In the Beginning...

My whole adult life I have been wondering what to do for a living while working retail jobs that left me hollow and bored. For years I helped rich women (and sometimes men) pick out their lingerie, listened to their tales of happiness and woe and sometimes even found myself entertained. I have to say that sometimes I miss my little lingerie store, albeit briefly and out of pure sentimentality. I certainly miss the products. But most of all I miss seeing the regulars, many of whom I got to know over the years and truly liked.

From Austrian lingerie I transitioned to French candles and a managerial position, quickly discovering that it was not for me. So when I got unexpectedly laid off last February, I told myself that it was a sign from the Universe telling me I’m no longer allowed to do what I don’t love. I looked at my work history for what it was and saw that I had been a coward, settling for what was easy and unwilling to risk admitting what I really wanted for fear that I would fail.

There are many things I love; most of them are unprofitable. I’ve thought about being a painter, but found no pleasure in the idea of having to sell my art for a living. I’ve thought about being an advertising copywriter, but decided that it was more selling than I ever wanted to do again. Unexpectedly for myself I fell in love with constitutional law. The idea of law school had a pull for a while because of the structured path it delineated and because being a lawyer appealed to me in many ways. But asking myself honestly if I was ready for the life commitment, I realized that I wanted to do something more light hearted on a long-term basis.

I looked at the few strands running consistently throughout my life: art, music, literature, the need for spirituality and magic, the love of food, wine and writing, and saw how hard I’ve tried to fight against them all to some degree, putting them in the hobbies bin and believing that work could only pollute those things that I held close.

In August I went on a 10 day fast, which put me in a state of semi trance, bringing me uncomfortably close to the mechanics of my thoughts. It is amazing how much more time there is in a day when food is not involved. During this time naturally I thought about food all the time. I read articles and books about local l restaurants and chefs and tortured myself with vivid literary images of delicacies I could not have. But out of it all came a realization more insistent than any I’d had in a long time - I wanted to know more and I wanted to participate in the Bay Area food scene somehow. More than that, I wanted to make it my own. And at that moment with a deep sigh of relief I let go of my years of fighting against myself and collapsed into the glowing dream of being a food writer. Out of those 10 days of fasting came the idea for a book.

I’ve always loved food and restaurant culture. In high school I was friends with all the baristas of all the coffee houses I frequented and loved staying after hours and feeling like I was allowed back stage. I should have gone into the food industry instead of retail, but knowing how labor intensive it was, I was afraid to dip my toes in further than being a kind and frequent patron. Now I wanted to know more about the people who stood behind the stoves and cut the vegetables, the ones who opened restaurants of their dreams with nothing more than 10 maxed out credit cards and the help of all their friends, the ones who had been more brave than I.


I’m lucky to have grown up in Berkeley, the hot bed of California cuisine. It is a place where it is easy to fall in love with food and fantasize about the mythology of running a restaurant. There are places I had been going to for so long they became part of who I am. So I decided to give something back by writing a book about the trials and tribulations of the people who stood behind them. I wanted to put the spotlight on those who most often operate behind the scenes, so armed with this idea and little of anything else, I started boldly contacting all of my favorite local restaurant owners and chefs, hoping they would be willing to tell me their life stories. Thus my journey began.



(Photograph from the contact sheet of Dennis Letbetter, who has incredibly generously agreed to work with me on this project. )

Cyrus

As part of our honeymooning gourmet getaway in wine country we had reserved a dinner at Cyrus. Its Michelin stars shone bright and I had been dying to bathe in their glow for quite some time. All aspects of the trip were going to be little shimmering pools of indulgence, but this was the one I looked forward to most. The day started with a very luxurious morning. We woke up in a tall feathery Farmhouse Inn bed to a delicious home made breakfast and sunshine. We spent the afternoon wine tasting in Healdsburg Square. But as the hour of dinner wore closer, excitement began to mingle with apprehension because everywhere we went we were met with cautionary tales. We were repeatedly told to beware of seemingly hospitable offers of truffle shavings and other tempting delicacies, which would then end up on the bill in a most inhospitable way. Thus warned, we got ready for dinner.

Cyrus is located inside the Les Mars hotel, a beautiful and expensive looking pink building with a grand entrance and wrought iron balconies. As you enter you feel either rich or poor (if you’re thinking of how much money you will leave behind). The dining room feels grand without being stuffy and manages to leave the impression of being warm and welcoming. A sharply dressed man in a shiny salmon tie that almost matched his ginger hair greeted us. He had the manners of a large, extremely spoiled orange tomcat who was told to be on his best behavior with guests and promised a lavish treat as a reward. There was no doubt that his job was to ensure that diners left with a full sense of what an important experience they’d had. He could have been extremely snobby, but was quite pleasant and warmed to purring towards the end of the night.

We sat down and were presented with exquisite-sounding five course menus, but before we’d had a chance to acclimate to our surroundings or start looking forward to the food, a grand champagne and caviar cart was wheeled in and planted promptly in front of our table. Not five minutes into the meal we had been confronted with what we had been warned about. There was no pressure applied in selling us anything, nor did anyone try to convince us that it was free, but I found it unpleasant having to start an evening by rejecting something I may have wanted but could not really afford. Most of the caviars were equal in cost to the rest of our dinner combined and all of a sudden I felt less like I was about to have a beautifully lavish meal and more like I was at Armani being tested by the sales people to see what I could afford.

After a few awkward moments the cart was wheeled away and the ginger man returned bringing with him a little tiered tray with tiny bites that were meant to awaken our senses. There was a bite of bitter, sweet, sour and spicy wrapped in a package of molecular gastronomy and loosely resembling foods I’d eaten in the past. As we popped various things in our mouths it felt briefly like we were participating in performance art, and although overall enjoyable, the experience was more artistically than gastronomically pleasing. We were now sufficiently prepped to enjoy our dinner.

The first course was Seared Hamachi with Tomatoes, Melon and Cucumber in Sesame Balsamic reduction with Soy Salt and it was delicious. Alex fell in love with soy salt and we spent a good part of the evening plotting how to get in the kitchen to steal some. The plates were brought out in an orchestrated manner with at least three waiters comprising the corps de ballet. Two people looking at each other for timing ensured that our plates were set in front of us at the exact same time and a third armed with a grater sprinkled various lovely things on top. Luckily (or not) we arrived before truffle season and were not offered any of their deliciously costly shavings, so nothing we were unprepared for appeared on the bill.

The teasingly fresh yet unfilling fish course was followed by a soul-warming Porcini and Chestnut Risotto. Cyrus is well known for their Risottos and the fame is richly deserved. It was my favorite dish of the evening. The texture of the rice was warm and brothy yet each kernel had its distinct borders. It was tenderly folded into the arms of the rich chestnut and porcini puree. All this rested in a small pool of fragrant chicken broth and melted on the tongue. My eyes were closed for the entire duration of this course and I was not ready to find my plate empty.

Perhaps because the risotto was incomparable or maybe just because I’m spoiled by having eaten a lot of delicious food, the Medai with Corn and Scallions and Ginger-Shiso Dashi course was rather unimpressive. I found the fish to be bland although the Ginger-Shiso sauce by itself was excellent and it went nicely with our wine. Here I have to pause and tell you that my favorite part of dinner was our Sommelier. After a rather unfortunate experience the night before with the Sommelier at Farmhouse Inn, I was especially pleased to be greeted by a small boyish-looking man who bounced on the balls of his feet as if they had springs. Here was a person with an amazing job who knew and loved it. He was knowledgeable without the least bit of pretension and was extremely good at helping us choose two half bottles-a white and a red to have with our dinner. We had an awesome German Riesling and a tear-inducing Borolo from a young wine maker in Piedmont and he was very friendly and happy to talk to us.

For our main course I chose Duck Breast with Rosti Potatoes and Peppers and Alex had Lamb Roulade with Eggplant, Garbanzo Beans and Okra. Both dishes were very tasty, but again I was under whelmed. We had both had so many amazing lamb and duck dishes in the past that there was nothing that stood out about these two. The most memorable thing about our dishes was how wonderful they tasted with the Barolo, especially the duck.

For dessert I had Warm Gianduja Doughnuts with Caramelized Banana and Avocado and Alex had Polenta with Figs and Pears. Naturally I chose the doughnuts, but as it turned out I chose wrong. The little warm balls of dough were sticky and had an undercooked taste, which did not mesh well with the extremely sweet but otherwise bland filling. What this dish needed was a citrusy or salty contrast, which the avocado certainly did not provide. I was so unhappy with my dessert that I left half, which if you have dined with me know is rare. Alex’s undessert-like sounding polenta was on the other hand divine. All aspects of the seemingly simple dish were perfectly executed and together it was an intricate and complex-tasting whole that was second only to the risotto in perfection.

As a crowning jewel of the evening the ginger man returned with a glowing hood of glass positioned over a round marble plate. It looked like the container where Beast kept his rose in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, but in Cyrus’ case it was a plate of tiny freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. There was a black pump attached to the container that when squeezed expelled a quantity of cocoa powder, dusting the cookies. These were accompanied by two tiny malted milk shakes with metal straws. It was a tasty and theatrical note to end the evening on and was obviously meant to further press on us the fact that we had had an important experience that should not be forgotten. When the meal was over another cart manifested in front of us and we were invited to choose as many hand made chocolates, bite-sized cookies and translucent lollipops as we dared ask for. In addition we were each presented with a flower-like box that contained a moist and delicious brownie, which we were invited to sample for next morning’s breakfast. All this was indeed free of charge and was a truly gracious endnote to the whole performance.

Overall it was a pleasant meal, although I had really hoped for more. If you are someone for whom money is no object, then you should by all means come to Cyrus to partake of the heavenly Risotto with a pile of expensive truffle shavings. Order an embarrassing amount of caviar from the cart and the most expensive champagne and make the ginger man purr in his lowest and silkiest bass. But, if you are like me and have to limit the number of indulgent meals you have in a year, skip Cyrus and head straight to Farmhouse Inn. The dinner will be just as good if not better and maybe you’ll even be luckier with the Sommelier.

Feasting

An idyllic setting

Cheese platter to start the gourmet getaway




In-room champers

Farmhouse Inn in Forestville, a tiny town whose center I have yet to visit, is a place the sight of which invites child-like raptures. The drive alone is enough to make stress and disappointment turn to feelings of delightful anticipation the likes of which you may not have experienced since your 7th birthday. That is because the drive lures you along twisty roads, cutting through forest and overlooking row upon row of grapes, over beautiful one lane bridges, past deliciously tucked away houses covered in ivy, inviting you in for a free glass of wine. In other words an adult’s Hansel and Gretel, but who needs the crumbs to lead the way back. Once you’ve arrived at your destination and turned into the gravel driveway it seems like you’ve come to a house made of lemon drops and inhabited by fairies and elves all of them exceptionally clean, welcoming and shamelessly enamored of sweets. This is Farmhouse Inn.

We were first introduced to the restaurant by a friend and came back time and time again on special occasions to bask in salted pear ravioli with parmesan cheese, rabbit done 3 ways, faultless chocolate soufflé and an incredible cheese course, not to mention an excellent wine list which allows you to either continue your California wine tasting tour or venture further over the globe. After being married for two and a half months, it was time for us to have a mini honeymoon so we decided to not only eat, but this time also stay at Farmhouse Inn. We booked a Monday and Tuesday night, which were accompanied by a package called “The Gourmet Getaway”, a five-course dinner at Farmhouse on Monday followed by another five-course dinner at Cyrus in Healdsburg the next day.

Upon check in we were invited to partake of the complimentary bath goodies and homemade gourmet s’mores available in limitless quantities to all guests. In our cozy butter yellow room we discovered that all our comforts were likewise thought of. There was a ready supply of firewood for the fireplace (unfortunately it was a 90 degree couple of days) and a flashlight plugged in, charged and ready for us to use if we chose to wonder over the grounds after dark. There was a tiny white box of chocolate-covered caramels on the bed, notes of welcome from both the housekeeper and the owners and a bag of fresh made cookies on the desk with an invitation to nibble them as a midnight snack accompanied by the cold milk in the refrigerator. Unlike big, commercial hotels that try to wring as much extra money from you as they can by leaving a tempting box of goodies in plain sight and then gouging you with $6 for a bottle of water and $10 to use the internet cord, the goal of this luxurious bed and breakfast is to leave its patrons glowing with contentment. The milk, water, cookies, s’mores, Italian Sodas and various soaps and bath salts are all free and of the highest quality and the bottles of wine left in the room are priced the way they would be at the local vineyards.

Once we finished delighting in all the little touches, we had to try the in-room sauna. Armed with brown sugar scrub, we wallowed in the rare luxury of having a dry, wooden sauna directly in our room. Whatever stress remained rolled off our backs as we dozed in glorious comfort. To top off the experience we went from sauna to spacious whirlpool tub in the bathroom, filling it up with fragrant lavender salts and almost regretting the 7pm dinner reservation that was approaching faster than we thought possible. After so much relaxation it was difficult to coax our bodies back to their solid forms from the liquid ooze they’d become, but at last we succeeded.

It was a delight to wonder across the gravel and grass grounds overhung with dusk and finally growing cooler, knowing the delicious meal that lay ahead. The restaurant is far more serious than the rest of the property, leaning away from the cozy elegance of woodland elves to something more strict and hotel-like. The walls are an austere taupe with cream accents, but the friendliness of the staff makes one feel welcome in a space that might otherwise be a bit intimidating. As an appetite teaser we were served a little spoonful of chopped, raw salmon. It had the effect of waking us up from the sauna-induced stupor and making us aware that we were indeed hungry. The first warm course was a porcini mushroom soup, which was creamy and delicious. The mushroom taste was highlighted by a hint of toasted curry powder. This was followed by succulent lobster salad on a bed of sweet corn and finished with a smoky and tender roasted squab dish. Although the dinner was excellent, I was saddened by the fact that we were given no chance to make substitutions from the full menu. I was really looking forward to having the rabbit as an entrée and would have gladly paid extra to substitute it for the squab. No doubt I would have been accommodated had I asked, but I felt uncomfortable and did not want to be troublesome since no choice was offered.

The only other slight disappointment of the evening was the sommelier, who seemed incredibly attentive to the rest of the dining room, but was brief with us at best. I wanted to do a wine pairing with my dinner and while the pairings were lovely I felt they were unadventurous and ones I could have easily chosen myself had I known they would come from the rather limited wines by the glass menu. My favorite combination was the “Les Clos” Chablis with the mushroom soup; the only pairing that came from the half bottles list. When my lobster salad arrived it came without the accompanying wine or any attention from the sommelier, a fact quickly observed and remedied by the very attentive maitre’d, who brought me my next pairing, but departed without telling me what it was. This omission was once again quickly remedied by our waiter who seemed just as knowledgeable and more willing to talk to us than the sommelier had been. The tasty, although once again predictable pinot noir from the wines by the glass menu was the last thing brought to me by the sommelier who expounded on its virtues briefly, but seemed rather in a hurry when I asked him a question about a local winery we were interested in trying the next day.

The dinner was overall delightful, topped off by a chocolate soufflé, light as a dandelion spore and a more grounding cheese course with which we decided to do a separate wine pairing. This was composed and brought to us exclusively by our lovely waiter, the glass of pinot noir being the last time we saw our sommelier that night. We ended up being the last ones in the dining room as we took our time enjoying the cheeses and the wines and were glad to have only a short roll of a walk back to our cottage.

Having gone to bed early and fallen asleep instantly we had little trouble waking up in time for our 9:30-10am breakfast window. This is yet another luscious treat provided by the inn. Breakfast is complimentary and delectable and we sat outside enjoying the sunshine, drinking fresh coffee and indulging in blueberry French toast, which was the main breakfast course (you get to pick between a sweet and a savory dish each morning) following a fruit bowl and a tender baked treat warm from the oven (that day an apricot scone.)

Farmhouse Inn is the way I imagine Titania and Oberon to be living on a daily basis. Except for us what would otherwise be the softest spiderwebs have been transformed into luxurious linens and cups of morning dew and honeyed hay into coffee and warm pastries. It is no wonder that the staff exude warmth and fairy-like contentment, they get to spend their days surrounded by a garden of flowers and herbs, a pool in the shade of old trees with a hilly view, and cottages that look like they’re made to lure small children. Our honeymoon was very short, but very sweet, so sweet in fact that my only regret was simply not being able to fit a toasted gourmet s’more into a day overflowing with too many gourmet delights, but that will have to be remedied by a return visit sometime in the not too distant future.

Fasting...

Foie gras profitroles at Le Pigeon in Portland

Something Delicious on Toast, Oliveto's, Oakland

Foie gras on top of a jelly doughnut

Duck gnocchi

Fried green tomatoes in Ashland, OR

After the most indulgent month I’ve had in a long time, (I mean you only get married once, right?) I decided to finally take the plunge and do a cleanse. To give you an idea of the type of month it was, in a span of 10 days we ate at Oliveto’s upstairs, Chez Panisse downstairs, Chez Panisse upstairs, Dona Tomas, Flora, Mua, The Paragon, Sushi Zone, Hog Island Oyster Co., and Cesar. After feasting all over the Bay Area, my cousin Dasha and I went on a road trip to Oregon where we continued to eat really well. Believe me I’m not complaining, but I own too many cute clothes for them to stop fitting. So since moderation is an art I’m still finessing, rather than slow down gently, I decided to pull the emergency brake and do the controversial Master Cleanse. The Master Cleanse is where you stop eating altogether and just drink a mixture of lemon juice, cayenne pepper and maple syrup for the duration of your choosing, up to 40 days (I hear).

My goal was ten days, but I ended up doing seven with two days easing in and 3 days easing out, a total of 12 days of not eating solid food. The first day was really easy. There was so much food accumulated in my system that my body didn’t even miss not having much for a day. Besides, the first day I was allowed to eat fruits and vegetables so it really wasn’t too bad. Day two was considerably worse. I was allowed to have fruit and vegetable juice, but it was like going through withdrawal, which got worse as the day went on. When Alex came home and had his dinner of Spaghetti and Meatballs I thought I was going to cry or wrestle the meatball from his mouth, but I didn’t do either. Day three was painful, but already less so and by day four I felt great, at least in the morning.

When you’re not eating you realize how big a role food plays in your life. It is much more than three half-hour long meals a day. You structure your whole day around it both physically and psychologically whether you know it or not. I found it liberating not to have to worry about breakfast and lunch. Waking up in the morning was easier on an empty stomach and I sprung out of bed light as a dandelion spore and well rested. I enjoyed the ritual of squeezing the lemons and mixing in the syrup and pepper, knowing that I had all I needed for the rest of the day. I felt meditative, monk-like with a clear head and it was great to sit at the computer and write while sipping water, tea or my concoction. But once shadows grew longer and I began to wait for Alex to come home, the trial began. The darker it grew outside the more I wanted the warmth and comfort of food. My sense of smell became incredibly acute and I could tell what the neighbors a block away were having for dinner. I could barely stand to be in the same room as food and often had to go away while Alex was eating. My tongue felt grainy and tasted sour and no amount of water could make it go away. I realized how much psychological comfort dinner provided and how tied it was with getting to see your partner after work. I realized that dinner was the equivalent of a long, luxurious sigh appreciating the fact that the workday is over and it’s time to rest. Not being able to participate, I felt powerfully alone and disconnected from the world, a stranger peering through the cozy windows of another’s house.

While this diet is very good for dealing with issues mental or physical and being alone, it is not good for being around people. The weekends were very difficult and we found ourselves embarrassingly at a loss for what to do. It’s not that our whole life consists of eating and drinking, but that the two activities are essential backgrounds for so many other things. We couldn’t see other people because eventually they’d want to share a meal, and our usual long weekend walks just weren’t as fun now that we couldn’t stop for an ice cream or a drink along the way somewhere. The only thing that seemed to gain value through these couple of weeks were movies. They were the few happy hours when I could fully stop thinking about eating and be transported to a different world.

By day 5 of drinking only the ‘lemonade’ I started to hate it. Water was fine and I didn’t really feel hunger, but the lemonade was harder and harder to get down. So I started to experiment, watering it down or trying to skip one of the bottles. This was a mistake. While drinking lemonade I didn’t feel hunger, and although it didn’t seem filling, it was doing its job. As soon as I stopped drinking as much as I was supposed to the hunger kicked back in tenfold and I started to feel sick. Everything I’d read about the cleanse told me that hunger was a sign that it was time to stop so I did. But easing back in three days earlier than planned in the end felt like a defeat.

While during the cleanse I felt great in the mornings after the 2nd day and had plenty of energy for athletic activities, at night I felt unwell, although the unwellness was more psychological. After starting to eat again, I felt no long-term benefits, even though I felt like I was eating more consciously and healthfully overall. One big negative is that this process kills your metabolism, and even though the first week I ate practically nothing, I put on weight every day. By the end of the week this unpleasant phenomenon stopped and I’ve been able to eat normally, but I still feel like my metabolism has not fully recovered.

Overall I feel that it was a worthy exercise in self-control and a good reminder about what a big role food plays in my life. I’ve kept two thirds of the weight I’d lost off, so that’s a nice bonus and it does help to curve bad habits. It is a good thing to do if you find yourself too addicted to a particular food, if you can’t stop eating cheese or sweets or bread for example. I think it is a good New Year’s or birthday resolution to kick start a healthier year. But I did not feel real long-term benefits. Perhaps they were too subtle or maybe I just didn’t do it long enough. But in my opinion, it is just as good if not better to do something easier weekly, such as deciding on a day where you eat only fruits and vegetables or drink fresh juices. It is also helpful to make a point of eating less meat, dairy and sugar the rest of the week. I’m glad I did it. I’m glad it’s over. And I would only recommend it for those who don’t have to be around other eating people all day long because that’s just sheer torture.

A Trip Up North

Like any good newlywed, just days after my wedding I left my wonderful new husband at home to go on a road trip with my cousin. In my defense, she is going to school in Boston for the next three years and this was going to be my last opportunity to spend time with her for a while. We set off on Sunday at a leisurely 11:30 am, after poached eggs on toast and sugar cake at Café Fanny. We stopped in Redding, where it was ungodly hot, to pick up some camping supplies and did not get away without being told: “you’re not from around here are you. Your accent sounds like you’re from Minnesota.” (WHAT?) After reluctantly divulging the fact that we are actually from Russia originally I was asked my least favorite question in the world: “Oh wow, how do you like it here?” My new last name is supposed to keep that from ever happening again.

Our goal was to drive to Shellburg falls, a mysterious campsite about an hour and a half from Portland where we were supposed to meet up with Dasha’s friend. We were well on our way until we decided to stop for beer and firewood. Having been on the lookout for a good place to stop and finding little on our path aside from gas stations, when we saw Wal-Mart we did not want to miss our chance. Neither Dasha nor I had ever been to a Wal-Mart before and did not know what to expect. When we walked in we both stopped stunned and unable to speak. The place was HUGE. I sensed the approach of a mild panic attack and fought bitterly against the feeling that we had landed on an alien planet. The fluorescent lights heightened the sense that we were in some kind of giant aquarium full of floating 300+ pound white people who looked at us with hostility. We wandered around lost for some time, then found the beer aisle and settled on the only thing besides Coors and Bud, which was Tecata. As we were making our way to the checkout line it felt like we were walking through something cool and viscous that slowed our movements. The racks full of unbelievably cheap and colorful clothing were beckoning. Resistance was futile. We pushed our cart aside and were lost in the Wal-Mart forest. We separated and for some time I bravely fought the lure of $3 tank tops and $5 shorts until Dasha came wondering over with a glazed and feverish look saying “you’ve gotta check out their underwear isle!” Here my resistance crumbled and we both went wild.

Our checkout person had many items of ‘flare’ surrounding his slanted nametag which read Michael, and had the look of someone moments from a catatonic state. Our tangle of colorful underwear mixed with beer did not seem to help him. He fumbled with the bags as he tried to touch our items as briefly as possible, got his thumb caught in a bra strap and seemed on the verge of emotional collapse. The experience left us both elated and dirty. An hour and a half had passed. Back on the road we had to pay for our weakness by finally arriving at the highway we were looking for late.

It was 11pm and the 2-lane road we drove on was completely deserted and poorly marked. We put in a cheerful CD and tried not to think of the fact that we hadn’t seen a car in over 20 minutes and that the highway was awfully dark and deserted and that we were two women alone in a car… suddenly, its steel flashing brightly in the dark, we saw a gigantic rotating saw blade. That’s right, I’m not kidding. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere a lumber company thought this would make a good ad. Having recovered from our initial shock we were plunged in deeper by a small sign a few yards later that read ‘state penitentiary. 5 miles, to the right.’ A few minutes after that, we realized we were lost.

I think that at this point if it wasn’t for the iphone, which mercifully had some reception, I would have given up and driven anywhere that had light and people, but with the help of technology we were able to find the elusive street we were seeking. Unfortunately my dreams of a nicely paved road leading to a well-lit state park were soon shattered as we found ourselves on a gravel road, surrounded by little more than beautifully ominous tree shapes, on which we could not travel faster than 10 miles per hour for fear of puncturing a tire. We reached our destination at around 12:30 and were warmly greeted by the flares of Dasha’s friend Sarah and her boyfriend Chris, who cheerfully informed us that the 4-site campground was actually maintained by the inmates of the penitentiary. Thus ended our first day.

A few good eats

Another week, another culinary adventure or two or three. The nutritional aspect of this blog just keeps getting pushed further back. I guess it will just have to wait since life is blissful and I intend to enjoy it.

Food does not have to be complicated to be delicious. Often simple is best, add to it a little bit of sunshine and some good company and really you can't go wrong. On Wednesday I went to vist Heather and Ed in their new abode and was treated to some warm weather, cold coronas with lime and Ed's famous tacos.

I must admit that I was a little afraid because the last time Ed made tacos I ate so many I felt sick. They are really that good. Normally when I eat tacos I get full off of two, although I usually order three, but when Ed made tacos I had 11. I am not kidding. In my defense it was over a period of several hours (ok maybe 2) and none of us could stop. Afterwards we went on a two and a half hour trek that lead us through golf field, under thicket and over wooden fence. We came back in pitch darkness having completely missing the sunset, which we had originally set out to see, all thanks to my dad's famous sense of adventure and love of unusual 'shortcuts' (those who have been in a car with him will know what I mean). We left the house with bellies so full they looked like little barrels, and came back after the lengthy exercise still so stuffed we couldn't even so much as look at food. It was agreed that none of us had ever been that full in our lives and we all felt a little sick, but it was well worth it.

Understandably, when Ed said he was making tacos this time I was both nervous and happy. I felt butterflies in my stomach like I was going on a date with someone I had a crush on but hadn't seen in a long time and wasn't sure if I'd be able to behave properly, but I'm proud to say that they were as delicious as I remember and that I limited myself to 3 and stuck to it.

It was a promising start to a delicious week. Thursday was my dad's birthday and I had the perfect excuse to wallow in a little more indulgence. We drove to Drake's Bay Oyster Farm in Invenrness and bought 40 oysters for 3 people, just the right amount in my opinion. The birthday boy did the shucking as the rest of us would have been painfully slow at it, and we had a picnic consisting of oysters, cheeseboard baguette with butter, gruyere, salmon caviar, pate brought directly from France (thanks again to Heather and Ed), and teasingly sweet strawberries accompanied by a bottle of Roeder champagne.

As if that wasn't enough we ate, took a little break on the drive home then went directly to dinner at Bui, an amazing Vietnamese restaurant on Solano Ave. where I had the best lamb I've ever tried, among all the other delicious dishes.

The week was topped off by a gourmet, multi-course meal at Margaret and Charlie's. We started out with potato samosas and homemade limoncello followed by a cauliflower, broccoli and cheddar soup, halibut and grilled shrimp with mango salsa, basil chicken and rice and mini hamburgers. Dessert was vanilla flan, chocolate cake and strawberries and we were treated to some amazing tequila (7 horses?) and rare whiskey.

All in all it was another delicious if not entirely nutritionally balanced week in this tempting place called the Bay Area, where it is just too easy to eat well and forget all about dieting!

Getting ready to throw down the gauntlet, but first...

Ok ok ok, so I said that I'm dedicating this blog to nutrition, and my full intent is to experiment on myself and go on a nutritionally balanced diet. I am getting married on July 4th so that's motivation. But this blog is also dedicated to what I eat in general and and as such, I've got to be honest, I haven't been dieting. Not at all. In fact I've been in New York eating everything I damn well please the last week. And it was good!

The best place by far, we stumbled upon by chance on our very first day. On the outside it just read 'Trattoria' but the real name is Trattoria Casa di Isaaco because Isaac Elvis (he's a fan), is the name of the owner. The place is located in Hell's kitchen at 536 9th Ave.
We passed by the red awning and saw the giant Jamon Serranos hanging in the window and just had a good feeling about it. But when we walked in at 12.30pm, the place was empty. This was a worrisome sign and as we chose our table, under a hanging ham and across from a mounted lobster, we all had our doubts. We were immediately approached by an ebullient man, who was half mafia and half Don Juan and who acquainted us with the specials with such gusto that it was as if he was tasting each dish he described. As we were not ready to order, he obliged us with the actual menus. We decided on the grilled calamari, seafood risotto, linguine with clams and a lobster salad. Not knowing what to expect we waited eagerly as the delicious food video playing in the background made our mouths water. I heard Isaac Elvis cutting bread in the back and then it seemed he was back in the kitchen, while checking in on us every few minutes. This was a one man show, he was cook, host, maitre'd, and charmer. As we later found out he was also bartender, wine maker and designer of the interior of the restaurant, not to mention singer and former green beret.

The first dish came out and we knew we had done well. The sizzling tapas-style plate was brought to our table and unveiled with pride like a work of art. The aroma of garlic and rosemary filled our senses and we practically devoured the tenderest and most succulent calamari we'd ever had. The risotto was more like a paella than a traditional risotto, but also delicious as was the linguine with home made clam sauce and the lobster salad, garnished with hearts of palm.

Throughout our meal, Isaac Elvis kept us constant company, my only wish was that he could sit down at the table with us. When we learned that he made his own wine, although the meal was finished we had to try his home made sangria. He was happy to oblige. The glasses came full of ice and fresh-cut pears and when the fruit mingled with the aromatic red liquid, it was like we were sipping nectar directly from a flower. Needless to say, it was the best sangria any of us had ever had. Isaac Elvis shared with us the not so secret ingredients responsible for our bliss-Cointreau and Brandy!

As we were slowly winding our way through the carafe, a plate of moist, flavorful manchego cheese accompanied by huge terracotta-colored olives magically appeared, followed by a plate of perfectly aged jamon serrano. And when we thought life couldn't get much better the table had one more gift to bestow on us-another carafe of sangria. We were drunk and full and happy, and though uncertain of what more indulgence would do, we finished the second pitcher gladly. Everyone felt mellow, but none of us were the worst for wear and were able to walk back the 20 or so hot blocks to the Chelsea Hotel quite comfortably. When we came in the trattoria had been empty, when we left three hours later it was packed, and though we were sad to have to share in the attentions of our gracious host, we were happy that he was in no danger of being lonely.

It was an amazing meal and we are seriously considering taking advantage of Virgin's incredible fares ($79-New York on any Tuesday) to jet back for a weekend just so that we could partake of another pitcher of that sangria and the incredible-looking seafood paella you can see in the video in the link below. Thank you Isaac Elvis, we will certainly be returning!

http://www.trattoriacasadiisacco.com/

something smells good

Want to know a lot about a person in under five minutes? Ask them to list some of their favorite smells. They may look at you funny, but go ahead, ask.

Here are a few of mine:

Smoke, especially from fall leaves raked into a backyard fire, Nag Champa incense, cigarettes as long as they're outside. Garlic sizzling in olive oil. Parmesan cheese. Jasmine. His warm skin first thing this morning. The green stem of a tomato on a vine. Churches. Onions grilled in a taco wagon at 3am. Ripe old leather. Basil. Wild strawberries. The cork, fresh pulled from a luscious Pinot. The ocean when it's windy. The scruff of my cat's neck. Wet pavement 3 minutes into the first rain. A just split cucumber on a 90 degree day. Lilacs. Popovers 20 minutes after you put them in the oven. Pepper syrup. 18 year old Glenfarclas, warmed by hand. Snow. Carnitas at "El Farolito". My mom's cabbage pie baking in the oven, meaning guests are on their way. Any orchestra pit in the world.


The word kitchen is embedded in my last name, and so it is not surprising that I come from a family that loves to cook as much as eat. In my family, feeding someone is an expression of love, and as much as I've tried to instill in both my mom and her mom that a lot of love does not have to equal a lot of food, I've failed every time. So while I inherited the ancestral fondness for throwing dinner parties, I didn't want to intimidate my guests with a table creaking with food no matter how delicious. Besides, the women in my family don't keep recipes so I had to find my own way. It all started with an illicit affair with Chez Panisse.

Ever since I was a little kid I've loved going out to eat, but my inner foodie woke up when I started dreaming of dinner behind those ornamented wooden gates. I don't remember how I first heard of it, but I do remember making frequent trips to worship at the altar of their menu, and while my fellow teenagers were getting their high off other things, I got mine from the smell of Chez Panisse's wood burning oven, trying to imagine the various smells as tastes on my own tongue. Not being able to actually eat there I tried to make it mine another way. I watched Marcel Pagnol's films, basking in what I felt was an insider's understanding of the restaurant's name and then slowly acquired all their cookbooks and started throwing my own "Chez Panisse" dinner parties. Making the food, I absorbed some of the philosophy of the kitchen, internalizing the gospel of fresh seasonal produce. I was forever spoiled for Safeway and ready to out my inner foodie.

Years later, I've thrown dozens of dinner parties, and tried hundreds of restaurants. I love being asked for food recommendations and delight in buying a new Zagat every year to mark and count all the restaurants I've been to. (I know it's totally OCD and I don't care.) When I eat well all my senses are open; a good meal tingles every nerve ending, keeping me fully alert. So it is not surprising that I remember what I eat in great detail.

To me food is sacred. It is light and love and passion. It is history, legacy, memoir. It is art. I am incredibly lucky to live in the Bay Area, where many people share my feelings. At the same time, my inner gourmet is constantly battling the girl who wants to eat healthy and be slim as I try to find a balance. This blog documents my adventures.