A Little Bit Nutty

The town of Ripon, California is known for being home to the annual Ripon Almond Blossom Festival and less known as the spawning ground for the family that gave us classic California wines such as Franzia and Two Buck Chuck. Despite the attempt of some politicians to proclaim Zinfandel as the "official wine" of California, you can't deny the impact a box or two of Franzia has had at family events, weddings, and all-night parties.

While you won't find too many wine snobs in the town of Ripon or bottles of Two Buck Chuck (since there are no Trader Joe's there), you will find plenty of nuts, uh, I mean almonds, or as some say "am-mund". Around this time each year, flowering almond orchards surround the town in a blanket of white that stretches for miles, giving the illusion that you are somewhere it snows. But it doesn't snow in Ripon. I doubt it rarely freezes.

A civic parade and festival has been an annual event in Ripon at least since its incorporation in 1945. However, it wasn't until 1963 when the Ripon Chamber of Commerce took over the event and moved it to the last weekend in February that it became the Almond Blossom Festival, mostly to promote the town's almond barons.

Unlike the Gilroy Garlic Festival, the Stockton Asparagus Festival, and the Castroville Artichoke Festival, Ripon's Almond Blossom Festival has absolutely zippo to do with almonds.

There are no almond tastings, no almond recipe contests, no almond cook-offs; not even free almond samples. There is an Almond Festival Queen, but exactly what she rules over is dubious. There's a baking contest - whether it has anything to do with almonds is unknown or perhaps only known to a few. Had Bruce not made Almond Biscotti to take to the potluck, I could've gone the whole weekend without ever tasting an almond.

Which brings us to the real reason we attend the Almond Blossom Festival each and every year: Aunt Paula's potluck shindig. In fact, the whole parade/festival is just an excuse for all of us to gather at Paula's, eat pretty much the same thing each year, have a few drinks, and then venture on over to the parade, craft booths, food vendors, and carnival rides. Often, the Almond Blossom Festival is the only time the whole family, or most of the family, gets to see each other. Mark and Rodger often will fly down from Portland and Uncle Mike will fly in from Texas. Chet and Cheryl will drive down from the Delta, and of course, we'll drive down from the City.

While the food usually consists of pasta and potato salads, deviled eggs, ham and cheese sandwiches, baked beans, and chips and dip, sometimes there are a few new surprises like Jennifer's cheddar and parmesan cheese pennies, Cheryl's nopalito salad, and Bruce's muhammara.

Often there is so much food I can barely even think about the food booths down at the festival grounds, but this year I made an exception and held back.

Before the parade even began, I snuck over to the community hall where the Ripon Christian school was serving tri-tip sandwiches. Without knowing who was serving them, I was lured in by a large sign that said Tri-Tip Sandwiches ($4.00 for half a sandwich). I'm still not sure if the whole sandwich thing was a big proselytizing effort or if it was to raise funds, but either way they didn't gain a convert and I probably won't even claim the sandwich as a deduction on my 1040 form.



I realize tri-tip is big in the Central Valley. In fact, you could call the area a Red State and just be talking about the excessive beef consumption. But as tri-tip goes, there are few winners and many losers. For example, the tri-tip sandwich I ordered tasted like cold roasted beef that was thinly sliced and put between a doughy, sweet, white bread bun. There was no barbecue flavor. Not a hint of dry rub, and it was overcooked.

In fact, what the tri-tip from the Ripon Christian school needed was a little more Jesus.

It needed to be cooked slow and low until it was smoking with the Holy Spirit. Instead, it was as bland and uninteresting as Lucifer in a Leisure Suit. Or worse, a Christian biker.



I don't know, perhaps these Christians were Bruderhof (a strict religious sect that foregoes spices on food), but if so, shouldn't they have warned me? Maybe I should've asked the Dunkards (the "Amish" of the Central Valley) running the dried fruits and nuts stand.



Good tri-tip should be rubbed like Buddha's belly with a mixture of spices and sauces and then allowed to sit before being hot smoked for hours. It should be flavorful, fresh from the smoker, succulent, and damn tasty...and that is MY final answer!



I had no time to ponder the nature of tri-tip when I realized the parade was starting. I did realize, however, the total lack of mullets on the men and women in the crowd. If the infamous mullet were ever to show its face, it would've been in this crowd. Yet despite the abundance of Nascar fans, Mexicans, and softball-playing lesbians in the crowd, it seems the mullet as a species has vanished from the Central Valley Corridor. Of course with all extinct or soon-to-be extinct species, I blame Dirty Dick Pombo - that weasely little twerp and cheap date for Big Ag.

Yet, I digress far too easily.

The parade this year was noticeable for it's lack of beauty queens and overabundance of horses. No comment.

Also noticeable was the absence of the PT Cruiser contingent and the sudden appearance (after my 9 years of watching the parade) of the Catholic Church/Our Lady of Guadalupe contingent, which in this predominantly Protestant town either was lost or out there saying "Just bring it? Oh, it's been brought!"

Despite these disappointments, the Shriner's always put a smile on my face.



You gotta love these guys. I mean, I have no idea what they do, but come on! Dude! The hats! The go-carts! What's not to love?



Among the other contingents: the ROTC, the Jr. ROTC, friends of the ROTC, and former ROTC, women on horseback dressed as 19th century prostitutes, women on horseback dressed in Country-Western gear, women dressed in jene se qua on horseback, cops on horseback, kids on horseback, Mariachi singers on horseback, horse-lovers on horseback, 2006 cars from the local dealership, antique cars, clown cars, fire trucks, the Sheriff's mobile jail bus ("paid for by San Joaquin county drug dealers"), a bulldozer, a well driller, and the Friends of the Library.

After the street cleaner came by and swept away the horse poo and the last marching band played it's sad, but earnest, rendition of Eye of The Tiger, the parade was over. I have to give the organizers serious credit for keeping it well-balanced and timed perfectly. There were no noticeable gaps and corporate sponsorship, while present, wasn't overbearing.



After the parade, we headed back to Aunt Paula's for a bite to eat and good conversation. This is the time we officially are ready to eat, though I had to pace myself. And while I paced myself pretty well, those damn deviled eggs get me every time! It must be the mayonnaise.

Plus, I'm a sucker for a ham sandwich. Call me complicated.



Still, I managed to save room and, after an hour or so, Bruce, Aunt Carol, and I decided to head back to the festival grounds for funnel cakes and BBQ. Of course, we had to check out the "craft" booths, which include everything from Native American flute music, gourmet dog snacks, sunglasses, Hawaiian themed seat covers, and Make A Cast Of Your Own Hand, which of course someone had to do the bird. Mixed in with the crowd was this guy collecting petitions, for what cause I shudder to think, almost as much as I shudder to imagine the last time that outfit saw the insides of a washing machine.



In the end, everything worked out as Carol, despite protestations from others, got her strawberry funnel cake (which was delicious).



I went over and bought two tacos at Smokin Willy's BBQ; one with pulled pork and the other with beef brisket. Unfortunately, the barbecue sauce covered up the full flavor of the meat (of which there could've been more of), but from what I could tell, the pulled pork was the clear winner. Had I gotten the $10 pulled pork plate, I think I would've been better off, at least as far as being able to taste the pork on its own.

Then again, by this time I was stuffed and it was time to go gawk at the folks riding the rides.



If I had an eating disorder, I would've chosen to immediately board the Tilt-A-Whirl for instant vomiting satisfaction. But with so many lunch-hurling masterpieces of design aka The Ranger and The Zipper, what's a poor eating disorder guy to do?

Screw this. I decided to watch and soak in the atmosphere that is The Midway.



If I could fit all of this stuff, rides and all, into my living room, I would - minus the carnies, which incidentally I trust more knowing they are pre-screened for drug use.



After delighting in watching teens scream while being suspended upside down on the Ranger (which is perhaps the only time teenagers don't annoy me) and little kids go limp with terror on really, really scary rides, we decided to head back and then call it a day. Back at Karen's, we snacked on her famous cheeseball while challenging Jen and Aron in an action-packed game of Outburst.

Can you believe Karen and Bruce could only name two Elton John songs out of a possible ten? Feel free to mention this to them next time you see them.

Anyway, I wasn't ready to head back to the bay area without one last go at the food booths back in Ripon. In particular, the Lockeford Sausage booth. After a minute of deliberating, Bruce and I decided to head back to Ripon the next morning and grab a Lockeford Sausage before we got on the road back to San Francisco.



Lockeford Sausage seems to be at every festival and event in Northern California, so if you missed them at the Almond Blossom Festival, chances are you can catch them at the Lodi Street Faire, the Mountainview Art and Wine Festival, the Oakdale Chocolate Festival, the Pleasanton Antiques and Collectibles Street Faire, the Gilroy Garlic Festival, the Delta Pair Fair, and so on and so on.



I didn't ask what kind of sausages they were, but I'm going to guess that they were beef (or a mixture of) since that's what my tastebuds told me, and I usually trust them. The sausages, at $5 each, are the definitely the best deal of the food court and I would venture to say the best food among those gathered. They are huge, hot, and with a great grilled flavor. Each bite was crisp and juicy and I think it would be fair to say I wolfed it down in a matter of seconds. It would've been good plain, but was delicious with sauerkraut (excuse me, "Liberty cabbage") and mustard.



The people running the booth have a store in Lockeford which I'll have to stop by next time I'm in the Sierra Nevada foothills. And perhaps I'll stock up while I'm there.

And with that thought, we leave Ripon, happy, full and content; reinvigorated until next year.

k.

PS For more of my pictures from the 2006 Ripon Almond Blossom Festival, go here.

Living Large

Like Sam over at Becks and Posh, I too have been trying to lose weight by dieting.

I realize that by losing a significant amount of weight I will be removing myself from the furtive glances of those who chase people of size, but this alienation is one I am willing to endure, if only because I'm tired of being looked at like a piece of fat.

In fact, I am more than willing to abandon the meaningless subcultures that go with being overweight to the point that I'm ready to scrawl on a t-shirt the words "I'm not a Bear, I'm just fat". This t-shirt will proudly join other items of clothing from earlier inner angst ridden days, such as the jacket I scrawled "I'd rather be alone than be a Clone" on.

Basically I wanna be the size I was back when I could choke out a hippie and then go for a long bike ride.



Ah, those were the days!

While Sam is doing Weight Watchers, I'm doing plain ol' calorie watching. Sometimes I watch these calories go from a trickle to a breaking dam, depending on my schedule that day.

I've found obsessive calorie counting the best way to lose weight, as well as your mind. Being part of the Reality-Based community, I know that basic science is behind losing weight of any kind. Simply, you consume less calories than you use. One pound of fat contains 3000 calories, so if you've eaten 3000 less calories per week, you'll lose a pound a week.

If only it was that easy.

Take for instance last week: I was up to around 800 calories during the daytime consisting of non-fat yogurt, a banana, a couple of carrots, a can of sardines, a cup of coffee, a rice cake, and a small cup of chicken soup. Then when I got home, I'd have maybe two pieces of chicken and some bread. I was doing pretty good and even lost a few pounds in just 5 days.

But that long weekend threw me off course.

After the duck confit, the rest of it was just a blur culminating in some Pork Adobo at Carmen's near the baseball park.


The culprit as mentioned.

This week was blown after I was pretty much forced to attend a co-worker's birthday party where I consumed what has to be one of my all-time favorite sandwiches - a Reuben; piles of hot pastrami on rye with sauerkraut, swiss cheese, and 1000 Island dressing. And then today, it was the marinated pork chops and spaghetti at a little dive that I'm currently investigating for a future blog post.

This weekend we'll be down in the Valley for the Almond Blossom Festival and you know what that means...funnel cakes!

Plus plenty of potluck food and cookies and you know, nuts are pretty damn fattening too.

At this rate, I'll end up at my goal weight when I'm 102.

k.

Grind Your Own

This morning was the first that I noticed I didn't have the camera in my pocket, and the realization that I'd have to face the morning without being armed and ready to shoot wasn't lost on me.

However, to be truthful, I was starting to tire of constantly having to produce something each morning that, in my mind, actually had to have significance for those few hours between the shower and lunch time.

Is it a crime to say that perhaps there is something to be said about the benefit of wandering around aimlessly in life, at least part of the time?

So in a way I feel a chain has been broken, yet at the same time I miss it somewhat.

That empty hole should be filled with entertaining you all about my travels to stinky tofu land or picking olives in the middle of a Central Valley parking lot. Instead, I only offer up this ode to the joys of grinding your own meat.

I had forgotten, or perhaps never fully noticed, that we have a meat grinder attachment for our Kitchen Aid mixer. I had used the attachment once a long time ago to stuff sausages, but I had ground the meat in the Cuisinart. In hindsight, that was dumb, considering I had a perfectly good meat grinder. But then, hindsight is 20/20.

No. Not the news program. I mean, it's clearly seen looking at it from the perspective that it's already happened to you. Like, "man, had I known what that pepperoni and olive pizza was going to do to my lower gastrointestinal tract, I would've had the mac and cheese. I wish my chafed ass could've seen this coming instead of being crippled over in pain watching it try to leave."

Kinda like that.



The pasta/meat grinder attachment comes with the necessary implements to make like a mad Italian all day and night long with various "plates", or the thinga-mabobs that the pasta/meat get pushed through, to make everything from fettucini to coarse-grind meat to hiding the body of Joey Spiglamonti, former president of the Italian-American Anti-Defamation League, your cousin Angelo bumped off the night before.

It's pretty simple to piece together and all you really need is some space, some time, and a good recipe. A good lawyer with a gambling habit is useful to have around as well.



I used the Sweet Fennel Sausage recipe from Bruce Aidells' Complete Sausage Book by Bruce Aidells and Denis Kelly (2000, Ten Speed Press, Berkeley, CA).

First, and most important, the meat.

Oh, My, God Becky!
(here it comes…cue music…now)

I like big butts and I cannot lie
You other foodies can't deny
That when you look in the supermarket case
And a big round thing in your face
You get sprung
Oh, baby I wanna get with ya
And take your picture
My doctor tried to warn me
But that butt you got
Make me so horny
Now you got me making Food Porny

So Foodies (yeah!), Foodies (yeah!)
Has your butcher got the butt? (hell yeah!)
Well shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake that healthy butt
Baby got back



Thank you, thank you, thank you.

My "butt" (aka shoulder) is approximately 3 pounds and well-fatty. Aidells' recipe calls for an additional ¾ pound of pork back fat, but as this piece of meat was well-marbled, that was completely unecessary, especially since I'll be using the sausage to add to pasta dishes.

The key thing Aidells stresses, and is important whenever working with meat, is to keep the temperature of the pork cool. I wasn't too worried about my room temperature since it's been a pretty chilly week and I rarely crank the heat, but I suppose if it's the middle of summer, you might want to take extra precautions, especially if you're curing the meat later.



First, after you've assembled your grinder and have the necessary tools ready, you want to cube the meat. This could take a while, especially if you have a lot of meat, so it's important to have a sharp knife and work quickly.

Next, after everything is cubed, stick the meat in the freezer to keep it cool while you assemble the dry/wet ingredients. I also stick the bowl I'm going to grind the meat into in the refridgerator.

The dry/wet ingredients are:
½ cup of dry red wine (I used Port, which is definitely a deviation from this recipe)
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons of fennel seeds (mine are wild and given to us by Mark and Rodger, hand-picked from their mini-Wild Fennel farm up there in Portland, Oregon. Thanks guys!! I bet you never thought you'd see me use them!?)
1 tablespoon of freshly ground black pepper
4 teaspoons of kosher salt
1 teaspoon of dried oregano
1/8 teaspoon of allspice

Next, comes grinding the meat.



This part was pretty damn simple and hardly even warrants these few sentences. Simply load the meat in the hopper with the machine running on low. Slowly, force the meat into the grinder and wait for it to come out the other side.

Try to mix the pieces of mostly fat with the pieces of mostly meat as much as you can so that the ground pork stays evenly mixed between the two.




It helps if you have someone to help photograph this while you do it so that you don't have to keep stopping. Lost orphans or drifters with a criminal past take excellent photos and you hardly have to pay them!

After it's all ground, take your dry spices and sprinkle half of them on top, then mix with one hand. What is the sound of one hand mixing meat? Don't ask disgusting questions, that's what.

Next, add the rest of the dry spices and then work in the wine.

After it is all mixed, let it marinade for a few hours to overnight for best flavor. I immediately packed mine in ziploc containers, labelled them, and stuck them in the freezer to eat later on in the week (or longer).



Of course, I also had to try a little.

Yum.



I can't tell you how excited I am about all of this. Really! This whole meat grinding thing is a piece of cake (of course, you gotta have the right tools and all) and I feel like kicking myself for not doing it earlier.

For one thing, it's statistically safer than buying it at the store. I mean, if any rat poo finds it's way into my hamburger/ground pork it'll be because I put it there! And trust me, you won't be finding rat poo in my spice rack, at least not to my knowledge.

Second, I can control the amount of meat to fat ratio or types and amounts of spices that go into all of my ground meat recipes, so that's another added bonus.

And lastly, it can be cheaper and tastier than the sausage you buy already prepared in the supermarket.



Hey, I'm sold!

(Insert bad pun about getting back to the "daily grind" here.)

k.

If You're Gonna Ride, Ride The White Elephant.

When Debbie told us there was a White Elephant preview-sale in Oakland and it was being put on by the Oakland museum to raise funds, I immediately wondered why the good folks at the Oakland museum were suddenly dealing heroin to support the arts.

I took me a while to remember that heroin goes by the name "white horse", not white elephant. But with all of these weird new drugs coming and going, how the hell am I suppose to know and remember what's what?!

Can't everyone just go back to huffing glue?

Anyway, the White Elephant preview-sale is now going on and basically, for the next couple of weeks, it's the biggest thrift store in the bay area. We got into the sale because Debbie knows everyone including God, but if you wanted to go now you could just show up and donate stuff in exchange for a one-day pass.

We caravaned over to Oaktown with Debbie and Bill on board and with the threat of rain and cold not deterring us in the slightest. Once we got off the Fruitvale exit, it was but a short drive to the warehouse where the sale was being held.



Once inside, we huddled, made our plans of what time to meet, and hi-fived each other shouting "go team" after which we scattered to various points of the warehouse like a shop-hungry militia storming new territory.

I headed for the shoes and clothes (duh!), while Bruce typically headed towards the books, Debbie and Lisa off to furniture, and Bill towards electronics.

After finally landing in housewares and scouring over each and every item in whatever section that mattered, I came away with what I considered a score.

Take for instance these vintage saucers and bowl that I spent $1 each on:



Clockwise from top left: Silesia china saucer, Syracuse china bowl, Haviland France china saucer, and Lefton china saucer

Yet, the real deal came earlier when, by stroke of luck, I caught these out of the corner of my eye.




"Village People" salt and pepper shakers at $1 each. The only issue I had with buying them wasn't figuring out which one was the salt and which one was the pepper, but which one was the top and which one was "the wife". It would've been much easier to figure out had they been cowboys.

I guess I'll cross that mountain when I come to it.

I think my most special find was this old recipe card holder...with the original handwritten recipes still inside!



Yeah. It's kinda creepy in a way. It's like snooping through someone's sock drawer. Or like the photos of a 1950s Cuban kid's birthday party (that I have on my fridge) I bought at a rickety junk sale between St. Pete and Tampa. It's kind of sad in the same way you see someone's old wedding photos for sale at the bottom of a box of old photos in a second-hand store.



The recipes, which date from the mid-1960s to the late 80s are a who's who of standard American fare ranging from Sloppy Joes, Beef Stroganoff, Rice Cassaroles, and dishes containing, but you would never guess of containing, a can of "Cream Of Fill-in-the-Blank" and a touch of Kitchen Bouquet. Nevertheless, I am excited about this treasure chest, if only that it proves my suspicions were true. My suspicions being that, indeed, there was a worldwide conspiracy to overcook all vegetables and make Worchestershire sauce the number one ingredient. However, the good thing about treasure chests is that you can always bury them.

And really, isn't that what "donation" is all about?

Next, I stumbled into the book section, which was large and impressive but a major Caveat Emptor out the wazoo. I only scoured the cookbooks, but Bruce checked them all out. And while he found a few that he would've bought, they were moldy or the spine was broken.

The Cookbook Section

I also found some cookbooks that I would've bought, especially older and more unusual ones, but they were also tattered and moldy. Being tattered isn't so much a problem, but stick a book with mold spores next to your others and you're just asking for complete ruin.

I did find one, however.



It's the one my Chinese-American friend, Bill, would later excoriate me for being an "orientalist" for buying.

Uh, excuse me, but I don't know a damn thing about carpets, ok? I mean, really Bill. What beef can I truly have? I like the designs! Even the ones you can buy at Ikea!

Hmprh!

Anyway, back to the chop suey stuff.

It's called From San Francisco's Chinatown - Eight Immortal Flavors: Secrets of Cantonese Cooking by Johnny Kan and Charles L. Leong published by Howell-North Books, Berkeley, CA, 1963.

Written when late-night slumming in Chinatown was new and glamorous, this cookbook no doubt ended up in the hands of many a late 50s/early 60s suburban Gweilo, whose drunken memories of half-naked girls and Ronald Reagan sitings on Grant inspired her or him to buy this book in a vain attempt to regain those few lost weekend moments between acting like a complete ass and puking in the toilet at Kan's, which incidentally, is still in operation and whose location and décor hasn't drastically changed since.

And, I suspect from the fact Sam Wo's is still in business, neither have the crowds.

Though seemingly a quaint relic of another time, the book is a living testament of the food of Chinatown then and, sometimes, now. Not only are the recipes authentic (there are substitutions for the non-Chinese housewife), but someone (likely Mr. Leong) painstakingly went to the trouble of documenting and translating into pinyin the names of chinese herbs, vegetables, condiments, dried ingredients, and dishes.


Could you resist such a debonair and suave gentleman as this? He had me at hello.

This book is not only a treasure of Chinese-American culture, Cantonese cuisine, mid-20th Century Chinatown, 50s and 60s pop culture, but also of San Francisco history.

So, Bill. Talk to the hand.

And when I finally make Dried Abalone with Oyster sauce, Lotus Root with Beef, Oxtail Peanut Soup, and Diced Chinese Long Beans with Barbecued Pork, you are totally welcome to come eat at my table.

Ok, then.

Lucky for you and me, the White Elephant preview-sale is still going on and is open only to those who've received passes and/or have donated items upon entry. It is officially open to the general public March 1st, which is when the place really becomes a madhouse.



There is still time to do an ugly amount of shopping, so I suggest you get on down there before all of the good deals are snatched up.

k.

PS: Remember that Duck Confit I started a few weeks back? Well, Bruce, Bill, and I had it for lunch after the sale. All that was necessary was to fry it a little in a pan and then stick it in the oven on 350F for a few minutes. I then piled it on top of some garlic/shallot potatoes sauteed in duck fat and baby spinach lightly flavored with pear vinegar and orange peel-infused oil.



Bill, whom I live the high-fallutin restaurant-going life I never had through, seemed to enjoy it. Especially the sauteed duck skin/fat!

30MP: Finale

Thanks for sticking with me during the 30 Mornings Project.

I'll go back to blogging about food now! Hope you enjoyed them.

k.

30MP: Oakland

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

Uh, Can I Get Some Dim Sum And An Amen?

Note: The first half of this post was started last Monday and wasn't finished until today. That should give you an indication of how much I slacked off this week.

Go me-ee! It's my birfday! Go me-ee! It's my birfday!

Yes, oh yes, my happy campers. Yesterday was yours truly's birthday!

The big 3-3. That's thirty-three years, not young, but old - and I have dragged my sad, sorry, behind through every damn day of it, damn it!

Last night, Laura, of Tom and Laura fame, cheerfully reminded me that 33 was the age Jesus was when he was crucified.

Hummm.

You know, it is true that, at times, I have resembled Jesus: The Dude. Like, there was that time I wore sandals a whole year straight.

Long hair? Been there! Well, it was a mullet really. Actually...it was a skullet. Had a beard, too.

Often I've been told to "get off the cross - we need the wood!" And while I'm not a Jewish carpenter who still lives with his mother, I do listen to a lot of Klezmer, eat Chinese food on a regular basis, and complaining satisfies me like no other, which kinda sorta makes me "jew-ish".

However, that's probably where the similarities between me and the Big J (aka Jay-Jay, Mac Jay, Jay One, One Dolla, or Straight Pimpin' as he's variously known in the hood or to his set, the 12 Apostles) end, since last time I checked ain't no hos been washing my feets as of lates.

But keeping Jay-Jay in mind, I've decided this year will be a year of change and transformation; of ascending, rather that constant descent into the same ol' same ol'.

This year is my "Jesus Year".

Uh, can I get witness? Uh, can I hear you testify? Uh,...is anyone still there?

Coincidentally, I also happen to be born on Abraham Lincoln's birthday - the former American president who, like Straight Pimpin', was murdered in the prime of his life. Nevertheless, despite the allure of top hats and gaunt facial expressions, something about having an "Abraham Lincoln Year" just doesn't seem appealing to me.

So, to start this year off right, what's a good jew-ish goy to do but go eat dim sum for his birthday lunch? And if I'm going to eat dim sum and not have to pick up the check, why not go to the somewhat famous and ever popular Koi Palace?



Koi Palace in Daly City is a pretty well-known Chinese seafood restaurant that's been around since 1996. If you hadn't already heard about it you might never know it existed, as it sits at the back of a shopping center completely hidden from view of the main thoroughfare.

I've wanted to go to Koi Palace ever since we lived in Daly City and often I've entertained the thought when Bruce and I have been around the Serramonte area. However, I've always assumed Koi Palace was too expensive to go to, and of course when I heard about the hour or two long wait for dim sum, I just brushed off the thought of going.

I can tell you now, it's neither expensive and the wait is tolerable, especially if you get there at the right time.

We arrived at 1 PM and were witness to a whole gaggle of people milling about in large groups near the entrance of the restaurant. Luckily, the parking gods were favorable to us and granted us a spot as close to the front door as humanly possible...and we didn't even have to say our usual parking mantra!

After squeezing our way through the front door and past those still waiting to be seated, we got our number and proceeded to stand next to the case displaying dried shark's fin at $500 a pound. After learning about the harvest of shark's fin, it somewhat unnerved me to be standing next to them, and had they been something else, like dried tree bark or something, I probably wouldn't have thought twice about it. But then again, I'm also not the type of guest who goes into someone's house (or culture) and starts immediately criticizing the furniture.

That would make me an asshole.

Instead, I simply opt out of eating anything made with shark's fin. And, you know, if everyone followed this philosophy of "if you've got a problem with it, just don't do/eat it", the world would be a much better place.

The wait lasted 40 minutes, but it seemed more like 20 since there was so much activity and things to see just waiting in the lobby. The lobby, crammed with families and people coming and going and people brushing up against you, was remarkably a comfortable place to wait. Whoever their HVAC person is deserves a medal or something. And the restaurant was devoid of heavy, funky, bad, heavily-food, or even fishy smells despite the abundance of live seafood of every kind that greets you at the right side of the lobby entrance.



The design of the lobby (and later the restaurant as I would find out) was not only tastefully designed, but beautifully designed. The only things that seemed out of place were the mounted televisions showing some weird Kung Fu soccer fantasy soap opera.

Ah, ambiance.

The sound of numbers being called through the loudspeaker was muffled and tinny and slightly fingernails-running-down-the-blackboardy and seemed to have a little bit of a conversation going on in Cantonese before finally getting around to "table of ten" and "number 408". Large groups of people were called in the 400 number category, while smaller groups of 2 or 3 were called in the 100 range.

We were 148.

The clientele was about 90% Asian with many families and people of all ages. Large round tables dominated the restaurant which seats 400 people, though we landed a table for two right smack dab in the middle of all the action. A restaurant of this size made Bruce and I fantasize about the size and hectic action of the kitchen, or maybe kitchens (plural).


What is that freaky white dude staring at? Dang! Take a picture, freak-o! It'll last longer!

As soon as we were seated, we were asked what kind of tea we wanted. The options were many, including Bo-Lay (or Pu-erh), Jasmine, Oolong, Gok Fa, Dragonwell, and something called Monkey Picked Tikuanyin.

Not knowing where those monkey hands had been or if they were washed before leaving the restroom, we decided on the bo-lay, which is a fermented tea that, unlike most teas, is aged for 1-4 (but sometimes as long as 50) years. The tea is best after steeping for a few minutes, which darkens the color and brings out the rich, earthy, almost smokey, flavor of the tea.

Koi Palace isn't like most dim sum places, since no one wheels around little metal carts with steaming hot food on them. OK, there are a few carts, and there are plenty of waitresses walking around carrying steamer baskets full of dim sum, but for the most part you order from a little paper menu where you check off in pencil which dishes you're having.

After the waiter comes by and picks it up, he takes it to some mysterious place and then brings it back with some mysterious scribble on the front.

Using a copy of the Rosetta stone I keep in my wallet, I deciphered it as saying "burn the British, sweep the kitchen, a cup of Joe," and "pin a rose on it".

Afterwards, the dim sum we checked off was brought to our table in no particular order whereby the waitress would stamp on our tab which category the dim sum belonged to, ie., small ($2.50), medium ($3.20), or large ($4.20).

First up was the cold Seaweed and Jellyfish ($4.80).



In general, I like the texture of jellyfish, although it can be a little too tough. This wasn't tough, but it was a little chewy. It had a definite crunch when biting into it and tasted light and fresh with a strong flavoring of sesame. The seaweed was definitely the winner on this plate as it was bright, sweet, crisp, and with the flavor of the sea. I could eat this often.

The next to arrive is was the Bee's Nest Taro Puffs (medium), which are these fragile, crunchy balls that are deep fried and delicate on the outside and filled with a hot gravy and bits of minced pork and taro on the inside. While these were very good and precisely the reason I go eat dim sum, I have to admit that the taro puffs at the less fancy Y Ben House in Chinatown were much larger and tastier than these. Nevertheless, bring 'em on!



Because Bruce has this thing for the pan-fried leak and pork dumplings (large), we had to order those, and actually it turned out to be a wise choice. Because (like a lot of what we ordered) these dumplings are dim sum staples, the regular eater of dim sum has no doubt come across many inferior versions of these. This is generally why I steer clear of them. However, like a lot of the dim sum staples we ordered at Koi Palace, these were exceptional. Hot, flavorful, fresh tasting, and not bitter like some.

The plate wasn't half-bad either.



Next up was the indomitible baked Char Siu Bao (medium), king of the dim sum. Also a dim sum treat that has fallen under many hands of incompetance and cheapness, this one has a tendency to be overly sweet on the inside, doughy on the outside, and made with inferior ingredients.

But not these. In fact, these were the best barbecue pork buns I've ever had. And instead of the normal behemoth char siu bao you get at many steam-table to-go places, these were petite and delicate with a superb sweet, but not overly so, barbecue pork center. If all char siu bao were like these, I think I would have to give up all other food and subsist on these alone.



Are you still with me? Cause we aint done eating yet!



Next came the green onion pancake ($3.20), which is a Northern Chinese specialty. Again, though region specific, this (like Kung Pao Chicken, Chow Mein, and Peking Duck) is found in almost all Chinese restaurants. What made this one stand out was its sturdiness. Often, green onion pancakes, which are less "pancake" than "fried bread" are too doughy or biscuit-like. These were perfectly pieces of fried bread and onions that complemented nicely with a little Chinese mustard or chili sauce.

If char siu bao is the king of dim sum, then Har Gow is most definitely the princess.

Sometimes this princess can be vicious and tyranical, striking fear into all who partake her sight and flavors. Sometimes she can be a spinster, an old maid, a washed up, little ol' bitty. Other times, like this, she can be a fresh, delicate, plump, juicy, shrimp-filled dumpling with a soft, velvety, translucent skin.

If Princess Har Gow and King Char Siu Bao could marry and have children...well, that would be incest. But let's just say we were in the backwoods of North Carolina, alcohol was involved, and "things just kinda happened", then I would be first in line to bow, or bao, to the next ruler of the universe.

These har gow were certainly worthy of royalty.



We should've stopped here, but we were bound to waddle out of there...or die trying. The last bit of dim sum that came was the pork ribs in black bean sauce (small). In fact, we should've stopped before we got to this point, if only because these were wasted on us, or perhaps just wasted. Not Bruce nor my favorite and we could've definitely skipped this one. All bones and gristle in an undistinguishable sauce.



If only Bruce would've let me order those damn chicken feet! I'm sure those would've been much better.

As our stomachs extended up and outwards, tables were being cleared and table tops were being lifted up and rolled away. It was about 2:45 PM and had we known when to come without dealing with a wait, we would've come at 2:30 since half of the place had cleared out by then.

As it was, we still ended up scoring the best seat and parking space at the restaurant! Hoo-yeah!

Yes, the gods were definitely with us that day.

k.

30MP: Dark Skies

And now, a public service announcment.



Linda, Otis is looking for you.

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

k.

30MP: Crowded Ass Bus

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

Note: Sorry, folks. I've been out of commission for the last few days.

k.

Duck Stock and Oranges

Friday morning I called work to let them know what happened the night before.

They were really understanding and told me to take the rest of the day off. I then went back to sleep and didn't wake up until 1 PM.

While Bruce was recuperating, I kinda just mosied around a bit before deciding that I was going to juice all of those oranges that have been sitting around since we visited Aunt Paula's.

While I went to juicing, I clicked on the latest This American Life episode and pointed the computer speakers in the direction of the kitchen.

Once they were all juiced, I labeled the containers filled with juice and stuck them in the freezer for later use.



Noticing that freezer space was running low due to all of the frozen carcasses and leftover bits from cutting up a duck, a rabbit, and some chickens, I decided to pull out the first thing, which was a duck carcass, and make stock.

Into the stock pot went the duck, a lot of water, some cut up onions, some sprigs of fresh thyme, some garlic cloves, one of the juiced orange halves, and some salt and pepper.

I let this simmer uncovered for several hours, replacing the water as necessary.



The aroma of the duck stock, along with that of the orange peels I'm recycling by drying them in the oven, made the house smell really great.

I have no idea what I'm going to do with the orange peels.

k.

30MP: Leftovers For Breakfast

Chinese leftovers are always great on Saturday morning.

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

30MP: Emergency Room

The 30 Mornings Project was somewhat interupted today as Bruce and I found ourselves at the Davies Medical Center's emergency room at 1 in the morning and stayed there until 5 AM, which was about the time the fine doctors and nursing staff had deducted that Bruce had not appendicitis, but a kidney stone. They shot him full of morphine (I could've used a little myself), gave him a prescription for Vicodin and plenty of water and some booze, and called us a cab, which then drove us back home by way of the new Octavia Boulevard freeway extension.

By the way, the picture above is of my hand.

k.

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

30MP: Ristorante Howard

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

30MP: Peek-a-Boo

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

30MP: Watching The Ships Roll In

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

Delta Blues

I'm all about saving the environment, using public transportation, recycling stuff, and taking some cloth bags to the store with me. And in our home, as a rule of thumb, if it's yellow let it mellow – if it's brown, simply, flush it down.

Trust me: we do our part, and then some.

But God bless the automobile! Oh, that fossil fuel consuming, dangerous at any speed, 2 tons of fun!

Because without the car, what would we take road trips in? A frickin' horse and buggy?

And really, a road trip down some lonely highway is almost more American than all of these other little things, you know, like civil rights... and separation of church and state... and public libraries.

I mean, you can get that stuff in Scandawhoovia!

Earlier this last week, I felt something missing. Something vaguely absent and an urge to fulfill an undefined empty space in my soul.

What I needed was a road trip.

In a panic, I emailed Bruce at work and suggested that we take a road trip this weekend. Luckily, I didn't have to whine at all (and I was all ready, too!), as he was as excited to take one as I was.

But where to go?

I'd love to go to the desert right now, but that's way too far. I mean, that's practically LA. And if we're going to travel that far, I'd rather just go to Pink's in LA or some of the cool places I hear on Evan Kleiman's radio show.

Hey! The desert isn't going anywhere anytime soon.



What we finally decided on was taking a drive up Highway 160, which extends through the California delta all the way from Contra Costa county to downtown Sacramento. On the way to Sacramento are cool little towns like Isleton, Rio Vista, Locke, and Walnut Grove.

These cool little delta towns have roots that go back 100 years, but are always under the threat of flooding due to being the California equivalent of New Orleans. Most towns are situated precariously close to levees built many years ago and which require constant maintenance (ie, state funding) and are, for the most part, underneath the level of the water from the levees.



In fact, Highway 160 itself runs on top or underneath of a levee practically the whole way to Sacramento.

Nevertheless, the delta region is just beautiful. Lots of wildlife and lots of agriculture, such as the pear orchards that run along 160. The other amazing part of Highway 160 are all the 2 story Victorian mansions that dot along the highway and practically butt up against the levee. Some of these old-school monster homes are just awe-inspiring. I don't know their history, but Bruce suggested that maybe they were originally built as country homes for wealthy people from San Francisco or Sacramento.



I'm not kidding about how beautiful these homes are. Someone should do a frickin' coffee-table book or something.

Our first stop was the town of Locke, to grab a bite to eat and to check out this amazing little town. While there's lots of information on the web about Locke, I'll share with you some of what I learned.

Basically, Locke is the first and only town in the United States that was founded and built by the Chinese. These Chinese had been farm and railroad workers who previously lived a mile or two down the street at another mostly Asian town called Walnut Grove. Around 1915, the Chinese section of town caught fire and made homeless many that lived there. Because the Chinese were excluded from owning property back then, an industrious Chinese businessman convinced the local white landowner to lease him the property on which Locke was built.

Pretty soon, a fully functional small town was built, complete with restaurants, schools, gambling parlors, hardware and grocery stores. To call it a "Chinatown", in my opinion, seemed wrong. It was a town, not just a section of a town that is commonly referred to as "Chinatown" in whatever cities around the world the Chinese happen to settle.



As times changed and Chinese-Americans were granted the same rights as Anglo-Americans, the Chinese population in Locke diminished as they moved on for other work or to be closer to the suburbs of larger cities like Sacramento. In fact, driving up Highway 160 into Sacramento, you notice more and more signs with Chinese lettering the closer you get to the city.

As its original inhabitants moved away, some Chinese stayed, but a good deal of whites moved in. Today, it is estimated that out of roughly 80 residents, only 10 are of Chinese descent. However, not enough of both ethnicities seemed to be able to afford upkeep on these old and historic buildings and many of them have fallen underneath the pressure of time, despite the constant changing of ownership of the town.

To look at the buildings, one would easily assume it was a ghost town. And even though I know that Locke has many operating businesses and people who live in town, I just found it hard to believe that they live and work in these buildings. However, we saw with our own eyes a father and his daughter hanging out on the second story of one of these dilapidated-looking buildings. And we peeked into many of the shops that happened to be closed that day.



When we got to the town at 11:30 AM, we seemed to be the only ones there. But as we left around 1 PM, the town's parking lot was full!

Of course, most of that traffic was for the very un-PC Al the Wop's. Al the Wop's is the only other restaurant in town, other than the Chinese one that sits along the highway, and was the first white, or "wop", owned business in Locke. And while most of the clientele were white the day we were in, the people working in the kitchen were Chinese (that would be 3 of the 10).



At one point long ago, Al's changed their name to "Al's Place" as some thought the wop reference was offensive, even though a couple of doors down was Jimmy the Cracker's, Jose the Wetback's, and Jean-Paul the Eurofag's.

Go figure!

Al the Wop's (or as they say, "Althewops") is best known by weekend warriors motorcycling through the area, the local roughnecks, and old duffers for their famous steak sandwiches. Also, everyone seems to get a kick that on each table is an open jar of peanut butter and jelly with a butterknife stuck in each; no doubt an OCD's worst germ nightmare.

After walking through the eclectic bar and the even more eclectic bar characters, one is seated in the dimly lit restaurant in the back. While the set up is pretty divey, I have to admit I was impressed by the condiment selection at each table. Hell, give me some toast and I could've made a peanut butter/jelly/grey poupon/A1 sauce/yellow mustard/ketchup/worchestershire/tabasco/salt and pepper sandwich!

The lunch menu is pretty standard and not long at all. Steak sandwiches, burgers, chicken salad sandwiches, etc. The dinner menu was practically the same. Al's has a chili cook-off every year, but oddly enough, chili was missing from the menu.

Sparing no expense, I ordered the famous large steak sandwich (rare) for $15 while Bruce had the cheeseburger (well-done) for $7.50 plus a side order of fries.

Before our food came out we were brought the house salad, which was a pizza parlor combination of iceberg lettuce, some kidney beans and garbanzos, shredded carrots, and topped with a good healthy serving of bottom shelf Thousand Island dressing. I know it sounds bad but trust me, sometimes this just works. And considering where we were, it worked like a motherfucker.

To say I was a little speechless when our food came out is an understatement. Normally, when I hear steak sandwich I envision cut steak being sandwiched between two slices of bread, and with something extra added. What I got was a steak, 4 slices of heavily buttered and toasted bread, and a painfully dull steak knife.



Bruce's burger wasn't much more, although his meat was actually sandwiched between cheese and bread. But everything else was to the side, including "California black olives" that long saw their golden years pass them by. He realized later that he didn't need the extra order of fries, even though they were pretty decent.

A large glass of ice tea, a side of mayo, and a little A1 sauce helped me work the steak sandwich down my gullet as I sawed back and forth on this huge slab of meat. The steak was good, if not a little too gristley and a little too raw and cold in the middle. I probably should've asked for medium rare.

Bruce's burger was cooked to order, perfectly.



Perhaps the Chinese didn't just disappear from Locke. I have a theory that they were killed off by Al the Wop's steak sandwiches, olives, and bread so heavily buttered I felt like I needed a bypass after it was all over. I can just see it: Al, the Italian communist, sent by the Comintern to assasinate leaders of the local Kuomintang.

It totally could happen.

After Al's, we drove back to Walnut Grove to take a look around. Walnut Grove is slightly larger and less run down than Locke. The town at one point was mostly Japanese and Chinese. Even though many Chinese moved to Locke after it was established, others stayed and continued to raise their families in Walnut Grove. Today, very few Asians live in Walnut Grove and the majority of the residents tend to be either white or Mexican.

Nevertheless, the surviving buildings and layout of the town are just amazing. It's like I just want to scoop the whole town up in my arms and give it a big fat kiss. Most of the architecture is early, early 20th century with signs and storefronts almost frozen in time.



Yet while so much of it seems like walking through the land that time forgot, it is apparent that life still renews itself and continues to thrive here. There are Mexican children playing with a dog in the street, a black mother pushes her baby in a stroller down to the corner, an old Japanese man quitely sits up on his balcony staring into the home across the way, a community garden lies in wait for the warm season, and a young homie sits outside the lone convenience store speaking Spanish into his cell phone.

The streets are real quite. Quite enough to hear your thoughts.



We leave Walnut Grove and continue up Highway 160 to Sacramento, which is only a short distance away but what seems like a world away.

Sacramento likes to be known as the City Of Trees, though entering it by way of Highway 190, the noticeable lack of anything but a few mistletoe-ridden trees seemed to be anti-climactic. However, Bruce reassured me that there were definitely more trees; he's seen them!

We weren't here to see trees, but to see this so-called "old town" we had heard of but knew nothing about. Along the way, we kinda got lost and had to stop at this art supply store on J Street called Art Ellis. The two darling little ladies were so much help in not only giving directions to the old town, but also by giving us directions to several bookstores we had asked about.

And so, if you happen to be reading this and find yourself in or going to Sacramento, will you please swing by Art Ellis and heap money or love or something upon them? Seriously, they rock.

After navigating Sacto streets (pretty simple since they run in numbers and letters), we came upon a huge traffic jam migrating into Old Sacramento that sent off several red flags; red flags such as A) why are so many people flocking to what I thought would be like San Francisco's Jackson Square, and B) have we made a terrible, terrible mistake?

Indeed, as soon as we found parking in a parking garage, taken the stinky elevator to ground level, and had walked underneath the freeway, passing dozens of tourists listening to a piped in jazz medley from the tunnel speakers – as soon as we saw sunlight and could breathe the fresh air, I smelled that familiar aroma of funnel cakes, cigarettes, and the human herd.



Around us we could see tall and impressive Wild West buildings that were just amazing until you looked towards the ground and saw the long line of cars looking for parking and throngs of candy and hotdog-eating pedestrians and endless souvenir shops, chain and gimicky restaurants, and international food courts and Christian bikers and crusty old lechers, crazy homeless men, and Indian women in saris taking pictures of the son they came to visit wondering why the hell they were brought here and pretty much the whole unabashed working class in all of it's tacky glory.

Maybe I'm a snob or maybe I'm just insecure, but whatever the reason, whenever I'm put into this environment, I get cranky. Really cranky. My heart starts beating faster. My head begins to pound. The skin on my back begins to twitch like an annoyed cat.

Despite the Fisherman's Wharfified Old Sacramento, I really tried to enjoy the historical feel and look to Old Sacramento, which is the most impressive and largest old-time preserved Western town I've ever seen (other than Nevada City).

But as soon as I did, this always came up.



Bruce and I snuck out of that mess down a cool, shady, and quite back alley whose touristy value was lost on garbage bins, rats, and fire escapes.

If we had left Sacramento then, I would've been just as bitter as I've left every time I've been up to the Capitol for one protest or Lobby Day or another. Luckily, the beautiful ladies at Art Ellis gave us the address to Beers Book Center, a new/used bookstore that was frickin' awesome!

Not a big bookstore, but definitely well-stocked and with damn good prices. Oh, and if a bookstore has a cat in it, that just shoots it through the roof for me. This one had a "dead" little kitty stretched out over the new arrivals when we walked in.

Both Bruce and I scored big time with the booty we ended up taking home.

What did I get?

I may be dating myself, but remember Land of the Lost? I found a DVD reissue of 4 episodes for $10! I knew the show was cool (I loved it as a kid), but I never realized how many cool Sci-Fi writers wrote the scripts.

And of course, I got cookbooks – 3 fat cookbooks that were hardly used and that contain invaluable information. And dirt cheap to boot!

They are: Great Sausage Recipes and Meat Curing by Rytek Kutas (503 pages, $5.50), Cutting Up In The Kitchen: The Butcher's Guide To Saving Money On Meat and Poultry by Merle Ellis (215 pages, $3.00), and Mrs. Seely's Cook-Book by American Antique Cookbooks (430 gilt-edged pages, $7.50).

Score!

So we left Old Sacramento, Kinda Old Sacramento, and New Sacramento and headed down I-80 for a quick exit home.

Well, not so quick. I asked Bruce to stop at Murder Burger in Davis since I've always heard about about it and never had a chance to try it. The place is now called Redrum burger after they opened a new location in a hypersensitive area of California, where the angry and highly, fragile emotional citizens forced them to remove the killing part from the dead meat they were about to consume.

I was totally amped up for a Murder burger cheeseburger and fries.

Geez. Was I disappointed.



Not only was our order taken by what can only be called a brain-dead mumbling fool, but after waiting forever and a day, they still couldn't get it right that we told them we'd be waiting out front and to call our names through the window.

And then, when we actually got our food, it was cold/slightly warm. My fries were in the following order: cold, limp, burnt, overly salty. The burger? Nothing special with a boring bun, on top of a lot of shredded lettuce and a whole lot of mustard.

Bruce's BLT wasn't much better. And the breaded mushrooms were just gross. Overly breaded and greasy.

We both kept telling each other that we should've gone to the In-N-Out Burger across the street in yet another case of a chain (or small chain in In-N-Out's case) betting an independent's pants off.

You know, there's no use in fighting for independent coffeehouses, burger joints, hardwares stores, etc. if they just plain suck.

Aftertasting the greasy mushrooms along the way, we headed into the sunset towards San Francisco, not yet aware of the painful, hour long crawl from Albany to the toll plaza to come.

I know this last part sounds quite sad and pathetic, but all in all we had a great road trip! The drive up 160 was sweet and truly something every Northern (or Southern) Californian should do once in their lives.



If only to experience Al the Wop's.

k.

PS For many more and larger pictures of the trip, including those not shown here, go to my Flickr page.

30MP: Good Morning Star Shine!

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

30MP: Superbowl

Go Giants!
(Yeah!)

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

30MP: Road Trip

Can you guess where?

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

k.

30MP: Plant Life

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

Thursday Night Quickie

Ah.

Tonight's dinner was easier than expected. Somehow I convinced Bruce to eat leftover pizza while I actually prepared a decent last-minute dinner for myself out of things sitting around in the fridge. Granted, most normal folks don't have venison "filet mignon" thawing in their fridge, but then, do you know anyone normal? I don't.



The venison came from Karen's neighbors – the hardcore hunters; who, by the way, are supernice folks. And if you are a hardcore hunter/sportsman or woman and you have extra game in your freezer, contact me. I'll buy (clears throat), I mean trade.

Afterwards, I felt a little evil for making something from scratch while Bruce ate leftovers, but then, someone's gotta eat the leftovers, and Lord knows I have puh-lenty of times!



So I took the deer meat, the Other Red Meat, and cut the silverskin away from it. Then I seasoned both sides with salt and pepper.

In a cast-iron skillet, I heated some oil to the smoking point on medium high then tossed in the fillet, which I had cut in half.



While I let that brown on one side for a few minutes, I gathered up some fresh herbs I also had laying around: basil, thyme, sage, parsley, and chives. I roughly pulled them/chopped them up and tossed them in a bowl with a little white balsamic vinegar and Bariani olive oil, plus freshly ground pepper and a little kosher salt.

After both sides of the venison were crusty, I lowered the heat to medium and flipped them once every 5 minutes until pressing the flesh, they seemed medium rare. At this point I removed them from the pan and let them rest on a cutting board for 5 or so minutes (I think it was actually longer).



I arranged my herb salad in the center of the plate and grated some fresh lemon rind on top with my microplane.

When the meat had rested, I sliced against the grain on the diagonal into thin (3/16") slices, and then arranged around the salad. I ended up only using one half of the meat.

Then, taking inspiration from a Ferran Adria trick I learned from the DVDs Bill brought back from Spain, I used a potato peeler to slice a few thin slices of avocado, which I placed on top of the salad. On top of that, a little coarse salt Karen brought back from Oregon, a drizzle of olive oil over the meat, and a crackling of pepper, and that's it!



Dinner served!

In, I reckon, about 15 or 20 minutes.

The venison was rich, juicy, and meaty, and not very gamey. It was mild, as far as game goes, and I've had lamb that was much stronger. Too bad venison isn't more available, because this is an excellent alternative to beef!

Grass-fed, too!

Paired with the fragrant herb salad, topped with the rich and fatty avocado salted so that it tastes like a veggie side of bacon...yum.



Super easy.

k.

30MP: Cool Grey City

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

k.

Boeuf Bouffant

Last weekend I made Beef Bourguignon.

I don't know why, other than having a 3-pound chuck roast I bought on impulse at Safeway. And because it's "beef bourguignon", oo la la, oui oui, mon cherie amour!

Gitchy, gitchy, ya ya, mama!

Mocha latté grande, something.

I know. "Stop, please".

Beef Bourguignon is one of those old school (for me, that would be the 1950s) French dishes you hear about, or I hear about, that I'm always like, "hum, I wonder what's so special about that?" Well, to skip to the end: not much, except a very, very tasty and rich beef stew that pretty much kicks your mama's beef stew in the butt, or bouté (this is French for ass, non?).

And while we are beginning our post at the end of our story, let me just say: this stew really tastes better after sitting a day. And in fact, it tasted best after sitting in the fridge for two days. So, not only is this something good to freeze and reheat, but I would venture telling you not to serve it to your guests until it's had a chance to rest, ponder the nature of the universe, and age like a fine, ooh! wine?

What's wine, got to do, got to do with it? Uh, how about a whole bottle?

The recipe I used called for a whole bottle of Burgundy. Since I was in Whole Paycheck at the time, that would've cost me $26 bucks. Ouch. Instead, my eyes darted down, way down, until I found a reasonable $8 wine.

The recipe I went by was from the new Gourmet Cookbook, edited by Ruth Reichl, and which has over a thousand pages and recipes. Despite all of the hype about how this book has time-tested, and re-tested, recipes, I found a glaring error in their beef bourguignon recipe. But I'll get to that later.

The other thing I found is that, like a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, there aren't a lot of variations on this recipe. Google it and you'll find, almost verbatim, the same ingredients, with only a slight difference in measurements and/or secondary ingredients.



Making this in your 7-quart, brand-spanking-new, Le Crueset, blue dutch oven is optional. However, in the event that your previous, Christmas present, Lodge enamelled cast-iron dutch oven chips after the 3rd or 4th time you use it and you're forced to take it back to Bloodbath and Beyond and exchange it for a Le Crueset, and at the same time get the Le Crueset way, way underneath its cost due to an innocent teenage clerical error, then I consider you lucky and suggest you do so, and while you're at it, take a few food porn pictures to masturbate to later. But only after you've promised to help old folks across the street, tourists with directions, and winos with beer money to alleviate the guilt you feel by your quick lapse of ethics at the aforementioned chainstore.

Lastly, this recipe takes at least 6 hours total, so consider calling in sick to work on Thursday for your dinner party on Saturday.

¼ pound thick sliced bacon cut into 1" pieces
3 pounds of boneless beef chuck, cut into 2" chunks
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons vegetable (or olive) oil
4 ½ tablespoons butter
½ cup brandy
1 4" celery rib
4 fresh parsley stems without leaves
4 fresh thyme sprigs
1 bay leaf
2 whole cloves
2 onions, chopped
3 large garlic cloves, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 (750 ml) bottle of red wine (pinot works fine, or burgundy)
1 pound pearl onions
1 pound mushrooms, quartered if large

1. Parboil bacon for 3 minutes then drain. (In the cookbook, nothing is ever said later about what to do next with the bacon. So, I added the bacon in a later step, which I'll get to.)

2. Pat the beef dry. Combine the salt, pepper, and flour in a ziploc bag. In batches, add the beef cubes, close the bag, and shake. When removing the beef cubes, shake off the excess flour (I usually throw a few in a fine mesh strainer and bounce them up and down over a sink.)

3. Once the are coated, heat 1 ½ tablespoons of both oil and butter (so, 3 tablespoons) in a 6 to 8 quart heavy pot over medium to medium-high heat until hot but not smoking.



4. Brown the beef cubes in batches, then transfer to a bowl.

5. Pour off any excess oil and then deglaze with the brandy, being careful not to let any brandy splash you on the lips before it hits the hot pot, cause who knows what can go tragically wrong, you damn booze hound!

This is the part I love.

In fact, that stuff: it is "the love"! Oh baby, I'll scrape you up all nice. I'll treat you to the finest wines and then afterwards we can go up to my room where I will treat you to the finest programming on cable TV.




Pour "the love" over the beef cubes sitting off to the side. Clean out the pot with paper towels or something (don't pour cold water in it for God's sake!).

6. Tie up the herbs and cloves with twine into a bouquet garni. Then heat 1 tablespoon of butter in the cleaned out pot over medium-high heat, then add the carrots, onions and garlic and sautee for 5 minutes or until the onions become pale golden.

7. Add the tomato paste, stir, and cook another minute or so. As you see, I like the tomato paste that comes in the tube. Why don't more things come in tubes?

8. Add the wine, the meat (including the bacon! Duh!), the bouquet garni, bring to a simmer, then cover and simmer for 3 ½ to 4 hours.



9. In the meantime, in a pot of boiling water, blanche the pearl onions and then peel. This is a pain in the ass. When peeled, sautee in a tablespoon of melted butter. Season with salt and pepper. Then add about a cup of water (or more) and bring to a roiling boil. Reduce to a glaze and then remove from heat.

10. Next, sautee the mushrooms in a dry pan until they've released their liquid. Add to the onions.



11. Final step: When the stew is ready and the meat is tender, add the mushrooms and onions and "stew" for another 10 or 15 minutes. Remove the bouquet garni and adjust the seasonings.

Eat immediately with steamed brussel sprouts and a puree of parsnips and pumpkin seasoned with fresh rosemary or let cool and serve two days later.

Put the brandy away. Far, far, away.



k.

30MP: Work Nappy

It's 8:30 AM. Do you know where your boss and co-workers are?

Part of the 30 Mornings Project

k.