this space, all three of us, will note that I tend to scour my work environs pretty well for all sorts to eat, since by nature I'm easily bored and restive. A couple of things have been hitting it right on the nose recently, and the first of course is the newest and hottest place on the megaexpensive restaurant row of the Financial district, Perbacco.
Suffice it to say that my wife, on unpaid book leave, is on Perbacco watch, and in her own nice way has conveyed that it's a sometimes treat, like foie gras or mofongo. I understand and agree; adding appetizers to your assortment of drinks means the tab's going to hit three digits in short order, so it's hard to eat while enjoying hard-to-find Carpano Antica and other alcohols in a swank but impressively laid-back scene. The booths there at the bar are up for the taking, and even though it's sometimes just my art director and myself, we're never asked to make room or even leave when we're just gabbing.
I love Perbacco, though I've never had an formal meal there. It will become one of those things I'll eventually get around to one of these years.
Years ago, dear readers, when the Industry Standard was produced out of its Pacific Street office, we could have used a taco truck. I've been prowling around the area pretty frequently since, but it seems sometime in the last year or so, a couple of guys pulled into the parking lot at Sansome and Pacific and have never left.
This is the real L.A. thing, with the couple of tables and chairs under the awning, at L.A. prices -- at $1.50 for your old-school taco (meat, beans, hot sauce). They even throw in free jalapeños. I totally stumbled into it on the way to El Zorro on Columbus and am a bit beside myself. I'll have a further review forthwith.
Suffice it to say that my wife, on unpaid book leave, is on Perbacco watch, and in her own nice way has conveyed that it's a sometimes treat, like foie gras or mofongo. I understand and agree; adding appetizers to your assortment of drinks means the tab's going to hit three digits in short order, so it's hard to eat while enjoying hard-to-find Carpano Antica and other alcohols in a swank but impressively laid-back scene. The booths there at the bar are up for the taking, and even though it's sometimes just my art director and myself, we're never asked to make room or even leave when we're just gabbing.
I love Perbacco, though I've never had an formal meal there. It will become one of those things I'll eventually get around to one of these years.
Years ago, dear readers, when the Industry Standard was produced out of its Pacific Street office, we could have used a taco truck. I've been prowling around the area pretty frequently since, but it seems sometime in the last year or so, a couple of guys pulled into the parking lot at Sansome and Pacific and have never left.
This is the real L.A. thing, with the couple of tables and chairs under the awning, at L.A. prices -- at $1.50 for your old-school taco (meat, beans, hot sauce). They even throw in free jalapeños. I totally stumbled into it on the way to El Zorro on Columbus and am a bit beside myself. I'll have a further review forthwith.
2/17/07
Wine: Le Ferme Julien
Rouge 2004
Cotes Du Ventoux
Note to self: OK for self, not OK for discerning guests. It's table wine, fercrissake, not meant for snobbery. For $4.99 at TJ's, at least it's better than two and half bottles of Charles Shaw.
Cotes Du Ventoux
Note to self: OK for self, not OK for discerning guests. It's table wine, fercrissake, not meant for snobbery. For $4.99 at TJ's, at least it's better than two and half bottles of Charles Shaw.
Review: Le Soleil Also Rises
On a balmy February night -- don't you love those words? -- we walked across the park to the Inner Richmond to see bluegrass at the Plough and Stars. But first, to eat.
Outside Burma Superstar, the sidewalk was packed with hipsters waiting for hours, apparently obeying the maxim "Never dine with anyone over 30." Incredible. Did the Guardian just review it or something? Giorgio's pizza was tempting, but an open table beckoned through the window at Le Soleil, the old Vietnamese standby.
Well, little did we know. The standby has had a makeover. No more fishtank, no more glass-topped tables. It's been quite nicely remodeled, perhaps in the way one can afford to nicely remodel at Bed Bath & Beyond, like I would really know the difference, so who cares since the room felt warmer and more elegant and friendly than before. Prices have gone up accordingly, but not shockingly. We opted for a mix of the comfortingly familiar, deep fried Imperial rolls, and the oh-so-San Francisco, brown rice instead of white.
The rice was cooked perfectly. The rolls were crisp and just oily enough to be a guilty pleasure. The pan-fried catfish filets were breaded in something crunchy but also gingery, a very nice touch. At $15 or $16, that was the most expensive item we ordered. Chicken in clay pot and a mundane but light veggie combo stirfry rounded out the meal. Total of $80 including tip for three peeps.
Not cheap, but with the improvements I think the price is deserved. I'm looking forward to seeing what else on the menu they've upgraded.
Outside Burma Superstar, the sidewalk was packed with hipsters waiting for hours, apparently obeying the maxim "Never dine with anyone over 30." Incredible. Did the Guardian just review it or something? Giorgio's pizza was tempting, but an open table beckoned through the window at Le Soleil, the old Vietnamese standby.
Well, little did we know. The standby has had a makeover. No more fishtank, no more glass-topped tables. It's been quite nicely remodeled, perhaps in the way one can afford to nicely remodel at Bed Bath & Beyond, like I would really know the difference, so who cares since the room felt warmer and more elegant and friendly than before. Prices have gone up accordingly, but not shockingly. We opted for a mix of the comfortingly familiar, deep fried Imperial rolls, and the oh-so-San Francisco, brown rice instead of white.
The rice was cooked perfectly. The rolls were crisp and just oily enough to be a guilty pleasure. The pan-fried catfish filets were breaded in something crunchy but also gingery, a very nice touch. At $15 or $16, that was the most expensive item we ordered. Chicken in clay pot and a mundane but light veggie combo stirfry rounded out the meal. Total of $80 including tip for three peeps.
Not cheap, but with the improvements I think the price is deserved. I'm looking forward to seeing what else on the menu they've upgraded.
2/16/07
Review: Pre-Theater Options
The worst part about seeing a show at the ACT or other Union Square-area theater, other than an almost laughably bad Hedda Gabler, is the food. The options within short strolling distance are atrocious. The Fanch and I have gone down the checklist:
Max's, corner of Geary and Mason: They couldn't get a pastrami sandwich and chopped salad right. Hello? Jewish deli? Max? Pastrami?
King of Thai Noodle House: Barely edible.
The Israeli place across from the ACT: Out of business, thank G-d.
Lefty O'Doul's, Tad's Steaks, John's Grill: Do I look like I'm from Iowa?
The Westfield, downstairs: You say "upscale food court," I say "depressing high school cafeteria."
Michael Mina at the St. Francis: OK, we haven't tried it yet. Not exactly a place for a quick bite before a show.
Persimmon, a Middle Eastern place up the TenderNob hill: Feh.
We finally found a safe haven: Akiko's Sushi Bar up the hill on Mason. Small, cozy, run by two Chinese ladies. Or two ladies who speak Chinese to each other. The sushi is good, but what I love about it are the little salads. Roasted eggplant, crab-and-cucumber, seaweed...at least a dozen little plates that range from $3 to $11 are filling, tasty and creative. A few of those plus a special roll or two and it's a perfect preshow meal. We usually spend $45 to $60, not cheap, but worth it. But beware: the last couple times there's been a new waiter, a young guy with dark hair who bears the creepy combination of unctuousness and stupidity. In such a small place, he's unavoidable -- especially when he interrupts a conversation to express his interest in the topic at hand. Whoa. Big no-no. Fanch wants to call Akiko's and warn them that he's bad for business.
Max's, corner of Geary and Mason: They couldn't get a pastrami sandwich and chopped salad right. Hello? Jewish deli? Max? Pastrami?
King of Thai Noodle House: Barely edible.
The Israeli place across from the ACT: Out of business, thank G-d.
Lefty O'Doul's, Tad's Steaks, John's Grill: Do I look like I'm from Iowa?
The Westfield, downstairs: You say "upscale food court," I say "depressing high school cafeteria."
Michael Mina at the St. Francis: OK, we haven't tried it yet. Not exactly a place for a quick bite before a show.
Persimmon, a Middle Eastern place up the TenderNob hill: Feh.
We finally found a safe haven: Akiko's Sushi Bar up the hill on Mason. Small, cozy, run by two Chinese ladies. Or two ladies who speak Chinese to each other. The sushi is good, but what I love about it are the little salads. Roasted eggplant, crab-and-cucumber, seaweed...at least a dozen little plates that range from $3 to $11 are filling, tasty and creative. A few of those plus a special roll or two and it's a perfect preshow meal. We usually spend $45 to $60, not cheap, but worth it. But beware: the last couple times there's been a new waiter, a young guy with dark hair who bears the creepy combination of unctuousness and stupidity. In such a small place, he's unavoidable -- especially when he interrupts a conversation to express his interest in the topic at hand. Whoa. Big no-no. Fanch wants to call Akiko's and warn them that he's bad for business.
2/14/07
My Baby Just Cares for Me
On this day of overripe roses and mandatory intimacy, I appreciate the simplest of dinners, my fave from my wife of six months: baked salmon. She takes a fillet and seasons it with salt and pepper, and dabs on some hoisin, teriyaki or even BBQ sauce. Pops it in the oven for 20 minutes while the man hands over a glass of Chardonnay and composes a salad with avocado and pistachios, chatting about the drama of the day.
The savory oiliness and meatiness of the salmon flesh is so satisfying and hard to top with other frutti di mare, now that shark and swordfish are on the verboten list. I brought home ling cod one day (I live in the Richmond) and it was way more delicate than I remembered. Any suggestions?
I kind of know that we'll beat bird flu so we'll always have roasters, but will we succeed in wrecking the ocean so that in our lifetime we'll no longer have wild seafood? Meanwhile, an economy of scale delivers fresh fillets almost everywhere to be fetishized. On blogs and such.
The savory oiliness and meatiness of the salmon flesh is so satisfying and hard to top with other frutti di mare, now that shark and swordfish are on the verboten list. I brought home ling cod one day (I live in the Richmond) and it was way more delicate than I remembered. Any suggestions?
I kind of know that we'll beat bird flu so we'll always have roasters, but will we succeed in wrecking the ocean so that in our lifetime we'll no longer have wild seafood? Meanwhile, an economy of scale delivers fresh fillets almost everywhere to be fetishized. On blogs and such.
2/12/07
It's Tadich and That's That
The hydra of restaurant lust -- which is never satiated, really -- can spur a trip of thousands of miles or a walk across the street. By crossing California Street from my office building last week and walking into Tadich, I finally got to do one of those things I had pledged for myself, but for some reason had never made happen. (Tangent: Some of the people who endure mountain treks, triathlons and marathons, I’m told, cross the finish line and before collapsing yell to no one in particular: “Only 33 more things to do before I die!” My pursuits are a little more pedestrian.)
I’ve had downtownish jobs for more than 10 years and have mastered most of the budget-lunch options there: Pancho Villa tacos off the Embarcadero, Burger Factory’s double cheeseburger on a wheat bun for $3.95, the Wildflower salad run for less than $8, or if I’m really cooking, less than $7 (leading to my First Rule of Wildflower: Add beets, and the likelihood your salad will be more than $10 approaches one). With a coworker leaving for London, though, my time had come.
I knew enough to make our Tadich date for 11:45 am, and I suspected seasoned diners would do the same, since showing up a few minutes after noon spells doom. Indeed there already are some twosomes ahead of us, but the counter is pretty open. The hostess (who along with the rest of the staff is wearing the kind of white smock my dad used to make and sell) just tells you to follow the folks in front of you. So you walk down the aisle and hang up your jacket, just like everybody else.
The waitperson behind the counter, without rushing, recommends the crab cakes, cioppino and charbroiled Petrale sole. He also says that Tadich feeds hundreds of people every day. You realize that’s why you’ve sidled up and hung your jacket. The whole setting, with the fixtures set not to burn bright but just right, the coat hooks, the setup for the glassware, liquor bottles, beer taps, soda gun and cut lemons, the old-school house china and smocks, everything’s basically there for one thing: for you, and you wanna get fed.
As folks wait behind you, the staff gets them drinks without neglecting you at the counter. (One guy leaned over me and ordered a shot of schnapps and a bottle of Corona. He paid with a $100 bill, leaving $3 for the tip.) I’ve already started with the clam broth, which is nearly clear, not salty, not briny, not subtle, just brothy. In between courses, the hostess/staffer gets the stainless-steel vessel for the bar mixer and puts a little ice in and then cracks an egg into it, adding gin and orange juice. After blending, she gets some cinnamon to finish the drink, which is a gin fizz or Ramos fizz, I’m not sure. But having some extra left in her vessel, she gets two short highball glasses and lets us try some, topped with cinnamon, off the cuff.
The drink isn’t sweet, but neither is it savory. The gin’s in there, but cinnamon gives it that Mom-made-it touch, which you see is completely consistent with the make-yourself-at-home-in-Mayberry feel of the entire room. You’re actually stimulated not so much by what’s coming and brought to you, but by how. You’re actually comfortable where you are, and you’re being tended to.
The Petrale sole ends up being a bit larger than the oval plate, and has its requisite sampling of veggies, broccoli and snow peas, as well as a generous serving of home/steak fries. The tartar sauce arrives separately, just as I asked. The pinot grigio I paired is fine, and not outrageous at $6.75 a glass. The fish is perfectly cooked; the skin on the underside has slightly caramelized, and the flesh has telltale grill marks. I put salt, pepper and lemon on everything.
For dessert, the staff recommendation is to avoid the bread pudding due to its sheer size, and down the counter there’s one being served the size of a couple VHS tapes. I have the rice custard pudding, which again isn’t overwhelmingly sweet or sensational. It is what it is, comforting in its texture and coolness.
This lunch for two easily is more than $50, and although I’m expensing it (we did talk shop) it’s not something to dwell on. It’s one of my best lunches ever, and I spent the rest of the day in a somewhat exalted state. The questions I kept going over, which in our food world are the ones that speak to why we make reservations months in advance and schlep around continents and put up with the haughtiness of it all, were the following: What popped out in what I ate? Which flavors, ingredients or elements shone?
At Tadich, none of that is the point at all.
I’ve had downtownish jobs for more than 10 years and have mastered most of the budget-lunch options there: Pancho Villa tacos off the Embarcadero, Burger Factory’s double cheeseburger on a wheat bun for $3.95, the Wildflower salad run for less than $8, or if I’m really cooking, less than $7 (leading to my First Rule of Wildflower: Add beets, and the likelihood your salad will be more than $10 approaches one). With a coworker leaving for London, though, my time had come.
I knew enough to make our Tadich date for 11:45 am, and I suspected seasoned diners would do the same, since showing up a few minutes after noon spells doom. Indeed there already are some twosomes ahead of us, but the counter is pretty open. The hostess (who along with the rest of the staff is wearing the kind of white smock my dad used to make and sell) just tells you to follow the folks in front of you. So you walk down the aisle and hang up your jacket, just like everybody else.
The waitperson behind the counter, without rushing, recommends the crab cakes, cioppino and charbroiled Petrale sole. He also says that Tadich feeds hundreds of people every day. You realize that’s why you’ve sidled up and hung your jacket. The whole setting, with the fixtures set not to burn bright but just right, the coat hooks, the setup for the glassware, liquor bottles, beer taps, soda gun and cut lemons, the old-school house china and smocks, everything’s basically there for one thing: for you, and you wanna get fed.
As folks wait behind you, the staff gets them drinks without neglecting you at the counter. (One guy leaned over me and ordered a shot of schnapps and a bottle of Corona. He paid with a $100 bill, leaving $3 for the tip.) I’ve already started with the clam broth, which is nearly clear, not salty, not briny, not subtle, just brothy. In between courses, the hostess/staffer gets the stainless-steel vessel for the bar mixer and puts a little ice in and then cracks an egg into it, adding gin and orange juice. After blending, she gets some cinnamon to finish the drink, which is a gin fizz or Ramos fizz, I’m not sure. But having some extra left in her vessel, she gets two short highball glasses and lets us try some, topped with cinnamon, off the cuff.
The drink isn’t sweet, but neither is it savory. The gin’s in there, but cinnamon gives it that Mom-made-it touch, which you see is completely consistent with the make-yourself-at-home-in-Mayberry feel of the entire room. You’re actually stimulated not so much by what’s coming and brought to you, but by how. You’re actually comfortable where you are, and you’re being tended to.
The Petrale sole ends up being a bit larger than the oval plate, and has its requisite sampling of veggies, broccoli and snow peas, as well as a generous serving of home/steak fries. The tartar sauce arrives separately, just as I asked. The pinot grigio I paired is fine, and not outrageous at $6.75 a glass. The fish is perfectly cooked; the skin on the underside has slightly caramelized, and the flesh has telltale grill marks. I put salt, pepper and lemon on everything.
For dessert, the staff recommendation is to avoid the bread pudding due to its sheer size, and down the counter there’s one being served the size of a couple VHS tapes. I have the rice custard pudding, which again isn’t overwhelmingly sweet or sensational. It is what it is, comforting in its texture and coolness.
This lunch for two easily is more than $50, and although I’m expensing it (we did talk shop) it’s not something to dwell on. It’s one of my best lunches ever, and I spent the rest of the day in a somewhat exalted state. The questions I kept going over, which in our food world are the ones that speak to why we make reservations months in advance and schlep around continents and put up with the haughtiness of it all, were the following: What popped out in what I ate? Which flavors, ingredients or elements shone?
At Tadich, none of that is the point at all.
2/7/07
Sausage at Home
Here's a surefire sausage sandwich from the Bistro Hugo lunchbreak file:
Using a precooked sausage, place the whole schlong on a square of tinfoil, crimped upward at the edges to prevent messy juice spill, and slide under the broiler. Check after a few minutes: the skin should be starting to crisp. Rotate sausage and put back under broiler.
Meanwhile, heat a dab of olive oil in a pan. Slice 1/4 onion and sautee slices in oil. Just as they start to brown, add a lusty forkful of sauerkraut. I like the TJ's stuff in the glass jar. Heat until excess liquid evaporates.
If you're using sandwich bread, better to go with something thick and hearty so the sausage and kraut juices won't turn it to mush. Apply condiments as needed. Spicy mustard, obviously. I like a little mayo, call me goyische, fine, and no ketchup.
Slice hot sausage lengthwise, place on bread. Pile onion and kraut onto sausage, letting excess fall onto the plate. Great with beer but not during work hours.
Using a precooked sausage, place the whole schlong on a square of tinfoil, crimped upward at the edges to prevent messy juice spill, and slide under the broiler. Check after a few minutes: the skin should be starting to crisp. Rotate sausage and put back under broiler.
Meanwhile, heat a dab of olive oil in a pan. Slice 1/4 onion and sautee slices in oil. Just as they start to brown, add a lusty forkful of sauerkraut. I like the TJ's stuff in the glass jar. Heat until excess liquid evaporates.
If you're using sandwich bread, better to go with something thick and hearty so the sausage and kraut juices won't turn it to mush. Apply condiments as needed. Spicy mustard, obviously. I like a little mayo, call me goyische, fine, and no ketchup.
Slice hot sausage lengthwise, place on bread. Pile onion and kraut onto sausage, letting excess fall onto the plate. Great with beer but not during work hours.
2/6/07
Welcome to the Bistro
Open for business. Restaurant reviews. Recipes. Tips. Suggestions. Our little corner of food-porn heaven.
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