Grapes Without Wrath

Here is a cozy shot of my Chardonnay vine up in Bakersfield from the 4th of July which is full with fruit. The 4th was a lovely family day and a short but welcome rest from the wild schedule of the past few weeks. I also have a sauvignon blanc vine which is equally full with fruit. I am grateful to Lou Diaz for his attentive watering while I am in LA and for the Diazes hosting of the ever expanding vines. It's a constant struggle keeping them from climbing the beautiful young magnolias which flank them. Come September harvest I will make a bottle or two of wine from the grapes.

My friend David Hockney is in town for a flying visit and, yesterday, Rita Pynoos held a tea party at her Beverly Hills home to celebrate his birthday, which is next week. Rita had it catered by Wolfgang Puck's flagship, Spago's. I had heard about, but never partaken of, David's favorite, the smoked salmon pizza. On a crisp crust an almost mayonnaisy layer of mild herbed goat cheese supported a bed of smoked salmon and that in turn garnished with abundant, and big, glistening orange salmon eggs. Delicious. So I stand corrected, I had thought the idea was pretty terrible, until that first bite. Happy Birthday David and thank you Rita.

Today David stopped by for lunch round the corner at Cafe Figaro in my neighborhood on Vermont Avenue with Derek Boshier and Alfred Young in tow. It was me and the class of '59 as they had all attended The Royal College of Art together. We dined on escargots and moules frites which are particularly good there on account of the leeky sauce. We might have been in Paris. We talked of tripe and kidneys, liver and sweetbreads, and their general unpopularity Stateside and the fact that Musso and Franks is one of the few restaurants locally that keep lamb kidneys on the menu. It was a balm to hear new and familiar stories, full of laments over liberty and arcane facts from the past and present all spiced with humor and warmth. A nice start to the week and a pleasant weekend in all.

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.

Thinking of Beans...

About now the fava bean season ends. There is a restaurant on La Brea Avenue that serves up a fava bean salad with smoked turkey which turned me on to the raw green delight. The fava bean, like all legumes, is  many layered and after husk and hood are removed they reveal their waxy green centers which slide into two pieces when run between the forefingers. The fava (known as the broad bean in The States), is a historic staple of the Egyptians, and to me really tastes green. Steam them, then shell them and break them naturally in two, and add a little lemon and olive oil to the separated hearts. Combine them with a salad or add parsley to make them a salad on their own.

Beanie O'Brien

Dear Beanie, my neighbor Shauna's cat and a subject of my last post, passed away in the night. She was my companion when Shauna was out of town and often when she was in town. Beanie was eighteen years old. I loved her and I miss her terribly. Every time I eat chicken I will think of her almost manic obsession with the fowl. She had a good long life and touched everyone's hearts with her strong and engaging character. Rest In Peace Beanie O'Brien.

Aromas

Yes, It's catch up time in order to do penance for not posting.

To my nose skunk spray reminds me of coffee. I love coffee's aroma, but skunk musk is to be avoided mainly due to its adhesiveness. If one gets sprayed, and they only spray if you really threaten them, you are surely in trouble. It's a common smell across the Americas, usually at night when they are out and about. We have a family of skunks here in the neighborhood and I have seen them on my doorstep and nose to nose communicating with the neighbor's cats. The neighbor has an elderly cat called Beanie who wanders into my house freely and when her owner is away I leave the back door open so that she can come and go when she likes. Beanie popped in the other night and settled down on the chaise and after a couple of minutes I heard the pitter patter of Mister Independent Stew, her companion from home. I looked down to welcome Stew but instead it was a four foot long skunk who had followed Beanie's scent and had stopped where the cat had jumped up on the chaise. My room was silent, no TV, no music, unlike most nights and if there was human sound then surely the skunk would have stopped at the back door. But there it was with its magnificent white stripes on black wiry fur, sniffing around. Beanie was sitting upright in disbelief, this was her domain as far as furry creatures went. I didn't panic, I stayed still. I thought about it. I said in a soft voice " Who is that Beanie?". Skunk heard me and looked back at me with the same surprise I felt inside and it made a one-eighty and was out and back along the path it took here. I cautiously checked the kitchen before I followed making as much noise as possible, but that piece of fluff was long gone and I put the TV on as a preventative measure.

I cooked Roast Beef with Yorkshire Pudding last night and as the meat was slowly charring I enjoyed the familiar fragrance of feasting. Americans cherish Thanksgiving as The Big Feast but in my family Christmas is always The Great Holiday. This year I was able to travel to my parent's home, in view of pelicans drop diving above the Atlantic, and shared a lovely Christmas with them beach-bound in soporific Florida. I embrace sentimentality as remedy for the hard shelled life we face these days, and feel that it has much more value than many of my peers would admit. This was a sentimental time in the best sense. On Christmas Day I cooked the family meal of roasted turkey and a roast duck, and loin of pork with prunes, for the twelve of us. It would never have gone so smoothly but for the able and intelligent Matthew Mills who sous cheffed for me and who on more than one occassion second guessed me. Mario Batali should be so lucky. Matthew was the only one allowed in the kitchen besides me. On other days I visited my favorite fish shop in the United States, Hull's Seafood, and in that week I made moules marinieres for them, and for the first time shucked two dozen oysters for my parents, at table. We also enjoyed shrimp and other aquatic delicacies.

After New Year's our friend Marissa stopped by with Champagne Comtes de Dampieres to toast it with a bang and we had a pleasant dinner featuring Flank Steak and a simple salad with it.

My Birthday in January was a fun time when friends and relatives feted me for a week, no less. We went to Woolgrower's one night and had a party the next night, both in Bakersfield, courtesy of the fabulous Diazes. Matt made me his perfect Shrimp Risotto for dinner on the actual day, after a lunch of more moules at Figaro with friend Marissa. Friend Shauna treated us to Korean barbecue down there in Koreatown.

Well ... I think I've explained myself a bit. It has been a beautiful time. Is beauty best experienced alone? I think not.

Francophilia

There are times when one steps back and realizes that contemporaneous conjunctions from disparate sources make for a golden time in one's life. At this moment I am stripping out an ornate and beautiful French style Fantasy Lighting chandelier for their website and listening to the current, gorgeous, melancholy, Radiohead album. John Richardson's long awaited vivid third episode of his Picasso biography rests on a table nearby, where inside its covers the period lives vividly once again. And what with Ratatouille and the very charming Paris Je t'Aime to watch repeatedly on DVD I have once again turned sweet and nostalgic for France.

Internet radio is one of the best things to happen in my time and I often listen on Itunes to Artistes Disparus de la Chansons Francophone the station from chanteurs.org while I work. Broadcast from Paris, they play music by artists from the advent of audio recordings to the present day with the proviso that the artists must be either defunct or deceased. It's fabulous to cook along to and takes me on a wander down fresh Gallic paths.

I am very thankful for my life and the world around me. I feel very blessed no matter what comes my way. I know many people carry heavy burdens and suffer indignities, pains, and poverty, undeserved and incessant, and it was with shock that I read this news on the sale of a huge truffle at an obscene price of close to $350,000. While all proceeds of the auction were given to charity there are questions. No doubt the winning bidders will add value to the truffle as they carve it up and parlay that price many times by offering it in thousand dollar meals for those who will pay for a chance to be part of this sensation. A little bit of truffle goes a long way. I love fresh truffles and once in a blue moon to taste one is a great sensual luxury, with or without a price tag. Its flavor is not commodifiable (see this post). I have to ask, how many in need could be fed with an outright monetary gift such as this let alone its multiplied value when it gets to the table? How could the cure for AIDS or diabetes or cancer be sped on by such amounts? How many could be housed or saved from the streets with the wise stewardship of such a gift? When there are so many triumphs in the world this is something of a disappointment. A freely given gift from the earth stamped with a bland and outrageous price tag.

I would like to thank my friend Denny, who, as Winfernal, posts his ever eloquent and illuminating comments. Also, I appreciate the kind comments from Sean and from James. By the way my ribs are much better thank you - never thought I would take up knitting!

Good hearts can help save the world. Let's eat, my place, or in Gascony!

Cannery Row

Despite some really tough pain, I am in Monterey, California. All I have to do is sit still and go slow, and, although walks on the gorgeous, uneven, kelp and jelly littered, spongy, sand beach, are out of the question, sitting upright and chauffeured in a fancy car's orthopedic seat is the perfect corset (albeit straight jacket). The ever changing, majestic California scenery entertains with its shifting light, plentiful vineyards and pastures, its grand and mesmerizing vistas. Probably shouldn't have gone on a road trip so soon after my mishap but, hey, the company is great, it's Steinbeck country, and I really needed a medicinal change of scenery. Besides, I am a fan of canned sardines and this trip is unlikely to happen again soon and has been on the roster for months.

Today, Sunday, is our last day on the Monterey Peninsula. I was born and brought up by the sea and it always resonates in a special way for me. We came up to accompany friend Marissa on the six hour drive from LA and to escort her to a benefit for the Center For Photographic Arts, in Carmel which was held at the rather grand Lodge at Pebble Beach. The canapés were just fine and the banquet food was good, a customary goat cheese stuffed, herbed, frenchified chicken breast accompanied by peeled asparagus and, a "that ain't no risotto baby so next time call it rice". The wines were local and delicious and plenty of decorative gazillionaires were on hand. Speeches were thankfully borderline boring for the most part. We have had perfect weather all weekend, clear, sunny and cool. That evening, looking out over the links onto the secluded bay, and a short walk along the rugged coast alongside the eighteenth hole provided extra magic. So this is how the other eighth lives.

Personally I prefer grit to gloss, and yesterday we picked up a copy of Cannery Row, in the old Hovden Cannery, one of the preserved and converted structures that house Monterey Bay Aquarium. Published by John Steinbeck in 1946, Cannery Row is a feast of rich prose. I like the conceit of having purchased a book in the very place that is its subject. If you had asked Steinbeck to project back in '46 what was likely to be the future of Ocean View Avenue (renamed for its nickname - Cannery Row), I wonder if he could have foreseen Knut Hovden's Cannery housing anything but still more sardines and an even fouler smell than existed then. The Aquarium is truly incredible. Even if one were to see only the Sunfishes, slipping like huge masks from a Greek tragedy under and over grotesque Hammerheads and Great White in the enormous new million-gallon, seamlessly windowed tank, or watch the Otters writhe, twist and sunbathe in another wing, or reflect on the only living artificial kelp forest complete with tidal pull, one would walk away purified and enriched. I must confess that yellowtails swimming and anchovies schooling put sashimi in mind on more than one occasion during the visit.

Cannery Row currently bears scant resemblance to the vital and vivid industrial fishing port that once occupied this part of the wharf. Now with the usual neat restaurants and smart lodgings that genericize so many great historic American locations, it is hard to conjure Steinbeck's inventions outside his own poetic wordplay. But The Bay, which is the site of one of the world's deepest underwater canyons, and its hugging peninsula, is still very beautiful despite the heavy tourist population which began its encroachment in the 1860's. The Monterey Sardine industry destroyed itself in the mid fifties from over fishing, and The Bay is now a conservancy. Here is a very good potted visual history.

The closer you get to San Francisco the better the cooking gets and here you are but an hour or two away. Very good breakfast in Carmel, at The Cottage, this morning with shopping at the Plaza and Wilkes Bashford (my pocketbook unscathed), but apart from our pleasant waterfront domicile, The Best Western Beach Resort, at Monterey adjacent Seaside, and The Great Pacific crashing just beyond the room's patio to lullaby me to sleep each night, a great memory will be Friday night's dinner at Monterey's Fish House providing a good take on Bouillabaisse, which I chose over their Cioppino. Subtly flavored with saffron and just about every fish or crustacean on the menu I prequelled it with six surprisingly huge Hama-Hama Oysters on the half shell from Washington State. I prefer smaller oysters both texturally and for their subtler, sweeter flavor but these did not disappoint. All our food was nicely cooked and the lack of pretension, coupled with the spartan dining room made it the perfect no nonsense venue to ease us out of the SoCal lag and bL.A.h we brought with us. The staff were all stressed out but completely pleasant and we had a great evening. Here is yelp's review and here is the general Google key.

This Monday morning, back in Los Angeles to gray skies and chilly weather, I realize I could have used another day there in Monterey, prostrate, dozing to the blue Pacific's rhythm and wave crash, reading Steinbeck's richly poetic novel in place.