Around the Neighborhood with 80 Bucks

While I scrounge around to remember what the lovely, saucy, superknowledgeable ladies brought me at Beretta (like the charred radicchio with ... ), I give you my tab from Kabuto. Yes, I was warned about Kabuto, stuck sort of nowhere a few blocks off Park Presidio. But do I ever listen?

1849 Oysters, 2 pieces (oyster, uni, quail egg, tobiko): $10
Abalone, 2 pieces: $10
Akamutsu (snapper?), 2 pieces: $10
CeViChe (flash-fried seaweed, halibut, salsa), 2 pieces: $5
Escolar, 2 pieces: $6
Shima Aji (like butter), 2 pieces: $7
Osumimono (clear soup): $4
Wakame (seaweed and greens salad): $5
Asahi, black: $5
Hojicha (green tea, free refills): $2

That adds up to $64, and tax is about $5, and I tipped too (imagine) so there you go. It's perhaps my most expensive single meal, and have to say one of the best. See you there during the next boom.

Recipe: John McCain’s Alphabet Soup

The fawning food press and popular books like "The United States of Arugula" love name-checking the big shots like Daniel Boulud and Jean-Georges Vongerichten. Not name-checked are those like Ivan Arias, who basically are cheated out of the equivalent of a tab for two at the swanky eateries where they work as much as 60 hours a week. This smacks of grotesque since these chef-owners often give away free dinners to their BFFs as a matter of doing business.

http://tinyurl.com/4rro5q

Here’s how we know what’s going on: The lawyer for the restaurateurs picks up campaign talking points and blames the patchwork of antiquated rules and regulations. Also the trial lawyers.

Tip of the hat to my Latin brothers.

Recipe: Pork Chile Verde

What the hell? K and I are now past the halfway point in her pregnancy and I can't find my keys or remember anything anymore. No, I'm not going to get an iPhone and make it all better. I'll run down some of the treats I still have notes on from Fat City:

• Oysters, wild mushroom salad and golden-beet ravioli with Hahn Estates pinot, at Bin 36.

• Oyster shooters with quail egg, and the "hye roller," at Meiji. Earlier I got attitude at the wine bar two doors down. Too bad for them.

8-12 fresh Anaheim peppers
2-3 pounds trimmed boneless pork shoulder, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 big onion
4-6 cloves of garlic
1 can El Pato jalapeño sauce

Start by firing the peppers. In batches, put two or three peppers directly on the stove burners, turned on full blast, with tongs. As you blacken them up, shift them into a ziplock bag to cool. (Do them in batches so you don't end up with lots of soiled bags.) Peel them by hand, without fretting over each speck of black. Set them on cutting boards to seed and chop finely.

In a big, heavy braising pot, heat up some oil. Brown the pork well, letting some of the juices evaporate. Scoop everything out to make your sofrito. Sauté the onion, then add the chilies and seasonings like salt, pepper, chili powder, a little oregano and cumin. Throw in the garlic for a minute until it's aromatic. Then add El Pato and stir to reduce a bit.

Add the pork and 4 cups of water. Turn the heat to medium and cover to bring to a boil. Once it's hot and bubbly, take the cover off and simmer for 3 hours until the meat's fork-tender. Serve with rice or just with chopped red onion and cilantro. Serves all your friends by the time you and everyone else is well into Negronis.

Bonus tip: Get the same amount of tomatillos as peppers. Take the papery skin off and pop them in boiling water for 10 minutes. Pulse them in a blender or that little pulse thing and add them to the sofrito with the chopped chilies.

Coffey from Cabo

My colleague and freelance Bistro blogger Michelle sends this pic, from Mariscos Mazatlán in downtown Cabo San Lucas. It's the seafood platter for two, or should I say at least two.

Fat City, II

We had a Tuesday night devoted for destination dining followed by improv theater, but the dinner was far more stimulating than the stagework, even though the hype and expectations were higher about the eatery. I suppose some purists avoid the rooms overseen by A-list chefs, as if they are somehow tainted. ("Nobody goes there, it's too crowded" is kinda the idea.) There's also the pitfall of not getting seated and getting attitude for not being so-and-so. Let me report that Rick Bayless and his Frontera Grill aren't bothering with shortcuts in the kitchen or short shrift at the front of the house. The place is mobbed, even at 6 on a Tuesday, but we arrived without a reservation and were greeted and seated in minutes. Maybe it's the Chicago nice.

Bayless has even thought through the aperitifs, including one based on hibiscus that also takes soda and bitters. For starters he's letting people go at all the shellfish and ceviche they can stomach, as well as making some Mexican mainstays small and scrumptious. We shared the sopes, which are English muffins of corn masa made tiny, tiny and topped with braised beef and roasted tomatoes.

My main course was the birria, or shredded goat meat, along with some fixins for tacos, just like if you were at a barbecue or outdoor party. K had mesquite-grillled chicken for her tacos. ("It was like the whole village was in there," she recalls. "I could taste the whole freaking village.")

My sister-in-law says that she's been eating rice and beans her whole life, and that she doesn't need them wrapped up in a tortilla. With high-quality ingredients, seasoning and preparation, you also don't need to drown everything in refried beans and melted cheese. On behalf of the whole freaking village, a big thank you to everyone at Frontera.

Fat City, I

I come not to berate Chicago, but to praise it. Maybe at this point in my 30s the years are flying by and the food is just getting way better everywhere without you noticing it outside your bubble. I had many excellent evening eats in the broad-shouldered town.

Kicking it off right Saturday night on Michigan Ave., we were pointed to The Gage and escorted without a reservation or any such thing past the bar and booths into a dining room. A little secluded, but that changed in short order. People were coming out to eat, and the room warmed up. Table neighbors ask about appetizers. I couldn't resist and started with the Scotch egg, which is hard-boiled egg stuffed into ground sausage, then breaded and deep-fried.

What really kicked it up a notch were the mustards, a touch of hot Dijon on the top and six inches away on the rectangular plate, a generous helping of deli mustard. Also, what's the point of getting on a plane if you're not dipping into something regional, unhealthy and delicious? Don't forget to pair with beer. (Pic at right purloined off someone's Flickr.)

Skipping ahead a bit -- the menu is organized as firsts, seconds, thirds, etc. -- I then savored the salad of braised rabbit, which is something Ward Little could do at South Park Cafe or any of the other bistros hitting all the right notes. This was perfect, with some morsels tender and some others a little crackled, tossed with frisee and another green I can't remember because I was forking at it so fast.

K went for The Gage burger, which at $16 is more than the regular one, but the difference isn't six bucks but sirloin instead of ground chuck. The bowl of fries was enough for three, maybe four people, and were perfect. We even got a little Indian-spiced gravy to dip in.

My main course was a special, grilled striped bass, and this was reminiscent of Evvia, only sauced a little spicier, paired with a big pour of a Vin de Pays d'Oc pinot. Big success, like Chicago in general.

The place is a bit hidden across from Millennium Park, and works even if you just want to watch the game and nosh at the bar. A couple of nights I thought I'd pop back in for a Negroni, but as usual I got distracted elsewhere. More to come.

An Americano Classic

Negronis at Perbacco, poured with Right gin, Carpano Antica and the company of Jomo. Pic is purloined from something called L.A. Splash.

UPDATE: For the Perbacco-perfect Negroni, taper off the Campari a bit instead of equal parts of the three ingredients.

City Sitting Room. Village Parlor. Group Home

Town Hall is a step removed or cut from the same cloth as Salt House, from the same partnership, which means it's like Salt House but different. (My mom had the buttermilk fried chicken. Can you get much more regional American? You can. I tried a couple barbecue places in Lockhart, Texas on the same day -- in fact for the same meal. Variety's a beautiful thing.)

Rambling aside (and when someone else is paying with this particular partnership, one rambles), the highlight aside from the Caliza was my entree, which was better than anything else anyone had: the roast quail. It's plated with clams on their shell, tiny balls of chorizo, a mash of purple potatoes, peas, Italian parsley and a drizzle of Meyer lemon. This is fine fine dining. So many ingredients, colors and textures, and it succeeds. What region of America is this? Maybe a bunch of them -- all of them in the same meal. Variety's too much of a wonderful thing.

Scenes from the Class Struggle

Had a whole post concept going earlier, but got stymied. In the interim there's this:

http://tinyurl.com/5wb5gt

The real content is in the comments. My favorite:

> "If you have to ask, you can’t afford it. If you can’t afford it, you should have asked. Didn’t mother teach you *anything*?"

DIY Dim Sum, of sorts

I've lived in the western environs for six years and am still bumping into funky nooks. After a little shopping in Stonestown, I pull off Sunset onto Noriega, because somewhere on there lies the Kingdom of Dumpling. Sure enough, past the Safeway with rooftop parking and countless budget restaurants, there it is, next to Boomerang Cocktail Lounge. (People apparently smoke in there. Elbo?)

I literally jog in and stop in front of the line of top-loading fridges filled with bags of frozen goodness, some of which has been made that day and is ready to steam. I'm immediately attended to and walked through a purchase --- what needs steaming, boiling or simply a quick nuke. Quite a few things are recognizable from my brunches and lunches, even the sesame balls for dessert, though I'm not sure if those are for steaming, boiling or a quick nuking. They even have a couple kinds of buns and pot stickers.

For two big bags of pork dumplings, a flat of a dozen fresh Shanghai-style pork and ginger dim-sum pieces and four Chinese vegetable buns, the tally is about $22. I run home and steam the first half-dozen Shanghai dumplings in the double boiler for 7 minutes; the next batch will go in for 6.

Dumplings seem like a great thing to have on hand for weekend brunches, weeknight meals or even tasty snacks. No need to commit to a whole sit-down scene. (The Kingdom also has a restaurant, my salesperson tells me, handing me a card. It's on Taraval between 27th and 28th.) Why doesn't someone open a bunch of dim sum bars with a quick-service counter? Beats me. I'll have to hop down to Noriega more often.

Laz & Lash: Satiating South of Market

From: Laz
To: Lash

Ah yes, the red-rice with toasted coriander. Kristen had that. But it's not just coriander that's in there; there's also some lemon zest, and perhaps more. I see your point about the magic of the chef, and I want to add something else. Camargue red rice is indeed a pretty foodie ingredient, but there's that imagination with the lemon and the seasoning and the other grilled veg that complement the ramekin-size serving. 

The dish looks like something that came together as a staff meal, or as a clean-out-the-fridge thing on a lazy Monday. People eat lots of rice, but that plate brings in other elements in a certain way that speaks to what South Park's doing right. Consider my entree, going backwards: red cabbage, lentils, porcini mushroom, duck breast. Most home cooks have at least two, maybe three of those ingredients on hand in general (if not the red cabbage, then maybe Napa; if not lentils, then cannellini). Add a little bacon or pancetta -- you always have some of that, don't you? -- and bam! You're on your way. The protein almost seems incidental.

But it takes a trip to South Park for me to figure this out, because in my own kitchen the recipe repertoire gets trod repeatedly. Isn't that why most people head out, to be turned on, along with some spice magic?


-----Original Message-----
To: Laz
From: Lash

Spice magic is in fact a product of good forward thinking. I think that's what you're saying. If so, perhaps it's the kitchen corollary to the old saw that you make your own luck.

What we don't see is the 10 times (100? 1,000?) that Ward made the Camargue rice plate and said nope, this ain't gonna make it. Perhaps he hit it on the nose on the first try, but more likely he spent hours in the lab over his bunsen burner. It's a nice story, anyway.

Which bring us to your final point: getting off the recipe treadmill. Funny, but my advice to you goes back to spice magic. Find something you've never or rarely cooked with. One of my discoveries was zataar -- discovered, in fact, in the back of my spice nook, where it had been sitting unused for years, which probably means I'll be doubly impressed once I start working with a fresh batch. Anyhoo, I started with the zataar and wondered what I could do with it.

That led to a round of experimentation: unadulterated, a dry rub on meats. Or mixed into yogurt as a raita flavoring or as a tandoori-ish coating for roasted or broiled meats. Or mixed into salad dressings.

Recently the spice du jour is cumin. I wrote about it re: turkey burgers, but we've been schprinkling it in many places. Oh, behave!

Do You Want to Know a Turkey Burger Secret?

Ground turkey is now a staple in our household, for pasta sauces, for lasagna, for meatloaf, but most satisfyingly, for burgers. Mmmm, burgers. Such a pleasure with grilled onions, perhaps mushrooms, and a melted slice of sharp cheddar or goat gouda.

No matter how hard I've tried to doctor the turkey patties -- worcestershire sauce, chopped onion, mustard, salt, pepper, teriyaki, you name it -- I've never quite overcome ground turkey's tragic flaw. It's bland. It's even a bit cardboardish. It's relatively umami-less, even when gussied up with classic umami additives like soy or worcestershire. The lack isn't enough to deter me from eating turkey burgers, but there's always been the nagging feeling that they could be better. (And that they don't taste as good as beef.)

No more. I've figured it out. The secret ingredient is cumin, the spice that reminds many of a hippie pad because of the slight tinge of, I hate to say this, but it's true -- body odor. Never mind that. A generous sprinkle into the raw meat, along with your other favorite flavorings, and the turkey loses its turkeyness. (And used in a poultice, it relieves swelling of the breasts and testicles, according to this site.)

I wonder if the chemistry of cumin is related to beef or perhaps more deeply related to umami than other spices. A cursory search on cumin and glutamates and umami doesn't reveal anything solid. Maybe it's just that the redolence of cumin reminds me, Proustianly, of childhood ground-beef taco nights. Feel free to add to this nascent body of research...

By the way, here's another take on the Bistro Hugo "Yuck?" concept: TGRWT, ie, "They go really well together."

Guest Star Turn, or El Pollo Loco

[Allow me to introduce my cool-headed and epicurean colleague, Michelle Coffey, with a recipe. -A]

Blood(less) Orange Chicken
 
I like cooking with blood oranges, but I've had enough accidents involving my finger and a slicer to make me disproportionately squeamish at the sight of the peeled and sectioned fruit. For this chicken masterpiece, I have a smart workaround that involves freshly squeezed orange juice (a la carton!). 

So, Sunday is my trash-bag day, the day I rip apart the fridge and dispose of gamy meat, rotting fruit, brown greens, mayonnaise and salad dressing that was best in '05, etc. This otherwise peaceful weekend day makes Mr. Coffey very, very nervous as I have been known to barbarically and cold-heartedly toss out his jar of (debatably) empty salsa, his tiny army of expired low-fat yogurt cups and most recently, his skunky band of decomposing shrimp that I argue were no longer edible. 

Sunday is also the day I find things that are edible but likely will not survive another day, and I pool everything together into something that passes as delicious. This week's findings: a white onion on the brink of green, garlic that is sprouting a green shoot, leftover lemons and Mr. Coffey's martini olives. United as one is a pleasant blend of sour and sweet, though a sloppy mixture that is not on the photogenic side, so maybe best on a night you are not aiming to impress.
 
4 chicken thighs with bone in, skin on
2 teaspoons olive oil
3 large garlic cloves, minced
1 white onion, sliced
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1 cup orange juice
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/3 cup pitted green olives, chopped
 
Side note: Mr. Coffey likes his green olives in his vodka martini, but not in his chicken, so eliminate if you feel the same.
 
Preparation: Season chicken with salt and pepper. In a skillet over medium-high heat, brown chicken, then remove from skillet. Pour out all but one tablespoon of fat. Reduce heat to moderate. Add garlic, onion to the skillet. Cook until golden. Stir in cumin, orange juice, lemon juice and salt and pepper. Add chicken. Add olives (or not). Simmer for 25 minutes.

The Simple Pleasure of Lunch at Home

* turkey and goat gouda sandwich, melted, on lightly toasted wheat sourdough
* cold soba with sliced cucumber, feta and rice vinegar
* a chilled, crisp grannysmith apple
* a half cup of reheated coffee

Greek to Me

Fleeing the fog and the Bay to Breakers mess (a disaster for the city environmentally and possibly lethal to anyone in alcoholic recovery), K and I headed to the South Bay to dip in a pool. Wading in the 80-plus degree heat, no clouds in the sky, Kristen tells me she wants some Greek food. I love it when she says "I want some Greek food."

Right before six we walk right in to Evvia, which I now realize is the Palo Alto sister to the a-little-stuffy Kokkari here in the city. No way I'd ever have wandered to the Jackson Square place in a shlightly shweaty T-shirt and faded black jeans, but by tucking it in I was making a gesture toward being presentable in Nerdsville. The hostess didn't even blink and sat us down straight away.

Quickly, the starters: lentil soup for the lady, grilled octopus with roasted red peppers and olives in a frisee salad for me. Fabulous, and a nice pairing to a dry glass of Santorini white. The main courses did not falter: souvlaki for K, and a grilled branzino with lemon, olive oil and braised greens for A -- A for Atkins.

The fish was perfectly cooked and delicious; never mind the bones when it's this good. But what are the greens, I asked, chard? No, said the Latino busser, es horta. What's horta? Well, the waiter elaborated, it's a spinach-like Mediterranean green that's grown on spec for the restaurant in Watsonville. Hot damn!

For dessert, we had the baklava, and this time it was done right.

Evvia and Kokkari ain't cheap, as everybody knows (about $50 a person), but the room is convivial, service is excellent and the kitchen knows what it serves and why. An excellent ending to a Sunday in the sun.

Sol Food: Update

It's been about six months since we hit Sol Food in San Rafael, and quickly let me report that the music's still loud, the beans are the bomb, the plantains flash-fried and the letter from Angelo about the color scheme remains in its place on the menu box outside. It's not like no one sees it; queues still stretch out the door.

So it raises an interesting question: Who woulda thought that there would be enough of a market in Marin, of all places, for P-Rican bistec, pork, chicken and plantains? I don't believe it's simply the reasonable prices; San Rafaelers can spend more. (There also are no liquor sales, not even beer and wine, one of the solid profit centers of any eatery.) It must be the casual and welcoming environment -- you come in and order at counter and food comes and then you eat. You can bring kids and take half of your plate home. No big fuss, and that's refreshing.

Post-production pick-me-up

El Jomo and I went down to Mountain View for an afternoon shoot and then shot back to the city to go over the video. The work session quickly adjourned to Perbacco, where we got to sample of couple of newish things. (So old-fashioned.)

First there was the roasted red and gold beets with arugula and Castelmagno cheese, and then came the seared squid with bean puree and lemon. (Tasted like Meyer lemon, but the online menu says preserved lemon.) Damn if they weren't dynamite. The highlight involved the bartender Scott, of course, and his improvised set of connected straws for Jomo to slurp some of my Ligurian white.

Laz & Lash: Satiating South of Market

-----Original Message-----
From: Laz
Sent: Wednesday, April 30, 2008 12:05 AM
To: Lash
Subject: South Park Cafe

For the second or maybe third time in memory, El Lefty again graciously invited your blogger, El Gran Laz, to the House of Mays (now sans Bonds, and depending on the rotation, no Blowout Zito), and after the requisite rendezvous at Perbacco we were perched at the counter of South Park Cafe for another excellent series of degustations -- and so influential was this last seating that I brought the wife back the very next night to sample the plates.

Now I'm struck with this idea that chef Ward Little at South Park has been doing his thing for some time now; I remember first seeing it 10 years ago, after the neighborhood was well on its way to transformation. (Apparently the area used to be a good place to ditch a stolen car or score some dope.) But like good sex with your steady, something about dining there seems invigorating every time. What and how is this? Lash and I will pass some comments by email, which I'll pop up here.

Let me start with some general thoughts: First, the scale of South Park Cafe may very well be perfect. With 10 to 15 tables, the staff doesn't have to travel very far to make their rounds. You're just as comfy at the counter or on the banquette. The lights hang from the ceiling, but not too low yet not too high. As for the back of the house, there seems to be enough room around the stove and grill for a couple of cooks, although I haven't seen what's called the cold station, much less the prep.

Second, don't mess with the best. If you can sell a top-notch steak and frites, the freshest salads with select bits of pig and dynamite desserts along with an eclectic set of wines and other beverages in a laid-back room, why gussy up with gimmicks and attitude? Your regulars probably keep coming because there's a dearth, to be blunt, of the bullshit they deal with elsewhere.

Last point: Maybe it's the bits of pig. The appetizing terrine (which sounds delicious even if you don't remember what it is, like profiterole) had some, as did the lentils and cabbage in my roast duck entree.

ELM, how does this sit with you?

Original Message:
-----------------
From: Lash
Sent: Wed, 30 Apr 2008 15:21:30
To: Laz

The South Park always sits well with me. I'm there several times a year during baseball season. Sitting at the bar for a martini, a glass of red and a light shared dinner is my favorite pregame ritual, and I've never had a bad meal. Never. I don't think I've ever had a bad dish, not even one that was well intentioned but went wrong.

Think about that. How is it possible to get it right, every single time? Am I just extraordinarily lucky? Perhaps, but the old saw about making your own luck holds sway here. You've hit upon some of the reasons: the room, its scale and its warm lack of pretension set the mood; one tends to be more forgiving when completely in one's element. (Though I've never had to be forgiving.)

The menu is rock-solid and simple, although many of the dishes are deceptively simple. Take the red-rice salad we ordered: rice and grilled vegetables. How often do you spend $16 or whatever it was on a large ramekin-sized mound of rice and a modest helping of grilled veggies, wipe the plate clean and feel like an honored guest? Ward's trick with the rice: just enough ground coriander seed.

Side note: Have you ever bitten into a coriander seed? It's overwhelming and nauseating. It's not just spice; it's a glimpse into the pure essence of spice, and it's far too much for a human being to handle. To bring that down to acceptable levels yet keep it so obviously, strongly coriander, is a magician's trick, in my book.

What did you have when you returned with your Lovely and Talented?

Where's the Geek Love?

I’m coming to this whole subject quite late, but that’s what happens when you work Sundays and have a chance to catch up. (Credit goes to Valleywag.)

Apparently, a lot of geeks have noticed that coffeehouses have started bitching about overhead like wages and rent. The coffee people have added it all up in Excel or even Google Docs, imagine, to figure out they need to make $100 an hour in sales so people can do their Bedouin thing on somebody else’s couch and connection instead of a cubicle.

I love this: "Coffee? Commodity retail has such low margins! Get a business plan and sell something else. Like private space so we can take a meeting."

Greens Party

I love ordering beets and turnips from the box, not just because the root veg goes great cut into chunks, brushed with olive oil, salt, pepper and a bit of cider vinegar, then roasted for 30 minutes; but also because they arrive with their greens attached. Here's what we did with a whole mess of turnip greens tonight.