Two-Mealed Drive

Alas I somehow never got around to writing about meal 1, even if it was a month ago, but George had more than a little lamb and it was wonderful. Dylan at Hollister hooked up with Barbara and Bill Spencer at Windrose Farms not only to score 95% of the produce, but also a lamb. Then Dylan had to make 40 five-course meals out of 42 pounds of processed lamb. To do that he did what you'll read here (touch it to make it bigger):


And it was all wonderful. That first course was what all the heat over hoof and snout eating is all about--flavors of a richness we too often tend to deny ourselves, out of meekness, squeamishness, politeness, silliness. Just eat the whole thing. If you admit you're a carnivore, it seems silly to elevate some parts of an animal over others. Plus if you want to be a considerate carnivore (is that like a compassionate conservative?), it makes more sense to eat as much as you can, to honor the beast, to avoid the waste. Promise, if cooked correctly (and what else would Dylan Fultineer do?) there's nothing awful about offal.

Otherwise, so much lamb-y heaven. That pasta course, with pasta brilliant enough by itself. The perfect break of the salad, with the tiny apples sliced so thinly they appeared to be radishes, but then deliciously were not. And "The Tender Stuff" was just that, probably the best traditional lamb I've ever had, probably because the folks at Windrose are so good they treat their animals well. And guess what, that caramel in the dessert course? It largely consisted of lamb stock cooked down till syrupy.

Another amazing evening from the folks at Hollister. Here's hoping Eric gets well soon.

Then, just this past Monday Amy and I drove to LA for dinner. Yes, after work. Somehow the traffic just flew (it can happen in LA, no snickering) and we were in Hollywood in no time. (In CA driving, an hour and a half is no time. Your mileage may vary.) We'd been wanting to try Lou for about a year, especially one of their Monday night 3 course, 5 wine dinners, especially for cassoulet, as we are cassou-holics, as you all learned if you read about the last Hollister Beer Dinner. Here's the menu and the amazing, almost all from a stone's throw from Toulouse (they grow the rock-throwers big and strong in that region):

Salade de gésiers confits
Chateau Laffitte-Teston Pacherenc du Vic Bilh Sec “Cuvée Ericka” 2007

Cassoulet with house-made pork and duck confit
Tasting flight of rustic red wine
Domaine Le Roc Fronton “Folle Noir Amblat” ‘07
Domaine Matha Marcillac Cuvée Lairis “07
Domaine des 2 Ânes Corbières “Premier Pas” ‘07

Tangelo and Marsh grapefruit sorbets,
passion fruit gelée, toasted almonds
Chateau Laffitte-Teston Pacherenc du Vic Bilh Moelleux ‘07

All crazy yum. Yep, that first course is all about the duck gizzard, but it's not over-powering at all, a pleasing gaminess that played off the walnut vinaigrette wonderfully. The cassoulet was very very good, but as a personal thing, I like a bit more of a sauce. Still, that house-made duck confit was some of the best I've ever had, meaty and rich with duck fat, crispy skin, completely moist. And now it seems I like Fronton, and I never even had heard of the grape before. The dessert was brilliant, the vivid citrus flavors shooting through the previous richness like a laser. They also serve killer Monkey and Son coffee, which I must now search out.

Berry, Berry Good

I'm not one to pat myself on the back, but...I scooped the LA Times and I have to share. Of course it's about food, which isn't really news, but it's sure tastier than trying to swallow the Dems caving in to the Republicans again. (Why, exactly, is Diane Feinstein our senator?)

Oh well, back to the scoop. TWO Thursdays ago I extolled the virtues of Persian Mulberries.

Today on the LA Times Daily Dish Blog, Amy Scattergood (who does win points for that great last name, and of course I'm sort of partial to the first name, but she stole that, too) writes about how you need to get Persian Mulberries.

Remember, you heard it here first.

Got Some Clients in the Food IndustryIt's Not the Money It's the Recipes

Or Wednesday Where the Heck Was It Blogging

My loyal reader, perhaps you have noticed that of late I've tried to do some food or drink entry every Wednesday, as that's the day the LA and NY Times both run their food sections, so I wanted to join in on the fattening up of the week's hump. That tradition will end now, however, for I have a paying gig for my food stuff, and if I'm going to sell the cow, I'm not giving my milk away for free. As of today I'm Food Editor over at the Santa Barbara Independent, which means a page of food news a week and a full-length feature mostly every week.

You can go read the first of those now, about Chef Michael Hutchings and his participation in this Saturday's Santa Barbara Wine Festival.

Wednesday Remembered Meals Blogging

Chris Dufresne's wistful article in today's LA Times on David Smith's labor of love Retrosheet, the free website with almost 100,000 baseball boxscores, made me wish for a personal similar project Retromenu. Somehow, someone would have chronicled all the meals I've ever consumed, and there they'd be, catalogued and web-perusable. Talk about your oral histories. (But if you do talk about them, don't do it with your mouth full.)

For I'd really like to have the stats, and not just the myth, of one of the restaurants of my youth my family used to go, a place called La Boheme somewhere in north Jersey. I've tried to Google it and it doesn't seem to exist anymore, but of course this is at least 35 (38?!) years ago, a time when my parents were still together and I was probably 6 or so and in some silly suit with a bowtie or something. (My life definitely got better once I started dressing myself.)

While I wasn't in charge of my sartorial choices, my parents let me choose what to eat pretty early. La Boheme was Italian as could be--these days Tony Soprano would hang there--and the entree of choice would always be veal birds. I was too young to wonder why calves were trying to pass as birds, and nobody gave a crap in those days what possible torture their food went through to appear on a plate. OK, nobody in middle class New Jersey. I didn't come from hippie stock, let me assure you. But the "birds" were veal cutlets rolled and stuffed and one of the first things I associated delicious with. Plus lots of French fries. There's even a joke in my family that the probably very continental waiters at La Boheme--no doubt impressed by the very polite and proper boy (totally afraid if he acted wrong his parents would kill him) who asked for lots of fries--therefore decided to bring him a whole heaping dinner plate. Which the kid, at least in family legend, devoured, probably mostly because he didn't want to seem rude.

OK, so I slipped into third person there, as if my body was taken over by Rickey Henderson trying to steal the Larousse Gastronomique and not second base. But the truth is, who knows what the truth is. It's a completely different person writing about that boy, even if he grew into me. Still it strikes me how much food was at the heart of my concerns even so young, how I sensed a meal was cultural capital and personal exchange, how I knew there was so much to hunger for.

Wednesday Breakfast Blogging

Frankly I don't ask for breakfast to impress me as I'm just not up for a culinary show first thing in the morning. Heck, I'm generally barely up at all. I do want breakfast to comfort me, for it to say, "George, yes, you are awake, but things are still calm and restful and I'll please you without making you work too hard." (This is not an actual transcript from a talking breakfast, and no, as fond as I am of spirits of all sorts, I've never been too keen on brunch libations like mimosas or bloody Marys, so I'm not soused amidst the snap crackle and pop, promise.)

This is a long way to go to say there's a new breakfast spot in town and I'm fond of it after one visit. Jake's Cottage Cuisine Cafe is where Skanky Buffet used to be, 2911 De La Vina, so within easy tandem bike distance from our casa. It's nothing fancy, and that's exactly why it's pleasant. Sky blue walls, sea blue tablecloths, some inoffensive if unremarkable art on the walls. Some sidewalk tables if you want to stare up De La Vina and count the near-miss accidents going into the TJ's parking lot. Despite its slightly desperately alliterative name, it could more accurately be called Jake's Joint, back when that word meant worth and not either rundown or unhip. (OK, they do have wireless, so that's pretty hip.)

But you come to a place like this for the food, not the scenery. It's good. The problem with continuing my joint metaphor is a joint meets a greasy spoon in a darkened kitchen where few come out un-polyunsaturated. That's not the case here as it's a Santa Barbara joint, and therefore it offers food that's made from fresh produce (none of those waxy, pale tomatoes here). Just check out the salsa fresca you can get and you'll see it's so fresh you won't let it behind you as it might pinch your butt. Still, Jake's balances the high-quality ingredients mantra with a wise unfussiness--it's a bit of homemade green goddess (I'm pretty sure) that's swirled on the plate of the Mid-Western Omelet, not some foam or something you need to know French to pronounce correctly. And it makes the ripe cherry tomatoes even more yummy.

As for that omelet, my order, it achieved prime omelet consistency, fluffy without being airy, moist without any sop. While it was stuffed, it wasn't bursted (you remember actress Ellen Bursted, don't you?), with well sauteed green peppers, green onions, green chiles, tasty-tad-salty ham, grilled fresh corn (hello, summer, where you been?), Oaxaca cheese (nice touch, unusual but appropriately mild with so many other flavors to mix with) and epazote. Now, epazote doesn't seem particularly Mid-West to me, but it fits the omelet's profile and gives the same lift it gives to beans (if you don't know epazote, get some and drop even a few leaves into your next pot of beans and start writing your thank you comment now).

Amy had The Charleston, for she was a flapper in a previous life. Seriously, I assume it hails from South Carolina way as it comes with grits, but get that look off your face, these are delicious grits, rich and creamy. You also get 2 or 3 eggs your way with that--Amy's way was 2, scrambled--plus Canadian bacon she approved of so much I didn't get any.

The coffee was just fine, avoiding any of the flavors some places try to pass off. (If I want vanilla coffee I'll order affogato). The service was solid, and a guy I have to assume was Jake made the rounds to many tables and it seemed he knew many repeat customers, which should be a good sign.

There's lunch, too, but we really don't eat out that often so I can't report yet. I promise. Haven't even been to the Hungry Cat in over a week!

Wednesday White Wine Blogging

Maybe it's my politics leaking into my taste, but I generally prefer my wines Commie red as opposed to whiny white. There just seems to be more going on in reds, and while I admire anything that can get over on subtlety, I'm a sucker for big flavors that you can more easily find in a Zinfandel or Syrah, say, than a Chardonnay. It doesn't help that Chards have become dairy products at most California wineries--oaked to the point that they're all about butter. You'd think they would go better with popcorn than fish. (I do want to admit that I have become turned on to Rieslings, particularly those from J J Christoffel or Dr. Loosen, and Gewurztraminers, particularly those from Navarro and Lazy Creek, which isn't getting very far into the mix, I know, but if I like those and my Thai food likes them too, I don't need to explore too much. We'll leave Viogniers for another day's discussion, but as you can see, my ironclad "no whites if I can help it" stand has been undermined of late. Also note most of the white wines I like provide their own drunk test: when you can no longer spell them correctly you have to cut yourself off.)

That said, Amy and I opened a bottle of Chardonnay this Saturday that was one of the best wines--yes, that's a color-blind comment--I've ever had. Let me introduce you to the Williams Selyem 2002 Heintz Vineyard Chardonnay, and you could probably shake its hand as it had that much muscle, that much tone. It poured a perfect gold--it's what I'm hoping the bottle of Chateau Y'Quem I half own will be like when that gets opened. It's nose was a little exotic, suggesting places far off it could promise to transport you to, but it also smelled a bit of creme brulee, that caramel cooked to a secret better sweetness with some vanilla adding its own seductiveness.

The good news is we got to drink it, too. Just as only the best red wines do, this white seemed able to push your taste buds around so they would get the best view as it paraded by. It taught you how to like it, not that liking it could ever be in doubt. So full, so rich, stone fruits and citrus all there but balanced like some Leonard Bernstein had them under baton control. This lasted, and lasted some more.

It helped dinner was worthy of this feast in a bottle, as for something different we didn't go to the Hungry Cat. Nope, we cooked at home, from Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers at Lucques (her Sunday is our Saturday, I guess), and thereby kept it in the cool cat family, given Goin is married to head Hungry Catster David Lentz. There's a recipe for ricotta gnocchi with mushrooms and fresh corn in brown sage butter in the book and it was the first week for corn at the farmers' market, so what else could we do? BTW, if you have the cookbook, cut out the breadcrumbs, which just make things gritty to our tastes, and you can sub in oyster mushrooms for the chanterelles that are called for, if you can't find chanterelles or a loan to buy them.

After dinner I dug out the Williams Selyem newsletter for the Heintz release only to read Robert Parker's review that concludes, "This is one of the greatst Chardonnays I have ever tasted from California." Amy and I concluded we don't need no Robert Parker to know a brilliant wine, even when it's white. Sadly, I don't have another bottle of Heintz (I'll pass on the ketchup joke), not even from a different vintage. Then again, I'd hate to become one of those white wine drinkers.

Wednesday Dueling Beer Bar Blog

To begin with a conclusion, Hollister Brewing Company wins, as it has Pizza Port Po' Man's Double IPA on one of its guest taps. To unpack the inference of that conclusion--the heart of the best CA microbrewing is still 200 miles to Santa Barbara's south, in north county San Diego (Stone, Port, Alesmith, Alpine, Green Flash). In Santa Barbara we get interesting places with promise (I hope), mediocre service, solid enough food (one straining, one happily aimed at pubby), and did I say promise?

As you might know, 2 new brewpubs opened this Sunday, Hollister Brewing out in the Camino Real Marketplace and Downtown Brewing on Upper State St. (i.e. my neighborhood). Hollister actually brews on site; Downtown contracts with Firestone-Walker and makes some of its own beer in its San Luis Obispo location (which is why its decidedly uptown SB location has a funny name). On a lovely Sunday afternoon Amy and I visited Downtown; tonight Big Table and Trekking Left and I visited Hollister. And here's the scoop....

Downtown Brewing has by far the better space, simply by not being dropped into a box mall. Really, do you think it would be good to beer-up at Hollister and then head over to Costco? If you do, leave your credit cards at home to prevent that impulse HDTV buy. Downtown seems to have a room for any mood, unless you're into dungeons or something--a pool room, a large bar, a lounge area with comfy chairs to hold your own Spanish Beerquisition, a room Santa Barbara old-time styled with red pleather booths (it's like Harry's without the wear and tear), and two outdoor patios in a city where summer never sleeps.

Alas, it has beer not quite as good. Amy and I tried the taster sampler to get the lay of the lager (I know the problem with that word choice, but can't pass up on the alliteration), and while each brew started at okey-dokey, none left us doing the hokey-pokey (that is, ending by saying, "that's what beer's all about!"). The best of the lot were the IPA, sort of on the Red Tail model, hoppy enough but it won't scare too many people off, and the porter, which had a pleasing richness. Other beers include a blueberry without any hint of bubblegum, a wheat that doesn't suck like most American wheats (what about Paulaner Hefeweizen is so hard to copy?), and a honey wheat you might call honey but wouldn't necessarily call for a second date.

Since we went in the early afternoon we only wanted some snacks, and oddly paired wings and hummus. The hummus will keep you safe from vampires and French kissers, packing a garlicky, flavorful punch. The wings have a pleasing if more than likely "synthetic" crust to them, but the bleu cheese dressing could use some more cheese and less dressing. There are pizzas, salads, burgers, steaks, all the usual pubspects. You'll get a further report when later studies come in from the lab known as my expanding waistline.

As for the service, everyone is startlingly nice. One guy who I think is part owner or at least manager actually sat at our table with us to discuss the place and I find that friendliness charming--after all, I want it to be my cheerful Cheers as it's 7 minutes away by foot. Of course, niceness does not automatically equal togetherness. We got our food way before our beer, and after an effusive apology we got our beer but were told we could send it back if it was too warm. That's an instant flag for beer snob me--your beer can't be good approaching room temperature?! Of course, it was the place's opening day, and everyone can't be the Hungry Cat, about which I have to admit I have a horrible thing for--if I can admit to mancrushes (oh, Johan!) can I also admit to restaurant crushes? I mean, I spent a good half hour at work today writing Hungry Cat in fancy calligraphy and circling the name with heart doodles....

Hollister clearly has some higher ambitions, as befits a place run by Marshall Rose, the former Executive Director of SB's Downtown Organization, and a man who looks enough like John Cullum that I keep expecting him to break into "Shenandoah" at some point. (Sorry that I paused to pander to the Broadway geeks who read my blog, as if I have any.) For instance on the menu the soup of the day is called, and I wish I were kidding, "Liquid Produce from the Farmers Market." Its Hollister Burger--what all 3 of us ordered--is a "formed Masami Kobe burger," which is American Kobe-style beef and does not score on your taste buds as much as something named Kobe should. It's a good burger, but it's no Hungry Cat pug burger (local #1), or Quantum burger (probably #1A), or Paradise burger (the old fave before the new burgers came to town).

Still, all the meal's details were off. You can order either avocado, bacon, or grilled onions on the burger for $1.50 extra, and following my taste buds and not my wallet I opted for onions. Half of those came on Big Table's plate, not one of them was warm (I guess that they didn't vouch for when they were grilled), and I could barely fill a thimble with the amount I got. If you can buy a pound of supposedly currently high-priced onions for $1.49, even with mark-up I'd say Hollister owes me a half pound o' onions.

And while I won't make a big deal out of the patty being too small for its roll (or vice versa), I will carp about the fries (Quantum wins that competition). Big Table joked they were "too potatoey", but I prefer to think they weren't "fry-y" enough. I like that crispy shell-i-ness, that contrast of textures. And I can't remember the last time I ordered fries and thought they needed salt.

It's almost like tasting a beer and thinking it needs balance, which is what happened with Hollister's Magic Clamp Weizenbach. The malts were full, but the beer had a certain uncertainty, a sharpness that wasn't hop tang as much as cellar must-y. Otherwise what we drank we liked quite a bit. The Blown Out Stout is on its way to imperial style, with pleasing flavors and mouthfeel, and the Inaugural Pale Ale (IPA, get it?) is much better than its name. That said, the Port Double IPA whipped out its hoppy thumping stick and pummeled the Hollister IPA into submission.

As for the help here, it could use some. Our waitress seemed a bit at a loss to pick up on humor (we are funny, really!), or even exactly our orders at times. We ordered a first round while waiting for our table--the place seems quite popular already, especially with the nearby UCSB crowd (you can stumble home to F-T!)--and ordered a second with our food. It came after our food. That's not good.

To summarize, Downtown seems to be aiming lower and therefore stands a better chance of hitting its goal. Hollister wants to be something more, but that ambition gets illuminated, a bit, in its "guest beer" program aimed to bring hard-to-find in SB brews. They have the good taste and sense to bring Port, Port's related Belgian-style Lost Abbey, and Russian River. But is it one of the amazing Russian River beers like Damnation or Salvation? No, they have Dead Leaf Green Pale Ale. That's like opting to take Kate Jackson as your first draft choice from the original Charlie's Angels.

Wednesday Red Red Meat Blogging

First I have to apologize to any vegetarians, fast food fanciers (there's an oxymoron for you), or anyone named Elsie with a bell around one's neck, but there's nothing like a good burger. When done right, the crackly char on the outside should happily contrast with the tasty juiciness of the inside to make for a simple, simply delicious mouth of food. You can gussy it up--I don't get the foie gras burger, which speaks more of wretched excess than taste, but ain't that life?--but table catsup can be enough. Of course, the roll has to be right, too; don't buy the scam that a roll loses its status as bread just because it's functioning as a vehicle. And grilled onions never hurt, especially as they add their own caramel, slow-cooked notes.

But it turns out that bourbon mushrooms are tasty, too--at least that's what I learned dining at the newly opened Quantum Kitchen and Cocktails a couple of weeks ago. Quantum didn't necessarily pick the most auspicious time to re-open, given all the hoopla heaved at the Hungry Cat (well, at least on this blog), but in some ways it's fitting as this version of the restaurant seems much more willing to fly under the hip, hip, so-LA radar. As I wrote when Amy and I ducked in for cocktails: "The previous incarnation of the spot just seemed to try too hard--it wanted to be AOC or some other sophisticated yet fun big city small plate hot spot, but mostly came off like Santa Barbara straining, which defeats the whole purpose of Santa Barbara. Plus, the food back then was hit and miss."

Now, it seems, the hit not to miss is the burger, which comes in numerous guises but that just makes it as pleasing as Peter Sellers in a movie where he keeps popping up in different, just as entertaining roles. (There is no Dr. Strangelove burger, so the blog rests its metaphor.) It was that bourbon mushroom burger I had in mind when penning the first paragraph, as it perfects that crunchy outside/moist inside yin yang and rests on a bun that would be damn good bread all on its own (in a world with La Brea everywhere and D'Angelo right here in town, we should expect nothing less). Multiple ways of fries can come on the side, including sea salt and rosemary or parmesan. The fries themselves are light, small, and non-oily. You will think there are too many of them until they are all gone.

There are other things on the menu, but we didn't get to them, and it might be hard to ever do so in later visits for the burger will sing its siren's song (it goes "yummy yummy yummy you want burger in your tummy"). We did share a slab, yes, slab, of mud pie for dessert. We're talking Claim Jumperish proportions of coffee ice cream and choco-crumb crust. We thought there was too much of it until it was almost all gone, but left a bit to prove we weren't total pigs.

Oh, the wine list's fine, and even is willing to make bottles available for 30ish bucks (a Makor Zinfandel, say). Plus there's those cocktails I wrote about last time.

The help is 2/3 good, at least based on the folks who served us that evening. One person had to crawl under our unstable table to help get it balanced, which was even more important as the banquette in the front room is so cushy you end up sunk to the point where you almost can rest your chin on the table without a strain (they need a sign that says: "You must be at least 6 feet tall to ride this banquette"). One waitress was good at being there when needed and being gone when not, but for some reason we had two working in "it wasn't clear if they communicated" tandem. The other was from the "how are we enjoying our dinner?" school that's over smarmy for me. In many ways she just seemed nervous which translated into an over-abundance of bubbliness including lines like "good choice, good choice" after ordering. Perhaps she needs a couple of those cocktails before making her rounds.

Wednesday Dinner of the Blogs Blogging

We aren't just brilliant with bytes, we're brilliant with bites here in Santa Barbara so last night Esau, Big Table, What Is a Blog Anyway?, and yours truly sat down and chowed down at the brand new, really just barely a kitten Hungry Cat. Yep, we broke that time-honored rule about not attending a restaurant's opening night because we just couldn't wait. The good news is the time-honored rule didn't apply. David Lentz and crew have themselves a total winner straight out of the gate, and I'm not just talking about the Pimlico cocktail (bourbon, orange juice, lime juice, mint) one of us enjoyed.

We were surprised to find the joint jumping when we arrived for our 8:30 reservation. (Indeed, when we left and chatted a bit with Lentz he said he was over-joyed at the turnout, given the original Hollywood location took a few weeks to catch on.) We had to wait, but the hostess was quite polite and apologetic about it, and you have to admit dealing with a 45-seat restaurant and figuring out how long people might linger won't be easy, especially since there's so many fine drinking options to keep people in their seats post-dinner (have Tim recommend the Armagnac--you'll see). As for the space, it's got a fine copper-topped bar and another bar along the back window, but mostly when it's full, it's deocrated with people. Of course, this is Santa Barbara, so the people are more decorative than in many other locales, so that's far from bad. The Cat's buzz will just build its buzz, in a way, if it stays packed with attractive folks.

As long as those attractive folks have any taste, that won't be a problem. We started with cocktails, and a hint they take things seriously is that only 1 of the 8 specialty cocktails feature vodka (no point in being a painter who only paints in white, right?). I particularly recommend the Howling Wolf--rye, blood orange, and lemon juice, so it's kind of a variation on the New York Cocktail, but it gets its wolf on with a dash of chili-infused tequila. That sneaky heat at a sip's end is a pleasant surprise, and really works with the raw bar oysters, sort of like liquid cocktail sauce with an alcohol kick. The oysters were good but the peel and eat shrimp were better, as you'd expect from a chef who grew up on Maryland's Eastern Shore. Lentz knows what goes in a boil, and the kitchen cooks the shrimp just to the right doneness.

The wine list features some of INOTBB's home cellar faves, including Cold Heaven Viognier (it's got that exotic fruit thing you want, but none of the cheap-o viognier froot loops taste you don't want) and Kunin Pape Star (as in, like Chateauneuf du, but at a fraction of the cost and from right in the Santa Ynez Valley), but we went with the Spanish tempranillo I didn't know because it's good to try things you don't know you know. Do watch on the menu that everything listed on the menu under "dinner" isn't created equally--some are more small plates, so when in doubt, ask about how much you'll be getting. That doesn't mean the quick-cured hamachi isn't delicious, but it does mean it will also be quick-eaten. Everyone seemed content with his or her dish, for in addition to the hamachi we had the crabcake, frisee, pancetta with two over easy quail eggs atop; the grilled scallops, braised oxtail, cauliflower, and curry (which looked like a clever surf and turf--mollusk and tail?--variation, but none of us shared nothing cause we're ornery and liked our stuff too much); and my housemade chorizo, braised clams, sofrito and grilled bread that was so good people longed for the bread, even.

Service was fine given it was opening night and waiting on our 4-top meant taking two different routes to our table around other tables. At times things seemed to come a bit jumbled--the wine arrived after the main course was placed down, say--but our waiter was genial and the occasional visits from beverage director Tim were highlights because he just knows his stuff so well and is so enthusiastic about it. (Indeed, I'm thinking I missed the career boat: what could be better than to have your job be deciding what beer, wine, and cocktails go with good food?)

Don't believe the website (as of now), for the SB Cat, like the Hollywood Cat before it, only has one dessert, a chocolate bread and butter pudding that gets bruleed on top and I have to stop thinking about as I want one RIGHT NOW. Sorry.

Also, the Hungry Cat is one of those places were nothing seems too expensive but you like things so much all the cocktails and food adds very quickly to over $50 per person (with tip, and do so, generously). Still, it's worth that to have a place that's both comfortable and hip at the same time, and incredibly welcoming. Even Lentz's wife Suzanne Goin of AOC and Lucques fame was around for much of the night, with the double stroller and their newborn twins.

Wednesday Saturday Night Date Blogging

Now don't get all Representative Squeezy McFeelpants on me, and don't go expecting any incriminating You Tube clip, neither. This entry is about eating.

Stop!

OK, now that that any snickeryness is out of the way, let's talk about the dinner and drinks Amy and I had last Saturday, and what it portends for Santa Barbara area dining. We opted to eat at the Montecito Cafe for the first time in months, and as we were hungry and went early, we even got in at 6 without a wait (for you out of towners, this is like getting to secondbase with a nun in fifteen minutes, but more rewarding). Generally we like to wait for a table in the cocktail lounge--it's really much nicer than a bar, after all, it's in a location that used to be a high-end jewelry store--so even without having to wait, decided to have pre-dinner drinks anyway. I'm a sucker for their blue martini, made with Bombay Sapphire and truly delicious blue cheese-stuffed olives, wisely made with real cheese, daily (so many blue cheese olives seem to be made with pasty cheesesque stuff unworthy of good gin or the drinkers that appreciate it). Amy had a Mandarin-tini based on Hangar 1's mandarin vodka, so you know that was also delicious.

Alas, things would sort of good downhill from there, if buoyed at the end by the as usual terrific coconut cake, a moist delight. Our appetizers were solid enough, both carrying on the blue cheese theme, as I got broiled oysters with a blue cheese sauce (that Amy insisted overpowered the bivalve, and as always there's the argument doing anything to a good oyster is a crime, let alone laving dairy on one) and Amy got the iceberg wedge with, yes, you guessed it, blue cheese dressing. Both plates featured tomatoes that were mistakes--a pale tomato makes the whole day a bit wan. Several slices on two plates is wan too many. So the first course gets a passing grade, but not really high marks.

The main courses didn't quite even get to that level. To be honest, my roast duck had good flavor, but the waitress didn't ask how I wanted it cooked and that's exactly how it came--not how I wanted it cooked. Duck really needs to be medium rare, and this duck was well done, which is not done well. Amy ordered Linguini, Lamb Sausage, Roasted Garlic & Onions, Tomatoes, Oregano & Olive Oil, and wasn't pleased, complaining the dish never really came together, the lamb was just like little pucks on the pasta, and the sauce merely runny. We did have a nice half bottle of Qupe Syrah, ever an old standby, but as usual the Cafe wine list perturbed me, as they refuse to include years, as if they assume no one knows anything about vintages. What's more, on the actually solid half bottle list they offered a "Rosenblum Zinfandel," and all I could think was which one? Currently Rosenblum offers 22 zins on its website. Now, perhaps not all of them come in a 375ml bottle, but still, this is sloppy wine-selling at best, disregard for the customer at worst.

You add it up and it brought us down, for the Montecito Cafe is generally one of our favorite places to dine in the area. You get a bit of the chic buzz of Montecito without the attitude, you get an interesting if small selection of wines, you get very good if rarely knock-you-out food, and you get out the door at about $100 total for two people. But if the food slips, not paying a ridiculous amount of money won't be enough to keep us coming. Here's hoping it was just a bad night in the kitchen and not a trend.

After dinner we decided to check out the recently re-opened Quantum, which now bears the moniker Quantum Kitchen & Cocktails. The previous incarnation of the spot just seemed to try too hard--it wanted to be AOC or some other sophisticated yet fun big city small plate hot spot, but mostly came off like Santa Barbara straining, which defeats the whole purpose of Santa Barbara. Plus, the food back then was hit and miss. And they didn't have a full liquor license, and saketinis just seem silly to me, leaving me an image of someone on Laugh-In making "sock it to me" jokes.

So, we didn't eat, of course, but we did cocktail up. Amy tried a special pear cosmo (check that spelling, she only had one), that was a clever variation on the tasty drink Sex & the City ruined (really, ladies, drinking them won't make you a size 0 like Sarah Jessica Parker). All the joy of pear without any of the fruit's graininess. I had to stick with gin, because gin insists (you gin drinkers know exactly what I mean). Quantum serves a bracing Hendrick's martini, a gin I've grown to appreciate as it's cool as a cucumber, or at least tastes a bit like one.

While we drank we also drank-in the menu, which seems simpler and wanting to comfort and is especially heavy on the burgers they serve in a box (no, not like Mickey D's, but a little wood tray-like contraption). That certainly helps knock the pretension out of a joint. The Happy Hour (and a Halfs) from 5-6:30 also looked like good deals, especially the food and a draught pairings. We plan to try the fish and chips one of these days, at least. And order Dr. Loosen's Riesling by the glass.

So, it's a tenuous ecosystem, and maybe there are only so many good restaurant vibes that can go around. We shall see, or I guess I should say we shall taste. Although any good date night dinner involves all the senses.

Wednesday Cheesy Goodness Blogging

I like lots of cheese if you please; I like lots of cheese if you don't please. I don't mean to get catty about it, but I never understood people who say they don't like cheese because it's sort of like saying you don't like people--given there are so many different varieties, there's got to be at least one you'd appreciate. Then again, I like more cheeses than I do people, but that might just be because I've never met a chesse that was an Atlanta Braves fan, or a Republican. I like my cheese hard, soft, and semi; mild, mercurial, and musty. Cheese fascinates me the way wine does, how much it's part of a culture (in two ways), a place, a people, a season. Plus it just tastes good.

Luckily, Santa Barbara has a fine cheese store C'est Cheese, which not only has terrific stock but is run by sweet people, so you feel even better supporting Michael and Kathryn as you get your cheesy fix. Each month the store holds a cheese tasting, which is a great way to learn something and eat well. Amy and I have attended several, including the March Cheeses of Switzerland event. We got to try 5 samples, matched with a wine (a Morgan sauvignon blanc)--it was a hole [sic] lot of Swiss cheese! OK, these cheeses weren't particularly aerated, as it were, and while 4 of the 5 were variations on a theme, the last cheese was a real stinker, in that good way, but we'll get to Vacherin Mont d'Or in a bit.

As for the variations, all made from cow's milk, it's hard to go wrong with a classic, actually aged Gruyere. A wonderful creaminess and nuttiness, and much more flavorful than typical grocery store Gruyere--the Trader Joe's kind is sort of the Two-Buck Chuck of cheese, alas. Appenzeller is a bit milder, although no dog of a cheese, especially in fondue (C'est Cheese does fondue tastings too, but we have yet to stop our schedule and melt with them). My favorite of the night was Hoch Ybrig, not only because it sounds like cheese trying to talk like a pirate but, as the much more fromageloquent Max McCalman puts it, "its flavors are complex, harmonious, and lingering; they include salty, nutty, sweet, and tangy with a hint of butterscotch." And how can you go wrong when your cheese packs its own dessert? The Seelander, which makes me think there should be goofy Ben Stiller on the label, is good, but a tad less complex, a pinch saltier.

As for that Vacherin, it's one of those runny, gooey, strong cheeses that has a bit of the barnyard to it. Like a strong-willed person, you sort of admire it more than want to have it around a whole lot, but at times it helps clear the room, and there's a use to that.

Oh, while eating this good stuff, you also get to learn a lot about the cheesemaking process (no whey!) and each cheese, which often includes battles over who gets to call their cheese what and why the US is obsessed with pasteurization and how long to age your cheese (not as long as most of my jokes are old). But I don't mean to milk this topic till your blue, I promise. Suffice to say that Kathryn is a terrific host, managing to be both knowledgeable and interesting, even to an after-work crowd starting to drink.

Wednesday Winemaker Dinner Blogging

If you've ever had Turley touch your lips, you know what I mean when I say, "YUM!" Or, if you've suffered through Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang and are dyslexic, you might sing, "Turley scrumptious, you are Turley, Turley scrumptious." You gotta like big wines (and lots of alcohol, not that you taste the alcohol with the gobs of fruit), but a Turley Zinfandel is a thing of magic, in some ways the epitome of, if not a California wine, perhaps the boldness and brashness and sheer "you're going to like me"-ability of California itself--it's a vinuous Terminator, so to speak (and to speak without any Austrian accent).

Amy and I attended, for the fifth straight year (yeah, you can hate us for it), the annual winemaker dinner Turley holds up in Templeton (just south of Paso Robles, and just north of Atascadero, which I only mention because its high school's team is the Greyhounds) this past Friday and it seems the event just gets better and better. Turley teams with Ian McPhee at McPhee's Grill for a culinary blowout. Here's this year's setlist:

1997 “Old Vines” Zinfandel
Passed Appetizers
****
1994 “Aida Vineyard” Zinfandel
Wild & Exotic Mushroom Ragu
with smoked tomato relish on baked polenta
****
1994 Moore “Earthquake Vineyard” Zinfandel
Moroccan Spiced Swordfish
with eggplant tomato jam, honey garlic aioli
& roasted vegetable couscous salad
****
1995 “Black Sears” Zinfandel & 1996 “Grist” Zinfandel
Oak Roasted Prime Spencer Steak
with grilled foie gras and Oaxacan Mole
****
1998 “Delinquent” Zinfandel Port
Chocolate Decadence Cake
with zinfandel, chocolate and fig sauce

Yes, that's 5 zins, plus their port, which is richness in a glass, with a few tasty delectables like foie gras and mole thrown in. Notice, too, they hit their library for this dinner, which warms my drink 'em young at home heart. I don't have the patience, or the good cellaring spot, to hang on to wine for too long (here's hoping that 1991 Chateau Montelena cab is still happy in its closet), so I appreciate the chance to drink wines someone has aged properly every now and then. If you're wondering, Turley Zins do change over a decade--the wines mellow and move towards Amarone, with berries turning raisiny, and often port-like themselves. But they sure paired well with the food. That "Earthquake" with the Moroccan spice on the perfectly cooked swordfish--which isn't easy, as it's a fish that dries so easily--and the essence of eggplant relish...I would have that dish daily, if possible. Plus it proves even a serious red wine can go with fish (and enough spice, not that the spice over-powered, it just perfectly perfumed).

What's more, you usually get sat with people at this event, and we had the great pleasure of sharing a table with Frank and Connie Nerelli. Frank is the grandson of Frank Pesenti, who started the Pesenti Winery and then the family sold what's now known as the Pesenti Vineyard to Turley in 2000. So he's part of three generations of winemakers from the area and himself makes a stellar zinfandel at Zin Alley, tending to 3 acres pretty much solo--it's the definition of a wine made out of love for winemaking (and dry farmed, which seems to help make zin the extracted delight it can be in its best versions). Amy and I pumped him for info and stories that he kindly shared and we're definitely never going to be winemakers ourselves--there's way too much to know and do. You have to know how dirt is different. You have to be able to tell the sugar levels of grapes just by looking (sure you can test, but are you a scientist or a winemaker?). I'd rather just drink the stuff.

I've left off Turley's website until here as there's only a homepage that tells you that they are "happy to add you to the waiting list for our mailing list." You read that right--you sign up, and eventually when enough people stop buying (unlikely) or die off, you get offered an allotment of wine twice a year. When I finally got on the list, I felt like I won the lottery (and not, as the ever more practical Amy pointed out, as if I had just got a chance to spend more money). While most of their wines are from Napa and points north, their tasting room is in Templeton and worth a visit if you're on the Central Coast. Given how exclusive the wine is, the tasting room offers no snoot. Plus the area is booming with great wine, and not just Zins--there's great Rhone varietals, Bordeaux varietals, even some Pinot. If you hit the area, try stopping in at Tablas Creek, Denner, Villa Creek, Four Vines, L'Aventure, the list could go on. And you'll get to drive on roads that look like this:

Grabbing the Yumminess: Impossible

(photo courtesy Edhat)

So many have emailed regarding my possible cable television appearance.... OK, most of you don't know what I look like, given I don't post photos of myself on this here blog, and of course I also find out that you readers dream of me wearing non-flattering dresses, anyway, which just hurts. All that said, there's a chance I might be glimpsed in the crowd scenes on the Food Network's airing of Dinner: Impossible tonight (at 10:30 pm on Cox channel 64 locally)*. I will be playing the part of " Hungry Mouth #247," for while Chef Robert made delicious stuff, it entered the party tent and was scarfed up instantly. Since I was doing my publicity thing I didn't get to hang out much while the chef madly worked, and didn't even get to step in for one of his usual George & George sous chefs, as one didn't make this episode. Still, it's better than the poor film festival volunteer who was handed an apron and told to wash dishes.

That said, I got to stand-by while a reporter interviewed Chef Robert after all the cooking went down and he seemed quite a nice guy, and what's more his dad was with him, very proud and very English.


*Now that I've admitted a cyber-thorn in the News-Press' side might be on the Food Network, will the News-Press drop the channel from its television listings just as it did with local cable access after they aired N-P protest footage? Even worse, Craig Smith might be in the episode, too.

Big Electric Cat

So the next few entries will be all about food and drink and silliness because if I stop to think and try to write about seeing the Santa Barbara version of Arlington West last evening, with 3000 candles flickering on the beach, not even enough for each fallen US soldier, let alone 200 times not enough for all the dead Iraqis, I will cry on the computer and short it out. How in the world did we get into this war and why in the world can't we get out?

Instead, let's talk food and drink, and hope someday all can enjoy food and drink. INOTBB has reported several times on the Hungry Cat that's due to open in Santa Barbara in December, Winter, now the end of April. I got the word straight from the Cat's mouth, so to speak, as Amy and I took a delightful cooking class at the Cook It School with David Lentz, chef/owner of the Hungry Cat, and his all-too-young-to-know-so-much chef in charge Dylan Fultineer last Thursday. (Note to possible class-takers: it is hard to go back to work after a class, especially when a chef brings along his beverage manager Tim who will crank out utterly delicious greyhound propers [a sign!], kumquatinis, and raspberry-infused tequila margaritas.)

It seems that getting permits through in Santa Barbara is difficult (who knew?), and building a kitchen in a space that had none (gee, wonder why L'Ombretta failed) takes time. But, when the spot is finished, Santa Barbara will have what Lentz hopes is a "neighborhood restaurant," which is good, as it will seat only 45 people, many at the bar. And, if the food is anything like we ate last Thursday, we're all in for more than a treat. For instance, we've had the clams, chorizo, and beans dish down at the Hollywood Hungry Cat (note to restauranteurs--never open a Hungry Dog in Hollywood, or everyone, ok, everyone like me, will think of poor Marie Provost), but the version they helped us 15 chefs-in-training whip up this time was even better. Most likely that's because Fultineer made his own chorizo, leaner and tastier than pre-made, and found killer fresh beans at the Santa Barbara farmer's market, plus got Lentz in contact with a clam-grower from the Chesapeake who's trying to save the bay with a special clam-raising method that's both ecologically sound and makes for terrifically tasty mollusks. And that's just one delicious dish--collect them all: quick cured hamachi with grapefruit, Thai basil, and Fresno peppers salad; asparagus salad; crab cake "salad" with Meyer lemon aoli; chocolate bread and butter pudding (the only dessert the Hungry Cat has ever served, as Lentz admits he doesn't like sweets, even though he'll have a variation on strawberry shortcake available soon).

But not soon enough--I need another raspberry infused tequila margarita.

Wednesday Pudding Blogging

(Ken Hively / LAT)

If you think pudding is just pudding, you haven't met my little dessert friend Budino. I've raved about Pizzeria Mozza before and will again (and as much as possible, given it's 95 miles away and a pizzeria, for chrissakes), but part of the reason for my gustatory enthusiasm is I might go there just for the desserts. Now I can make one of them at home by following the recipe kindly posted in the Los Angeles Times today. Of course, I have to whisk for pretty much 45 minutes, risk the thrilling witch's caldron boil and bubble moment that is caramel-making (twice), and then invite lots of people over or Amy and I have to consume 5 puddings each. But that doesn't mean we might not do just that.

The only sad thing about butterscotch budino is there's no scotch in there. But there is rum, at least in the recipe, not that the budino tastes of rum. As with all the fine dining takes on simple things, it seems layers of flavors make things richer and deeper and surprisingly complex--even the cream topping is whipped cream and creme fraiche (and no sugar, because the rest of the dish has sugar enough). Brilliance, ballance. As for mouth-feel (and this is a dessert worthy of wine-language), well, velvet isn't right, as cloth in the mouth is an experience a bit too hostagesque for me, and anyway it melts, although that isn't right, either, it evanesces, leaving the burnt sweetness of caramel and the wild tang of fleur de sel.

That damn Jello company has a lot to answer for.

Blood Orange Wednesday

Photo lifted from Flickr.

We were lucky that our citrus trees seemed to come through the January freeze that did so much damage elsewhere in California--perhaps one of the advantages of living only 3 miles from the Pacific (you can imagine the others). So that means we're still rich in blood oranges, and even if you try, and we pretty much do, you can't make cocktails out of them all. So we also cook with them, and I thought you might like to know how to make a simple glaze that is wonderful on pork chops, chicken thighs, and pretty much any fish (well, maybe not Stanley or Abe Vigoda). Last night I smeared a frying pan with good virign olive oil and dumped in some chopped shallot till they got a bit soft. Then I added the chicken thighs, salted and peppered and dusted with some fresh thyme. Let them brown, flipped them, cooked the other side (it's about 8 minutes each side), then lacquered them with the blood orange glaze. Put the thighs in the oven for 3 minutes with the carrots that were roasting at 375, took them out, re-applied the last of the glaze, back into the oven for 3 more minutes, and the result was as gorgeous as it was delicious.

Blood Orange Glaze
(coats 2 pork chops or 4 chicken thighs)

2TBS + 1 TBS. butter
2 TBS. shallots minced
3/4 cup fresh blood orange juice, strained
1/8 cup Grand Marnier
1 TBS. fresh thyme chopped
salt & pepper

Melt the 2 TBS. butter over medium low heat in a small saucepan. Add the shallots and let soften. Add the juice, Grand Marnier, thyme, salt & pepper to taste. Turn up the heat and reduce till thickened, stirring frequently to test consistency and avoid sticking. At very end add final TBS. butter.

Wasted Blogs and Wasted Nights

Still dragging a bit after a night of silhouetted go-go girls (see above--image courtesy Edhat), eating food that will appear on Food Network's Dinner: Impossible (air date tba), as chef Robert's assignment was catering our party for 350, and meeting Kofi Annan. Well, the actor who played him at the Mark Taper in David Hare's terrific Stuff Happens. (He also played Lisa's dad on Saved by the Bell, for those of you not into the the-a-tur.)

It's a weird life.