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.
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.
5/6/07
The Ramjet of Pepper Grinders
I was going to take the rather unexpected step of writing in praise of paper pepper packets -- I've traditionally been morally opposed to pre-ground pepper, but during a recent lunch at my desk without a grinder available, I discovered that the stuff isn't so bad, it's better than nothing, the packaging typically has a somewhat retro charm (and it's recyclable!) -- and the alliteration is cute -- but I came up with something better.
Do you know what a ramjet is? It's a high-speed jet engine that, in contrast to a normal jet engine, contains neither a compressor nor a turbine. It's therefore simpler: The geometry of the thing is sufficient to sustain the processes that make it go.
Last holiday season, my mother stuffed a little pepper grinder into my stocking. I was initially attracted by the aesthetics of it: all stainless steel and industrial-looking. I discovered that it's really no more than a piston. A plug, which you pump with your thumb, moves thru a hole at the bottom of a larger cylinder. Where the plug and cylinder rub against each other, the plug is textured like the surface of an iron file. A chamber higher up in the cylinder holds the peppercorns. They get drawn into the gap between the plug and the cylinder, are crushed et voilà. A spring returns the plug to its resting position when you release it with your thumb.
The mechanism is thus much simpler than a traditional grinder but it's elegant and it works. It wouldn't do for a lot of grinding, and those with BlackBerry thumb should stay away, but it's a nifty little gadget nonetheless. Although I haven't tested this hypothesis yet, I suspect it would be less likely to gum up with softer peppercorns (for example, green or red) than traditional grinders, a problem I've had in the past.
And it's just the right size to find a place on my desk at work. Paper pepper packets, we were like two ships passing in the night.
5/4/07
Many Apples Olives
I'm in Many Apples (Anthony's epithet for Minneapolis). Last night, some coworkers and I had dinner at 112 Eatery in the Warehouse District.
Someone ordered an appetizer that consisted of olives served alongside candied nuts. The olives had a subtle taste of anise. Intriguing combination. I couldn't tell what the source of it was. Fennel? Might be interesting to experiment with a hint of sambuca or other anise-y ingredient.
5/3/07
Happy Hour on the Wolfgang Puck Express
While the eclectic lady is several floors upstairs shaking her head at the styles and price tags, I'm down in Macy's Cellar to see if I can find a cheap-ass splatter screen. $20 for an Oxo? Too much. I'm going to try Chinatown.
Since I'm here, and there's no telling whether K's trying anything on, I sidle up to Wolfgang Puck's sushi bar. First thing I notice: "Happy Hour / Monday - Friday / 5 - close / Sushi Rolls 1/2 price." Score.
I order the freshwater eel and avocado, along with the yellowtail and green onion. 12 pieces of sushi, $7 with tip. (Also I notice that miso soup is $2; beer pints are $3 to $4.) Just as I'm polishing off the pickled ginger, Kristen taps my shoulder and lets me know she's getting a cookie across the food court. "Wait for me," I say, paying.
By the time I look up she's already at the cookie counter. She buys me the Mexican chocolate chip, which has cinnamon. I love her so.
No need to elaborate on the ambience or the warmth of the staff. ("I'm tired. I need a new job," I heard the head waiter exclaim. Join the club, buddy.) What could you possibly expect? It's pretty good and fresh and you're in the basement of Macy's, undermining Wolfgang Puck by hitting happy hour. Check it out before theater or while waiting for the ladies.
Since I'm here, and there's no telling whether K's trying anything on, I sidle up to Wolfgang Puck's sushi bar. First thing I notice: "Happy Hour / Monday - Friday / 5 - close / Sushi Rolls 1/2 price." Score.
I order the freshwater eel and avocado, along with the yellowtail and green onion. 12 pieces of sushi, $7 with tip. (Also I notice that miso soup is $2; beer pints are $3 to $4.) Just as I'm polishing off the pickled ginger, Kristen taps my shoulder and lets me know she's getting a cookie across the food court. "Wait for me," I say, paying.
By the time I look up she's already at the cookie counter. She buys me the Mexican chocolate chip, which has cinnamon. I love her so.
No need to elaborate on the ambience or the warmth of the staff. ("I'm tired. I need a new job," I heard the head waiter exclaim. Join the club, buddy.) What could you possibly expect? It's pretty good and fresh and you're in the basement of Macy's, undermining Wolfgang Puck by hitting happy hour. Check it out before theater or while waiting for the ladies.
5/1/07
On Bacon Shrimp Fried Rice
Theory
Googling my leftovers, I came across this recipe for bacon shrimp fried rice.
After some pondering, I concluded that I'm uncomfortable with all these ingredients being thrown into the pan together.
I can see the shrimp and bacon together.
I'd be content with a separate complement of steamed broccoli.
The rice, also, could be on its own.
The mushrooms are the unknown. They could go with the shrimp/bacon (probably my preference, although they should be minced, not sliced) or with the rice.
A premise of my critique is that the ingredients should not all be chopped into small pieces. Too much noise and not enough signal.
You can't have too many actors on-stage unless they're organized into clear groupings, patterns and hierarchies (cf. Balanchine). Without, it's just a mob scene.
Praxis
Serve the bacon and shrimp sauté on top of a bed of fried rice (use the mushrooms in the rice after all). Steamed broccoli goes on the side. Be artful, as always.
Bacon and shrimp sauté: bacon, minced onion, shrimp, soy sauce, sherry.
Fried rice: onion, garlic, mushroom, egg, rice, sugar, salt.
Googling my leftovers, I came across this recipe for bacon shrimp fried rice.
After some pondering, I concluded that I'm uncomfortable with all these ingredients being thrown into the pan together.
I can see the shrimp and bacon together.
I'd be content with a separate complement of steamed broccoli.
The rice, also, could be on its own.
The mushrooms are the unknown. They could go with the shrimp/bacon (probably my preference, although they should be minced, not sliced) or with the rice.
A premise of my critique is that the ingredients should not all be chopped into small pieces. Too much noise and not enough signal.
You can't have too many actors on-stage unless they're organized into clear groupings, patterns and hierarchies (cf. Balanchine). Without, it's just a mob scene.
Praxis
Serve the bacon and shrimp sauté on top of a bed of fried rice (use the mushrooms in the rice after all). Steamed broccoli goes on the side. Be artful, as always.
Bacon and shrimp sauté: bacon, minced onion, shrimp, soy sauce, sherry.
Fried rice: onion, garlic, mushroom, egg, rice, sugar, salt.
4/26/07
La Zuppa
Feeling a little under the weather and as always overbooking the to-do list for the evening (always thwarted, of course, by unforeseen events like a sink-spout malfunction, which now is on Saturday's to-do list), it's time to pull the quart of TJ's tomato and red pepper soup from the earthquake-food stash. After a quick swing by the natural store (a stopgap) for pricey low-sodium, no-MSG chicken stock, I get back in the kitchen and slice some zucchini and dice some shallots.
I saute these in olive oil, then mix in the soup and stock. While that's coming to temperature, I've got some polenta slices browning in a cast-iron skillet. Once the soup boils a bit, I throw in some almost-done turkey meatballs that I'd set aside from making big pasta over the weekend. It's now or never for these guys.
Once everything's done, I pop in a couple of cubes of frozen basil, again from TJ's, to finish the soup. I ladle out healthy scoops into pasta bowls, place the round polenta slices (did I mention the polenta is TJ's?) in the middle and grate some Pecorino at table. Main-course soup in about 20 minutes. I'm exhausted.
I saute these in olive oil, then mix in the soup and stock. While that's coming to temperature, I've got some polenta slices browning in a cast-iron skillet. Once the soup boils a bit, I throw in some almost-done turkey meatballs that I'd set aside from making big pasta over the weekend. It's now or never for these guys.
Once everything's done, I pop in a couple of cubes of frozen basil, again from TJ's, to finish the soup. I ladle out healthy scoops into pasta bowls, place the round polenta slices (did I mention the polenta is TJ's?) in the middle and grate some Pecorino at table. Main-course soup in about 20 minutes. I'm exhausted.
Pizza My Combo
Tonight's toppings at the Bistro Hugo: arugula, crimini mushrooms, French country ham, and red spring onion. Best ever? C'est possible.
4/25/07
Mangez Le Couscous!
Gather 'round the tagine, kids. I've got an easy couscous recipe, which we tested on Elbo last night. He gave it the classic Bonanos Thumbs-Up And Belly-Rub, so we must have done something right.
We used two recipes, one for vegetarian couscous, a second for Moroccan kefta (meatballs).
Print those out if you wish and make the following changes, as I did, or try your own.
For the couscous:
Instead of zucchini, I used asparagus.
Instead of vegetable broth, I used chicken broth.
Instead of 3 tomatoes, I used half a can of TJ's peeled unsalted tomatoes.
I added most of a can of chickpeas, drained and rinsed. I added them toward the end to keep them firm.
I also found the spices generally lacking, so I added more. You can do much of this adjustment at the end when you've removed the veggies and you're reducing the remaining liquid to a sauce.
For the kefta:
Instead of ground lamb, I used ground turkey.
Instead of ground ginger, I grated fresh ginger.
I added a few dashes of worcestershire sauce and 1/2 teaspoon of dried crushed mint. Mint is good.
It's also good to let the meat mixture sit for a few hours in the fridge before cooking. Let the flavors combine.
We put the kefta in a pan under the broiler. They took longer to cook than advertised, but keep a close eye on them. Once they start to brown on one side, they'll go quickly, so turn them over to get brown on the other side. They'll also release a lot of liquid, so use a tall-sided pan that won't slosh over the rim. We did not use skewers -- they were fine sitting on the floor of the pan, which we spritzed with olive oil spray.
Tip for couscous: you can use water, but the more broth you substitute for water, the better the couscous. If you want to add things to the couscous -- green onion, walnuts, raisins, currants -- do so after it's cooked. You don't want soggy nuts, believe me.
We used two recipes, one for vegetarian couscous, a second for Moroccan kefta (meatballs).
Print those out if you wish and make the following changes, as I did, or try your own.
For the couscous:
Instead of zucchini, I used asparagus.
Instead of vegetable broth, I used chicken broth.
Instead of 3 tomatoes, I used half a can of TJ's peeled unsalted tomatoes.
I added most of a can of chickpeas, drained and rinsed. I added them toward the end to keep them firm.
I also found the spices generally lacking, so I added more. You can do much of this adjustment at the end when you've removed the veggies and you're reducing the remaining liquid to a sauce.
For the kefta:
Instead of ground lamb, I used ground turkey.
Instead of ground ginger, I grated fresh ginger.
I added a few dashes of worcestershire sauce and 1/2 teaspoon of dried crushed mint. Mint is good.
It's also good to let the meat mixture sit for a few hours in the fridge before cooking. Let the flavors combine.
We put the kefta in a pan under the broiler. They took longer to cook than advertised, but keep a close eye on them. Once they start to brown on one side, they'll go quickly, so turn them over to get brown on the other side. They'll also release a lot of liquid, so use a tall-sided pan that won't slosh over the rim. We did not use skewers -- they were fine sitting on the floor of the pan, which we spritzed with olive oil spray.
Tip for couscous: you can use water, but the more broth you substitute for water, the better the couscous. If you want to add things to the couscous -- green onion, walnuts, raisins, currants -- do so after it's cooked. You don't want soggy nuts, believe me.
4/24/07
Yogurt Curry Makes the World Go Round
Here's a wonderful way to escape the chicken-again blues. Make a marinade of plain yogurt, spice up with curry powder, and let the chicken soak in it for an hour. Adjust the flavor of the marinade as you see fit. I like squeezing in a clove of garlic, a generous amount of lemon zest (instead of juice, so it doesn't curdle or water down the yogurt), salt, pepper, perhaps a shake of paprika and a dash of worcestershire, and a lot of dried crushed mint. Make sure you get the right flavor BEFORE you dunk the chicken.
Pre-heat oven to 400, arrange the pieces on foil, bake until nearly done. Half-way through, flip the birds and spoon on more yogurt sauce, assuming you have some left over. When they're almost ready, spoon a bit more sauce on them and pop in the broiler for a few minutes.
Even if they overcook a bit, they remain juicy thanks to the yogurt.
Pre-heat oven to 400, arrange the pieces on foil, bake until nearly done. Half-way through, flip the birds and spoon on more yogurt sauce, assuming you have some left over. When they're almost ready, spoon a bit more sauce on them and pop in the broiler for a few minutes.
Even if they overcook a bit, they remain juicy thanks to the yogurt.
4/18/07
Finger Lickin
I'm setting myself up for a charge of hypocrisy. Here it comes. Duck!
Chicken, actually. I think drumsticks are fun, and only one week after I bitterly complain about infantile mashed potatoes. I prefer inconsistency to hypocrisy.
Inspired by how goddamn cheap they are ($2 for a pack of 5 at TJ's), I bought two packs. Emily had two ideas:
1) Egged then breaded with a corn meal-flour-spice-herb mixture. The proportions, roughly: 1 c corn meal, 1 c flour, salt and pepper, assortment of dried herbs, a few red pepper flakes, garlic powder and a tablespoon of finely grated parm.
2) Marinated in a soy-Asian glaze: soy, rice vinegar, sherry (the recipe called for mirin), grated ginger and finely minced garlic. Maybe a squeeze of lemon. Add or subtract as taste requires.
Both were very good at first, but the faux fried chicken got soggy quickly. Nonetheless a drumstick dinner was a great change of pace. Next time, we bust out the pomegranate-mint glaze.
There's not much to it but to concoct whatever breading or marinade you like. With a liquid marinade, the 'sticks can soak for hours. Then line them up on a large oiled oven sheet. Preheat to 450. Start them there for a few minutes, then reduce heat to 400. Check them after 30; they make take a bit longer.
Something bene to nota: One must be vigilant buying the TJ's house brand chicken parts. On a few occasions I've opened the packages to find a strong odor. Buy only the most recently packed. Or better yet, go for the kosher brands, though they may not offer drumstick-only packs.
Chicken, actually. I think drumsticks are fun, and only one week after I bitterly complain about infantile mashed potatoes. I prefer inconsistency to hypocrisy.
Inspired by how goddamn cheap they are ($2 for a pack of 5 at TJ's), I bought two packs. Emily had two ideas:
1) Egged then breaded with a corn meal-flour-spice-herb mixture. The proportions, roughly: 1 c corn meal, 1 c flour, salt and pepper, assortment of dried herbs, a few red pepper flakes, garlic powder and a tablespoon of finely grated parm.
2) Marinated in a soy-Asian glaze: soy, rice vinegar, sherry (the recipe called for mirin), grated ginger and finely minced garlic. Maybe a squeeze of lemon. Add or subtract as taste requires.
Both were very good at first, but the faux fried chicken got soggy quickly. Nonetheless a drumstick dinner was a great change of pace. Next time, we bust out the pomegranate-mint glaze.
There's not much to it but to concoct whatever breading or marinade you like. With a liquid marinade, the 'sticks can soak for hours. Then line them up on a large oiled oven sheet. Preheat to 450. Start them there for a few minutes, then reduce heat to 400. Check them after 30; they make take a bit longer.
Something bene to nota: One must be vigilant buying the TJ's house brand chicken parts. On a few occasions I've opened the packages to find a strong odor. Buy only the most recently packed. Or better yet, go for the kosher brands, though they may not offer drumstick-only packs.
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