I may not be a fan of their pizza, but Chi-town knows their hot dogs.
Where to get one proper in SF? Check out the cart in the corner of 7th and Folsom. Hours are sporadic, but the wares are authentic: Vienna beef, neon relish, pickle, celery salt, sport pepper, tomatoes…. I haven’t tried their Italian beef, which I only discovered on their menu today, but trust I will!
This weekend marked the second installment of my month long quest to stall the hands of time, pretend I still have a life and ease myself into my 40s. My wife planned a special spa retreat in Yountville at the brand-spanking-new Bardessono Eco-Spa. Our friend Cristina is the ‘Director of Customer Experience’ and she hooked us up (she’s committed to an interview in the near future – she’s an Alice disciple, a slow-food maven and an opinionated foodhead).
Upon arrival we were ushered into our minimalist-style suite and given a tour of the technologies in the room. There is some wow factor here, but since my real career is providing such technologies, I wasn’t too impressed. I’d actually love to help them integrate and improve the in-room tech. They could do so much more. I also wasn’t too taken by the design. It felt very cold-modern, where I prefer warm-modern. I’m not much into the Dwell / DWR vibe, but I know a lot of people dig it. Though, I love the cactus wall in the lobby (see photo) too cool.
Everything at Bardessono is eco-minded. Recycled, reclaimed and renewable materials were used throughout. You’d be hard pressed to find anything that wasn’t well-considered. Frankly speaking, I cannot imagine any new resort NOT building green. It would be obscene with the awareness and technology in our possession. Bardessono takes it to the limit and Cristina brings some personality and perspective to the task. To that end, most of the materials were sourced within miles of the resort.
One of the great features of the rooms is the in-suite massage tables and ample space for treatments. And so, my wife arranged for a massage for my aging body. Following, I took a shower outdoors, overlooking the hills of Napa (nice touch) and then a steam (sigh). I would have been content lounging with a bottle of wine and passing out, but there was more to the evening. She led me down the hall to the bar where a dozen of my near and dear friends were waiting, to my surprise. Not only were they all staying at the resort with us, but we were about to share in a dining experience!
Cristina arranged for a special menu with chef Sean O’Toole. Continuing the theme of eco-friendly, the restaurant is committed to sustainable, local, seasonal – you know the drill. Again, I can’t imagine a restaurant opening in Northern California without a Slow Food mentality, so let’s not dwell on the fact that most ingredients are sourced within miles of the resort. Needless to say, everything was exceptional.
Our opening course of lobster gazpacho was served in a foamy broth with Thai spices and a perfect confetti of spring vegetables – exquisite! The second course of seared scallops and morel mushrooms paired two of my favorite flavors and textures. Add to it a fat piece of seared, smokey lardo and I’m in hog heaven. Our Petaluma Farms chicken was flavorful and juicy, with a crispy skin. I am sensing a resurgence of chicken on dinner menus. After Bourdain trashed the use of chicken in Kitchen Confidential, chefs have stepped up to the challenge to coax flavor and texture out of the forgotten bird. Dessert was a Baba Rum cake, drenched in liquor. Perhaps a little too much for my taste, but it provided for great conversation.
We spent the next day riding bikes and tasting wines and hit the Fatted Calf at Oxbow Market to grab provisions for my son’s 4th birthday party the next day. We lunched on charcuterie and cheese with more wine, sunshine and big smiles. God I love wine country. I could not have imagined a better way to spend phase two of my birthday month.
I turned 40 yesterday. My wife turns 40 and my son turns four next week (I know, we’re all Taureans – ouch). Rather than have a blowout celebration that would leave me hungover, only amplifying my growing limitations, we decided to spread things out. For the next four weeks we’ll be celebrating in small venues with assorted compadres and treating ourselves to indulgences here and there. Oh yeah, and most of it will be in Greece.
I plan to use the Blog as a travelogue to not only document our culinary encounters, but to also dump some of my pent-up thoughts on the passage of time, ancient cultures, religion and lack thereof, our my aging body and our relationship with nature. Heavy stuff, eh? Of course I’ll lace it with plenty of swear words and cynicism.
But, before we get serious, the festivities started last night with a kick-off at Taylor’s Refresher in the Ferry Building. What’s interesting about this is that we chose Taylor’s because we wanted a kid-friendly place, where the adults could also drink. Surprisingly there aren’t many places where 4-year olds can run around with reckless abandon while Mom and Dad tie one on. It’s a sad state, frankly. In the past we’ve gone to Axis Café and the café in the Bakar Fitness Center (ho hum). I think there is a concept restaurant here (maybe the Applebees and the Olive Garden have a purpose?).
Anyway, nothing much to report except solid fast-food with good people. I recommend the sweet potato fries (without the chili, sorry guys, it was gross), the onion rings (perfect amount of sea salt on them), the Ahi Burger astounds and the treat of the night was poaching the kids mini corn dogs – oh yum. Of course their shakes and burger are also great, but you already knew that.
The stand out of the evening was courtesy of my lovely wife……Banana Cream Tart from Tartine. This thing is off the charts. The texture of the cream reminds me of a merengue with the flavor of a custard. The bananas somehow remain fresh and crisp in all of the goop, the slivers of chocolate add even more pleasure and the crust is a tried and true winner (the same they use with their stellar quiche).
Thanks to the ‘gang-with-littlens’ – it was fun. I can’t wait to dive into my upcoming posts. We are leaving this afternoon for a jaunt to Napa, staying at the Bardessonno , a new luxurious spa where our friend consulted on the guest experience.
I get ruffled pretty easily. I’m generally in a constant state of angst over the way the world is run. I hate outsourced tech support. I can’t stand phone voice recognition automated reception. I curse at many of the drivers on the road for being idiots. I loathe the corporatization of this world and everything for which it stands.
In my business, it’s all about relationships. I like knowing my vendors and will often choose a brand that is local and smaller over a multi-national company that makes recognizable products. Most importantly, I offer a relationship to my clients. I take business personally (maybe a little bit too so) and want to be available to community for which I serve. Every one of my clients has my cell phone.
What this brings me to is a frustration I have with a lot of restaurants, and seems to be a growing trend. I left my credit card as I was rushing out of Dona Tomas in Oakland this weekend, as we were late for The Black Keys at the Fox Theater. Ok, my bad. So I call on Sunday. After listening to the rules laid forth by Dona Tomas about when it is appropriate to call them (only after 4:30pm M-Sat) and when to leave a message (never) and when they will take reservations (if you’re so fortunate), I hung up frustrated that my card would by held hostage until Tuesday. [*Side note, who the fuck closes on Sundays? It's one of the busiest dining-out nights of the week. Do you leave this money on the table in the name of god? And Bryan's market in Laurel Village - really? Supermarket closed on Sunday? Really?]
Anyway, it is now 4:30pm, no 5:05. no 5:12 on Tuesday and I have listened to the message at Dona Tomas way too many times now trying to get through. Here is my gripe: Is a restaurant so popular that it can shun the norms of customer service, above and beyond actual table service? Is it too much to ask to let me leave a message for a reservation, for my credit card I left, for whatever reason I want to speak to you, and you will call me back? Most decent restaurants subscribe to the principals of Slow Food, Farm to Table, Locavore, etc…. yet somehow have decided that they need to set rules and create obstacles to reach their hallowed halls. They care about the community, but seemingly only while you are seated at their table.
Can the smugness of a successful restaurant come back to bite them when people tire of their food and they have lost their innovation and mojo? Frankly it seems not, as this town continues to flock to the likes of Delfina (who lost it’s personality years ago), Slanted Door (who lost it not long into the Valencia Days) and seemingly Dona Tomas, who serves adequate Latin fare, but is somewhat overrated and hardly worthy of the hoops I just leapt to confirm that, indeed, they have my card. Now I get to drive back to Oakland to pick it up. Maybe I’ll eat next door at Pizzaiolo!
I’ve been wanting to try out some pancake recipes. Admittedly, I’m lazy when it comes to pancakes. I really like the Krusteaz mix I buy in massive bags at Costco. They’re fast, easy and delicious. It’s also great for waffles (just add oil) With a 4-year old kid, I’m all about convenience.
But, my foodie sensibilities bring about guilt anytime I take the easy way out. And making pancakes from scratch isn’t that difficult. Plus, you can mess around with subtle taste elements like buttermilk, ricotta, extracts, zests, etc. So today I made some ricotta discs of love.
Just look at the picture. You really want some, don’t you? Well go ahead and make them. Here is a recipe, adapted from Neal Fraser over at Food and Wine. Enjoy!!
INGREDIENTS
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
3 large eggs, separated
1 3/4 cups plus 2 tablespoons milk
6 ounces ricotta cheese (1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons)
1/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
Unsalted butter, for the griddle
Pure maple syrup, for serving
DIRECTIONS
In a small bowl, whisk the flour, baking powder and salt. In a medium bowl, whisk the egg yolks with the milk, ricotta, sugar and vanilla. Combine the wet and dry ingredients and whisk until the batter is smooth.
Using an electric mixer, beat the egg whites at medium speed until frothy. Beat at high speed until soft peaks form. Fold the egg whites into the batter until no streaks remain.
Preheat the oven to 225°. Heat a griddle, then lightly butter it. For each pancake, ladle a scant 1/4 cup of the batter onto the griddle. Cook over moderately low heat until the bottoms are golden and the pancakes are just beginning to set, 1 to 2 minutes. Flip the pancakes and cook until golden on the bottom and cooked through, about 1 minute longer. Transfer the pancakes to plates and keep them warm in the oven while you make the rest. Serve the pancakes with maple syrup.
Tonight we had an impromptu gathering of the preschool-pick-up-patrol. I was itching for alcohol and suggested a kid-friendly watering hole (Axis Cafe or Bakar Fitness Center’s Cafe are fine spots). But the children had a different agenda. Within the span of their 15 minute playground time, a host of breakdowns and fights ensued. These kids weren’t up for public exposure. So, we hit whole foods and grabbed a movable feast that landed in my backyard.
It was finally time to introduce our friends, the Fletchers, to the perfect way to prepare a burger. I’ve spent years sampling burgers, trying recipes and techniques. Condiments, herbs, spices, onions, eggs – everybody has an opinion. Most wind up like meatloaf. For me, as with many foods, I find the secret to perfection is the most basic and essential approach. When you deconstruct a hamburger and add up the elemental components, you can focus on coaxing the individual flavors to their finest.
With that said, here is my approach.
The meat. I like chuck. Chuck is good. I’ve tried sirloin, tenderloin, rib eye and other various cuts of inappropriate burger meat. But a nice fatty slab of chuck roast is a good start. That’s right. I said slab. Because we’re gonna grind. Fresh. Now. The biggest secret to making a perfect burger is that the meat needs to be ground within a couple of hours of grilling. I grind twice on my kitchen aid. The less handling the better. I don’t trust the market to grind for me. Do it yourself.
Seasoning and shaping. The only seasoning necessary is salt and pepper. Liberally. Mixed it up lightly and spread the fat around. Form your patties nice and thick. The hot grill will cook them fast and if you want a medium rare burger, it needs to be pretty thick. Minimize handling.
Grilling. Charcoal. Hot. Take your gas grill and use it for zucchini kebabs or something. Break out the Weber and use natural charcoal heated in a chimney – no briquettes. Start by taking some red onion slices (about 1/4″) tossed in olive oil and grill until nice marks are formed and they start to soften. This will prime your grill for the burgers. Cook over direct heat and turn once. Do not over handle. Press with your finger to determine doneness. They should feel firm on the outside but soft in the center.
Bun. I like brioche. Sponge bread is good. Kaiser rolls will do. Whatever it is, toast it on the grill. Don’t be shy. Get a little dirty. Butter them if you’ve got balls.
Accouterments. These burgers are so good, they can be appreciated with nothing. I like the grilled red onions (see above). A fried egg. Blue cheese. Stinky cheese. Gruyere. Ketchup. Mustard. Pickles. Arugula. Radicchio. Horseradish sauce. I think if you use the burger as a base your creative talents will come through in your toppings. Don’t over do it.
Tonight we had a radicchio salad with 5 year-old balsamic, shallot and parmigiano. David found some obscure beers and we picked over the kid’s leftover Whole Foods frozen onion rings (yes they are really good). For dessert we warmed some walnut brownies and cut them up with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.
It may be April, but it sure feels like summer is here.
Twas the night before St. Patties Day and Gaspare’s was tasty, when we stumbled upon a store with crazy Irish pastry!! John Campbell’s was filled with pasties and scones and sausage rolls and mince pies. Who would’ve known??
If you haven’t discovered this mid-Richmond treasure, you’ll want to plan a trip to John Campbell’s Irish Bakery soon. This unassuming storefront at 5625 Geary Street has authentic Irish baked goods, which, quite frankly, I never knew were worth considering.
I’ve been to this block a million times, since Gaspare’s is right across the street. It wasn’t until dining with our friends, the Fletcher’s, who were prepping for a St. Patrick’s Day celebration the next day, that the place popped up on our radar. David, a dedicated foodie, came into to dinner quite excited: “Have you been to the Irish Bakery?”. ‘Is it good?”. “It looks wonderful!”.
Since then I’ve returned a few times and I must report that this place is the real deal. The scones are light and airy and not too sweet, the pasties are flaky and flavorful, the pies are sweet and have a distinct Irish theme with mince and other such jams. They have soda bread, potato bread and a few shelves with Irish dry goods.
John Campbell’s is just another reason to be thankful for living in a diverse city. They are also open late so you can hit their partner Irish Pub next door, The Blarney Stone (there is a door between them) and then stumble home with breakfast in hand!
How can you explain the wonders of chopped liver, gefilte fish and charoset to newcomers? For Jews, we’ve spent a lifetime in the presence of such culinary treats. We’ve acquired the acquired-tastes. Sure, matzoh ball soup and brisket are easy. They cross into the familiar. They are inherently good for any culinary tradition. But the exotic staples of passover are not so easy. Such is the dilemma I faced when cooking Passover for my in-laws for the first time.
My in-laws are originally from the Ohio and were lucky to spot a Jew in the wild for most of their lives. I am an anomaly. They are very polite. On my first visit many years ago they spent a great deal of energy trying to make me feel comfortable at Christmas. It took a while to convey the fact that I eat bacon, shellfish and have my Friday nights and Saturdays free to do as I please. Ten years later, I am still a curiosity with my strong opinions and curly hair.
Imagine my hesitation and concern when my sister-in-law Bev and I decided to take on passover during our visit to Winnetka (Just outside of Chicago, where a segment of the clan now lives). The Ohioans would be driving up on Friday, just in time for our mock-seder. Since I would be the only Jew, we forewent any formal traditions in favor of simple explanations and talk of Charlton Heston. Lucky for me there is a wondrous and mystical land called Highland Park that exists just north of Winnetka. Apparently this heavily Jewish community is quite proud of their Max’s deli.
We started with Max’s chopped liver, which was a solid version with just enough eggs, schmaltz and onions to satisfy me. Surprisingly the paté was scooped up and passed around and everyone seemed to enjoy the odd crackers with which it was served.
Max’s has exceptional house-made gefilte fish, which was subtle and a little sweet. Some of the finest I’ve had. The adults all took a sample but were generally soft on the experience. No amount of horseradish can mask the oddity of a poached fish ball.
Now to the good stuff. I am known for my Matzoh Ball soup. When it is on, it is often lauded as the ‘best I’ve had’. Sadly, a slight measurement gaff rendered my balls dense on this occasion, so the goys didn’t get my A-game. But, for the sake of blogginess, I’m giving up the recipe…..
For the soup: In a large stock pot place a whole-cut-up-organic-chicken. Cover with water to twice the height of the chicken. Simmer. DO NOT BOIL – this will break down the bones and cloud your broth. Skim foam. When the water turns slightly golden add a stalk of celery, a peeled parsnip, a peeled rutabaga, an onion with the skin on (will help with golden color). Continue to simmer for another hour. Add in 8-10 peeled whole carrots and a bunch of dill. Simmer for another hour or until the carrots are fork tender. At this point the broth should be pretty golden in color and have the aroma of perfection. Remove all of the meat and vegetables, discarding everything except the chicken and carrots. Strain the broth a couple of times (I use cheesecloth or a coffee filter). Season with salt. This is probably the most important flavor step. Don’t be shy with the salt. Your guests will appreciate your sense of taste. Cool the broth overnight and remove the rendered fat layer from the top (reserve to use a schmaltz in the matzoh balls).
For matzoh balls: I use the Second Avenue Deli recipe as a base: CLICK HERE I’ve massaged it a little over time and add chopped parsley. The trick is to find the balance of wet and dry. The texture should be firm but a little moist. The size of your eggs will play a big part in getting the right balance. I also let it sit for multiple hours, not the 30 minutes they suggest. Experiment, make it your own. The bottom line here is that the baking powder is the best fluffer in the business. Forget seltzer.
To assemble my soup I put the maztoh balls in the soup pot to keep them hot. I tear apart some of the chicken meat, slice the carrots and then ladle the broth and balls over top. I’ll often sprinkle some chopped parsley too.
Needless to say the crew universally enjoyed the soup, despite the fact that I was a tablespoon short on the baking powder. Even this kids gobbled it up.
But the real star of the evening was a brisket recipe I’ve adapted from a Food and Wine recipe for “Grandma Selma’s Brisket”, which is made with coca-cola: CLICK HERE. I’m guessing the coke works as a tenderizer and adds a little sweetness to the sauce. I add fingerling potatoes, scale back the tomatoes a bit and am generous with the coke. You can also add some english peas right at the end for a little color. Everyone raved that it was their favorite dish by far. It just goes to show that midwesterners love their meat and potatoes. For me, this is a departure from my mother’s [wonderful] traditional brisket, which is much sweeter from ketchup and brown sugar.
So generally I feel that our Passover dinner was a great success. I love to see the children squirm at the thought of trying a new strange dish. And I was pleasantly surprised by how, for the most part, my in-laws enjoyed themselves. In fact, the next day, they were all over the leftovers. My mother-in-law was picking apart the brisket remains, just like my bubby used to do. But next year, I think I’m going to return to hosting my Hebrew homies. I like the idea of not having to stand in defense of Gefilte fish.
