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Restaurant Steak? No thanks.

The first time I served a steak to someone else, I was a couple weeks shy of my 13th birthday. A year earlier, while still 11, I got hired by the local Moose Lodge to be their Friday night dishwasher, when the members gathered for cocktails, grilled steaks and breaded, deep-fried fish, which was either catfish or halibut.

How I got that job, and ended up cooking for others at such a young age, is like a lot of life: it was unplanned, and just happened.

I was shooting hoops at the Boys Club when am man walked into the gym and bellowed: “Would anyone like to make ten bucks for two hours of work?”

There were only nine or 10 of us in the gym that night, with six guys playing a 3-on-3 half-court match and the rest of us practicing free throws or playing horse. I looked around, and when no one else raised their hand, I did.

Big Dave yelled, “Great, let’s go in and see Mike, and call your parents.”

Mike Bonner was one of the gym managers and apparently this fellow from the Moose Lodge, Dave, used the club to recruit dishwashers periodically, as most of the kids usually just did it for a couple months, then quit.

I was a budding entrepreneur since I was 10, mowing lawns, washing cars, helping neighbors clear out their garages, that sort of thing, and $10 for two hours of work was the equivalent of a massive pay raise. Bear in mind, in 1970 the minimum wage was $1.45 per hour, this night happened in December of 1969.

Once we were in Mike’s office, Dave asked Mike to call my parents, since he knew my father, who would drive me to the Boys Club, drop me off, then come and get me a couple hours later.

Dave asked me my name, and when Mike reached my dad and said hello, he then handed the phone over to Dave. Dave said to my dad: “Mr. Marsh, this is Dave from the Moose Lodge. We need a dishwasher for tonight’s grill and fish fry, and your son volunteered for the job. I’d like your permission to take him to the club and put him to work.

My father readily agreed and also to swing by the Moose Lodge around 9 p.m., as Dave promised him that I would be done by then.

I kept that job until my junior year in high school, some five years later.

The Moose Lodge cooks were themselves members of the Lodge. Big Dave was a dentist, and enjoyed his cocktails. His sidekick, Bill, was an accountant, and smoked cigarettes. The two men worked shoulder-to-shoulder during prime dinner time, from about 6 pm. to 7 pm., but otherwise took breaks to go out to the lounge and drink and smoke with their friends. Often, one of them would stay in the kitchen to manage orders as they trickled in. Toward the end of those Friday nights, it was common for both of them to be in the lounge.

At first, when a late-night order came in, one of them would return to the kitchen and make the meal – or two, for the members. After I had been there for many months, however, Dave started teaching me how to grill a steak, and how long the fish had to be in the fryer, as well as how to drop a fresh basket of fries.

I would be in the kitchen by myself, cleaning up cutlery, cutting boards, dishes, pots and pans, and suddenly I would hear Dave boom from the lounge: “Order up!”

And that’s how I ended up serving my first meal of grilled steak and fried fish with a side of fries to a grown up.

Fast-forward to the present, and readers to this blog know my strong preference for Snake River steaks, particularly, New Yorks and Ribeye’s, though lately I’ve been doing a stove-top, pan-seared Filet Mignon for a wicked-good Asian meal with jasmine rice and a large side of mixed vegetables (Bok choy, celery, red onion) fried with a light amount of sesame oil, sunflower oil, a few drops of fish sauce, a generous spoon of chili garlic sauce and finished with a nice sprinkling of ponzu sauce.

For food adventures, friends and family have joined me for some memorable meals at some of America’s best steak houses. Benjamin Steak House on 41 Street in New York, and Jeff Ruby’s Steakhouse in Cincinnati, come to mind.

But my recent Chicago steak house experience?

I have to stop embarrassing myself in restaurants, which also aggravates my partner – and no doubt embarrasses her, too. It’s not the usual thing about poor restaurant behavior – i.e., public intoxication. Rather, it’s my food snob snobbery and asshole attitude when things go awry.

The recent episode in Chicago has set my resolve to either, A. not go to certain restaurants where my disappointed is assured, if not guaranteed; B. go to the restaurant and order something that won’t disappoint me; or C. go to the restaurant, adjust my attitude, that it’s about the company etc. and don’t complain about the food.

The incident in Chicago, at one of the city’s most popular steak houses, for example, I could have ordered the Chilean Sea Bass, which is pretty much good anywhere. But no, we were there for the steak.

After careful consideration, we settled on the St. Louis cut – a bone-in New York strip.

It was cooked perfectly medium, medium rare, the way we like it. But it was flavorless, and dry.

I don’t remember which wine I ordered because my behavior after the first few bites of steak blurred the rest of the night.

When the server – who was very engaging, cheerful and could not have been nicer, came around to ask how the steaks were, I looked at him without any sort of facial expression or projection, and said without menace. “It’s dog food.”

Taken aback, the server said: “What?”

“It’s dog food,” I said again.

The server and manager swung in to action to resolve the matter and cooked a fresh, different cut of steak. They even swept away the sides to bring fresh sides with the fresh steak (asparagus, mushrooms, and probably the best onion rings in the world).

And they brought me a fresh martini, on the house, which was ice cold and filled to the brim flipping perfect.

Seeing the expression on my partner made me remorseful. The night had started so pleasantly, and here I was, acting The Dick!

The second round of steaks and sides were more or less the same, and I acted like the meat was much improved. When I settled the bill, I left a ridiculously large tip.

So, there you have my resolve and resolution for future dining in American cities.

Meanwhile, back home a couple weeks later, I marinated a wonderfully affordable cut of beef, skirt steak (pictured above).

This meat is tender and full of flavor!

The marinade

In a large casserole dish, add: 

  • Enough good olive oil to nearly cover the entire bottom
  • Sprinkle garlic powder evenly throughout
  • Black pepper, the same
  • Fish sauce – add drops here and there throughout the dish
  • Terriyaki marinade sauce, the same.
  • Lemon – squeeze the juice of one lemon, throughout
  • Salt each side of meat before laying them into the casserole dish, and turn them over
  • Cover tight with plastic wrap and refrigerate over night
  • Remove them from fridge the next morning, and turn them over in the sauce, cover and refrigerate again
  • Remove them from the fridge 2-3 hours before cooking
  • Pat dry with paper towel, but don’t dry them all the way.

I’ve cooked this inside on a hot steel skillet and they are good, but not as good as grilled on my Weber, with charcoal.

Once grilled, let the steaks rest for 10 minutes, cover them loosely with foil, then (using kitchen scissors), cut them along the grain into half-inch to three-quarter inch slices, serve.

Serve with sides of your choice, though roasted potatoes, asparagus and mushrooms for mushroom lovers makes for a fine meal.

Wine: Merlot, Zin or Cab of your liking!

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The Prisoner (wine)

The first time I drank The Prisoner, a red blend wine from Northern California, was about 10 years ago with friend Tom S. in Sacramento where he lives. I was there on business and we met at an Italian place in Roseville. The wine was impactful, different, really good and memorable. The Prisoner has in fact gained ‘cult’ status among many wine aficionados since it emerged on the wine scene about two decades ago. The wine was embraced by regular wine drinkers as well as critics for its bold new interpretation of what a California red blend could be. The wine blend changes by the year and harvest but is consistently comprised of Zinfandel, Cabernet Sauvignon, Petite Sirah, Syrah and Charbono. Rutherford-born winemaker Dave Phinney launched the brand, now based in Oakville, in 2000. Given Phinney’s Napa Valley orientation, the wine drinks “big” and features that signature, fruit-forward style that Napa is famous for.

Of course the name, as well as the label, is pretty unforgetable too.

From its website, The Prisoner Wine Company’s “brand name and flagship label were inspired by an etching titled Le Petit Prisonnier by 19th century Spanish artist Francisco Goya. Its subtitle translates to “the custody is as barbaric as the crime”. The sketch is part of Goya’s series The Disasters of War, created as a visual protest to the injustice and brutality of the Spanish War of Independence in 1808. From our founding, The Prisoner Wine Company has stood against oppression while embracing creativity. Fighting injustices in our society, especially those tied to our prison and policing systems, is indelibly etched into our identity and a focus of our commitment as an organization. At The Prisoner, we know that the problems in the U.S. prison system are ingrained, nuanced, and seemingly intractable. We also believe that change can happen and that it starts with conversation, collaboration, and creativity.”

That’s some pretty deep shit for a wine. But hey, it’s your life, your wine, etc., do your thing.

Anyway back in the restaurant with Tom – I had veal saltimbocca, the classic Roman dish made with proscuitto as well as the veal, and a butter sauce of light red wine. The most memorbable part of the evening, however, was not the food, The Prisoner or great company, it was something Tom said, and last night’s dinner reminded me of this moment in time – funny how a wine can do that. Our server that evening was somewhere between super-cute and gorgeous; late 20s, maybe 30. Here’s two average-looking and married white guys with “dad bods” in their mid-50s and the young lady was the kind of pretty that you just couldn’t ignore, and even as a pair of respectful gentlemen, we naturally compared notes on our server’s good fortune – her looks.

At which point Tom said: “Yeah but we’re invisible to her.”

It was funny as hell, and so accurate.

My other good Tom friend, Tommy R., brought a bottle of The Prisoner over for my cellar on one of his recent visits (which normally entails eating and drinking in Healdsburg), and last night knowing I was going to do a meat feed of tangy barbecued ribs that were leftovers from a house party I had catered earlier this summer (and they held up extremely well, frozen), I busted out The Prisoner (2019).

Don’t get me wrong, the wine was delicious, and the pairing excellent with the ribs, which I jazzed up with some Korean BBQ sauce and also poured a little of the wine in the bottom of the baking dish so they wouldn’t dry out in the heating process. Yet what struck me about drinking the wine was how unremarkable it was. It also reminded me something JP said at a wine tasting I was doing at Lambert Bridge (JP is the in-estate Sommelier) when we were talking about sparkling wines and Champagne – even though we were not drinking that varietal and for context, the discussion was about wine marketing and the evolution of Americans’ embrace of wine drinking. Someone in our group brought up Veuve Clicquot as an example of moderately high-priced Champagne mediocrity that managed to get a fan base, and keep it, years ago. I know because when I was first married, it’s what my then wife and I drank on special occassions, some 30 years ago now. JP agreed with the analogy as, if memory serves, we went into a tasting of LB’s Crane Creek Cuvee.

The Prisoner wine experience I had this weekend speaks more to my own changes in taste, as again, the wine was delicious and there’s a place for it in your wine rack. At nearly 50 bucks, however, it’s too expensive for a Tuesday night wine but would I open it with friends at my house when I make a home-made ‘gravy’ to go over bowls of creamy polenta and Sicilian-roasted broccoli? Probably not. I’d go for something I got from Kermit Lynch, a (red) Bandol perhaps, or maybe something local, like Lambert Bridge’s Malbec, or even a Petit Sirah that Portalupi makes up in Mendocino County, and save The Prisoner for a Thursday night with delivered pizza.

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La Dolce Vita

La Dolce Vita, which besides the literal transaltion in Italian is ‘sweet life,’ was also the title of a 1960 satirical-comedy movie directed by Federico Fellini, and the story’s plot follows a tabloid journalist (Marcello Mastroianni as Marcello Rubini) over seven days and nights in Rome in a fruitless search for love and happiness.

Well, don’t let late deter you. Living La Dolce Vita is an intentionial way of life, and it’s highly recommended if you like better than average doses of pleasure.

Thus, we found ourselves in “Poor man’s Italy,” Northern Italy specifically, for an afternoon after seeing the Alicia Keys concert in San Francisco the previous night at Chase Center. Sausalito, on the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge and southern tip of Marin County, never fails to remind me of an Italian coastal city. The waterfront, the steep hillside covered with expensive homes, the streetside cafes and restaurants, stunning views of San Francisco, Angel Island, the Tiburon Peninsula.

After a stroll by the yacht harbor and town, we settled for lunch at Poggio Trattoria, a classic Northern Italy trattoria located on Bridgeway at the base of the Casa Madrona Hotel & Spa. The choices were many but we wanted something simple, as it was a tad hot for Sausalito (a heat wave was underway) and chose pizza. Mine – fig and prosciutto. Hers – mixed meats with mushrooms. Both with crispy crusts from the wood-fired oven visible to all diners with the restaurant’s open kitchen. We were going to pass on wine but after our first bites, the pizza was too good to only drink water, so we enjoyed Brunello di Montalcino, a Camigliano 2014.

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California Road Trip

For years I would rhetorically ask anyone that would listen, why live in California, especially expensive Marin County, if you are not going to venture out and explore the amazing landscapes of this great and left-leaning state?

And it is not just the scenery. California has some amazing food!

One could travel the Golden State just for its tacos. Yet on a recent road trip, we limited that experience to just one place, and after two nights in Pismo Beach and a few good but forgettable meals, we found one of merit further south, Lilly’s Taqueria on Chapala Street in downtown Santa Barbara. We were checking out of our hotel in Pismo when we asked the front desk if they were familiar with any “famous” taco joints in Santa Barbara, which was our next destination, and one of the women told us about Lilly’s. I was asking out of earnestness – we really did want to eat great tacos, but I was also fishing around because I couldn’t remember the name of the better known taqueria in that well-heeled town where mountains meet the sea. I got the name when we checked into our Santa Barbara hotel later that day, when I asked the gal at the front desk what was her favorite taco joint in town. She said Lilly’s, because it is authentic and the lady that runs it makes handmade tortillas from masa, or the raw corn grain that makes maize dough that probably goes back to Aztec and Mayan times in Mexico.

As soon as the young lady at our Santa Barbara hotel told us Lilly’s, her colleague asked, you may also want to try La Super-Rica Taqueria on Milpas Street, which is known for its fish tacos, tamales and more. That was the place I was thinking of and had eaten there years earlier with my family. For a second we thought of going to La Super-Rica but would have had to get back in the car, whereas Lilly’s was a short walk. We found the place easily enough, and a no-frills taqueria it is! No Chips. No Salsa! Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? You order your food and drinks at one station and pick up your plates of tacos moments later from a stainless steel shelf with warming lights above it, 10 feet from where you place the food order. There were two condiment stands inside with the fixings, as they say. Chopped up cilantro, lime wedges, chopped white onions, and multiple salsas including one that was dark and almost mole-dark in its coloration. It looked spicy hot and it was. My traveling companion and I ordered the same thing – one chicken, one pork, each of which came with two small corn tortillas.

The food came in minutes and we were so hungry I jumped in without taking a picture! What kind of food blogger am I, you ask? No kidding.

We were only in Santa Barbara for one night. After Lilly’s we went up to a botanical garden and also walked around a city park across from the Mission that had many, many roses bushes.

blisteredonions california road trip photo 2
blisteredonions california road trip photo 3

Walking around these two venues was an excellent way to walk off the tacos, which were indeed delicious. That evening, without specific food plans, we did what tourists are supposed to do in beach towns, and walked the four blocks or so to the beach and then did another thing tourists are supposed to do when there is a pier at the beach, we walked to the end of the pier for gorgeous sunset views of Santa Barbara. From the end of the pier looking toward the land and hills spotted with beautiful homes, one can understand the allure, and the price of real estate, in this town.

The setting sun made us thirsty and hungry and we headed back. As we retreated from the pier’s end and got closer to the beach we would see what looked like several eateries clustered together on East Cabrillo Blvd., which is the street that runs north and south and fronts the coastline. We were right as there were three restaurants side-by-side and we stopped at the Japanese restaurant. The door was open and two women were at a small hostess stand, and directly behind them was the bar. I spotted two or three vodkas that I like and that was that. We would have Japanese tonight. What we didn’t know going in, is that we had stumbled upon Santa Barbara’s premier waterfront restaurant and one that served Asian-fusion cuisine and craft cocktails in a stylish setting. Oku.

blisteredonions california road trip photo 4

Oku is right there with Nobu (pick one, they are all good-to-great) and the one of a kind Raku in Las Vegas.

I would say that it is unfortunate that I apparently can no longer eat uncooked fish, as the last few times – oysters, sushi and even ceviche, made my tummy more than angry – more like a full-blown revolt, but it is not unfortunate because instead of eating raw fish, I get to eat so many cooked dishes that I previously passed over when in Japanese restaurants.

tempura soft shell crab

Take tempura for example. The vegetable mix at Oku, including Shishito Peppers, was just a fabulous starter. We had the Miso Black Cod after that, which is as good as Nobu’s, and then to go back to something crispy, the Tempura Soft Shell Crab. The vodkas and soda waters NFL were going down nicely with these excellent dishes.

We saved the best for last, and would recommend the reader travel to Santa Barbara to not only go to Oku but eat this irresistible dish and hand roll, no kidding, called Crazy Rich Asians!

blisteredonions crazy rich asians

It was the most expensive hand roll I’ve ever ordered, and worth every dime, as it is made with certified A5 Miyazaki Wagyu beef (impressive detail right?) wrapped around rice, avocado, truffle and Oku special sauce. It’s not even listed with a price, other than MP, market price of course, and the night we ate this I don’t recall the price.

Hats off to locals and veterans of the Santa Barbara food scene, Co-Owners Ted Ellis and Tina Takaya – the latter of which is the longtime owner of Opal Restaurant and Bar on State Street in Santa Barbara. Oku is a true jewel by the sea.

After a business night in Los Angeles, we made our way to the furthest point south on this trip, to Laguna Beach.

In Laguna, we went to this beach town’s most popular steakhouse with one of my sisters and one of my nephews, and ordered steaks! I have to admit I threw a bit of a hissy fit and was bitching quite loudly about the undercooked steaks, to the embarrassment of my girlfriend and sister. My nephew thought it was funny and we fist-pumped when I calmed down. Three of us order our steaks medium rare, and I was careful to ask our server if that meant rare as in purple and rubbery or medium rare, as in pinkish red on the side but tender and actually cooked. Oh no, he said, the chef cooks steaks true medium rare for guests that like their meat that way. We should have ordered them cooked ‘medium’ and had to send the steaks back. When they returned, my girlfriend’s steak was still under-cooked. At which point I snapped and asked the server, in a not-so-friendly tone, if I could go in the kitchen and show the cooks how to grill a steak. Third time was a charm. I was so clearly aggravate by the service that the restaurant comped the bottle of wine and one of the entrees. I won’t go back there and this was my third time for me at this popular eatery, but first since the pandemic.

We made it up at breakfast.

smoked salmon toast from urth caffe

Laguna is home to the iconic Urth Caffe. Well that is one of 10 of them anyway, with more likely to come based on the restaurant’s success. This European-style café offers healthy cooked and baked goods and it is my go-to spot when staying in Laguna. The Eggs Bene and Smoked Salmon Toast are heavenly. Like Oku, I could eat here several times per month.

After a week+ on the road and three nights in Laguna, we turned the car north on I-5 and beat it home back to Sonoma County.

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Four Cheese Frittata,
Or was that a Spanish Omelette?

Ask 10 Spanish grandmothers how to make a Spanish Omelette and you are most likely to get 10 different answers yet they will all have potatoes, onions and eggs and likely serve the dish room temperature cut in wedges, as a tapas.

I made this beauty late one morning when looking through my fridge I had leftover breakfast potatoes, a bowl of Swiss Chard I made shortly after it arrived at my doorstep from Farm Fresh to You, of which I cannot say enough good things (organic fruits and veggies delivered every other Friday), some other leftover vegetables and of course lots of different cheeses and eggs.

I’m calling it a Four Cheese Frittata because I did the math when I was grating the cheeses, and though I never had a Spanish grandmother, I don’t want to offend any of my Spanish friends. Or I should say both of them, in case they read this.

A frittata, of course, is a quiche without the crust. Writing the word ‘quiche’ reminds me of my final job as a baker. It was 1980 and I had just moved to Boulder from Aspen to attend college at the University of Colorado at Boulder, aka CU, and after not working the first few months to adjust to taking 4 or 5 classes after almost six years off, I went back to work as the baker in a health-food kind of restaurant that was like a café at a Good Earth, but was a standalone restaurant. I forget the name of the place but anyway I was the guy that made bread and fruit pies for lunch and dinner patrons. One day my boss told me that they pay bonuses for original recipes that get on the menu, so I made a Green Chile quiche that was delicious. It got on the menu and I got $25 plus a new assignment to make six of them daily. About two months later I was teaching someone how to make the quiche, bread and pies because I was leaving for an afternoon job in retail. Going to work as a baker at 4 in the morning then going to a 9 o’clock class was kicking my ass and something had to give. Since I had moved to Boulder to go to school, the baking gig gave.

We could ponder the origins of the frittata, starting with someone forgot to put the crust in the pan or skillet first and kept making the alleged quiche, or it was invented in the early days of gluten free eating. But why bother?

Just take whatever you have for vegetables, put a good oil in the bottom of the baking dish – or as I do a Le Creuset, oven-friendly skillet, and mixed cooked onions, potatoes and vegetables then add 4-5 whipped eggs with half & half, add salt, pepper, an herb or spice if you like (I like a pinch of tarragon and some dill), top it with one, two, three of four cheeses and bake it at 375 for about 20 minutes. Note that one of the cheeses should be classic cheddar, medium or sharp, as the yellow-orange in the cheese gives the dish that fantastic rustic brown color.

Let it cool down at least 30 minutes before serving it.

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San Francisco

We spent the Christmas holiday doing local fun things, making food and sometimes eating out with mixed results on both fronts. The highlights, however, were clearly the roasted duck legs braised with mixed vegetables on Christmas Eve, and the tailgate picnic from the back of my Volvo in the parking lot of Indian Springs Resort in Calistoga on New Years Eve. I have been going to Indian Springs, aka “the World’s Biggest Hot Tub,” since the early 2000s and usually around my birthday in February. We have tried the resort in spring and early summer and it’s only worth a winter-time visit when the hot mineral water can be truly appreciated. This time we just booked massages and bought day passes for the pool. It was a glorious winter day – not a cloud in the sky and 43 degrees, and it was the final day of the year.

On the way in to town for our late morning massages at the resort, we stopped by Buster’s to pick up grilled St. Louis ribs and BBQ chicken with sides of coleslaw and potato salad. After some pool time and massages, we went to the parking lot and ate the meat and sides room temperature. Messy and delicious! The greatest disappointment was the Prime Rib on Christmas. I made it right, and it was a great cut of meat, but for the money, time and trouble I would just as well do with grilling Snake River ribeye’s on the Weber, with charcoal and mesquite wood. The meat cooks all the way through on both sides and there are no leftovers. I made a pretty good ribeye hash last night, however, with the leftovers after working for 30 minutes or so defatting the two-bone rib roast. I got the recipe from Mark Bittman in his book, How to Cook Everything. It’s one of the most useful cookbooks on the market, in my opinion.

The most fun meal of the holiday was at Ristorante Milano on Pacific Avenue in the Russian Hill neighborhood of old San Francisco. We went in to the city for a night a couple days after Christmas, on a Monday, when most of the go-to restaurants were closed. Yet we scored with Milano, a place that our cocktail server recommended when we went to the grand Fairmont Hotel at the top of the hill where California and Powell cross. I thought it was a good idea to ask a local where she would go for Italian and she recommended two spots, both in Russian Hill, and booked us a table at Milano, which is presumably owned by a man from Milan, Italy. The owner was certainly Italian and had the restaurant for 32 years, all in the same location.

The dining room was small, intimate, and could only seat 24 people or so with the 8-9 tables in the place. We were seated at a two-top in the middle of what amounts to a row of tables, adjacent to the kitchen. It’s the kind of place you find in big cities where the rents are expensive and the tables close enough to one another that it is impossible not to hear the conversations going on at the next table. In such a case I am sometimes tempted to say things to my dining partner like, “do you think we should hit the bank in full daylight or take out the Brinks truck when it arrives for pick up.” I wonder if I would get a knock on the door the next day. But no point in getting people worked up needlessly so I refrain and make polite talk, avoiding politics and pornography. Interesting grouping, those two subjects, aren’t they?

Anyway we checked the wine list and quickly selected a Tenuta Di Arcento, a 2019 Classic Chianti. The wine was delicious though it was colder than it should be. I held it in my hands for minutes trying to get it to a warmer temperature. As we looked at the menu – playing tourists for a day, both of us had had fish and chips and fish tacos at Fisherman’s Wharf in the afternoon and weren’t starving, yet did want bowls of pasta and roasted or steamed vegetables, I noted the music, which was horn-based and I don’t know how to describe the genre, but did, saying it sounds like music in a Woody Allen movie. Clarinet for sure. You know the sound. Before we ordered food a group of six were seated next to us and they were an eclectic group, featuring a man that could have been a commercial real estate broker or homebuilder, seemingly his wife, who was dressed in nice clothing that had a whiff of hippy to it that might have been purchased at an interesting and very high-end second-hand store. Both Caucasian and north of 55 easily. There was a young white man, 30ish, and a young Asian woman in her late 20s. They might have been a couple – he, the son of the older white couple and his Asian girlfriend. Then there were two Asian woman, one attractive and late 40s or early 50s and the other even more attractive and late 30s. The older one might have been the young Asian woman’s mother, and the other a family friend. They were all clearly close and enjoyed each other and it reminded me that we were in a real city where diversity is commonplace, unlike the suburbs and hinterlands where ethnic groups tend to stay close to their respective tribes. Even so, the blending of people and ages contributed to the Woody Allen theme… it is something that you might see in one of his movies, most if not all of which are very urban and urbane in terms of the movie set. Also, his movies tend to center on relationships, and interesting ones at that, with complexities, nuances, perhaps a little controversy, sexuality…. all the good stuff!

Just before ordering pasta (I had the spaghetti with lamb meatballs while my date went with a pasta and mushrooms dish with ground pork and we shared a plate of perfectly cooked mixed vegetables of broccoli rabe, asparagus, zucchini and peppers), two young women were seated at the two-top next to us. It wasn’t long before the one next to me addressed my date and said, accurately, that she had beautiful hazel eyes. That got the conversation going. The young ladies were tech worker colleagues from a previous company. The gal on the bench seating, opposite of me and next to my date, was a cute blonde, looking straight out of the Midwest, Iowa or Wisconsin maybe. We’ll call her Alexa (not her real name). The friendlier and more talkative of the two – Kimberly (not her real name), was also attractive but in a different way. She had a great personality and was enthusiastic about life, and also a food nut with a blog, I think. She certainly took photos of all the plates their table received. Kimberly asked about our Chianti, which we fully endorsed, so I asked one of the waiters to bring over a couple of wine glasses so they could taste it. He more or less ignored me and moments later the proprietor showed up and with his back to my date and I, took the wine order from our new young friends. I guess he needs to hustle up more wine sales. Regardless they ordered the same bottle and when served, the four of us raised our glasses and toasted the New Year.

Plates of food arrived at both tables and the conversation heated up as if we had planned to meet at the restaurant and catch up on our lives. On the other side of us… the urbane six-top, they were getting louder and more jovial as food and wine was consumed. All in good fun. We were out in a crowded tiny restaurant and just living life!

I can’t say that the conversation between us and Kimberly/Alexa was getting flirty but was getting warmer and more familiar, when my date took a leave from the table for the restroom. It was then that Kimberly asked for one of my business cards. I answered that I would be happy to give her one if my date did not object. When my date returned to the table I asked in a low voice if she would object if Kimberly got one of my cards, and rather than reply to me she announced to Kimberly that it wouldn’t be a problem and said something else that I don’t remember, but Kimberly’s reply was a little defensive, saying “oh don’t you worry you are the queen bee and besides, he lives in Santa Rosa.” Santa Rosa! I wondered if the implication was that I resided in a farming community or some other version of “hick town” or that I was merely geographically unfriendly (GU to players!) and that side visits ostensibly for romance would not be possible when you are separated by 55 miles and have to cross a bridge (the Golden Gate!) to connect.

Oh the weakness of the male mind, in this case, mine, when that little exchange allowed me to enter the realm of fantasy and think, for a moment, that I was about to end up in a foursome in which not a single golf ball is involved! Me and the three lovely ladies.

It was about then that I had the thought, and mumbled: “We are in a Woody Allen movie.”

All three of the women looked at me and asked: “What did you say?”

But not in a disbelieving way…they simply had not heard me.

“Nothing,” I said. “The music in this place just reminds me of a Woody Allen movie.”

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Las Vegas

This post was inspired by my review in the survey requested by Momofuko after our meal there. The restaurant is in the Cosmopolitan Hotel. I gave it four out of five starts for overall experience, three for ambience, 5 for service, and four for the food, which was a tad generous. If I had the option to give it a 3.5 I would have.

Here is what I wrote: “Server Danielle was terrific. I like the dining room and it is very pretty. The views of the city-scape were stunning. It was just too loud for my tastes. The food was pretty good, not great. The sauce on the Bronzini was too heavy for such a light, white fish. While it was tasty, it overwhelmed the fish. I like a simpler sauce for this wonderful fish. The endive salad was absolutely fabulous. Sunchokes good, not great, grilled lamb chops good, not great.

As I wrote the review I couldn’t help but recall the number of times and quality of the whole grilled Bronzini we had during our six-night stay in Riccione on the Adriatic “Riviera” in Italy, summer of 2018. Riccione is about 10 miles south of Rimini. We went there after five nights in Rome to hang out and relax, like part of a long vacation should be, especially if you are in between Rome for five nights and Florence for four nights – both intense city experiences.

We had the Bronzini at least twice while in Riccione. The notion that we were in a seaside resort probably created the perception that the fish was fresher, local. But it’s how it was prepared that made the difference. It definitely tasted grilled, lightly charred, and it certainly didn’t have much sauce on it. In fact I don’t remember anything more than a drizzle of olive oil, salt, and a squeeze or two of lemon. Let the fish shine! And it did. Indeed it did.

Momofuko is a really good restaurant and worth going if you are in Las Vegas. Better yet, make a point of visiting a seaside resort on the Adriatic and order the Bronzini. You won’t be disappointed.

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Turkey Chiliquilas

Throughout the year I make a chicken chiliquilas though it is mostly during the colder months of the year when I roast a whole chicken and have leftover white meat, plus the good meat off the carcass. The week after Thanksgiving, however, the Mexican casserole is made with leftover turkey, and it doesn’t matter if it is white or dark meat.

Ingredients:

  • Tostadas (or if you can’t find pre-cooked tostadas and Guerrero is the best, you can make do with a very sturdy and large bag of corn chips used in making nachos)
  • Green Chile Enchilada Sauce (one can to make a small casserole, a large can to make a bigger dish or even two cans if you make a big batch!)
  • Diced jalapenos (small can, juices drained)
  • Sliced black olives
  • Onion (one or two)
  • Optional Chiles – a couple poblano peppers or one can diced green Chiles, drained)
  • Shredded Mexican Cheese
  • Chile Roasted Olive oil or plain olive oil
  • Mexican Oregano
  • Cumin
  • Garlic Powder
  • Salt & Pepper
  • Deep Casserole Pan
  • Optional can of white beans, drained and rinsed thoroughly with water.
  • Sour Cream, for serving

First, shred the turkey or chicken into bite-size pieces.

Turn oven on at 385.

In a 2-3 quart pot, preferably non-stick, put in 3 tablespoons of oil and heat skillet for a minute, then added the chopped onions and sauté for a few minutes. Add the Chiles and spices and cook until the onions are soft.

Then add the can(s) of green Chile enchilada sauce. Stir well and once it is blended well and warm, turn the stovetop off.

For the bottom of the casserole pan, drizzle some peanut oil on the bottom (if you have it) and smear evenly with a paper towel. This is just to make it easier to remove the sections of chiliquilas and also to clean the pan.

Assembly:

Put down a layer of tostadas – covering the bottom of the pan completely.
Spread chicken or turkey evenly throughout the pan.
Using a ladle or big spoon, and cover the meat with the green Chile sauce.
Put a layer of shredded cheese over the entire casserole.

Put a second layer of tostadas on top and repeat the process… meat, sauce, cheese.

If making the dish a little heartier, mix the beans in with layers of meat.

Finish with a third layer of tostada, cover that with cheese and spread the black olives (drained beforehand) on top of the dish. For folks that like it hotter, mix in fresh, chopped jalapenos on the top as well.

Bake for 25 minutes.

If serving “immediately”, this dish must cool for a solid hour before you can cut clean sections.
This dish is better a second day.
Top served sections with sour cream, if you like sour cream.

The tequila is for drinking and has nothing to do with the recipe! For wine drinkers, I recommend a chilled Rose of any brand, though I recently had this meal with a 2019 Bucher Vineyard Rose of Pinot Noir from the Russian River in Sonoma County. Bucher is just up the road from me, in Healdsburg. With a fresh green salad, or even a Caesar, it is an excellent meal. Chiliquilas also makes a great breakfast with a fried egg over the top, and a little hot sauce.

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March 2020

We are in the midst of an international crisis, Coronavirus and COVID-19, and in mandatory “settle-in-place,” or required to stay home other than go to the bank and buy food, and walk. Just yesterday authorities even closed all county parks, because too many people were going there. That’s what sequestered at home will do to you. A friend, fearing an even greater lock down in San Francisco was about to be ordered, asked to come up for the weekend to escape the city. I went shopping and loaded up for options, and remembered a Wall Street Journal recipe for a lighter version of coq au vin that uses white instead of red wine. The recipe called for Sauvignon Blanc, a white I do not like, so I bought an inexpensive Chardonnay to have something to drink while cooking. It was a damn fine dish, with a couple pieces of bacon to enhance the flavor. The recipe did not call for celery but I added some to give the sauce texture. The recipe called for skin on, bone in thighs, and I am sure that would have been great, but my friend brought skinless and boneless breasts. I just adjusted the cooking time so the meat was moist, and it was. The Dijon mustard and tarragon, with copious amounts of sliced mushrooms, formed the flavor foundation of the meal. Instead of Crème Fraiche, which I didn’t have, I used sour cream to give the sauce a nice creaminess. My friends from Kermit Lynch were promoting some French wines a couple months ago and I bought a case of Morgon, a Rhone-style wine from the Beaujolais region of France between Lyon and Beaune, at the southern end of the official Burgundy region. The Morgon appellation is famous for deeply-coloured red wines from the Gamay grape. The wines are crafted exclusively in the small commune of Villie-Morgon. The wine paired beautifully with the chicken dish. It was a good meal in a cross-over season from winter to spring. The friendship and companionship was a treat. We had both been home alone for over a week. The next morning I thought about drinking that wine (I almost opened a second bottle – Jim Harrison would have approved) and resolved to go eat in France when this thing is over, this virus crisis. I’ve been to Paris twice and the Normandy coast up north. Earlier in this blog I wrote about dreaming of the South of France and drinking Rose.  This is a sign, for sure. I must go there.

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Braised Lemon Chicken

Back in July 2017 I posted a piece on the most essential cooking item in my kitchen – anyone’s kitchen, in my view. And to back that opinion up, I just bought a second 3.5-quarter Le Creuset braiser, though not for me. My niece Lisa is getting married the week after 4th of July week. Mark apparently is a cook. It’s the most versatile piece in my arsenal. This is one of my favorite meals using the braiser, and it is so easy!

  • 6 large or 8 small bone- in, skin-on chicken thighs
  • 2-3 lemons, cut up in quarters
  • ¾ cup Castellano green olives
  • One-half of a large yellow onion or one small whole onion
  • One-half to three-quarter cup of chicken or vegetable stock
  • Seasoning

Pre-heat oven to 400

Rinse and dry the chicken, season with salt and pepper and dry sage and/or finely crushed rosemary

Put a little peanut oil in the bottom of the braiser and wipe the surface with a paper towel, which will help prevent the chicken from sticking to the bottom

Once the oven is hot, put the chicken pieces, skin side UP, in the braiser and make sure they are not touching

Roast for 20 minutes, turn oven down to 350 and roast another 10 minutes

Remove from oven, take chicken out of the pot and put on a platter

Put the diced onions in the pot and use a spatula to pick up any of the meat bits from the chicken, but leave them in with the onions and swirl the onions around

Place the chicken pieces still skin side up on top of the onions

Pour the stock in so the entire bottom is covered, but the chicken skins remain above the stock line – very important to get crispy skin!

In between the chicken pieces put the lemon wedges and green olives

Return pot to oven and roast another 30 minutes, then turn oven off

Remove the Le Creuset 5 or 10 minutes later and serve.

I like crusty bread with this dish but rice is wonderful if you prefer.

Goes well with a crisp Chardonnay, Pinot or burgundy wine. Whatever you are in the mood for, really.