food, and other musings

Summer cantaloupe

As I type, I am forking up bites of sweet cantaloupe showered with cracked black pepper and salt. My grandfather always ate it just this same way. When I was a kid, I was a picky eater and turned my nose up at nearly everything, melon included. He used to tease me into trying things by asking, "How do you know you don't like it if you've never tried it?"

Always silenced by a solid logical argument, I would usually cave in and take a bite of whatever it was he was offering. As luck would have it, I only remember the times I was glad that I did, like the fried clams dosed up with runny red cocktail sauce that he always ordered at Taylor's Fish House, and for which I promptly abandoned my usual fried shrimp the second I tried a bite.

As I have grown out of my picky eating, my grandfather has grown into his. At family dinners chez les grand-parents, my place was always the same: to the left of my grandfather. Though nearly all of us had a place where we faithfully sat every Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and birthday, I knew by some secret look or handshake or wink from my grandfather that mine was the best seat in the house. And as the years went on, rather than him trying to get me to try something new, I would find myself encouraging him to have just a small taste of this, a little nibble of that. I did not inherit his knack for friendly persuasion, and so he had far more success than I ever did.

Right now he is trying to adjust to a stroke he had a few weeks ago, and he doesn't seem to want to eat much of anything. As I sit here and eat, I find myself thinking about all that he has taught me to love and enjoy, and how glad I am that I listened to him all those years ago.

Calling all caramel lovers!

Now starring at the Zuni Cafe, the world renowned, camera-shy caramel pot de creme! I know some of you have been on the lookout -- as have I -- for this elusive starlet, and I am here to tell you she's back on the menu. After ordering the chicken and bread salad, the first thing I did was ask if the caramel pot de creme was available. I was rewarded with a sly smile and an affirmative from our waitress. (Last week I was not so lucky.) Maybe it was Mr. Food Musings birthday dinner luck? Who knows, but it was delicious, big enough for two to share and full of that burnt sugar taste all caramel lovers, er, love. Our waitress revealed that there were "plenty" and that they should be on the menu for the next few days at least. Run, don't walk...

Recipe: Panang curry

As any high society hostess worth her salt will tell you, a successful dinner party has less to do with the food than the mix of personalities. A sort of alchemy takes place when a group of people gets together. On the surface, the four of us who supped together last night may have seemed quite similar. We all met at the same advertising agency, though years apart; we all live (or once lived) in San Francisco; we're all white, college-educated and middle-class. Dig a little deeper and our differences emerge. There is R., an entrepreneur and amateur photographer with a travel bug who intends to move back to Spain as soon as she can; R., a first generation Iraqi-American who grew up summering in Baghdad back when its art and music were lively and rich, and its populace was imperiled by a dictator rather than a superpower; Mr. Food Musings, a writer who has taken up songwriting with a vengeance since his devastating injury earlier this year. And then there's me, a bit aimless and shallow, but hey -- every group needs one!

Our conversation flowed from Reaganomics, to the abysmal failure of the Democratic party to save the country from the religious right, to Oprah's influence on the world, to the maddening experience of getting a phone installed in Germany. Despite a few bumps in the road of the raised voices variety, it made for an intellectually invigorating evening. 

Lucky for us, our meal was equal to our chatter. We started out with rose champagne, prosecco and a few nibbles of edamame at 7, moved on to chicken lettuce wraps near 8 and finally sat down to panang vegetable curry around 10. The late hour left us all feeling slyly cosmopolitan.

The finger-licking good chicken lettuce wraps  turned out to be a sleeper hit. I made them a la minute so I could serve them hot, and other than chopping up a few scallions and water chestnuts, there was zero prep. I served them on a big tray with swaths of green leaf and butter lettuces, and small bowls of fresh mint, cilantro, ground peanuts and lime wedges. I think next time I make them, they'll be the main attraction. I love the idea of sitting around the table, drinking and chatting while piling succulent bites of chicken, slick with peanut oil, onto our little lettuce boats. I think that sort of family style eats suits me more than the traditional dinner party format, where the hostess feels like she's the conductor of the orchestra moving stiffly at the podium, rather than a part of the rootin-tootin band. Next time I plan to add sambal, chili paste or crushed red pepper to the chicken mixture. We all agreed it would have been even better with a kick. You can find the recipe here.

Panang curry with vegetables
Serves 4-6

Ever since the charitable Ms. Pim gifted me with some fresh, homemade panang curry paste I have been looking for the perfect opportunity to use it. I hated to waste it on Mr. Food Musings and me because I was confident it would make an impressive meal. Little did I know just how impressive. The curry itself has a soft sweetness to it and despite its ferocious heat, which left all four of us sniffling and tearing up a few bites into our curries, everyone went back for seconds. The fresh blend of chili peppers, shallots, garlic, galangal, lemongrass and all the rest was exquisite.

This is essentially Pim's beef panang recipe gone vegetarian. I've not made the beef version, but from what I could tell the recipe doesn't seem to suffer for the substitution of fresh veg for the more traditional meat. Measurements are pretty close to the original, but I was feeling a bit carefree (and tipsy, too) so I abandoned my measuring spoons for the thrill of tossing in great lumps of chili paste and handfuls of sugar, tasting as I went.

2 TBSP vegetable oil
1/2 red onion, sliced into thin half moons
8 TBSP fresh panang curry paste
2 14-ounce cans of coconut milk
3 carrots, sliced 1/2-inch thick on the diagonal
3 crookneck yellow squash, sliced 1/2-inch thick on the diagonal
1 yellow pepper, sliced into strips
1 zucchini, sliced 1/2-inch thick on the diagonal
1 cup baby bok choy, stems and leaves separated
3 TBSP fish sauce
2 TBSP sugar (use palm sugar if you have it)
5 kaffir lime leaves, cut into thin strips

Heat the vegetable oil in a large pot and add the onion and the curry paste. Let the onions fry up a bit and stir the curry paste until the clumps break up. Add a splash of coconut milk and stir the curry paste until it's a bit mixed in, then dump in the rest of the coconut milk and bring it to a gentle boil for several minutes. Reduce the heat to a simmer and toss in everything else except the bok choy leaves. Let simmer until the vegetables are cooked through and the curry has thickened a touch, 10-20 minutes. Add the bok choy leaves, stir to wilt, and serve over rice.

Salty sweet

When my mother was a little girl, part of every summer was spent in Nags Head, a beach town on the stretch of North Carolina coast known as the Outer Banks. Nags Head is home to the biggest sand dune on the East Coast and the site of some of Orville and Wilbur Wright's first attempts at flight. Today the waterfront is crammed tight with tacky hotels so close together you can barely see the sea from across the street, but back in the '50s when my mom was a kid, it was mostly ramshackle cottages and seashells washed up on shore.

When it was time to go, two families packed up their cars with pails and shovels, beach towels and coolers of food. That was before sunscreen but perhaps they packed meat tenderizer -- it takes the bite out of a jellyfish sting, all too common in the waters of the Atlantic come summer -- and surely they packed calamine lotion to soothe the sunburn that came as reliably as the tides.

This was also before driving on interstates was common, so they took back roads familiar to them from years of making the trek to and fro. My mother would pile into the car with her mother, her cousin B., and his mother (my grandmother's sister) and they would start the drive. As I recall it, anyway, the men would drive down separately once work was over on the weekend. I may be wrong but the version in my head tells me that my grandmother was the one driving. I know this because their trip was dictated by her cravings, and I cannot imagine my somewhat stern grandfather pulling over repeatedly to indulge her, though Grandma is not known for her excellent driving skills so perhaps I am wrong.

Regardless of who was driving, my grandmother liked to eat, and sooner or later would be overcome with a craving. "I think I need something salty," she might say, pulling into a gas station for some potato chips, or digging into the bags in the backseat for a few peanuts. Not too long after that, another craving would strike. "I declare," I imagine her saying, "I need something sweet to take the salt out of my mouth." And with that, a Hershey's bar or a Baby Ruth would be unwrapped, and so on, in alternating fashion, until they arrived at the beach cottage they had rented.

I often find myself with the same desire, but I like my sweet and salty in direct contact. I will happily eat a potato chip and wash it down with a swallow of chocolate. One of the best desserts I've had is a simple Spanish treat: you toast a slice of bread with a few small squares of bittersweet chocolate on top, then drizzle the melted chocolate with olive oil and sea salt. Mmmm. (Thanks to Shuna for the reminder.)

When I ate the crispy fried artichokes last night at The Last Supper Club, this is the memory they recalled, that delicious interplay of salt and sweet. Diced thin and lightly fried, they resembled potato chips, or maybe potato chip crumbs, the ones left at the bottom of any bag that taste best when poured directly down one's throat. But it was the drizzle of sweet and sour vinegar that turned these chokes into something otherworldly. The combination of salty and crisp with sweet was harmonious and beautiful to my tongue and, I imagine, to my grandmother's.

The crispy artichokes are part of The Last Supper Club's two month celebration of authentic dishes from Sardinia, now through the end of July.

As crude as it gets

Bar Crudo is still tops in our book for a cool dinner on a hot, sticky night. Last night's house special, a Spanish mackerel with basil and sea salt, was stupefyingly good, as were the plump, creamy kumamoto oysters, half a crab and bonus gift of a tomato-red crayfish. We love that their wine pours are lavish and applaud their festive choice of jellyfish-inspired lighting near the stairwell. Though we're a little slow on the uptake, we finally realized that the brother owners are twins -- I caught myself doing a rather trite double take as one walked past me into the kitchen and, seconds later, the other one popped out from behind the bar. We would have liked a wet towel to wipe off our crabby hands, but made do with a tableside ice wash courtesy of the iced down oyster tray. Tacky, perhaps, but we don't stand on ceremony around here.

Tasty Bits

A few yummy goings-on in the Food Musings household...

An impromptu lunch at Sea Salt in Berkeley after a very successful shopping trip. I enjoyed my BLT -- thick, sweet bacon; lettuce; trout pan-seared in butter; oven-dried tomatoes and aioli, with a lovely shred of coleslaw on the side livened up with lime and mint. Mr. Food Musings enjoyed the classic fish and chips with lemon tartar sauce and curry ketchup.

The orange and ricotta fritters drizzled in wild honey at Luella. They've been a favorite since my first bite and they're still one of the best achievements in deep-frying this city has to offer.

A fried egg, preferably from Marin Sun Farms' happy chickens, sitting on top of a slice of cheesy wheat toast with a light dusting of cayenne pepper. Now that my phantom egg allergy is gone for good, brekky is all egg, all the time. This weekend I'm thinking of dousing a scramble with some of McQuade's spicy habanero chutney (word on the street is I got an extra spicy batch).

Like all poor souls without a direct line to the gods, my last trip to Zuni Café ended sans caramel pot de creme. Harumph. But the pasta with rapini, black olives and chili was outta this world, and I learned that I am, perhaps once and for all, sick of scallops. Be gone, you bivalves! (hmm, are scallops bivalves? Whatever. Fact-checking is for wimps.)

After lunchtime today I expect to be able to offer you my commentary on the smoked salmon pizza v. truffled squash blossom flatbread debate. Until then, bon appetit, my pretties.

Her name was Nopa, she was a showgirl

I love that Barry Manilow! But he has nothing to do with Nopa, so let's move on.

Last Monday night, I was -- yet again -- not in the mood to cook. Mr. Food Musings has a lot more stamina than he used to (did I mention he's gone back to work part-time?) and so he was up for a mini adventure. We mentally scrolled through the new places that had opened and decided on Nopa, a Cal-Med small plates place. I know, yawn, right? Uh-uh. We were in the mood for some of that kind of lovin', and besides it was close to home. Could they take us in 20 minutes? Yes, if we didn't mind sitting at the bar overlooking the open kitchen. Sold.

I'll go ahead and ruin the suspense by telling you that we loved it. LOVED it. Not quite as much as Terzo, perhaps, but enough to make our hearts go pitter patter at the thought of going back. Why?

the food The rotisserie chicken was moist (contrary to what I've heard elsewhere) and really flavorful and the skin was incredibly succulent. Mmmm. The accompanying salad was simple, well dressed and delicious -- apparently no small feat in this town (what is up with drowning the poor lettuce with a tsunami of dressing?). The grilled asparagus, which is cooked underneath the rotating birds so it catches their yummy drippings, was charred to perfection and the homemade chocolate ice cream (with almonds and brandied cherries) is thick and mousse-like and probably the best dessert I've had in ages. I have high hopes for the other desserts on the menu.

the service I loved our waiter. Loved, loved, loved. He was always there when we needed him, gave great recommendations and was interested in a nice, laidback way. Not all in your face like some waiters I know. Everyone who dropped off food was solicitous and cool and watching the cooks at work was fun. At one point, the woman making the flatbread with sausage and broccoli rabe asked us if she was making ours (no garlic/no onion). She wasn't but it was nice of her to want to chat about it.

the ambiance Everyone there seemed happy to be at work and happy to see us. No 'tude at all. And I'm loving that neighborhood lately, what with Little Star Pizza and Tsunami plus a bit of fab shopping on Hayes. The 'hood has recently been renamed NoPa (as in North of the Panhandle. As in, not the Western Addition.). Just an FYI. I'm also digging the communal table up front, the super comfy bar seats and the amuse (French radish/butter/sea salt). Nice touch. Pssst...the best seats in the house, my friend, are the ones at the open kitchen.

Great Food, Great Service (or why COCO500 might be my favorite restaurant)

To be fair, I regularly declare that I have a "favorite new restaurant" -- almost every week, in fact -- but this time, I think I mean it. I finally got Mr. Food Musings in to COCO500, and I've decided that their flatbread with squash blossoms and truffle oil is the single best food in the City right now. That is, until you eat their peanut butter cup, which is a fine dining version of a Butterfinger. As Joy would say, Motherf***er! That was good. (Well, Joy wouldn't use asterisks. Whatever. We can't all be so comfortable wallowing in filth.)

But the food isn't the only reason I'm loving COCO500 these days. I also think they have some of the loveliest service around, which is quite an accomplishment considering that on my first visit I had terrible service and seriously considered not going back. Just like Virginia Slims, I tell ya.

In brief: the table before ours was late leaving, so we sat at the bar enjoying a very pleasant glass of wine (Albarino for Mr. FM, and a Chenin Blanc for moi) along with the COCOmole tacos (tender beef cheeks/mole sauce/tortilla chip/YUM!). As a thank you for waiting a mere 15 minutes for our reservation, we were told on the way to our table that the tacos were on the house. SCORE!

Upon sitting down at our table, I realized -- with horror -- that we were seated next to THE LOUDEST WOMAN IN THE WORLD. Sorry for the all caps, folks, but I don't know how else to make her excruciating volume known to you. Now, I hate loud, but a quick glance to my left and I realized that they were on their dessert wine and coffee course, so I figured I could deal for another 20 minutes.

And then dessert showed up and my hopes faded. Fast. This woman positively shrieked at the waiter who brought her vacherin, and then promptly threw her glass full of water all over the floor -- and all over me. She looked at the waiter, and did a flip little hand move as if to say "Whatever, it's water, clean it up." As I toweled off my sopping wet calf, she looked at me and said, "It's only water."

Not, "I'm so sorry, do you need a napkin?" or "Did you get wet? Oh, I apologize." or even "Oops, I'm such a klutz!" She was more self-absorbed than a 2-year old, tacky as a clear plastic protective slipcover, and LOUD besides, so I gave her what I hope was a withering stare and marched myself up to the kind host to beg him for another table, any table, even if it was on the roof or in the kitchen or in a different restaurant.

We ended up back at the bar, and a few minutes into our lip-smacking dinner he stopped by to say that he was also comping our wine because of the shrew in the corner. (And to let us know that the poor souls who took our places at the table were equally put off.) I mean, that is service, folks.

COCO500, I hope you're listening because I love you, and I'm bringing my sister in when she comes to visit in 3 weeks.

Chocolate Nouveau

Published in the Oakland Tribune 6/14/06
Feature article about 4 East Bay chocolatiers: Michael Mischer, Charles Chocolates, Bittersweet Cafe & LuLu Rae Confections
Includes 3 recipes

California Girl

Since Saturday, Mr. Food Musings and I have been on a California (cuisine) roll. Despite Daniel Patterson's much discussed criticism of the Bay Area's reigning local/seasonal/ingredient-driven mantra, San Francisco restaurants with just that focus have been cropping up (and drawing rave reviews) all over town.

I can't be bothered with a full review -- I know, woe is me for starting this blog and then feeling put upon when it's time to contribute -- but suffice it to say two meals at Terzo and one at Nopa both get two thumbs up, while my dinner at Bauer-favorite Range was lackluster and disappointing (and never to be repeated).

Terzo does small plates, which I've decided I like again. The space is cozy but warm and inviting and done up in what I call lazy-modern. It's the kind of place I'd love to run into on a rainy night and while away the storm, watching it pass by in the front window or blissfully ignoring it at the huge communal table (new trend alert!). I dig.

In my view, places that are ingredient-driven can easily be dull. Come spring, the menus all look the same -- artichoke soup, grilled asparagus with harissa, fava bean risotto. The true measure of Terzo is that the menu doesn't make me yawn, the food makes me curl-my-toes happy and some of the dishes even make me want to scream with joy. When you go, you must get the crispy onions, I don't care what kind of diet you're on. Oh-so thinly sliced red onion, dipped in a light batter that crisps up nicely and just the right amount of salt. Never have I tasted a more perfect onion ring. (We loved them so much that we made our waitress take them when we were halfway through. A girl and her figure, yada yada, you've heard it all before.) Other hits include the fava bean and feta flatbread, the grilled artichokes with buttery prosciutto ('twas Serrano ham on our second visit), and the asparagus with a fried egg on top -- the poor man's hollandaise. Wine is good, varied, reasonably priced; service is excellent and friendly; and there are oodles of spaces for walk-ins from the tapas bar to the front window to the patio to the communal table. Go tonight, before Bauer's review comes out on Sunday. If he has any sense, he'll rave and Terzo will have lines out the door.

Nopa and Range coming soon...