End of Harvest

It's spring once more and I wish I had the drive to be neatly boxing things up for posterity and tying everything with silk ribbons. I am content to sweep in dark corners and take unused things to the relevant recycling facility. Seasonal changes acome with refreshing reminders and new discoveries. Remarkable how many changes for the good are afoot despite the generally gloomy economic air.

One seasonal change is not so welcome. Almost every Friday During the last three months I have been in the habit of dropping in to the oft mentioned Fish King in Glendale to buy a dozen live oysters and the odd scallop or two. They usually have Fanny Bays from Canada but I opt for the delicious Hama Hamas from the Hamma Hamma estuary up in Washington State (note the two spellings - one trademarked). They are farmed and harvested in an ecologically sound and old fashioned way in their natural environment, according to Rowan Jacobsen's excellent and comprehensive book on the the American oyster, A Geography of Oysters. Once home, I have an inexpensive shucking knife with which I pry them open, squirt on a drop of lemon and it's down the hatch, chased with a mouthful of prosecco. Fresh, raw oysters have more in common flavor-wise with fresh vegetables such as cucumber and celery than with other shellfish though the liquor in the opened shell is important to retain and it often has small traces of seawater. One Saturday I changed tack and went downtown to a seafood wholesaler and fetched some tasty little kumamotos but they just didn't do much for me and I was back to the Hama Hamas, which are also a Japanese variety introduced to replenish the devastation of our natural beds on the Pacific Coast during the gold rush. The Olympia is the only native Pacific oyster left and is hard to find outside of Puget Sound. It has been thirty years since I was in its habitat and I still remember the dozen I had then as the most delicious oysters I have ever had. These days, with the Hama Hamas as my weekly treat I cannot think of anything much more luxurious or satisfying for about a dollar a pop.

Sadly the season is now at an end and the spawning season begins four month stretch. True, the limits are vague depending on the warmth of the water and the location, apparently in the gulf it can happen at any time, but, elsewhere in the northern hemisphere the general rule is if there is an R in the month, the oysters are going taste strange or full or unpredictable, and that is all. The Oyster's reproductive cycle is remarkable and I cherish the fact that most oysters are in their prime for the plate after three years of growth. Some eat during the spawning season but I am going to wait until September and count the days while they finish getting their thangs on.

Letter From New Zealand #6

My friend Peter Huck, journalist and windswept adventurer, recently moved away from Los Angeles with his other half, the lovely Barbara Drake, to beautiful New Zealand. They are living in a tiny apartment in Auckland with a very, very small kitchen. Since their excellent and mostly vegetarian dinner parties were such a feature of my social life here, and sadly missed, I asked Peter to think about writing a monthly letter from down under as a kind of mirror to my own efforts and experiences here. This is the sixth letter.

One of the pluses that New Zealand boasts, from a carbon capture perspective, are its forests, which cover 7.5 million hectares, or almost 30% of the land area. We've spent the past week up on Two Caravan Hill, our Coromandel property, working with a local team to add a few hundred native trees to the national total, countering some of our carbon emissions as well as restoring biodiversity. After several days of heavy rain - up to 10 inches in one deluge that precipitated huge mudslides on the twisting road over the steep Coromandel Range to our east - we struck a dry window of clear, still, warm days, and bone-chillingly cold nights with temperatures near freezing, that made clamoring up steep banks (sometimes chain-sawing giant gorse plants to gain access) a little easier and less uncomfortable.

Having sourced our plants – native species that included totora, rewarewa, puriri, matai, pohutukawa, hebe, pittosporum, flax, ti kouka, akeake, karaka, kowhai, tanekaha, horoeka and nikau to give them their Maori names - from local nurseries and Project Crimson, a national group which supplies free plants, we stockpiled compost, mulch and stakes around the property and got stuck in .

The crucial thing when attempting to reconstruct a forest is where you plant. Thus certain trees – the rewarewa and totara for instance – like free-draining areas and work on slopes. Others, including many grasses – planted as part of our ongoing stream restoration - and the cabbage trees, can tolerate wet feet. Indeed, cabbage trees would seem to grow anywhere: I’ve seen them on high slopes in dry limestone country in Hawke’s Bay. Others, like karaka, handle wind, no mean consideration on Two Caravan Hill, where gusts routinely box the compass. Soft-leafed plants, pace the puriri, do best with some cover. We solicited advice from experts, walking around the landscape to site specimens, and frequently consulted books as we tried to imagine what plants would look like in three, five, ten or twenty years. Podocarps like matai, totora or kauri (which we’ll plant later) live for centuries. The trick is not to give into temptation and overplant, although in severe wind areas we massed fast growers like pittosporums to break up gusts.

This was our second large-scale planting – Barbara was in charge of the first last August, when it rained – and we’re starting to see more bird life (attracted by plants that provide food in the form of berries). Fantails fluttered around as we spread mulch, they often follow people as we disturb insects when brushing through bush; California quail burst from cover when we approached; tuis, famous for their repertoire of grunts, coughs and chortles, sang nearby, as did bellbirds and one afternoon I watched a kahu, or hawk, ghost silently over the tree fern glade beneath our bach, using its wings to back and hover, as it searched for prey. I didn’t hear the morepork this time.

Green Envy

As if to underscore that this has so far been a strange and scary year, Los Angeles has been blessed with plenty of rain this spring. Spring time is when I usually begin reminiscing about that damp English climate I grew up with, with its sheets of fine silk-like rain and land-tinting gray clouds that would make even the most colorful environment look like a layered watercolor wash. I have not seen Southern California so verdantly clement at this time of year in recent memory and so my envy of those fortunate enough to live up on the Central Coast has abated for the time being, though I am sure by August it will nag me once again.

In my kitchen, comfort foods still make for a good dinner, and, chilis, ratatouilles and pork roasts are frequently on the menu. I've cured olives, and my first prosciutto, and also a couple of bresaolas this winter. Mediterranean and Mexican dishes have taken center stage over the those months, a quince and chicken dish with preserved lemons being one of my favorite ventures. But the most comforting dish turned out to be stuffed Hungarian style green peppers. My neighbor is fortunate enough to have a tray of organic fruits and vegetables delivered to her door each week and she will often share a few of them with me. First there was a cabbage which I steamed and peeled away the leaves to stuff with a meat and rice mixture. I made half a dozen for her, as a thank you gift, stuffed with bulgur and red peppers since she is doesn't eat meat. There have been small red potatoes and bananas, beautiful heads of broccoli, and a delicious acorn squash which I halved and roasted with oil and topped with mozzarella for another vegetarian friend who will eat nothing with a face. But the cabbage set to reminding me of stuffing green peppers. I bought four at the market at a ridiculous price. I made a mixture of a pound of ground pork and two pounds of ground beef and added chopped onions and garlic and a couple of eggs, some salt and pepper. Instead of long grain rice I had on hand some left over wild rice which worked extremely well as it doesn't hold as much water cooked and adds some husky texture to the mix. Well combined I topped and deseeded the peppers and densely stuffed them. To this point everything is raw save for the rice and I put the pepper hat back on. the four just about fit my large pot and I sarted them on the stove top with about an inch of water, covering them with a lid for a few minutes. aftr this I added chopped tomatoes from a can and tomato sauce from a couple more cans and added some chicken stock and paprika. After an hour of slow cooking they were ready and I cooled them to room temperature for reheating later in the day. This was most satisfying with a glass of dry riesling. Perhaps this dish will return in the summer. They say we are due for three days of rain this coming week.

Last of Summer?

Marissa Roth gave a small dinner party last night which started poolside with plump green olives and sliced salami, creamy pastry cheese twists and a very potable chilled Riesling. When called to table we found a huge platter laden with fresh buffalo mozzarella, baby arugula, avocado, capers and a mild vinaigrette. Food maven, LA Times columnist and author Russ Parsons, brought along two varieties of Brandywine heirloom tomatoes grown in his Long Beach garden which Marissa substituted for her tiny heirlooms, and they were plump flavorful and lusciously tasty. After we had laid waste to that she served up wild organic salmon poached in orange juice with fresh dill, steamed french green beans with plenty of parsley, and deliciously crisp pan roasted fingerling potatoes. A French Muscadet and a dry, buttery Carneros Clos Du Val Chardonnay, which Russ also supplied, complemented it all with plenty of sparkling mineral water. If that wasn't enough we went back poolside to taste fresh nectarine gelato. All the ingredients were from her local South Pasadena farmer's market, including the gelato by Carmela Ice Cream who sells online and at the Hollywood and South Pasadena farmer's markets, with the exception of Russ's homegrown tomatoes and the salmon which Marissa caught herself at Bristol farms. It was a superb dinner.

We talked a bit about whether summer was over or not, a bit about food as Russ is a goldmine of information on resources and the way things are in foodland, and we talked about Bakersfield and Fresno and their anomalies. For all that hard work Marissa looked remarkably relaxed and glowed throughout the evening like the bloom on one of the sweet nectarines she garnished the gelato with. Perhaps this cool summer will linger on and I for one won't mind. Next week fall will officially be here for me as I harvest my Bakersfield Chardonnays and start to turn them into wine. I tasted them last week and they were intensely sweet but I bought a refractometer so as to measure the brix before I start getting sharp with the shears.

Spring Lamb Up Close

This weekend, has become a concentrated social melée. I don't know whether it's age or apathy but I like to limit my social engagements severely these days. It's no reflection on the kind friends who invite me to wine and dine but more a desire to stay close to the nest, and I prefer to entertain than be entertained.

Last night the home made festivities began with a dinner for Chris and Linda Finch. I roasted a boneless leg of lamb with rosemary and garlic, served with potatoes, celery and parsnips also roasted l'anglaise, steamed green beans, and Nantes carrots with organic peas. It was garnished with a sauce of pearl onions, garlic, rosemary, and balsamic vinegar. We appetized with fresh hummus made with Lebanese Tahini, all accompanied by local whites and reds from Paso Robles, and a nice Argentine Malbec that the Finches brought.

The highlight of the evening, though, was the Tiramisu. Matt made it completely from scratch the night before in honor of the Finches. As a teenager Matt had pored over most of Chris's monographs on Disney and Henson and such, having been gifted them by request on special occasions by his parents as he grew up. It's a nice feeling to give back a little of the pleasure one has received over the years from someone even though they might not know they have given it. Matt's Tiramisu was two and a half hours of hard work in the making, fifteen minutes of pure pleasure in the eating. A perfect and luxurious end to a warm evening.

Chris brought along a copy of his marvelous book on the painter, Chuck Close. Linda Rosenkrantz, Chris's spouse, is a subject of many of Close's most well known early portraits, and I must say she is more radiantly beautiful now than she could ever have been at the time Close made those original gargantuan portraits in the seventies. She is also a writer and a wonderful raconteur. I will be ordering the book on her Bronx Childhood. Chris is the author of the much quoted definitive monograph on Disney, amongst several other publications. I very much enjoyed the evening though many topics of conversation remained unexplored. I'll write a list of questions next time. One sacrifices a little of the social time to the needs of the kitchen but it's a fair trade off.

To cook potatoes or other root vegetables, in the English style, peel them first then cut them into large chunks and boil them in salt water until semi soft. Drain them well, and then put quite a bit of bland oil in an oven durable pan, or better still drippings from the roast, lard or crisco, to maybe a half inch depth, and roast. Turn rarely, until a rich red crust forms on most of their sides. Serve with the roast and plenty of gravy.

To roast the lamb ( I bought my boneless leg at Costco ) remove it from the fridge at least an hour and a half before cooking to bring to room temperature. Leave any binding on it and with a paper towel blot any liquid from the joint without washing it. When ready to cook preheat the oven to 450°. Take a shallow roasting pan and sprinkle with good olive oil and put a bed of long sprigged fresh rosemary on it. Not too much oil, the lamb will add its own. Rub the lamb with chopped fresh garlic and put some on the rosemary. Stud the roast with sliced slivers and then salt the lamb with a good sea salt. Place the roast on the bed of rosemary and garlic and make sure all the rosemary is covered by the roast. Grind some pepper over it and place on the bottom shelf of the oven turning the oven down to 400° after five minutes.

Pearl onions are a pain to peel and frozen ones are just as good all ready to place in a saucepan and boil for twenty minutes with some good chicken stock and a little white wine. When the roast is done, after perhaps two hours, remove the roast and then drain the pan of most if not all of its oil. Remove the pearl onions to a dish and reserve. Deglaze the roasting pan by pouring the liquid into the pan and pop back in the oven for ten minutes. Scrape in the drippings and then pour everything back into the saucepan and bring to the boil again adding seasonings and the battered rosemary and a couple more fresh sprigs. At the last moment add crushed garlic and stir as you thicken it with a little cornstarch to the desired consistency and add balsamic vinegar to taste. Pour the sauce through a sieve to remove the spent garlic and rosemary and transfer to a sauce boat. Arrange the pearl onions along side the roast and serve. Note that the pearl onions will be a pretty golden color not a clear white.

Birthday Boy

My friend, the eminent artist Derek Boshier, is celebrating his 70th birthday today. I have a lot of affection for Derek, and he stopped by this morning, freshly shorn, his crystal clear blue eyes twinkling away. He dropped off this little drawing which you can click on to see larger. He will enjoy this momentous occasion in the company of his children.

Happy Birthday, Derek. May you have many many more. Sometime soon, I'll open a bottle of Schramsberg's Blanc de Noirs with you (the finest American bubbly - no cold duck ) and nibble at strawberries, on your deck with the grand view, so beautifully built with your own hands. We will also celebrate all the years of enjoyment that your ever poignant art has given me, and so many others. You are surely the Hogarth of our time, but don't let on about it to Matthew Flowers, it'll be our secret. (Above: Derek on left with old school chum)

Whine, Whine... Wine

A particularly gruelling day, albeit week. If I feel I've been treated poorly, especially by marginally talented, dramatic people (enough with their post 8Os me me me backwash, please), it ignites my worst antisocial mitherings. But, on a budget conscious night such as this, a glass of plain red cab Charles Shaw (two buck chuck), is enough to restore some natural color to the world, and also reminds me that it's a holiday weekend. So, go ahead and ease me back into society. "Two buck" is made by the immense Bronco Wine Co. in Ceres, California. Bronco's CEO, Fred Franzia, (of the Coca-Cola owned box-wine family) distributes it in California through Trader Joe's at a shelf price of $1.99 a bottle. Somewhere, in the background, cue Laura Nyro singing Sweet Blindness..."Let's go down by the grapevine, drink my Daddy's wine, get happy..." .

When money is not such an obstacle, finer wines are the choice. We have government sanctioned appellations here in the U.S. now, known as AVAs, just like La France's AOCs, and many of them are close to my home, notably those in Santa Barbara County and the Paso Robles AVA. My good friend and sometime workmate, Tony, e-mailed a recommendation for the Dornfelder from Huber Cellars , Lompoc, in the Santa Rita Hills Appelation, Santa Barbara County. He has a smart palette, I'll search that one out.

As it turns out I was just up in Lompoc on the way to San Luis Obispo, recently. It wasn't a wine tasting trip per se but I did visit Wild Horse in The Edna Valley Appelation (see pic) and came back with their famed Pinot Noir (2005), and a recent Zinfandel, a sentimental favorite, not least because the "California grape", as it has come to be known, originated in the Dalmatian province of Croatia, a land I am particularly fond of, and of their wines, particularly from the islands of Hvar and Korcula. On this Edna Valley stop I was tempted to leave with Iron Horse's good Mourvèdre, available only at the winery, but it was at that time , a little too tannic for my tastes. Probably a good buy for laying down but I'm not in that league, yet.

Not a huge fan of true Rhône wines since they seem to stir my temperament up a bit, but I was interested in Iron Horse's Mourvèdre only because the grape has become my one to watch since tasting of Terre Rouge Easton Winery's superb and amazing take on this Rhône varietal. In fact, the wines of the Shenandoah Valley Fiddletown appellation in Amador County, up north in Gold Rush California, which lies between Sacramento and Lake Tahoe, are currently worth checking out thanks to the efforts of talented vintners such as Bill Easton, (never met him but the pic on the site makes him seem familiar). Plus, the countryside there is also fabulous, the setting for TV's Bonanza. I cannot commend Easton's wines enough. Picnicking en famille, at lunch under the vined ramada in October 2006, every wine we tasted or drank on site was dreamy, red or white. One always tastes in a kind of linear context on such a crawl, and we stopped there between visits to other wineries, but I must say their 2001 Terre Rouge Mourvèdre is my personal favorite, perfectly balanced, medium bodied red varietal wine of the last couple of years, French included, Pinot or Pin-yes. It tasted good at the winery in Fiddletown at lunch, and better still here, in LA at dinner a couple of months later, when the finish from the earlier bottle was only just barely wearing off in my mind! Can't describe its complexity offhand 'til I get another bottle and by that time it should taste even better. I have kept the empty bottle as a memory of that lunch and of the wine. Wish I could buy lots now and you can too!

Sadly, nationalistic oenological snobbery seems pervasive. It's true that I will always try to buy a California wine over any other to support the economy in which I live, but I'm not going to buy a syrupy California wine when a comparable foreign wine is less "jarred and canned" and more balanced and the price is more or less the same. Sadly the magnificent breadth and range of American winemaking is not available to those of us who want to spend less than ten dollars for a bottle. Like TV, Film and News marketers in our country, wine producers in that price range take us for sugar freaks seeking a universal mouthfeel and little, if any bouquet. And maybe most of us are good with that, but, include me out of the bunch.