tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18640492141657866332024-03-05T10:34:03.507-08:00LS Cooks ... Stir It Up!Musings about cooking, music, friends, and this life around us.Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-80806215026600403632012-01-08T15:47:00.000-08:002012-01-08T15:53:41.893-08:00The Pho Experience<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30lnf1mhhOzcXqH4tgbq9cd6y1nBEdz_YHIIKrpGLbdZaT-q_Y7yrmIIWpW3FbyKfUMpHMCs0jfIS6v8asw2Qm965gm7MIw62D2QUcILln88PLdcb5ktD2bplaqIp-ZOy926_G_7_PzQ/s1600-h/Pho.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295340619528521714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30lnf1mhhOzcXqH4tgbq9cd6y1nBEdz_YHIIKrpGLbdZaT-q_Y7yrmIIWpW3FbyKfUMpHMCs0jfIS6v8asw2Qm965gm7MIw62D2QUcILln88PLdcb5ktD2bplaqIp-ZOy926_G_7_PzQ/s320/Pho.jpg" style="float: right; height: 171px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 167px;" /></a><span style="color: black;">This was originally released in 2009, and for some reason it's been the most popular blog post I've ever done. I've made a few changes since then, both to the way I make the soup, as well as where I live. We originally moved to Bend, Oregon in the middle of 2005, but ended up semi-moving back to the Bay Area from 2008-2010 for what seemed like a great job opportunity. It wasn't, nor was its successor. I'd rank them both at the absolute bottom of the list of jobs I've had in my high tech career. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">Living in the Bay Area has its perks, and the wide selection of top quality foods and restaurants to choose from is among the best things about living in or near San Francisco. We had a rental house in Belmont, which is at the north end of the Peninsula, about twenty minutes below the City by the Bay. But even with the vast array of foods to choose from, I'm always drawn to a good bowl of pho, and have been ever since I was "turned on" to it by my co-worker Hai Nguyen, in the early '90's. It's inexpensive, filling, healthy, and the taste is out of this world. I've been known to have pho several times a week for lunch, while working in the Silicon Valley. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">And so as much as we loved coming back to Bend fulltime, we would definitely miss the access to pho, which can be found every couple blocks on the S.F. Peninsula, as well as all over San Jose. Amazingly, there was no pho in Bend at that time, meaning if I wanted to eat it, I'd have to make it for myself. And even <em>this </em>has changed in the last year, with the opening of our first Vietnamese restaurant here in Bend, which is called Pho Viet Cafe. Great stuff, I hope they outlast the economy, which is no easy task currently in Central Oregon. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">In addition to lots of experimenting to come up with the recipe below, I've also worked quite a bit on a much simpler Asian Noodle Soup, the recipe for which can be found </span><a href="http://larry-lscooks.blogspot.com/2010/08/asian-noodle-soup.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">HERE</span></a><span style="color: black;">. The ingredients are less exotic, and it's something you can make in an hour, which is my personal limit for weeknight dinner preparations. Great soup, feel free to borrow the recipe experiment for yourself. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">So with a few modifications, once again here is</span><span style="color: blue;"> <strong>The Pho Experience</strong>:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">I was fortunate to live in the San Francisco Bay Area for a good portion of my life; a uniquely rare melting pot of people, culture, and cuisines. Living there afforded me the opportunity to experience some of the world's best food, and meet some extremely interesting people. In the early 1990's while working for a large high tech company here in the Silicon Valley, my co-worker friend Hai Nguyen suggested that we go out for pho, a Vietnamese noodle soup that's a staple of their diet. This was my first introduction to what has become virtually my favorite lunch food, and something that I <em>had </em>to have a couple times a week, or I'd get very cranky.</span><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="color: blue;">Vietnamese 101</span></strong><br />
<span style="color: black;">Pho is pronounced "fuh." If you order a bowl of "foe" they'll know you don't know what you're talking about. Nguyen is the most common Vietnamese name. The simple pronunciation is "win." Don't mangle it. My friend Hai told me "just say win."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295439872088734978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5iZAhknIrIdYIYxd5a4Jmk5Wd4fx8Rtu8W20xK12Che1UPYytd5HPWpL6M7xi1QvgCCIzNbuNn4vSw_XtMUzGH62W7VNyj28caABRffD9R21LkwmSTNtrB9whVb0IY2faWH7pqQ6ca7Y/s320/NoodleHouse.JPG" style="display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" />This is the noodle house where I experienced my very first bowl of the wonderful Vietnamese street food, pho bo. It's located in Sunnyvale in a little strip mall at El Camino and Mary Avenue. If you're in the area, try it. Very nice people, excellent soups and spring rolls. <br /><br />Pho restaurants are everywhere in the south bay area (Silicon Valley, San Jose, lower Peninsula area). In some parts of San Jose, and in certain areas that have a high Vietnamese population, they're literally on every corner and in every little strip mall. Some are better than others, with small subtleties in the way the broth is made, the spices that are used, the way the garnishes are presented, and the quality of the meats that areused. But they're actually very similar, and it's tough to get a bad bowl of pho in the south bay.<br /><br />There are several "universals" at pho restaurants. First, they're always served in two sizes, regular and large. Pho is always served with a plate of garnishes; Fresh Thai basil, bean sprouts, sliced jalapeno peppers, and either a lemon or lime. The way you use these in your soup is up to you, but I was </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71UuW_xXGUdyuu1ZTl333lGo4vz528LzB2eCwPYYYE9U8FOZxI5tHL-ptLHq7-89JP_l1ue20dBL-Rpitj6xoxFnDcwpM0gu_T6cwDXt1HidMP2HeyzLexynlwzbPnXhA2bIlPswjHBU/s1600-h/PhoGarnish.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295355078535051282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71UuW_xXGUdyuu1ZTl333lGo4vz528LzB2eCwPYYYE9U8FOZxI5tHL-ptLHq7-89JP_l1ue20dBL-Rpitj6xoxFnDcwpM0gu_T6cwDXt1HidMP2HeyzLexynlwzbPnXhA2bIlPswjHBU/s320/PhoGarnish.jpg" style="float: left; height: 140px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 231px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">taught by my Vietnamese friend that you break off and add a few leaves of the basil, add a handful of bean sprouts, spice it up with jalapenos to your personal taste (I use ALL of them) squeeze the lime/lemon on top, and add a little Sriracha hot pepper sauce, which is always on the table at any Vietnamese restaurant. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">Use chopsticks and the Chinese soup spoon with your pho. Don't use a fork, it just ain't cricket. And "slurping" your noodles is perfectly acceptable. Some people pick the noodles up onto the spoon, most Vietnamese simply pick up a bunch of noodles with the chopsticks, and chew off what they want. This is perfectly legal with this food.<br /><br />When you're finished and ready to pay your bill, don't expect the server to bring you a check. Vietnamese restaurants almost always expect you to note your table number, and go up to the counter and tell them the number when it's time to pay. It's just the way it works. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">Prices for a bowl of pho are generally in the five-to-seven dollar range, meaning for a maximum of seven bucks, you get a huge bowl of healthy low cal flavor, that will totally fill you up (and I'm a big guy). Add a Vietnamese iced coffee for a special treat. This is a remnant of the French Indochina era, and a good one. Occasionally when dining with a friend I'll add an order of two spring rolls, which they'll serve Thai style with peanut dipping sauce, but I have to be <em>really</em> hungry to do this. The soup's usually plenty. Two bowls of soup, an order of spring rolls and two beverages will run you a whopping twenty bucks at the restaurant above. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">My recommendation for novices is to try the "pho tai," which is beef noodle soup with rare thin slices of beef eye of round. It's essentially the recipe that follows, below. Tai Chin is also good, with both thin slices of beef and thicker slices of brisket. I'd recommend you <em>don't</em> get into the exotic tendon, tripe, etc., until you know you're going to like it. I don't. <br /><br />We live in Bend; a beautiful and picturesque little town in the middle of Oregon. The Sisters Mountains, Mt. Bachelor, Mt. Jefferson, and Smith Rock are some of the most gorgeous sights in the state. The Deschutes River which flows south to north from the high Cascade Lakes to the Colubia Gorge, is literally across the street from our house. The surrounding trees and terrain provide some incredible sights, including great blue herons flying just above the water, osprey swooping down to pick up a snack for the youngins' that are waiting in the big nest high up in an abandoned tree, and salmon, steelhead, and several varieties of trout making their annual journeys. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">There are some wonderful restaurants in Bend. I'd put Zydeco and Tart up against any of my favorite Bay Area restaurants. Phenomenal food and beverages and world class service. Baltazar's Mexican Restaurant great, specializing in regional seafood-oriented creations. The Blacksmith, Greg's Grill, and my favorite, the Tumalo Feed Company, are all great steak houses. Tumalo's awesome; great food and sides, and any place that serves martinis in a Mason Jar can't miss in my humble opinion. Bronco Billy's in nearby Sisters is always a fun spot, and one that we take all of our visiting friends to. Soba noodles are a good lunch indulgence, but nothing close to a good bowl of pho. La Rosa's is the best Mexican food, and Longboard Louie's makes an amazing burrito. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">But true, <em>good</em> ethnic foods are somewhere between rare and non-existant here. Toomie's Thai restaurant is a notable exception. The single Indian restaurant ranges from ok, to not. There's absolutely zero good Chinese food. High style French food is impossible. Authentic Italian food is now gone completely, with the closing of Ernesto's, which had been a Bend mainstay for decades. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">And until recently, you couldn't get a bowl of pho in Bend. There was a half-way decent Vietnamese restaurant in Redmond up until a couple years ago, but like so many local businesses and restaurants, they were forced to close their doors. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Which brings me to the recipe below, which is essentially a combination of several authentic recipes I found over the years, lots of experimentation, and a major "corner-cutter" which is to use a much easier method of producing the beef broth than the traditional half-day boiling of 20 pounds of beef bones that usually goes into a traditional pho recipe. I've made this many times as have several of my friends. It's always good, it's a major crowd-pleaser, and your guests who haven't experienced pho will be instant converts to this wonderful Vietnamese soup. Plan the bulk of a day getting this together, even with the afore-mentioned broth shortcut. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">A couple notes on the ingredients:</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Some of these are hard to find, particularly if you live in a suburban or country area.<br />- Star anise in particular, presented quite a search. When I finally located some in the health foods section of a local market, I almost lost my breath when I saw that they were $35.00 a pound. But the half dozen that you'll need will likely run you about thirty-five cents. Mine did. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">- Learn to char the onions and ginger. Use a carving set fork and don't be afraid to cook it right over an open flame burner. Be careful, but that's how it's done. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">- Fish sauce is a Vietnamese staple and is readily available in most supermarkets' Oriental foods section. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">- <strong><em>Find</em></strong> real Thai basil. The stuff you use in your pasta sauce is not the same beast. Thai basil is the only thing to use in Vietnamese cooking and as a garnish for your treasured bowl of pho.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">- My go-to store in Bend for most of the above is Newport Market, but most or all are also usually available at Whole Foods. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: blue;"><strong><u><br />Pho Bo (Vietnamese noodle soup</u></strong></span><strong><span style="color: blue;"><br /><br />For the broth:</span><br /></strong>1 large can of Swanson's low fat and salt beef broth</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">6 cans of hot water</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Beef broth concentrate (Better Than Bouillon or the brand Costco sells are both great products)<br />2 medium yellow onions<br />3-4 inch piece of fresh ginger<br />5 pieces of star anise <br />6 whole cloves<br />3 inch cinnamon stick<br />1 ½ tablespoons of salt<br />4 tablespoons of fish sauce</span><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="color: blue;"><br /><br />For the bowls:<br /></span></strong>Package of banh pho noodles (rice sticks, pick the width you like, thinner is better)<br />½ lb of raw eye of round, sirloin, or London broil, sliced as thin as possible (partially freeze it, then cut it for best results)<br />1 medium white onion, sliced wafer thin, soaked in cold water 30 minutes before serving soup<br />3-4 scallions, green and white parts, cut into small rounds<br />½ a bunch of cilantro, chopped<br />Black pepper</span><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="color: blue;"><br /><br />Garnishes:<br /></span></strong>Thin sliced jalapenos (leave the seeds in)<br />Bean sprouts (produce section, usually near the ginger and mushrooms)<br />Lime wedges<br />Thai basil (remember, there's no substitute)<br />Sriracha red pepper sauce (Oriental food section - big red plastic bottle)</span><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="color: blue;"><br /><br />Prepare the broth:</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Cut the ends off the 2 yellow onions, char the onions and ginger over an open burner. I use a long carving fork, and rotate them around for about a minute each. Let these cool in a bowl.<br />In a stockpot, add the beef broth, 6 cans of hot water, 4 tablespoons of beef concentrate, the cinnamon stick, star anise, cloves, salt, fish sauce.<br />Peel the onions and ginger, rough cut them into chunks, add them to the broth.<br />Bring the broth to a full boil over high heat, lower to a simmer. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Simmer for 3 hours, uncovered, on low heat, stirring occasionally. This part can't be rushed. Three hours is the magic number!<br />After 3 hours of simmering, pour the broth through a strainer or colander into another pot, discard the non-broth ingredients.<br />Return the broth to the stove, continue to simmer while you prepare the bowls.</span><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="color: blue;"><br /><br />Prepare the noodles:</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Soak the noodles in warm water for 30 minutes<br />Bring a pot of water to a boil<br />Blanch the noodles for a couple minutes, drain</span><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="color: blue;"><br /><br />Serve:</span></strong><br />Broth should be at a rolling boil<br />Fill about 1/3 of the bowl with noodles<br />Arrange the beef, thinly sliced onions (that have been soaking), scallions, cilantro, and some black pepper<br />Ladle on enough broth to cover the other ingredients<br />Provide garnishes of Thai basil, sliced jalapenos, bean sprouts, lime wedges, and Sriacha (red pepper) sauce</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">The only less-than-authentic step you're omitting is to boil a huge amount of beef bones for half a day. There are so many wonderful spices and flavors in this soup, I'd argue that for most home cooks this will still make a great bowl of pho that you'll be happy to serve to appreciative guests. </span>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com17Bend, OR, USA44.0581728 -121.315309644.0125288 -121.3942736 44.103816800000004 -121.2363456tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-39570252738404283332011-11-06T18:05:00.000-08:002011-11-06T18:09:08.635-08:00Top of the Shelf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic830mehMXqd0_DbGLdhH3gakQGhGVvQbJiynahaOusmdJHj1faWX-W-D2drw_6Yi6uNm72-DwtW0D_ZfuAsosV71XGUnGbp-5tUCiBTbG7fGT8po4q2uwClGlPKizQKgU7Iu-wOkY_Pk/s1600/Tall-Cropped.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic830mehMXqd0_DbGLdhH3gakQGhGVvQbJiynahaOusmdJHj1faWX-W-D2drw_6Yi6uNm72-DwtW0D_ZfuAsosV71XGUnGbp-5tUCiBTbG7fGT8po4q2uwClGlPKizQKgU7Iu-wOkY_Pk/s320/Tall-Cropped.JPG" width="130" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My cookbooks currently number over 100, and these are just
the ones that I want close by, meaning they’re the ones that I refer to with
some sort of regularity and therefore need to be readily available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They range from specialty books on various types
of dishes, such as rice, salads, breakfast recipes, meat
preparations, vegetables galore, cookies, smoothies, and all things sweet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have representative books for many different types of
ethnic and regional foods, some of which I access a lot, some just live in the
bookcase and only get accessed a couple times a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the oversized “pretty ones” tend to
become part of a pile that sits next to the fireplace, since they generally
fall into the "too big to fit in the bookcase" category, and the recipes tend
to be fairly basic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus as you can see, the bookcase
is pretty much … full! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ones that
live in the bookcase, and particularly towards the <em>top</em> of the bookcase, get
lots of use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not overly particular about the way they’re arranged,
meaning I may have an Italian cookbook on the second shelf, and two more on the
third shelf, as opposed to having them all together in one “Italian”
section.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t alphabetize them like I
do my CD’s and DVD’s, although I seem to know where they’re living, at any given moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m the only one who uses
them, so I know what to look for, and where to look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chef Larry Chu’s masterful cookbook on Chinese cooking gets
vastly more use than Martin Yan’s “Yan Can Cook” book, so the former sits on
the second shelf, while Martin’s signed copy sits two rows down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso’s “The New
Basics,” which I consider to be among the true bibles of modern cooking, sits
on the top shelf, while their subsequent releases sit a row below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re all good, but New Basics has probably
gotten more use than any other single volume in my bookcase over the 21 years
I’ve owned it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s falling apart at the
seams, dog-eared, and liberally stained with food splatters.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The bookcase is an oak unit that I originally bought to hold
CD’s and DVD’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I outgrew the self
many years ago, and the digital media now lives in a totally separate case
that’s designed to hold many hundreds of them, upstairs in my office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cook book case measures thirty inches
wide, six feet tall, features several adjustable shelves, with a medium walnut,
lightly lacquered finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It provides
the perfect storage area for my cook books, and it lives in the corner of the dining room, just outside the entrance to
the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And while some books are referenced more than others,
they’re all important, or they get packed away or stashed in another bookcase
upstairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the best of the best, the
“top of the shop” if you will, live on top of the shelves, in a privileged
group that I prize above all the rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
are the bibles, the legends, the ones that have had a huge impact on the way I
(and others) approach the art of cooking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can tell you when and how I acquired each one of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxjLBpFiXoQdk3GUHksflpOtO2Pody9gMZRtKQ02Sbh9LIzswCKCQ-IGGwJaTA73PudPC561LPwcIk_8SaWZLvbf-AYmkCMLSRh8JSgEjWq_55jigmcyIeDcT-58Ajo6SUsctFMrwieOk/s1600/FLCkbk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxjLBpFiXoQdk3GUHksflpOtO2Pody9gMZRtKQ02Sbh9LIzswCKCQ-IGGwJaTA73PudPC561LPwcIk_8SaWZLvbf-AYmkCMLSRh8JSgEjWq_55jigmcyIeDcT-58Ajo6SUsctFMrwieOk/s200/FLCkbk.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I also have a number of oversized "coffee table" cookbooks which live in the living room next to the fireplace. These include Asia, the Beautiful Cookbook, Italy, the Beautiful Cookbook and one called Luscious Delicious Desserts. All of these are beautiful to behold, contain some gorgeous photography, and undoubtedly some interesting recipes ... which I never use. </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">And then there's a book that is an exception to everything else in this article ... Thomas Keller's French Laundry Cookbook. It lives in the living room, either in front of this group of "oversized" books, or actually <em>on </em>the coffee table. It's there for inspiration and quick reference, as opposed to a pretty conversation piece. I absolutely love this cookbook. And while there's no way that most of us will ever be able to approach Keller's mastery of the art of cooking (quite literally), it's both fun to experiment with a couple of the dishes occasionally, and gratifying when they actually turn out to look and taste like they're supposed to. I don't have a whole lot of places on my "bucket list," but spending an evening dining at the French Laundry is right up there at the top. </span></span></div>
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So then, t<span style="font-family: Calibri;">he top shelf, from left to right … </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">Ballymaloe Cooking School Cookbook - Darina Allen</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Ballymaloe Cooking School Cookbook was really a surprise. It was a gift from my late friend Trudy, who thought I should have it after one of her visits to Ireland. It's a very special gift from a special friend, but it's so much more; this is such an interesting and <em>complete </em>cookbook that ranks with the other "bests" in this group. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the
</i>cookbook for anyone who’s inspired to cook real Irish food, but it's also an extremely comprehensive book that covers a wide variety of classic international recipes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> You'll find recipes for roasted woodcock and broiled sole, but also dishes such as crab phyllos with Thai dipping sauce and Vietnamese spring rolls with peanut sauce. She covers all the master sauces and variations, every conceivable meat, fish, or poultry (many of which we don't even <em>have </em>in the U.S.), dozens of desserts, barbecue, appetizers, soups, vegetables, as well as table manners and kitchen safety and cleanliness. What <em>appears </em>to be an Irish cookbook, turns out to be so much more. This one ranks with the other "top shelf books" as being truly indispensible. </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This book will always be at the top of my cookbook shelf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">The New Making of a Cook – Madeliene Kamman</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">The word "comprehensive" keeps recurring in this article, but it totally fits Madeliene Kamman's 1228 page masterpiece that covers virtually everything considered classic cooking: Kitchen tools, picking the right ingredients, wine essentials, classic stocks, sauces, broths, soups, vegetables, grains and pastas, meats, fish, poultry, fruits, sweets and desserts. There's a 17 page Glossary and a 47 page Index at the back of the book, which should give you a rough idea of the contents. There's probably <em>nothing </em>you can't find here. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">On Food and Cooking – Harold McGee “The Science
and Lore of the Kitchen”</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;">This book was recommended to us by Kathleen Flinn during the "Hungry For Words" writing class in March of 2009 in Seattle. Amazingly I hadn't been aware of the book prior to the class, as it's certainly one of the many "musts" for any serious chef, and it lives atop my cookbook shelf. On Food and Cooking covers the nuts and bolts of what we cook; how things are grown or raised, what happens chemically when you cook or prepare them, how ingredients have evolved over the years, and all the related science and chemistry that is part of how we cook. What comprises a cheese? Why does the taste of milk vary? How does muscle become meat? What's the role of fish scales and skin and how do they affect the end product? What's the composition of plant and vegetable cells? What's the chemistry behind spices and herbs? What's the correct water to product ratio when boiling pasta? How will your food vary by using different types of metal pots and pans? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is a fascinating book, one that's become both a reference and something that's just plain fun to browse now and then, in an effort to understand what can make the practice of cooking more predictable. It's the first thing I reach for if something I cook yields unexpected results, or if a bread doesn't rise evenly, or a dessert flops, and I can usually ascertain the answer. Science and chemistry were never my strong suits, and this is the best companion to have in the kitchen if you're similarly challenged. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">The New Basics - Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins owned the Silver Palate, a gourmet food shop at
the corner of Columbus Avenue and 73<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>rd</sup> Street in New York City.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their first publication, titled the Silver
Palate Cookbook, sold 250,000 copies its first year, and ultimately went on to
sell 2.5 million copies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s the
second book by the team of Rosso and Lukins that I regard as a true cooking
bible … The New Basics Cookbook, which was released in 1989 and is approaching
2 million copies sold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I received my
copy as a wedding gift in August of 1990 from friends Candy and Michael, and it
quickly became indispensable to this struggling home chef.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />My copy of New Basics is literally falling apart at the seams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to be careful when I’m thumbing
through it, or the sections will drop out of the book, likely falling into a
whole new “order” on the kitchen floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The most-referenced menus have permanent stains from ingredients that
have splattered onto the pages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
pages with the chocolate mousse recipe have dark brown spots from chocolate
that flew out of my Kitchen Aid mixer, likely decades ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Manhattan Style Clam Chowder pages have
red spots from the tomato and chicken stock that probably boiled out of my
stockpot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve made both of these
recipes so many times that I can of course now do them without referencing the
book, but they’re representative of the “shape” that so many pages are in, in
this wonderful book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">The Pie and Pastry Bible - Rose Levy Beranbaum</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: blue;"><strong>The Cake Bible - Rose Levy Beranbaum</strong></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">I was introduced to The Cake Bible in an interesting way. I was working at a now-defunct company called Molecular Dynamics in the early 90's, and was an aspiring home chef with the misguided impression that <em>all </em>my food was <em>really </em>good. I could certainly turn out some decent meals for family and friends, but as they say ... "You've come a long way, baby." But one of the things I did fairly well even then was a pretty good copy of the chocolate mousse recipe from the New Basics cookbook. I've made this at least a hundred times over the years, and it's one that I can probably do in my sleep. I vary it a little every time I make it, adding more or less of this and that, serve it over a puff pastry shell, top with whipped cream or a raspberry sauce, spoon a ring of whipped orange sauce around the bottom ... you get the point. But it's usually pretty good. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One afternoon I brought a big batch into work at Molecular Dynamics, and served it to a long line of happy employees. One of my co-workers was a VP named Richard (and I've unfortunately forgotten his last name), who told me the story of his cousin Rose Levy Beranbaum. He told me of her background in chemistry and that her baking reflected this in both the weight and composition of the ingredients. While Rose gives the reader cup, teaspoon and tablespoon measurements, she favors weighing ingredients in grams, which she stresses is the only accurate way to approach baking. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Cake Bible and Pie and Pastry Bible are amazing. The content and variety of recipes are enough to keep any amateur or professional pastry chef busy for decades. The accompanying photography are at once inspiring, challenging, and boggling. The mere thought of the chocolate cake on the cover of The Cake Bible is enough to make you drool, while trying to figure out how she created the masterpiece. The Cake Bible is listed by the James Beard Foundation as one of the top 13 baking books on their essential book list. It doesn't get much better. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;"><strong>The Silver Spoon Cookbook </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The SIlver Spoon Cookbook arrived in the mail out of the blue a few years ago ... a "just because" gift from my friend Angela. It's one of the most influential cookbooks to come out of Italy. The initial publication was in 1950, and is considered a "special" wedding gift to young Italian newlyweds to this day. The recipes are a collection of classics that come from all over Italy, supposedly by some very famous Italian chefs who amazingly go unnamed in the book. But they're all superb, and a good many of them have appeared on my tables over the years. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Among the more compelling features of the Silver Spoon is the simplicity of many of the recipes. These are Italian regional classics passed down through the generations, likely with subtle changes from cook to cook. The dishes created at the French Laundry or the impressive Sierra Mar at the Post Ranch Inn (Big Sur) are certainly worthy of the "wow" factor in the extreme, but it's also quite gratifying to produce something simple and fulfilling. An example might be the Rigatoni with Cream, Pesto and Tomatoes, which I've made a dozen times and vary each time I make it. Very simple recipe, but it offers a world of possibilities ... play with the pesto ingredients, vary the type of tomatoes, swap the rigatoni for penne rigate, or add a half cup of vodka for an interesting twist. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Silver Spoon was an overnight success in this house, just as it was in Italy in 1950, and worldwide via many translations since. Again, indispensible. Thank you Ang ... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /><strong>The Way To Cook - Julia Child</strong><br />
</span><span style="color: black;">My sister Colleen gave me this book for Christmas in 1990. I'd lived with her for about a year prior to getting married, and shared kitchen duties. I also had taken over all the cooking in the house after getting married, and had gotten quite interested in getting it right, vs. throwing just anything on the table. Colleen's inscription inside the front jacket reads "Page 418 please!" The reference is to a decadent dessert that Julia calls a "Mocha Rum Quick Fix." Colleen and I share an affinity for rum, and this cake is indeed phenomenal, and just one example of the thousands that reflect Julia Child's well-deserved legend status as a chef and writer. </span><br />
<br />
Julia's book is always the place I look to for elegant ideas. Along with the Balleymaloe cookbook (and if I <em>really </em>want to get fancy, the French Laundry) it's the go-to place for classicly prepared, French-inspired food. If I want the "real" way to do a French Onion Soup, or the best technique for a Beef Bourgignon or her recommendations for a leg of lamb, this is where I'll find it. If I'm at a loss for the perfect side dish for a fancy dinner, one that my guests may not have every day, I'll borrow her recipe for something like Polenta Galettes instead of potatoes or rice. Or maybe a Gratin of Grated Zucchini, vs. steamed broccoli. There's no end to the creative dishes and accompanying techniques in The Way To Cook. <br />
<br />
Like several of the books on the top shelf, this one has gotten a tremdous amount of use in the 20+ years I've owned it. While I try to avoid splattering anything that's going to cause pages to stick together, there's no denying that there's a significant amount of foods garnishing several dozen pages in the book. It's a beautiful, fairly large, well-bound volume, so I don't have the problem I have with New Basics where the pages are actually <em>falling out, </em>but it does show some wear, and this should only be considered a compliment to Julia. This one belongs in every chef's library. <br /><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;"><strong>The Sharper Your Knife, The Less You Cry - Kathleen Flinn</strong></span>
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I received Kathleen Flinn’s wonderful first book as a gift from my longtime
friend Wes, who sent it to me as a thank you for sending him a copy of Neil
Peart’s “Roadshow … Landscape With Drums.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wes and I share a love of cooking, motorcycles, and traveling, and
Neil’s latest effort seemed like a good choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><br />
<br />
After completing Kathleen's book, I emailed her regarding the circumstances that led to me reading it, citing the "Wes" connection, the "Neil Peart" connection, and so on. She replied that she and her husband Mike had just been discussing Neil Peart, and that he was an afficionado. My "pay it forward" move was to send Kathleen and Mike a copy of Neil's book, which was well-received. We've kept in email contact, and I was lucky enough to spend a couple days in Seattle in 2009 attending her "Hungry For Words" writing seminar. <br />
<br />
Kathleen’s book was nothing short of inspirational, and it really motivated me
to write more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d started the LSCooks
blog early in 2008, but the 16 entries that year managed to blossom to 45 the
following year, after reading “Sharper” and attending Kathleen’s food writing class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was also at this class where I met Nancy Brook, another inspiration
whose book “Cycling, Wine, and Men” resides two books down from Kathleen’s. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">The Kitchen Counter Cookbook - Kathleen Flinn</span></strong>
<br />Kathleen’s second book is the recently released "The Kitchen Counter Cookbook," and I’m currently
savoring it, taking my sweet time enjoying it at a leisurely pace. Kathleen mentioned during the previously mentioned writing class she was sort of a "grocery cart voyeur," and sometimes couldn't help wondering what people were thinking with the types of "food" that they bought. I told her that after working ten years in grocery stores through college and a few years after, that I had the same affliction, which was only more evident and revealing when you were the one checking their order out at the checkstand. I've never been thin, and definitely envy people who can eat what they want and not gain any weight. But it's so abundantly clear that a good number of people are in the condition (and lack of) they're in, due to what they put on the table. It's so common to see people who are way WAY overweight with a basket full of packaged foods that are artificially conceived and processed every step of the way. It's tempting sometimes to stop and "coach" them into picking healthier items. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And this is exactly what Kathleen does in The Kitchen Counter Cookbook. She selects a group of women and teaches them about cooking healthier, while still staying within their budgets, both time and money wise. Whether you live alone, with one other person, or in a family environment, she demonstrates that it's just as easy to cook a meal consisting of fresh ingredients as it is to add water and ground beef to a box of something, and calling it dinner. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is an important book, and just as Fast Food Nation was such an eye-opener for people who lived on junk food, this one needs to be read, particularly by anyone who has a lack of confidence in their cooking capabilities, or belives that Hamburger Helper is actually food. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><strong> Cycling, Wine, and Men … A Midlife Tour de France - Nancy Brook</strong></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">I met Nancy at Kathleen's writing class in Seattle and we became fast friends. Nancy lives in Montana, and at the time I met her was an aspiring writer, as was I (still am!). Nancy wrote an exceptionally entertaining book, which followed a sort of personal impasse and subsequent epiphany, that led her to train for a daunting and challenging bicycle ride through France. This is one of my favorite books, as it hits all the right buttons in its execution; fun, funny, interesting, dramatic, challenging, encouraging, and very entertaining. After reading it (in much the same way I felt after completing Kathleen's first book), I can't wait for her next book. Highly recommended, and a permanent member of my top shelf. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;"><strong>The Three Binders (far right)</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">My collection of recipes</span></strong> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nothing more than a loose-leaf binder where I keep the recipes I've developed or borrowed (usually from the Internet ... and yes, chef's look up recipes on the Internet too!). </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The binder is broken down into Mains, Sides, Appetizers, Soups, Desserts, and Misc. Most are obviously self-explanatory, and "Misc" contains things like how to make a Mojito, which doesn't fit into any other category. I, like most cooks, tend to use recipes as a guideline, utilizing the basic concepts and steps, and most or all of the ingredients, and then adding or subtracting accordingly based on what I know I want the final product to taste like. If I'm making Emeril's Cream Biscuits, I'll omit his recommended sprinkling of sugar on top if I plan to serve it as an accompaniment to a beef stew on a cold winter night. And the stew recipe I used may or may not call for the red wine or string beans I knew I wanted in it. Fine Cooking Magazine's recipe for beef tenderloin calls for a variation on a classic duxelle filling, which I prefer, and that's the way I make it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But these are my favorites, I guess. My go-to group of tried, successful "keepers." This binder, just like the one to the right of it, both say "CCA" on the spine. This was originally my California Culinary Academy binder, which I outgrew via my own recipes, and had to move the CCA papers to their own binder. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">Class notes and recipes from my California Culinary Academy classes</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was fortunate enough to attend a couple classes at the California Culinary Academy in downtown San Francisco. It has subsequently been taken over by Le Cordon Bleu, but it was very good in its own right, when I attended. My culinary training is limited, and includes these classes, a four hour session with Chef Larry Chu (his restaurant is Chef Chu's, in Los Altos, CA), and a non-hands-on soup class at Sur Le Table in Los Gatos. That's it. Other than that, it's cookbooks, and just <em>doing it </em>every night. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first was a three-Saturday class on Butchery. Our instructor was a butcher in Bay Area supermarkets for more than 20 years, prior to taking up teaching at the Academy. Unlike the chefs in subsequent classes I'd take, he did not want to be called "Chef," but rather "Butcher Bob." His logic was that he was <em>not </em>a chef, but was a butcher, and his name was Bob. So be it ... Butcher Bob it was! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In addition to learn how to butcher a variety of beef, lamb, pork, poultry and fish from "big pieces" to more manageable cuts, we were charged with preparing the proteins for whatever main course they were featuring that night for the CCA diners. The first week, it was chicken. We each cut up no less than 20 chickens into every conceivable cut (including a concoction called a turducken, which for <em>this </em>meal, consisted of a game hen, a chicken, a duck, a capon, and a turkey, stuffed inside one another. No comment ...). I recall feeling so empowered after spending half of that first Saturday dismembering, de-boning, and de-skinning a couple dozen chickens. My friend Dave and I decided we'd get a couple whole chickens from Safeway on the way home, and demonstrate our butchery prowess for our wives. It was then that we discovered the difference in "good" chickens, meaning organically raised and free-range, like we'd spent the day working on ... and the common variety you find at Safeway for two bucks a pound. Greasy, fatty, unappealing, and the last time I bought one of these. The same proved to be true in our subsequent weekends, with regard to meat and fish. Buy good meat and poultry, even if it means eating less of it. Says I. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After three weeks of Butchery, we began a six weekend Professional Cooking series. Our head instructor was Chef Mullen, and he was incredibly inspiring. He was also the last guy that the fulltime students had to impress (meaning pass your finals) before graduating from the Academy. And as such, he had total control over the big downstairs kitchen area which was affectionately called the "fishbowl" because of a huge wall of glass that provided entertainment for the evening's dining guests, as the prix fixe meal was presented to them. Chef Mullen also had the keys to a couple of very private walk-in's, where they kept the "good stuff." I apparently impressed him with my enthusiasm, because very early in our training he began giving me and my partner the keys with instructions to bring back "a couple bottles of good red wine," or some truffles or foix gras, or maybe a whole salmon or prime rib to cook that day. We must have been his "chosen ones," because in addition to all the required sauces, soups, sides, entrees and desserts that the whole class was required to prepare, he'd sneak in a few extras each week for us to tackle. "Why don't you try a Beef Wellington and a poached salmon today, in addition to your other dishes?" Or, "see if you can do a tarte tatin to share with the class in addition to the souflee's that everyone's making." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I loved this class, and while it was only six weekends, it provided an excellent foundation to build on. There's no substitute for professional training for the basic techniques that ultimately lead to advanced preparations. But although these two classes added immeasurably to my culinary knowledge, it's been the twenty year since of preparing every meal in the house, that's really made the difference. You gain confidence and new techniques, you experiment with new foods and prep methods, you score some home runs, and you have a few strike-outs along the way. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">Class notes from Kathleen Flinn's writing class</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">These are my notes from Kat's class along with a wealth of recommendations for books, magazines, training, websites etc., for an aspiring writer. Such an amazing class, <em>so much information </em>in a mere two days, and a recurring reference that of course has to live where it lives, at the top of my shelf. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So at least for this home chef, I have to say that my Top Shelf has been nothing short of inspirational over the years, and continues to deliver on a daily basis. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><o:p></o:p>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-83007303857063472192011-09-05T12:15:00.000-07:002011-09-05T12:16:19.324-07:00The Only Cat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG46bBxn_89q41WH8s-1gPz0gvj1B75E0INoWCRkxxrtrD47HQ-0dV6sW7RTgMuGa_Ye237M6c3MiZVc8cGzvCG1zdWLriTA1cNi0FNZEe32kceQ0_thhCWowGa69_pvvr_mU9Qq6u9a8/s1600/IMG_0102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG46bBxn_89q41WH8s-1gPz0gvj1B75E0INoWCRkxxrtrD47HQ-0dV6sW7RTgMuGa_Ye237M6c3MiZVc8cGzvCG1zdWLriTA1cNi0FNZEe32kceQ0_thhCWowGa69_pvvr_mU9Qq6u9a8/s320/IMG_0102.JPG" width="320" /></a>This piece was originally published on March 22nd, 2010, and unfortunately, now requires an update. </div>
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I now have to say that for the first time in eighteen months, and only the second time in 26 1/2 years, I'm down to an only cat, and a different one than I wrote about last March. The newest member, and current "Only Cat," is Emily. <br />
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Emily was acquired after our return to Bend, as a result of my somewhat questionable theory that cats should have roomies. I'd been watching the ads for available kitties at our local Humane Society here in Bend, and one kitty's looks and description seemed like a perfect match for what I was looking for. She was staying at the PetSmart store at the north part of town, so we decided to take a little ride up there and check her out. As luck (and fate) would have it, the kitty I wanted to meet was in quarantine, having "freaked" a little after the floor cleaners made an unpleasant amount of noise that morning. <br />
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But in one of the other cages was the cutest little gray and white girl, who they'd dubbed "Dana" for her stay at the pound, and subsequently her visit to PetSmart. We asked if we could have a visit with Dana, and they were totally accomodating, letting us come into the meet and greet area and spend a few minutes with her. We both fell in love with this little girl, but my lovely wife wasn't sold on the idea of yet another cat in the house. The last four (see below) had all had their ups and downs, and the biggest "down" was when you lost one of them. And the count was three losses in less than three years, at that point. </div>
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The "Only Cat" at the time that this was originally published was our Penny, who I always used to refer to as my "Special Cat," because she was. Penny was unique in so many ways, and was the only cat I've had over the years who truly got along with all the other cats that have come and gone during her stay with us. She wasn't necessarily <em>passive </em>with her room mates, and actually took the lead in chasing both Annabelle and Abigail around the various places we've lived, but the claws never came out with any of her house buddies. She even got along with the two "problem children," my giant 28 pound Maine Coon, Cody, and little Annabelle, who we affectionately dubbed the "bitch kitty from hell" for her sometimes snotty behavior towards the others. <br />
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Over the 15 1/2 years we had her, Penny endured some nasty illnesses and somehow managed to bounce back. Before our two year return to the Bay Area in 2008, she'd lost a ton of weight, stopped eating, and consequently had to endure force feeding through a tube in her neck for a couple of months. Not pleasant for her, or us. But we made the decision not to do an expensive no-guarantee surgery, and simply pull the tube out and see if she started eating. Amazingly, she did, and initially put all her weight back on (and then some). </div>
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But over the last six months, which haven't been the best of times for her, she was once again on a fairly obvious decline. In addition to the ongoing digestion problems, I think there was some senility creeping in, and she may not have even realized that she wasn't using her sandbox like she was supposed to. And for way too much of the last 5 years she had the recurring issue of not being able to keep food down. Not a good quality of life for her, and definitely not for us or our house. </div>
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So the decision was made to bring her into the Humane Society, and allow her to move on to greener pastures, much to our displeasure. It's never easy losing a pet. They become members of your family. I've used this phrase way too many times over the years, but it's true ... unfortunately, most of us will outlive our parents and our pets. </div>
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So if there's a kitty heaven (and I can only hope there is), she's probably engaging in one of her favorite activities, which included finding an elusive ray of sunlight to lay in, or a warm lap, or her favorite dining chair. She's undoubtedly talking a blue streak, and begging for her next meal, which she always looked forward to. Hopefully someone managed to sneak a laser light into kitty heaven, and is moving it across a big area of floor, providing hours of endless fun for her. And of course there has to be catnip filled socks ... this is after all Kitty Heaven. Rest in peace, little girl. <br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">The Original "Only Cat", below ...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIN3Han0zlNYt1VHNxKuGtzZ9XdFRN3Hpgy7OIbGZY6YPJ76pLPGEcloDH2-ORQOP8Ut3ouB9w4awCElCrYYRiKawvofeMLqCxsPmh3mStvp4UdSMf3wwSywZGQfNDBv4hyphenhyphenQJn8fK_amI/s1600/IMG_1580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIN3Han0zlNYt1VHNxKuGtzZ9XdFRN3Hpgy7OIbGZY6YPJ76pLPGEcloDH2-ORQOP8Ut3ouB9w4awCElCrYYRiKawvofeMLqCxsPmh3mStvp4UdSMf3wwSywZGQfNDBv4hyphenhyphenQJn8fK_amI/s320/IMG_1580.jpg" width="320" /></a>For the first time in about 25 years, I find myself with just one cat in the household. For the bulk of this afore-mentioned period, I've had anywhere from two to four. Two's fine, four's ridiculous, in my opinion. Although the four of them were as different as night and day from each other, and each had their own distinctly unique personalities and moods ... they are after all, cats. </div>
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I've had several dogs over the years, and it's an ongoing thought to get another one, but as wonderful as they are as companions, and obviously polar opposites of felines, they're also a lot of work. Cats use a sandbox, eat and drink from large containers that only require occasional refilling, use their scratching post religiously, sleep twenty hours a day, and basically go about their business with very little fuss. They don't require walks, you don't have to follow them with plastic bags, they give themselves their own baths, and if you keep them inside, they usually live relatively long trouble-free lives. </div>
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But of course nature being what it is, things do come along that cut short the lives of the healthiest of cats <em>and </em>dogs, and when they leave your household, it's a sad event. They become members of your family. You talk to them, listen when they talk back and pretend to understand, try to diagnose their occasional woes and mood swings, and generally integrate them into your family situation. You're protective of them, just as you would be of a child or spouse. You're allowed to yell at them or throw some verbal barbs their way on occasion, but nobody else better do it, or there's likely to be trouble. </div>
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My life of cats began with a little orange creature named George. I believe I was about eight years old when he joined our household on Grandview Avenue in Daly City. George was <em>my cat, </em>as opposed to a family pet. There seemed to be a special bond with us, quite likely because of the overwhelming number of females in the house. I had four younger sisters at this point, and that would soon become five. My dad worked two jobs, so it was usually me and George vs. all of <em>them! </em>George would of course sleep at the foot of my little twin bed, like all my subsequent cats would do over the years. We got George as a tiny kitten, and I believe he was about three or four when an unfortunate event cut his young life short. It was Christmas morning, and my newly-converted Catholic parents demanded that we all go to church. Pulling away from the curb in my dad's baby blue Ford Falcon, we heard an unmistakable thump. George had been sleeping in a rear wheel well, on top of the tire. In retrospect, I'm sure it was a quick and painless way to go, but for an eight year old, to lose my beloved buddy on Christmas day, it was a minor disaster. But it was also a good leaning experience, as most of my cats that followed over the years have been relegated to indoors. Outdoor cats average two-to-three years, indoors are up around fourteen. If you intend to keep your pets safe and alive, statistics favor letting them live in the house. </div>
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During my junior high and high school years, we had a very different variety of pet in the house, which precluded us from having cats or dogs. My mother decided she liked monkeys, so we had a string of them. The first was a skinny little spider monkey, which was given away fairly quickly. Then a squirrel monkey which lasted a little longer, but ultimately met the same fate. Then we got Shoo-Shoo the owl monkey, and she would prove to be a member of the house for about ten years. Owl monkeys have sort of a lemur-look about them and they're very nocturnal. Translation = she ran the treadmill in her cage all night <em>every</em> night, much to my dad's dismay. Shoo-Shoo got out of her cage and ran away at one point, and after about a week of searching the neighborhood, my heartbroken mother went out and bought another owl monkey, which she named after her father (a sort of backhanded thank you for them naming their Boston Terrier after my father, I believe). We then found the wandering Shoo-Shoo a couple blocks away, so for a few years we had two owl monkeys. The younger one died fairly young, and we were all hopeful that Shoo-Shoo would be the only monkey in the house. But no ... my mom wanted something closer to a chimp, so she bought a capuchin. This one was a pain to have around, as I recall, and didn't last long. The last in the line of monkeys was a wooly monkey, which was kind of like having a two year old. This one was very tame, fun to show off to friends, but unfortunately the source of a major allergic reaction with my mom. So this guy once again was given to someone who could tolerate his fur, and shortly thereafter, Shoo-Shoo went to monkey heaven. We were finally free of monkeys. This was a happy day. </div>
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I had several cats during my high school and early college years. Most were a combination indoor-outdoor variety, likely strays or "pound cats" that we took in, sometimes a couple at a time, but occasionally, "only cats." The only one I remember as being particularly special was a solid white cat named "Cat," who was an absolute lover, and we had her for several years. Nice kitty. </div>
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Around 1974 I was living in a house in Pacifica with a group of friends, when my buddy Bob and I decided we should get a couple cats for the house. Apparently, it wasn't "cat season," as there were almost no cats to choose from at either the humane society or through the newspaper. We did lots of looking, saw some "ok" cats, but it was several weeks into the search when we paid a fateful visit to a house in the Sunset District in San Francisco. The people advertised that they had a whole bunch of kittens to choose from, which had come from a couple different parent pairs, which they also had in the house. Golden opportunity to both meet the parents and see what their demeanor was like, as well as have the pick of two big healthy litters. </div>
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Walking into this house, you couldn't help but think that these were "cat people." The center of their living room was dominated by a huge cat tree, where no less than 15 kittens were climbing, jumping, sleeping, and generally having a wonderful time. Bob spied a little solid black kitty, which immediately took to him. One down. I was looking around the room and scouring the cat tree when I spotted a little tabby furball at the very top of the tree, curled up and hanging by herself. A loner, possibly, but something about her was appealing enough to get her down. She curled up in my arms and started purring immediately. Sold. We had our cats. </div>
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Bob came up with the name Tinkle Butt immediately (no idea what correlation this had to the cat), but it was a couple days 'til I came up with a name for my little girl. As fate would have it, I went to a movie in the City called "The Effect Of Gamma Rays On Man In The Moon Marigolds." It was a relatively small artsy film which was directed by Paul Newman and starred Joanne Woodward and their real-life daughter Nell. Nell played Tillie, whose full name was Mathilda. The movie left an impression, the daughter's character was uniquely interesting, and I had found a name for my new kitty ... Tillie. </div>
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Tillie was my buddy for close to fifteen years, moving way too many times to various locales around the state. We had ups and downs, but she ate well, twice a day. If I was down to my last couple bucks for dinner, I'd have a can of chili so Tillie could have her daily dose of Purina Tuna. She'd greet me when I came home each night, and follow me from room to room, shadowing my movement around the house or apartment. I'd commonly wake up in the mornng with her standing on my chest, looking down with her sweet eyes, waiting for her morning meal. Tillie had four litters, producing two, five, five, and five kittens. The only ones that hung around were the two from the first litter. She had a beautiful Siamese looking kitty which we gave to the family of Leo Ryan (the Congressman who was slain at the Jonestown massacre). The other was a huge solid black cat named Pamplemousse (or Moose, for short). It means "grapefruit" in French, and for some reason I liked the word. Big, nasty cat that nobody but my sister Colleen could even approach. Lived a few years and succumbed to feline leukemia (and this was an indoor cat). But Tillie was a great cat in every respect, and I miss her to this day. Geez, we went through a lot together! </div>
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At several points over Tillie's tenure, I lived with people with cats, so she was rarely an "only cat," unless I happened to be living alone. But she was totally friendly and got along with any of the other kitties that happened to be around for varying periods of time. In retrospect, this was probably the beginning of the multi-cat trend I've had ever since. </div>
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After Tillie, I briefly had a little Himalayan named Elizabeth (which was also Tillie's middle name, but more on middle kitty names later). Beautiful cat, but she had a tendency to pee when and where she wanted, which quite commonly was in a closet or on a piece of wall to wall carpeting. This would not do, and she was given away to a friend of my mother's who had another Himalayan. From what I heard, she was fine in her new house, and lived a long life. </div>
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Another fateful moment came while I was working at Sequence Systems, and was invited to a BBQ at a co-workers. Their cats had just had a litter of kitties, and they were all just the nicest cats and kittens I could imagine. Totally socialized at a very young age, obviously destined to be great family pets for some lucky people. My friends said this would probably be the last litter, but if they had one more, I could have my pick of the group. Well there was another litter, and on a warm spring day we were invited over to take our pick of six beautiful little kitties. And although any of them would have been great pets due to the wonderful lineage of the parents, one stood out to us, and Annabelle came home with us that day. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHHsC8IGp1xTa2d4th4WnLMrnamwIn3F0bFO_76ST5DC8YQHogZcbVVJiv2iUknqoctsHf0akK7pSaronai_voYrIcubQgdBcUaM6j0n7KQkofVo1VUCbifAqQqJroiVGDkExGSwzr50s/s1600-h/Annabelle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHHsC8IGp1xTa2d4th4WnLMrnamwIn3F0bFO_76ST5DC8YQHogZcbVVJiv2iUknqoctsHf0akK7pSaronai_voYrIcubQgdBcUaM6j0n7KQkofVo1VUCbifAqQqJroiVGDkExGSwzr50s/s200/Annabelle.JPG" vt="true" width="200" /></a>Annabelle (Annie) was a small cat, who probably never went over ten pounds. And she was both a lover and a complete terror. One of her favorite kitty tricks was to run from one end of the house to the other, scurry to the top of the curtains, and hang there by her claws. Not the best thing, considering this was a rental house and the landlord was very picky about this kind of mayhem. Annie wouldn't be an only kitty for long, as she was soon joined by another little tabby we found in a local pet store. Beautiful kitten, loving, cuddly, but unfortunately she had Elizabeth's bad habit of peeing here and there, and pretty much everywhere. Gone, quickly. </div>
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I'd always wanted a Maine Coon Cat, and the search for my dream pet was about to begin. These are the largest domestic breed, and males commonly range from 16-18 pounds. We began going to all the cat shows, traveling a hundred mile radius in search of the perfect cat. We settled on a couple who ran a cattery in Davis (near Sacramento), who we met at a cat show and we really liked both them and the cats they were showing. Our order was placed, and a couple months later we drove to Davis and picked up Ben. Ben was a gorgeous Maine Coon, and just the nicest cat in the world. Friendly, smart, not overly-talkative (this can be a challenging trait with Maine Coons), and a joy to have in the house. But Ben wouldn't be around for long, as he developed a fairly severe case of diabetes at a little over a year old, and we took the vet's recommendation to end his young life, vs. deal with inevitable complications for the next 15 years. I was so bummed. </div>
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Right after losing Ben we moved to our first big new house, in Gilroy. It was the middle of August, 1997, and typical of Gilroy summers, it was about 150 degrees out and the air was filled with the pungent odor of garlic. Gilroy prides itself in being the "Garlic Capital of the World" and it's obvious why, during the hot summer months. Within the first week, we started visiting the local humane society in search of a companion for Annie. Once again, it was apparent that this was not the best season for kittens, as the humane society and newspaper didn't have much to offer. But on one warm early September morning we wandered into the local pound and right in the entry way in a big cage, like it was their "featured kitten" for the day, we spotted a beautiful little tabby. I sought permission to take her out of the cage, and reached in and picked her up. She crawled up on my shoulder and started rubbing and purring. Jackpot, was my immediate thought. We looked over the other kittens, but it was pretty clear that this one was going to come home with us. We did the required paperwork, agreed to bring her back in a week to be spayed and microchipped, and Penny became the newest addition to the house. She was probably about 8 weeks old, already sandbox trained, and an absolute gem of a kitten. Her quiet early demeanor would eventually disappear as she's gotten quite verbal over the years, but at least as a kitten, she was very passive, vocally. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFIvKEcA0BLrqHd0GlnI2uZE3mKnVtXqEBm-63J9NO40ZpjW_NQe_eptTadvyuxeRf6qN_ydBT7ULKCvCFkLBwxFqNg5lWUArQfzPb4xb08LuPNPXdtXAZ4A8KNcQnPI9L1PR_5ovVYk/s1600-h/Abigail1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFIvKEcA0BLrqHd0GlnI2uZE3mKnVtXqEBm-63J9NO40ZpjW_NQe_eptTadvyuxeRf6qN_ydBT7ULKCvCFkLBwxFqNg5lWUArQfzPb4xb08LuPNPXdtXAZ4A8KNcQnPI9L1PR_5ovVYk/s200/Abigail1.jpg" vt="true" width="200" /></a>So Penny settled in nicely, and Annabelle, who we called the bitch kitty from hell because she almost NEVER gets along with other feline roommates, actually tolerated the new kitten. We took Penny back to the humane society the following week, to get her work done, and made the mistake of walking into the kitten room while we were waiting. My wife spotted a cute little black and white fluff ball that seemed to be beckoning us. She was much smaller than Penny, and literally fit in the palm of my hand. We figured she was closer to six weeks old, but she and Penny were close enough to almost be sisters, and eventually we'd refer to them as just that. The black and white kitty came home with us, as with Penny, she had to go back for her spay and microchipping session. She'd become Abigail, or Abbie, and she'd spend the next 13 years with us. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8AAUmltnbs5LZVRNufdjlvbqvkRKJo71kmzfo68RfTnHb6GpHvj1WDecErympawpHn0X2I0EfGZFl1X0JrHCK6ke5w4jwoPmiCG7uKvTWiRDPTQ7DC3OheBSabxizbVAthjijrmE0XMI/s1600-h/Cody-Fixed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8AAUmltnbs5LZVRNufdjlvbqvkRKJo71kmzfo68RfTnHb6GpHvj1WDecErympawpHn0X2I0EfGZFl1X0JrHCK6ke5w4jwoPmiCG7uKvTWiRDPTQ7DC3OheBSabxizbVAthjijrmE0XMI/s200/Cody-Fixed.jpg" vt="true" width="186" /></a>But I still wanted a Maine Coon, and once again we began the long search, via cat shows and websites. We settled on a little cattery up in Burney Falls, near Mount Lassen. The "parents" were both show cats, with his dad being a Supreme Grand Champion and mom being a Grand Champion. Good lineage and VERY big cats. We placed our order and waited for his arrival. It was about eight AM on Father's Day in 1998 when I received a phone call that began with ... "Larry, you're a father." Hmmm ... let's see here ... OH, my kitty's been born! Six weeks later we took the two hundred mile trek north, and brough our little furball of a Maine Coon home. Little did we know that he'd grow to 26 pounds in a little over a year. But Cody was a strikingly beautiful cat and people totally loved visiting him. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnYZG7CbEULB0Flfs6G3ss2vY8M-zGdhHymW2TkLjlZo6dBtpmf0t3S6XkVNtlr6pLV3AAKou6816PumWKSXSstn4NARK3ZUM4GugxGNYKlG861ALnIABdKTIT-ikY8hVFOM6cxLDh44/s1600-h/AllFour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnYZG7CbEULB0Flfs6G3ss2vY8M-zGdhHymW2TkLjlZo6dBtpmf0t3S6XkVNtlr6pLV3AAKou6816PumWKSXSstn4NARK3ZUM4GugxGNYKlG861ALnIABdKTIT-ikY8hVFOM6cxLDh44/s200/AllFour.jpg" vt="true" width="200" /></a>The four of them were all very different, and didn't necessarily always get along. Cody quickly grew into a monster sized cat, and I think his size alone was intimidating to the other three. Penny in particular, was petrified of him. Annabelle was the tiniest of the group, never getting much over ten pounds, and amazingly she got along fine with him, sometimes sleeping like bookends in front of the fireplace. And Penny got along with all of them. </div>
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After moving to San Jose, and subsequently to Oregon, Cody developed diabetes. I was now two for two with this disease, with my Maine Coon Cats. As much as I love them, it's unlikely that I'd get another one. The heartbreak of losing such a magnificent animal is just not worth it. Cody required testing and two shots a day, and lasted about eighteen months with his disease before developing some major complications. He faded fairly quickly, and we lost him in January of 2007. </div>
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A move back to the Bay Area proved to be the last one for Annabelle, who lived a long and healthy life. But at eighteen, she clearly was on a downward spiral, and we had to do what was best for her. <br />
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Still in the Bay Area, but now on the Peninsula, Penny and Abigail were the remaining two. The two little pound kitties had the run of the house, and were of course the best of friends. But the eighteen months we spent in the house was not the best of times for Abbie, as she lost a good half of her weight. The last month of her life, she had almost completely stopped eating or drinking any water, and it was painful to watch the little girl morph into nothing more than black and white fur over skin and bones. We tried feeding her everything from the best cat food to pure tuna, made sure she alway had water close by, but nothing was going to turn her around. We'd been planning our move back to Oregon, and it became clear that little Abigail would not be up for the trip. So last week, I made the painful decision to take her to the local humane society, and once again put an end to a cat's downward spiral. You know in your heart that it's the best thing to do, that she lived a long and relatively nice life, always had food and a clean litterbox, etc., but it doesn't make it any easier. They're members of your family, and when they're gone, they're gone. All you can do is live with it. </div>
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Which leaves us with Penny ... Penny was "Penny Ann" for years, but lately has been dubbed "Penny Portly," since she obviously hasn't missed many meals. Oh ... I mentioned they all had middle names ... Tillie was Mathilda Elizabeth, Annie was Annabelle Lee, Cody was a purebread and was technically "Wild Bill Cody of Burney Falls," and little Abbie was Abigail Lee O'Day. Same middle name as Annie, and had a last name too, for some reason. </div>
Penny was sick a couple years ago and couldn't eat or keep anything down, and consequently had to be fed through a tube for a month. She'd gotten down to about half her normal weight (always a big girl) when we made the decision to remove the tube and hope for the best. It's almost as though a little light went off in her head and she decided she'd better start eating again. She did, she bounced back, and now seems to be on a mission to keep a little extra weight on ... just in case. <br />
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Penny's my buddy, and I've always called her my "special cat." Noisy as all get out, doesn't like to be picked up, but she's a total lover and will sit on your lap and purr for hours. She's always been the friendliest of the four, and will make friends with whoever comes to visit ... particularly people who don't like cats (seems to be the case with many cats, actually). But she's now an only child. I'm not sure when or if I'll get another kitten, but I'm sure there will come a time when I break down and once again add to the brood. I've always had cats, and undoubtedly always will. But for now, Penny is The Only Cat, and will soon have the huge house in Oregon all to herself. Hopefully, climbing the stairs to get to her food and sandbox will help with some of her portliness ... I'd like her to be around for a good many more years. </div>
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Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-21667998048739166952011-06-01T17:42:00.000-07:002011-06-01T17:42:12.100-07:00Sixteen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHD39mG5sQO6UAy3bVFdLH7-oE1nZQHSR6tnIAi2kvbOnCzlGHhRSWbeKDEVvE6BJQ-sAG1J2lQy6oSY3HRrKHks9EQmwOGpmEpjM0YqJycSUHE3Tx6cR-QRM64-3C8r2S696rDJJfjao/s1600/16.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHD39mG5sQO6UAy3bVFdLH7-oE1nZQHSR6tnIAi2kvbOnCzlGHhRSWbeKDEVvE6BJQ-sAG1J2lQy6oSY3HRrKHks9EQmwOGpmEpjM0YqJycSUHE3Tx6cR-QRM64-3C8r2S696rDJJfjao/s200/16.png" width="200" /></a>I have a young friend who's turning sixteen, and it sort of dawned on me last night as I was trying to fall asleep, what a significant date this can be when you're living the experience yourself. My friend Daina's wonderful daughter is turning sweet sixteen on June 2nd, and the thought of this lofty experience brought back some memories from my youth. </div><br />
For me, sixteen was huge for so many reasons. First, my experience in grammar school included a "grade skip." I started kindergarten at the normal age, but early in first grade I found myself being yanked out of class for what seemed like an endless battery of tests. My teacher was somewhere between delighted and concerned (for both herself and yours truly) that I was teaching my fellow first graders to read and write and do simple math, faster than she was. So the testing that I thought everyone was being subjected to, was actually a thorough I.Q. exam on both educational and social levels which would determine if I should "skip" second grade, and go from first to third. Apparently I aced the tests, as about three-quarters of the way through first grade, I found myself ousted from Room Six of Westlake Shool, and sent next-door to Mrs. Van Valen's second grade class in Room Seven. This is where I'd spend the final couple months of my first / second grade year, and if their assessment of me was on target, I'd go directly to third grade. <br />
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Being both the "new kid" and the one who was a full year behind the rest of the class chronologically, was sort of like diving into the deep end of the pool for your first attempt at swimming. But amazingly, there were some great kids in this class, and I became fast friends with several, and am <em>still </em>friends with a few of them today. Kids tend to hang with other kids in their grade at this stage of life, and while the third graders (and up) were known as "big kids," the younger ones (like me) were considered beneath them. But my friend Geoff Becker (who I still see a couple times a year) came to my rescue, and several others followed. Geoff proactively came up to me and introduced himself and asked if I wanted to have lunch with his group. I've not only never forgotten this moment of kindness, I embarass him and remind him of it every couple of years. He doesn't seem to mind, I still appreciate it, I'll continue to do so. <br />
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Being a year younger than my classmates always seemed unfair. The milestones of turning 10, 13 (becoming a teenager!), 16, 18 and of course 21, would be experiences that all my friends would experience a year before I did, although we were all in the same grade. I turned 17 a few weeks before graduating from high school, while everyone else was already 18 (and able to vote!). And sixteen was the biggie. I've always been fiercely independent, and I had to wait an extra year, which seemed like an eternity, before I could get my driver's license. All my friends had licenses, many had cars, and the fact that I had to either "bum a ride" from one of them, or ask my parents to take me places, was miserable. <br />
<br />
The places this manifested itself the most was with regard to dating, and surfing. Any dates other than going to a party or "meeting up" somewhere, meant that I had to double date with one of my friends who had a license and access to a car. Even if they had to borrow their parents' car for the night, the difference was huge ... they got to drive, I was a passenger in the back seat. <br />
<br />
And surfing was the killer. I started surfing at about eleven or twelve, and had initially depended on my parents, and later friends to get to the beach. The other alternative was to hitch hike the 10 miles to Pedro Point with a wetsuit and forty-five pound nine-foot-seven surfboard in tow, so I obviously bummed rides more often than not. And as all my surfing buddies got their licenses, drove around with surfboard racks permanently affixed to their cars, and were able to make the trek to the beach whenever they wanted, I was still bumming rides. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKi0szisnSUL6_r7k16L59QR5Lni3vWcqoZZjynrnRNONOyVWTeBT01diZJTqcDXDsdBdSrzPLwxPpKyhjPFK6Ghlo5u4RFPMIOT3wRw8AeJEXvFeI9nVhe0AF0pZW7M0N_xwCetGkZTQ/s1600/cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKi0szisnSUL6_r7k16L59QR5Lni3vWcqoZZjynrnRNONOyVWTeBT01diZJTqcDXDsdBdSrzPLwxPpKyhjPFK6Ghlo5u4RFPMIOT3wRw8AeJEXvFeI9nVhe0AF0pZW7M0N_xwCetGkZTQ/s200/cake.jpg" width="200" /></a> It seemed like the longest wait in the world, and that I'd never reach the lofty age of sixteen, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and after counting the days forever, it finally arrived. I attended Westmoor High School for my freshman and sophomore years, but had to spend my junior year at El Camino High when the family moved out of the district (just <em>barely </em>out, as I recall). Fortunately, there was something called "senior priveleges" which made it possible for me to spend my senior year back at Westmoor with all the friends I'd known since grammar school. But it was at El Camino where that huge April 7th finally arrived, and I was going to get my California driver's license ... assuming I passed both the written and behind-the-wheel tests. I believe I was in second period (Shirley Axt's social studies class, I believe) when a messenger came to the door and handed a note to the teacher. Mrs. Axt said that someone was asking for me at the Principal's office, and I was to go there. That "someone" was my dad, who apparently fashioned some sort of family emergency to drag me out of class ... and escort me to the DMV. It was license time! </div><br />
I passed both the written and driving tests handily, and as a birthday gift, I was granted use of the family car. The old blue Valiant station wagon would be MINE for the evening, and I already had big plans to attend what would surely be an awesome concert. At the risk of dating myself here, the concert was the Buffalo Springfield (Neil Young, Steve Stills, Jim Messina and Richie Furay all in the same band!) opening up for the Jefferson Airplane. The Airplane had just released Surrealistic Pillow, and were at the top of their game. I believe this concert cost all of $2.50 apiece, and was held in the gym of the University of San Francisco. My girlfriend Kitty was my date, and friends Tim Pappas and his girlfriend Vickie joined us. Great show, awesome night, I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. <br />
<br />
Turning sixteen was an incredible event that I thought would never happen. The "big birthdays" of 18 and even 21 were somewhat anti-climatic, although it was nice to be able to order a glass of wine at dinner or make a purchase from a liquor store (legally). But while getting "carded" and being able to produce valid proof of being twenty-one was initially a thrill, the subsequent milestone years are mostly forgettable. The "left digit rotation" years of 30, 40, and so on, tend to be dreaded, vs. something anyone looks forward to. I imagine it's going to be the achievements of hitting something like 80 or 90 when I'll want to start <em>bragging </em>about my age (or even admitting it) again. Interesting how that works. <br />
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But sixteen was indeed sweet, and I remember it like it was yesterday. And while this blog entry consisted predominantly of <em>my </em>memories, I wish Rhys a wonderful day that will be filled with great memories for many decades to come. She deserves it. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYsLJIEbgSCdrhWlhkvvDntRg4PwvtpVFudrdFq_a8VhVZjMO69l6VQ3GOQYKtXN4-UJOG_7RHHFC7hHCj_qRBhTxkSzogg7uBJCevJCW2E07y07f7EwWbkPK8bt8vN55awWWc7UdptA/s1600/rhys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYsLJIEbgSCdrhWlhkvvDntRg4PwvtpVFudrdFq_a8VhVZjMO69l6VQ3GOQYKtXN4-UJOG_7RHHFC7hHCj_qRBhTxkSzogg7uBJCevJCW2E07y07f7EwWbkPK8bt8vN55awWWc7UdptA/s200/rhys.jpg" width="170" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Happy Birthday Rhys!</span></div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-31744278140454191372011-03-19T14:38:00.000-07:002011-03-19T14:38:44.159-07:00Three Soup Week<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJZOAuPyARsXIeFwavqHuLtBAfQ4olC-0x9NaXAyi6RjUIponD4z2349q_AFsUcrPNcOBFcaaVCb24PJxodbB6on_kzRdXBjn_R2NVnGOCggbBlFYnUY2MXSdSljQ7yGLixDBe_3qgqo/s1600/P1000596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJZOAuPyARsXIeFwavqHuLtBAfQ4olC-0x9NaXAyi6RjUIponD4z2349q_AFsUcrPNcOBFcaaVCb24PJxodbB6on_kzRdXBjn_R2NVnGOCggbBlFYnUY2MXSdSljQ7yGLixDBe_3qgqo/s200/P1000596.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Gazing out of the window of my upstairs home office, I'm watching some huge snowflakes settle in our little cul de sac, only to melt on impact. I love watching the snow fall silently to the ground, each flake unique to itself, even though this winter has only provided us with a couple brief glimpses of our more typical winter wonderland here in Central Oregon. For now, the "balmy" 40 degree temperature is still too warm for anything to stick. So maybe it's this wintry mix of a little snow, a little rain, chilly days and chillier nights, or maybe it's just a life long affinity for all things soup that's gotten me into such a soup mood this week. Regardless, it's turned out to be a three soup week, with leftover soups filling the in-between miscellaneous lunches and dinners as well. And very UN-typically, none of them made it to the freezer! Everything's been consumed by the two of us, as well as an assortment of friends who've apparently enjoyed it as well. <br />
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Loyal readers know I love soup, and always have. I've written three long blogs on Asian noodle soups alone. I think my pho article has gotten the most views and comments of anything I've written over the past three years that I've been doing this. But apparently I'm not alone in my love for a big bowl of warm tasty soup, fresh out of the big 16 quart stainless steel soup pot. <br />
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My love of soup dates back to my childhood, and I have a few very vivid memories of that time. The first was our family visits to my great-grandmother's house in San Francisco. Grandma McKinnon, or "Old Grandma" as we all used to call her, was seemingly <em>always </em>very old, but amazingly she was around until my early teens. Old Grandma was born in Denmark, and the most common lunch that she'd prepare for us when we were lucky enough to spend an afternoon with her, was her special potato soup (likely a potato leek, in retrospect), and Swiss cheese sandwiches. Maybe it's because I liked this combination so much, or perhaps it's just my old mind getting the best of me, but I really can't recall eating anything <em>but </em>this specific combination at her house. And I recall her house vividly ... big, lots of wood, somewhat dark, long, wide stairways, and always that wonderful smell of home cooked soup coming from her old kitchen. <br />
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Second was the soup at Compton's Cafeteria, which was located next to Vern's Ice Cream, two doors up from the Westlake Delicatessen, and three up from what would become my favorite clothing store by the time I reached junior high school; The New England Shop. Compton's had three phenomenal things on their menu, and I don't recall eating much of anything <em>but </em>these three things. Their hamburgers were awesome, and always came with a big pile of fries. I remember slathering Heinz (not French's) mustard on the toasted, buttered buns, and drowning the fries with ketchup. They also made an amazing custard, which was some of the best I've ever had. I love custard, and Compton's had one that I can still picture and almost taste, and that was a <em>long </em>time ago. But their vegetable soup is what I remember the most. It would come in a porcelain soup bowl, brown on the outside, white on the inside, with a couple packs of soda crackers that were immediately crushed and sprinkled on the soup. This was simple, comfort food at its best. Very inexpensive, consistently good, and like the restaurant that would eventually be built across the street, <em>packed </em>every day of the year. <br />
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But as the shopping center "matured," and new stores replaced old ones, the venerable Compton's eventually gave way to a pizza parlor, and the days of fulfillment via a burger on a toasted bun, a bowl of vegetable soup, and a dessert of their delectable custard, were ultimately history. But there was certainly "hope," and a lot more, as the vacant lot across the street, on the corner of Alemany (now John Daly Blvd) and Lake Merced was about to acquire a new building next to the Flying A gas station. Joe's of Westlake opened for business in 1956, and the lives of the lucky people of Daly City and beyond would never be the same. <br />
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Joe's is legendary, and lots of people including myself have written volumes about it. I've been going there since I was a little kid, the first visit being a late night snack after attending the live play of "A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum," with Zero Mostel, at the Berkeley Community Theater. All compliments of my friend John's lovely mom. On this first visit, I ate a cheeseburger, as recommended by John. It was, and still is among the top two or three burgers anywhere. A huge patty is cooked on the wood fired grill, served on a third of a loaf of San Francisco Sourdough, with a heaping mound of thick steak fries as the preffered side dish. I've had hundreds over the years, and it's always a top choice when I visit Joe's. This is a restaurant where most of the regulars (myself included) have stopped looking at the menu several decades ago, and have in fact committed every item on it to memory. It's the kind of place where you start thinking of what you're going to order, days in advance. And other than the sweetbreads which John maintains are excellent, I've eaten just about everything on the menu, and you can't go wrong with any number of dishes. I draw the line at innards ...<br />
<br />
It wasn't long after my first visit to Joe's, when I had the first of hundreds of bowls of their minestrone soup. Joe's minestrone is simply the best, and as you may have gathered, I've eaten a lot of soup. It's consistent in the extreme, never varying one bit from the last bowl you had, whether that was a week, a month, or five years earlier. It's a huge bowl of vegetables in the best broth, with the optimal thickness, served steaming hot and ready for the hungry diner to devour. In addition to the ever-present generous baskets of sourdough bread, Joe's leaves large shakers of grated parmesan cheese on every table. You'll of course want copious quanties of both, with your soup. <br />
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I almost always order a bowl of their soup before my main meal, as it's guaranteed that you'll get this course almost immediately, but you'll still have plenty of time to digest it and prepare for your main course ... which could range from a simple plate of rigatoni or "half and half" spaghetti and raviolis, to a huge portion of veal parmigiana with a side of pasta or vegetables, the roast lamb, pot roast, or roast beef, or maybe the ultimate ... veal scallopine sec with button mushrooms (and a side of rigatoni - it's the law). I'm making myself hungry, and alas, I now live 500 miles north of this mecca in Daly City, so I'd better move on.<br />
<br />
So it's been a week of soups ... three to be exact. As I mentioned, winter in Central Oregon lends itself to soups and stews, and other warm comfort foods. As much as I enjoy barbequing for the other three seasons here, the snow and ice in the yard just don't provide the encouragement necessary to go out and brave the elements and fire up the 'Q. My old Lodge cast iron skillet gets lots of use this time of year. All three of these started out as someone else's recipe, but I've done a lot of modification to all of them. I'm not sure where I found the basics for the first two, but the tortilla soup is based on a recipe from Fine Cooking Magazine, which is one of my favorites. <br />
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My first soup of the week, which was last Sunday's meal, started out as a beef vegetable barley, but was modified somewhat for a low carb diet that one of my guests was striving to maintain. Instead of barley, I substituted a cup of my "grain mix" which consists of a bunch of whole grains that I usually have in the pantry. When I buy new grains or replenish one that's low, I always take about a half cup out of it, and combine it with the other mixed grains. At any given time, it probably contains some combiation of red and green lentils, Israeli couscous, wheatberries, barley (with hulls, not pearl barley), some small beans, spelt, etc. And it makes for some great soup. Here's how I made it:<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;"><u>Beef, vegetable, whole grain soup</u></span></strong><br />
<strong>Ingredients</strong><br />
1 medium yellow onion, chopped (sweet onions work great, if you have access)<br />
<br />
3 carrots, peeled and diced<br />
3 ribs of celery, sliced thin (including any leaves)<br />
1/4 teaspoon of dried thyme<br />
1/4 teaspoon of marjoram<br />
1 lb. of eye of round, sliced into 1/2" cubes<br />
1-2 tablespoons of cooking oil<br />
1 large can of diced tomatoes, drained<br />
2 tablespoons of dried parsley flakes<br />
1 large bay leaf<br />
8 cups of home made beef broth, OR<br />
8 cups of water and 2 tablespoons of beef broth concentrate (such as "Better Than Bullion")<br />
3/4 cup of mixed whole grains, uncooked<br />
<br />
<strong>Technique</strong><br />
Heat a tablespoon of oil in a soup pot, and brown the beef over medium heat, stirring to coat all the sides<br />
Remove the meat to a bowl, dump any liquid out of the bottom of the pot<br />
Warm a second tablespoon of oil, add the onions, celery and carrots, cover and cook over medium heat for about 7 minutes, stirring occasionally<br />
Add the tomatoes, spices, stock, bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer<br />
Add the grains, cook on medium low for about an hour, or until they're tender<br />
<br />
Two days later, I opted for my second soup of the week, which was a creamy chicken with white and wild rice. This recipe started out as a cream of chicken soup, but I've found that adding some pasta or rice to it makes a huge difference in texture and overall taste. You can also opt to omit the cream at the end, and the taste is still awesome. It doesn't add a tremendous amount of fat calories to a big pot of soup, but if you're watching and counting <em>all </em>of them, leave it out. I also scaled the amount of butter down to about half of what the original recipe called for, and it doesn't hurt the taste at all. <br />
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<strong><u><span style="color: blue;">Creamy Chicken and Two Rices</span></u></strong><br />
<strong>Ingredients</strong><br />
2 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cooked, diced <br />
Large can of Swanson’s 99% fat-free chicken broth<br />
4 cups of water<br />
1 tablespoon of “Better Than Bullion” (chicken stock concentrate)<br />
1/2 cube of unsalted butter<br />
1 med-lg white onion, chopped<br />
3 ribs of celery, sliced thin (include leaves)<br />
4 carrots, peeled, sliced thin<br />
2/3 cup of flour (any kind will work)<br />
1 tablespoon of parsley flakes<br />
1 lg bay leaf<br />
1 tablespoon dried thyme (Penzey’s French Thyme is best)<br />
1/2 cup of heavy cream (optional)<br />
2 tablespoons of sherry (dry or cream both work, don't use "cooking" sherry)<br />
1 cup of uncooked white rice<br />
1/4 cup of uncooked wild rice (optional)<br />
Salt / pepper to taste<br />
<br />
<strong>Technique</strong><br />
Melt the butter over medium heat in a soup pot<br />
Stir in the onions, celery, carrots, cover and cook 10 minutes, stirring occasionally<br />
Sprinkle the flour on top, mix in thoroughly<br />
Cook the mixture for another 2 minutes, stirring often<br />
Add the broth, slowly at first, stirring to combine with the vegetables<br />
Add the water and chicken stock concentrate, stir<br />
Add the spices, bring to a boil over med-high heat<br />
Add the chicken, wild rice, white rice, bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer for 20 minutes or until the rice is tender<br />
Stir in the sherry and cream, simmer on low for 5 minutes<br />
Remove the bay leaf<br />
Salt and pepper to taste, serve<br />
<br />
For some odd reason, I didn't feel like anything resembling the traditional St. Patrick's Day meal of corned beef and cabbage. We were having a few friends over, and I opted for another one of favorites, tortilla soup. Purists will want to make their own tortillas and cut them into small pieces, I generally don't have the time or patience and have found that decent store-bought chips work fine, particularly since the flavors all come from the soup itself, not so much from the chips. This is yet another recipe that calls for concentrated broth, this time chicken. Most stores now carry the "Better Than Bullion" brand on the top shelf of the soup section, and you can also get larger containers (for less cost) at Costco or Cash and Carry. I buy the large sizes and use it constantly. <br />
<br />
<strong><u><span style="color: blue;">Tortilla soup</span></u></strong><br />
<strong>Ingredients</strong><br />
2 lbs of chicken breasts and/or thighs, diced<br />
2 #2 cans (the big can) of diced tomatoes, with the juices<br />
Small can of tomato paste<br />
8-10 cups of home made chicken stock, OR<br />
2 lg cans of 99% fat free chicken broth (Swanson's is best)<br />
1 tablespoon of concentrated chicken broth (can substitute granulated bouillon)<br />
1 large yellow onion, diced<br />
1 bunch of cilantro, chopped<br />
1 tablespoon of good chili powder or a combination of chili powders (New Mexico, California, etc.)<br />
1 teaspoon of powdered cumin<br />
1 pound pkg of frozen corn<br />
1 can of black beans, rinsed & drained<br />
<br />
<strong>Garnishes</strong><br />
Avocado, halved, sliced thin<br />
Sour cream (real, or light works best – not imitation/non-fat stuff)<br />
Salsa fresca, or a chunky salsa of your choice. Make it yourself with some cilantro, half an onion, a jalapeno, and a couple diced tomatoes<br />
Tortilla chips<br />
<br />
<strong>Technique</strong><br />
Combine the chicken with 1 teaspoon of the chili mixture in a bowl<br />
Sweat the onion in 1 tablespoon of oil (5 minutes, medium heat, covered)<br />
Add the tomato paste, 1 can of tomatoes, the remainder of the chili mixture, the cumin, and simmer for 10 minutes – Stir occasionally, don’t let it boil or burn<br />
Add 2 cups of broth, and the chicken, return to a simmer, reduce to low heat, cover and simmer for 30 minutes stirring occasionally<br />
Add the remainder of the canned broth, the chicken concentrate (or granules / bouillon cubes in a pinch), the other can of tomatoes, ½ the cilantro, the corn and beans, bring to a boil on high heat<br />
Reduce to Med-Low heat, simmer for an hour, partially covered<br />
<br />
Serve with a garnish of a couple chips in the middle of the bowl, topped with a few avocado slices, a teaspoon of salsa, a dollop of sour cream, and a sprinkle of cilantro. <br />
<br />
Best with a Margarita and a bonus is a fresh key lime pie for dessert.<br />
<br />
And tonight? Out to dinner to a restaurant I haven't tried before, in the nearby community of Sisters. I cook almost every night, and every now and then it's nice to let someone else have the kitchen duties! Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-44973373272938986622010-12-24T13:08:00.000-08:002010-12-24T13:08:43.088-08:00Christmas 2010<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCU26Ahb2jEc-Z6JscqQI_u1T1_sFhK0RTASqruQSrVfbOws1DWTYtv3_UD_XdKEQEw6kVR7GDRZBO872jWNV50V1BshiCYRqpKKfY-99IGkzaUePtiviqP6XZXAhFp2s_E245OZoVRiU/s1600/Front-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCU26Ahb2jEc-Z6JscqQI_u1T1_sFhK0RTASqruQSrVfbOws1DWTYtv3_UD_XdKEQEw6kVR7GDRZBO872jWNV50V1BshiCYRqpKKfY-99IGkzaUePtiviqP6XZXAhFp2s_E245OZoVRiU/s320/Front-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Several generations back, the Sullivan side of the family settled in what was then a very rural Sonoma County, in what’s now Guerneville and Sebastopol. A couple of my sisters and I have always been interested in our family history, and have both individually and collectively done quite a bit of research into our past. Peggy, who now lives on the big island of Hawaii is our resident champ at the family’s genealogy, and has really done some quality digging. Both my dad and grandfather (his father, Grandpa Gene) told us a bit about the Sullivan lineage in and around Sebastopol, but the details beyond my grandfather’s generation were kind of a blur. And unfortunately like a good many people I know, I didn’t have the common sense to ask enough questions when I was young and they were still accessible. There were some bits and pieces, broad strokes of information, but the nitty gritty about the day to day life of earlier generations were sort of a blur, in the grand scheme of things. Risa lost her uncle recently, and his daughter Katy did something I wish I (and a lot of people) had thought of; she “interviewed” her dad and dug out all the little bits and pieces, prior to his passing. Great idea, and it makes for a priceless piece of journalistic information to have around for posterity. </div><br />
Grandpa Gene was an outdoorsman all of his life. Hunter, fisherman, and involved in some very early efforts at conservation and preserving nature for future generations. He was a master carpenter, and among other things he built the Pacific Rod and Gun Club at Lake Merced, as well as the now-defunct Milerick’s Hunting Lodge in Cazadero, off the Russian River, near Sebastopol. His father Cornelius was the namesake for my middle name, Neil. I’ve been thankful all my life that my parents didn’t opt to call me Cornelius! It was Cornelius’ father Isaac who was the focal point of an incredibly valuable piece of history titled “The Patriarch of the Valley, Day to Day Life in Early Sonoma County,” which was written by his granddaughter Emma Street-Hively and published in 1931. The book (which is the subject of a whole section of my book) provides a wealth of information about the life and times of the Sullivan clan, several generations back. And it’s a valuable tool for providing a clue to why the generations since then, and specifically my generation of Sullivans, celebrates holidays such as Christmas, the way we do. <br />
<br />
Christmas has always been a fun day filled with family and friends, for us. It seemed to be the time when everyone put any sort of differences or issues behind them, and simply enjoyed the day. I imagine our family was like many, inasmuch as our two sets of grandparents never particularly got along, other than at Christmas and major family gatherings. Something along the lines of “your daughter isn’t good enough for our son,” or “your son isn’t good enough for our daughter” depending which set of grandparents you were talking to. But one particular Christmas shortly after Grandpa Gene died, there was a very unique gathering at our house on Grandview Ave, in Daly City. My mom had prepared traditional Christmas fare of a big turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and her incredible gravy, green beans, and undoubtedly canned Ocean Spray cranberry sauce, the only kind she’d eat or serve. On this night, we had my dad’s mother, and my mom’s parents, and of course my parents, me, and my five younger sisters all at the big dining table. And it was at this Christmas gathering that we decided to do some digging into our history and find out whatever we could about our lineage. <br />
<br />
With a name like “Sullivan,” you’d think we’d be predominantly Irish, but we discovered that this isn’t the case. Our grandfather Gene was mostly Irish, with some Scotch and English mixed in along the way. My grandmother Phyllis (my dad’s mother) was from a combination of English and Welsh stock, both a mere generation back. Her grandfather was in fact a Welsh sea captain with the last name of Minor. My mom’s side is mainly Danish, with her grandmother McKinnon (who we used to call “Old Grandma” when I was growing up) being from Denmark, making my mom’s mom the first U.S.-born generation. But Old Grandma’s husband was Scotch and Welsh, adding more of the latter to our backgrounds. Grandpa Dean (my mom’s dad) also had a Welsh background, with a little American Indian mixed in a couple generations back. So the Irish that we all took for granted was minimal, and it seemed that we were mainly Danish and Welsh, with a little this and that mixed in along the way. Truly, American mutts! <br />
<br />
Back to the present and this year’s Christmas, where we once again find ourselves back in our wonderful home in Bend, with access to all that the Central Oregon high desert has to offer. Although we’ll always miss our friends and family in the Bay Area, this is where we chose to move in 2005, and we love it. We’ve made some incredible friends here, and we seem to be luring more people up here, as well. Our friend Rich and his lovely fiance’ Patty just bought a house in Bend, and I think it’s going to be tough for them to remain in Sacramento and use this as a vacation home, once they get a taste of what all of us have discovered as a great place to live. I suppose time will tell. <br />
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Although it’s been a tough year financially, we’re so happy to be home in Bend. This year’s festivities will be relatively “easy” for me, as we’ve been invited to both Christmas Eve and Christmas dinners at friends’ houses. I cook every night, and that commonly includes most holidays, so this is a total treat. I’m doing a couple side dishes for tonight’s dinner at Lynda and John’s, and for tomorrow’s feast at Barb and Chuck’s, I was ordered to bring “nothing, other than your lovely wife.” I couldn’t go empty-handed, so I’m “cooking” a bottle of Grey Goose and some fancy martini olives as my little contribution. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrFN4ZU5d-nKmhSy6kudJPSTi_olz3-RQqYHHiIR3FbfoxLQgs9lw2li4-b1PaCg2GrMg8vmpvT7AaCFdZEAEPhozfIt8wmrPiLhjs7-rzZJosBlO8q51pnbs2w3ubmmhhnodX6EqgYw/s1600/IMG_1580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrFN4ZU5d-nKmhSy6kudJPSTi_olz3-RQqYHHiIR3FbfoxLQgs9lw2li4-b1PaCg2GrMg8vmpvT7AaCFdZEAEPhozfIt8wmrPiLhjs7-rzZJosBlO8q51pnbs2w3ubmmhhnodX6EqgYw/s320/IMG_1580.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This will be our older kitty Penny’s 14th Christmas with us, the first of which was in Gilroy in 1997. I remember her jumping from the top of a ladder, over to the upper branches of the big Noble Fir, which was about half decorated. Surprisingly, she’s never messed with a tree or any of the ornaments since then. However our new kitty Emily, who’s spending her first Christmas with us, is a total maniac. She has a tendency to have long involved conversations with her toys, and these now include many of the tree ornaments, which she somehow has managed to get down from the tree that’s gracing the front window. It will be the first year without Abigail (she was 13), and the second without Annie (18) and my big Maine Coon, Cody (10). One of life’s unfortunate realities is that we tend to outlive our pets and our parents. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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We feel lucky to be back in our home this year, to be relatively healthy, to have two healthy kitties, to have access to all of our friends up here, and to be able to experience everything that makes Central Oregon such a special place. Financial times are tough everywhere, but I have faith in both the economy and our collective ability to get through it. Wars are taking too many young lives and a ridiculous amount of our tax dollars, and none of them are even remotely “winnable.” But there are some positive signs that the powers-that-be in Washington are being to cooperate with each other, and there’s hope. In the meantime, we feel blessed to have the life, family and friends that we have around us, and we’re looking forward with optimism to a brighter 2011. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">Risa, Penny, Emily and I wish you all a wonderful holiday season, and a much better 2011!!</span></strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-2641629536290370722010-11-15T13:37:00.000-08:002010-11-15T13:37:22.021-08:00Thanksgiving In Paradise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWdzf0WlJXKb8mxbC3n9FO75j4H9olchQ0KVd4AjDj9NdIkgBKKkkKbZZBg_QheU9n1bEcFn5SKXBmtxGOBMFmxyLNCxcMOzetPyj1VK37ZpdNbWNHvEej2UNNcrOoLPOCdI0Nvj38naU/s1600/PJOil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWdzf0WlJXKb8mxbC3n9FO75j4H9olchQ0KVd4AjDj9NdIkgBKKkkKbZZBg_QheU9n1bEcFn5SKXBmtxGOBMFmxyLNCxcMOzetPyj1VK37ZpdNbWNHvEej2UNNcrOoLPOCdI0Nvj38naU/s200/PJOil.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>This is a short excerpt from my book, which will be called "Out Of My Kitchen." It's mostly a memoir, and it covers the bulk of the kitchens of my life (mine, family, friends' kitchens, and then some) and related experiences that have come out of them. This piece is about the year I celebrated Thanksgiving with a group of friends while I was living and working (if it could be called that) in St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Very fun time, and a memorable holiday, as you might imagine. This is a raw, unedited piece, so the version that you'll see in the book will undoubtedly undergo some additions and deletions (mostly the latter, from what I've heard from fellow authors). But this will hopefully convey the flavor of celebrating a holiday in the Caribbean. <br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Caribe, Mon!</span><br />
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It was while I was living at the house in the Sunset District in San Francisco during one of our weekend dinner parties that an old friend from high school who I hadn’t seen in years approached me about a job opportunity in St. Thomas. Yes, <em>that</em> St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, in the Caribbean. It didn’t take much convincing for me to give my two week notice as Head Clerk at Byrne’s Fine Foods on Polk Street in the City, pack up, and head to the Caribbean. St. Thomas and the whole Caribbean area was a phenomenal experience. I worked for a company that was based out of Orlando, Florida called RPM, Resort Pool Management. The gig was that we took care of three different resorts’ pools, and in return we got to have a concession on the beach where we sold suntan products (Panama Jack, pictured above), diving, fishing and sailing tours, and rented snorkeling equipment and sailboats for use in the harbor in front of us. I worked at Pineapple Beach, and my day would start by putting on a bathing suit and T-shirt, going to work and taking off the T-shirt, cleaning and managing the chemical levels in a couple pools, and either working on the beach or sailing to nearby St. John and back. I returned to San Francisco three days before Christmas with the best tan I’ve ever had. Amazing what six months on a Caribbean beach will do for you in that regard!<br />
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But the time I lived in St. Thomas was amazing. Not always easy, and we had some real clowns around us from Tennessee and South Carolina, but we certainly had some good times. I arrived first, and my sister Colleen and friend John T arrived about a month later. As it was still technically the off season for tourists when I first got there, I was told to do two things over the course of my first two weeks … get a tan (we were after all selling suntan products), and explore the island and surrounding islands. St. Thomas is small, measuring a whopping 4 by 13 miles, or 32 square miles of tropical splendor. Like many of the Caribbean islands, it’s flat near the ocean, but rises up quickly. The Danish had control of the island until 1917, when America bought it as a precautionary measure against any potential German invasion of the area. The Danish divided the island into Estates, and I lived in Estate Wintberg, which sat high on one of the hilly areas in the middle of the island. We had a 360 degree view from the several decks of the small house, and could see Puerto Rico, St. Croix, Virgin Gorda, Tortola, and nearby St. John, as well as several smaller islands and “cays.” The several of us who lived in the house were fairly poor at the time, so we didn’t have much … but we had that view, and it always seemed that we had plenty of Mt. Gay rum in the house. The best rums cost all of two bucks a fifth in Charlotte Amalie, which is the only real city on the island. That same rum cost about $15.00 in the U.S. at the time, meaning the government(s) were tacking on about thirteen dollars a bottle in taxes by the time it hit your local liquor store. And to be fair, Mt. Gay cost sixty-seven cents a bottle on Barbados, where it was produced. So the price was tripled by the time it made it to Charlotte Amalie … but only to two dollars. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0QhUzVzJTu0WS0lOcFoHCBys1X-8sBCbBYDotgz3OdS3nxkc38WaHxjfg_frvMkKl8ET6qqQYL4dkL42X1xwU3R0xronlx3oFA7csECIntY57bFERcPI0xUSpPaXcLubOAQK3h0T4Kos/s1600/PinBch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0QhUzVzJTu0WS0lOcFoHCBys1X-8sBCbBYDotgz3OdS3nxkc38WaHxjfg_frvMkKl8ET6qqQYL4dkL42X1xwU3R0xronlx3oFA7csECIntY57bFERcPI0xUSpPaXcLubOAQK3h0T4Kos/s200/PinBch.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Our days were spent at one of the three resorts we managed; Pineapple Beach (where I worked), Lime Tree, and Sapphire. Sapphire was the biggest and arguably the fanciest, Lime Tree was small and somewhat hidden away, and Pineapple was somewhere in the middle. Point Pleasant was on the bluff to the right, and Coki Beach (and the best snorkeling on the island) was just to our south. <br />
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I made quick friends with Jay and Carla, who owned a beautiful 36’ ketch called The Feather, which was moored in the small bay in front of Pineapple Beach resort. I was fortunate enough to have been invited to “work” on The Feather on my days off, and managed to make the day trip to St. John and back about a dozen times. We’d take six couples, plus Jay and his girlfriend Carla, and myself, and set sail around 10AM for beautiful Honeymoon Bay, which was a leisurely four mile jaunt across the Pillsbury Sound. We’d commonly zig-zag around some of the smaller islands and cays to make it a little more scenic. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvz84rCKQdZrzGIqJuUlAW93lp5UZPJWm_CG4CPjognHYIve-rhYlK0Rk7mW942-ZdItRId5zPG9aXNW4JN-AaFhdeH-iZaet6DPzMkUuX_IER_4cCkHT-76CxnAvoANjXSHJdyeNLun4/s1600/honeymoon1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvz84rCKQdZrzGIqJuUlAW93lp5UZPJWm_CG4CPjognHYIve-rhYlK0Rk7mW942-ZdItRId5zPG9aXNW4JN-AaFhdeH-iZaet6DPzMkUuX_IER_4cCkHT-76CxnAvoANjXSHJdyeNLun4/s200/honeymoon1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Once we were out of the Pineapple Beach harbor, it was an open bar for the rest of the day. Tropical rum concoctions, blender drinks, beer, wine, and soft drinks were only a shout away. We always tried to drop anchor in Honeymoon Bay, because it was a big, open area with some amazing snorkeling, but was rarely “crowded.” More than four boats equaled crowded, and we’d sometimes make the decision to go around the island to another spot, or on a couple occasions all the way around to Virgin Gorda, where the guests got to experience The Baths. <br />
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Lunch was prepared on the boat, while Jay and I guided the guests to the best snorkeling spots. We would inevitably be asked if there were sharks in the water, and our stock answer was that "yes, there are 55 varietites of sharks in the Caribbean, but attacks are exceedingly rare." I never saw a shark while living there (and we were in the water <em>every </em>day), but you could count on seeing a variety or rays and barracuda, as well as the usual array of colorful tropical fish. Carla would put together amazing meals using fresh local ingredients, and always received a round of applause and lots of “ooo’s and aaaah’s.” One of her favorites was stuffed christophines, which we call chayote in the U.S. She used a very simple technique, which I use to this day for a variety of types of stuffed squash. Simply cut them in half, dig out the center, chop it up and mix with some bread crumbs, parmesan cheese, olive oil, salt, pepper, and a spice or two (try herbs de provence or just a pinch of thyme). Bake for about 30 minutes at 350, and voila. <br />
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After lunch, the guests could do some more snorkeling, or just be lazy and hang around the deck of the Feather for another hour or so, after which, we’d zig-zag back across the four mile stretch of Caribbean, returning to Pineapple Beach by mid-afternoon. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ovQG2mUJqS4l1VNoVPxbrfBe9wRlShbrW2gQXP3xu_u12lmbcECt8AgPOi9Rlr0sqhV9gl6PWmVJQ1c3ZBP3Rmr_NqAyyaQ0L1K66oWm3NYSN5W9kbzc8_1xA-4xf1F3dU1369tVsqY/s1600/St-Thomas-Hotels-p5_209265_2356934l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ovQG2mUJqS4l1VNoVPxbrfBe9wRlShbrW2gQXP3xu_u12lmbcECt8AgPOi9Rlr0sqhV9gl6PWmVJQ1c3ZBP3Rmr_NqAyyaQ0L1K66oWm3NYSN5W9kbzc8_1xA-4xf1F3dU1369tVsqY/s200/St-Thomas-Hotels-p5_209265_2356934l.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Thanksgiving</span><br />
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The Thanksgiving celebration in St. Thomas was quite an experience; somewhat surrealistic, verging on magical. Our company got together with another one that performed the same function as ours, and we jointly prepared a huge feast for about twenty, all of whom were relatively new to St. Thomas and a long way from home and family. The local grocery store in Charlotte Amalie is far from comprehensive compared to mainland standards, but we managed to come up with virtually all the customary food items for a great Thanksgiving dinner. A huge turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, the "bean casserole thing," mashed potatoes and gravy, and pumpkin pies were prepared for the hungry group. Everyone helped cook, and of course the whole affair took place in or near the large kitchen at our friends’ big rental house. The view from the decks was of Charlotte Amalie, the St. Thomas harbor and Submarine Island, and included a great view of the cruise ships that were docked. There were usually five or six ships in the harbor, and on this day there were at least that many, meaning many thousands of travelers were going to experience Thanksgiving in paradise just as we were. This was truly a memorable holiday, far away from my home in California.<br />
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I returned from St. Thomas a couple days before Christmas with the afore-mentioned incredible suntan and about twenty dollars to my name. The only answer was to spend a few weeks with my parents, who were now living in a little townhouse in Parkmerced. Something about living here felt like I’d come full-circle, but not necessarily in an ideal or predictable way. But here I was.<br />
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After a brief stay in the room downstairs where I lived before going to St. Thomas, my life and subsequent professions were about to change in a huge way. Next stop ... Chico.Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-18837770383129442702010-09-28T13:00:00.000-07:002010-09-28T13:48:24.692-07:00One not-so-perfect meal<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwa2YGUUaPtprNvk4_0l9q2hr0fHikbQQg2y1E_lVKI9rDNEjUz3AXspHKLjUhNo_K8eCkJWrxR0dNNuGLReu20Pz4wfDmLczteHc_I0XRAaLkLC4qkDKeLLLr2EMfEwCQzB0Mmmg61o/s1600/P1000269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwa2YGUUaPtprNvk4_0l9q2hr0fHikbQQg2y1E_lVKI9rDNEjUz3AXspHKLjUhNo_K8eCkJWrxR0dNNuGLReu20Pz4wfDmLczteHc_I0XRAaLkLC4qkDKeLLLr2EMfEwCQzB0Mmmg61o/s200/P1000269.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paella pan on the stove ... ready for action!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As some of you know, I'm working on a book. One of the early chapters includes a story of "One Perfect Meal," which details the preparation and serving of a party I threw to celebrate the fifth anniversary of a group of us meeting at Body Therapy School. It was on April 4, 2004 that a half dozen of us bonded immediately, and have remained the very best of friends ever since. I thought I'd let them know how much their friendship made by doing what I like to think I do best ... cooking for them. And the multi-course meal came out great. <br />
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And while that chapter was actually written almost a year ago, a little meal I prepared a couple nights ago seemed like a perfect follow up to the perfect meal, since it was a very <em>imperfect </em>meal, and it made sense to illustrate that any cook has the capability of screwing up a meal every once in a while. I throw out about two meals a year, meaning most of what I prepare comes out somewhere between good and very good, with an occasional excellent, along the way. But the process below is a clear illustration of what can go wrong in anyone's kitchen. <br />
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This is an actual (although un-edited) cut from the book <span style="background-color: white;">... <strong><span style="color: blue;">"Out Of My Kitchen!"</span></strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: blue;">One, Not So Perfect ...</span></strong><br />
So, lest you think that all of my meals turn out perfect every time, let me tell you a little story about my first attempt at paella. My sister and brother in law gave me a beautiful sixteen-inch round, non-stick paella pan about five or six years ago. I’ve moved it several times, stored it in both upright and flat positions in the different cabinets it’s lived in, but alas … I’ve never used it. That is, until a few nights ago. There are several reasons for this, although none of them are particularly good reasons, other than I sort of had a phobia about making paella for some unknown reason. I have two excellent, authentic books on the subject, which I’ve read cover-to-cover. Penelope Casas’ “Paella!” and “Paella Paella” by Maria and Natalia Solis Ballinger are both definitive works, but they weren’t inspiring to the point that I had to actually make the stuff. <br />
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But it was a recent issue of Fine Cooking Magazine that changed that. They featured a step by step guide to Authentic Paella, which seemed to remove a lot of the mystery around this traditional Spanish dish. So I made the decision to give it a try … to finally break in the six-year-old new paella pan that’s been taking up cupboard space for so long. And the one final step in the process would be to consult my brother in law John, who makes some absolutely awesome paella, and is a master at the process. I told him that I was planning to use chorizo, chicken and shrimp for the proteins, and would draw from a number of different recipes for the vegetables. He totally concurred, and told me how he puts his paella together, paying particular attention to the creation of the “sofrito,” which is the tomato, onion and garlic base for most paellas. John’s technique called for making the sofrito first, then the meat and chicken, but a couple of the other recipes and the Fine Cooking article said to brown the meats first, then tackle the sofrito. So I opted for John’s sofrito technique, but decided to brown the chorizo and chicken first. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSN1xqVRFwwK1ArUmxRMCCDQnPYR3JzJl4Qbtd9_avdL8vuOrB-6KZ2-bRPIDNzLNZ6GCIIOTy6KuXOAgkNwb-pmZ8-N_HRy4_AL0daQZ-UkNATNzbGSXLWoIVbmrUO89kwCOV2Q4XJTo/s1600/P1000270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSN1xqVRFwwK1ArUmxRMCCDQnPYR3JzJl4Qbtd9_avdL8vuOrB-6KZ2-bRPIDNzLNZ6GCIIOTy6KuXOAgkNwb-pmZ8-N_HRy4_AL0daQZ-UkNATNzbGSXLWoIVbmrUO89kwCOV2Q4XJTo/s200/P1000270.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe it was their fault?</td></tr>
</tbody></table> First step was the chorizo, which I’ve never cooked before. I tried cutting it into thin slices, but quickly discovered that this meat wants out of the casing, as it was literally falling out during the cutting process. So fine … out of the casing it came, and into the paella pan for a “quick browning.” And thus begat my first clue that this was not going to be an easy process. The chorizo began popping and spattering fat and grease everywhere. I’d just cleaned the big six-burner stainless steel stove that morning, so I wasn’t pleased with this at all. But I persevered, wiped up the splattered grease as the meat cooked, and cooked, and cooked, but never browned. It had in fact remained with the same greasy consistency throughout the cooking process, and just looked awful. Ok, no chorizo … tossed it into the garbage disposal and wiped the pan out. <br />
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The cut up boneless, skinless chicken breasts had been marinating in a combination of Spanish (smoky) paprika, cumin, dried rosemary and thyme, salt and pepper for about an hour. The browning process went fine, and the chicken was put aside to rest while I prepared the sofrito. <br />
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The sofrito begins with sweating some finely chopped onions (or shredded on the largest holes of a box grater), garlic, and a couple chopped tomatoes. To this, I added some additional paprika and a little salt. At this point I was flying blind, as I had no idea a sofrito is supposed to look or taste like. My brother in law said it should take about an hour to get it to the right consistency, the magazine article said thirty to forty minutes, and the book recipes made it sound like a quick “sweating” process that wasn’t any different from the base of a pasta sauce … something I’ve done several million times. So in an attempt to strike a happy medium, I opted for about thirty minutes of low heat simmering and occasional stirring for the sofrito. <br />
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From here, I added three peppers, one red, one green, one yellow, which were cut into fine slices. Then came two cups of Arborio rice, which was folded into the mixture along with a little olive oil, similar to how I’d prepare a risotto. Next came a few saffron threads (thank you Lisa!) five and a half cups of chicken stock, which you’re instructed to minimally incorporate (don’t stir it up), and pretty much let it rest and cook as it absorbs the liquid. All the recipes had a common theme at this point, which is to not disturb the rice. And this is also the point where all the fun begins. <br />
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The recipes in the books and magazine are pretty evenly divided as to whether you should bake it in the oven at this point, or cook it on the stovetop. I opted for the latter, and I’m thinking that the oven might have been a better way to go. The problem is simple … although I have a “big” big burner on the stove, the paella pan is sixteen inches round, meaning regardless of how you vary the flame, it’s going to cook faster in the middle than around the edges. The liquid on the outside was in fact cold, while the stuff in the middle was at a vigorous boil. And you’ll recall that any kind of stirring is akin to heresy to stir the mixture, so your only option is to move the pan around and position the various edges directly over the flame, enabling the whole mess to cook. Tedious and time-consuming, but hopefully the final product would justify the effort. <br />
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After twenty minutes or so, I added the pre-cooked chicken and uncooked shrimp to the mixture … of course being careful not to disturb it … God forbid I disturb the rice! I wanted the shrimp to cook evenly, but not overcook, so I opted to place the pieces around the sides, and turn them a couple of times. The chicken was left on its own to “stew” as the outside sections of the paella pan were rotated over the heat. And while this was truly a tedious process and produced splatters on the stove and floor throughout, it seemed as though it was in fact cooking. <br />
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I buy plastic tasting spoons in the economical 500-pack size from Costco for just this type of dish. I made sure to taste small amounts from the middle and edges throughout the process, as this was something I’d never made before and I really had no idea how long it would take to cook correctly. But after about thirty minutes of cook time with all the ingredients seemingly in a state of perfection, I pronounced it “done.” As I scooped it into a couple of large soup bowls garnished with the traditional wedges of lemon, I noticed that I had a thin layer of light crispy “socarrat” on the bottom. This is what you want to see on the bottom of your paella pan, and is considered both a delicacy and the sign of a perfectly cooked paella, it its native Spain. <br />
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But sitting down and actually eating this stuff was quite an unexpected experience. I already knew that I didn’t like the cooking process or the mess, but it was the dish itself that caught me totally off guard. I didn’t like it, and after three or four spoonful’s, I’d had enough. My wife said she liked it, and in fact finished the whole bowl she’d dished out. I did not, and tossed about three quarters of my bowl out. She said she’d eat leftovers for lunch the next day, so I put some in a plastic container in the fridge … and then dumped out the rest. Into the garbage it went, directly from the paella pan to the trash. I knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I’d eat any more, so after my couple hours of prep work, cooking, and constant mopping up of splatters, it was all over. And the leftovers I saved for her lunch? Sat there for three days and subsequently got dumped down the disposal. <br />
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So I’m not quite sure why this was such a cataclysmic failure on so many levels, but it definitely was. Prep work doesn’t bother me, lots of ingredients are always fun, and I definitely like making new things from every part of the world. But this one just didn’t work, and on so many levels. The chorizo looked awful and had the consistency of mud. The mess and splatter from all the ingredients as they were being added to the mixture, was ridiculous. The tedious cooking process where you have to spin the sixteen inch pan over the burner to cook everything, is not something I’ll do again. If I ever make this again, it’s going in the oven. And it’s unlikely I’ll ever make it again. The end didn’t justify the means, as I didn’t like the taste, and it ended up in the garbage. Does paella mean garbage in Spanish? Maybe I actually did do it right, and I just don’t know it!Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-66772046931810847352010-09-11T13:48:00.000-07:002010-09-11T13:48:33.819-07:00Meatfest Returns To Bend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3fGSshDOxK1YvyQRJETk8R7vHt9XJVhbQ-3Ku3NSsVxcPZyhFlgQH8GsgJwu-UXrEKtXI8Vh8K5l53VSV7OfUsuqJQnf4DLOoXk52BEhg37EjFGIDj4psX8nysfqzYF9NxxFKKKavzXw/s1600/P1000782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3fGSshDOxK1YvyQRJETk8R7vHt9XJVhbQ-3Ku3NSsVxcPZyhFlgQH8GsgJwu-UXrEKtXI8Vh8K5l53VSV7OfUsuqJQnf4DLOoXk52BEhg37EjFGIDj4psX8nysfqzYF9NxxFKKKavzXw/s200/P1000782.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Judging from the attendees' comments, the thirteenth installment of my little summer barbeque was once again a hit. The food always seems to range from great to amazing, and it never ceases to amaze me that the guests seem to come up with wonderfully tasty new creations every year. I vary the meat and what I make from year to year, but I really think it's <em>your</em> contributions that make it such a memorable event. <br />
After two years in the Bay Area (our last two years there, if there's a God in heaven), we're once again back in our beautiful house off the river in Bend, Oregon. We have two guest bedrooms, and can easily accomodate a couple more by putting inflatable beds in one of the offices or the massage room. Risa's bedroom served as my sister's room for the first night of her stay, and she then moved into the bigger guest suite after Angela, Nicole and Rebecca headed home to the Bay Area and North Carolina, respectively. So our guest count varied from three, to four, to one, over the course of a week.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRXQvQlTeepNcHYIxGF-v5jcn4fZLufLPjJ3oXHLo05U8FxeMglAGuyIjaiVHru8TP-v_qWDyc0G3BtlMbHG1-4yinUf8o3lsufZg3L9oZP-f46KoJ9CUaB5VaJ6PHE_q3YOD9XwikfTE/s1600/P1000778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRXQvQlTeepNcHYIxGF-v5jcn4fZLufLPjJ3oXHLo05U8FxeMglAGuyIjaiVHru8TP-v_qWDyc0G3BtlMbHG1-4yinUf8o3lsufZg3L9oZP-f46KoJ9CUaB5VaJ6PHE_q3YOD9XwikfTE/s200/P1000778.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>I've written extensively about the unpredictable nature of our weather up here in the high desert of Central Oregon. While it's mainly a moderate climate with four distinct seasons, it can and has snowed on the fourth of July. The snowfall is generally close to the published average of thirty-two inches a season, but in the five years we've lived here we've seen it range from fifteen to over seventy inches. Like sharks, the only thing that's predictable about our weather is that it's unpredictable. Therefore, it wasn't a surprise that there was a little wind and chill on the day of the annual big barbeque. It was a hundred degrees a week earlier, and just over sixty on Meatfest Sunday. Typical, as always. <br />
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Meatfest was always a Memorial Day event in the Bay Area, and we continued this tradition our first year in Bend. But given the fact that it <em>snowed </em>the day before the BBQ, and was pretty chilly and drizzly on Memorial Day Sunday, we opted to move it to the other end of the summer in the subsequent years, where we assumed we'd have a better chance at good weather. Sometimes we luck out, and sometimes we don't. I'm thinking seriously of moving it to a non-holiday weekend in late July next year. Maybe the law of averages will swing in my favor and I'll actually have some sunny summer weather! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOUi03efSC4vn5NxP8KgDvrSQzZv_Th6sukpDz4SbP4-k-qMf-2gbv41WAL-pNlC60Ol0r511LTEVnSJ3MUoQG3Qf9tiFZeTO9cpOjDVNBU9BLBnVOk0k5oRwiQeH7Nz1nMYJ6NazkiI/s1600/P1000807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOUi03efSC4vn5NxP8KgDvrSQzZv_Th6sukpDz4SbP4-k-qMf-2gbv41WAL-pNlC60Ol0r511LTEVnSJ3MUoQG3Qf9tiFZeTO9cpOjDVNBU9BLBnVOk0k5oRwiQeH7Nz1nMYJ6NazkiI/s200/P1000807.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But the weather never makes a huge difference in my guests having a good time. And this year was no exception. The house is big enough for people to come inside if they're cold, so we had pockets of people all around the yard searching out the elusive patches of sunshine, as well as in the living and family rooms, and of course in my kitchen. Many of you know I'm working on a book titled "Out Of My Kitchen," and this event is a good illustration of the duality of the title. It documents all of the meals, friendships, and experiences that have come out of my time in the kitchen, and of course emphatically requests that people generally refrain from being <em>in </em>my kitchen while I'm preparing their meals. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjM7RkCfmJi4dFkHnYrPuwXVuDEA_56Gq9bZw349WLJLSQ2ZQcyFgGl4QNV-qrntNK2tEW-0fxF6pRIf8nhLAowXtpSjBpOZ3n6JHENnb32xNWC1IgPqqzdr3slpoQYRYHGGnZucXfy1s/s1600/P1000794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjM7RkCfmJi4dFkHnYrPuwXVuDEA_56Gq9bZw349WLJLSQ2ZQcyFgGl4QNV-qrntNK2tEW-0fxF6pRIf8nhLAowXtpSjBpOZ3n6JHENnb32xNWC1IgPqqzdr3slpoQYRYHGGnZucXfy1s/s200/P1000794.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>A notable exception during this year's event was my friend Nicole, who completed pastry school last year. It must become second nature for anyone who spends time in a kitchen with multiple chefs, to learn how to do your thing and maneuver yourself around the other chefs. Nicole managed to prepare a tray of cheescake, which she transformed into the most delectable "chocolate cheesecake lollypops," and an amazing apple pie with a perfect homemade crust. These went quickly, and there were no leftovers. </div><br />
Our guests brought some incredible side dishes this year. Very inventive salads seemed to dominate ... pastas, chicken, fingerling potatoes, orzo and more. Several people brought desserts, and these too were total hits. Nice to see people cook, particularly the ones who don't do a lot of it. Good for you! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcKzkXyj-FemjIk1G_Nb5n5KBdjKawLk_P0bwN2VdgXCWSvoBiUDhWl_rJQK_yxYaZ_SQWdjhfh7CmkkBLZ5BjaWTX4HBg5DTk-njI-nrW6nXN9S5wyysEapxkze2vTA5hhWT2Zqo6lw/s1600/P1000792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcKzkXyj-FemjIk1G_Nb5n5KBdjKawLk_P0bwN2VdgXCWSvoBiUDhWl_rJQK_yxYaZ_SQWdjhfh7CmkkBLZ5BjaWTX4HBg5DTk-njI-nrW6nXN9S5wyysEapxkze2vTA5hhWT2Zqo6lw/s200/P1000792.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Meatfest meats are usually my contribution, but this year also featured Chris' incredible Spice Crusted Salmon. This is a dish that she graciously let me borrow several years ago, and I make it many times a year. She cooked two huge salmon fillets, and they were devoured. Once again ... no leftovers. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZ0eGV3NhoB1sOiyNx8mJeIO7D0mGaBKKTMiVEjex0XVprdl1UlerR8X-X5SeUS5R_aYFSB0YyUEpsb8lV5zZMvN5xWjw9xQYpH7Wj3so4j6eChC9gpQPqhhJC8auUdxZSSXi5NMg4yw/s1600/P1000791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZ0eGV3NhoB1sOiyNx8mJeIO7D0mGaBKKTMiVEjex0XVprdl1UlerR8X-X5SeUS5R_aYFSB0YyUEpsb8lV5zZMvN5xWjw9xQYpH7Wj3so4j6eChC9gpQPqhhJC8auUdxZSSXi5NMg4yw/s200/P1000791.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>I cooked tri-tips, a whole pork tenderloin, chicken, and a huge pot of chili. The tri-tips were tenderized with the Jaccard tenderizer (couldn't live without it!), marinated in my Rubbit dry rub, and cooked on the charcoal BBQ with a mop of Rubbit, apple cider, Lea & Perrins, and tomato paste. The pork tenderloin was marinated in Penzey's BBQ 3000 dry rub, smoked in the Big Chief smoker for 2 1/2 hours with four types of wood chips, then cooked off-heat in the BBQ. The chicken was marinated overnight in tandoori spice, and I wasn't thrilled with the outcome. Kind of bland, probably needed some liquid marinade. <br />
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The chili was a tad spicy, but it got rave reviews. A combination of Anaheim, pasilla, jalapeno, serrano, and habanero chilis (only two of the latter) were sweated down, along with a couple Walla Walla onions. Spices included several chili powders, cayenne pepper (in moderation), oregano, and of course lots of cumin. Early in the process, it seemed like this may be too spicy for the general population, but it mellowed just enough over the course of the day, and turned out perfect. It's sometimes difficult to gauge what "spicy" means to a large group, but I didn't see anyone running for cold water, and people were highly complimentary. Successful batch of chili!<br />
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I do something that's arguably a tad strange, when I put on events like this. After spending the bulk of two days doing the prep work, then testing the chili and meats as I go, by the time I have the meats cut and placed on platters, I'm commonly ready to park and enjoy a martini. I eventually had a small bowl of chili (because it really <em>was </em>good), but I almost never prepare a full plate of food for myself. I imagine everyone put on a little weight during the event ... I lost three pounds. Interesting. <br />
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This event is always fun, and the biggest reason is the guests who grace us with their presence. The crowd varies from year to year ... some people have been to many of these, and there's always a few newbies. This year was no exception; we had visitors from California and North Carolina, and a good many of our local friends from the Bend area. I believe the count was around 35 this year, which is about average. I had 75 one year in San Jose, and all three of my current bands also played for the entire event. Thirty five and no band was nice, as it gave me a chance to spend some quality time with each of these wonderful people. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeBAfB19JN69L5fC6u7zoQJSBBGnk70jLdwAINpDD_bcqxv_OVT35UyAccXd1A893jkiqam0tPhkNaoA2oOkkPWe8TY47mHBdGvenF-7hJYAmOXt3Rcj5p-T8JRk50U_WYVqC9OJesm4/s1600/P1000808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeBAfB19JN69L5fC6u7zoQJSBBGnk70jLdwAINpDD_bcqxv_OVT35UyAccXd1A893jkiqam0tPhkNaoA2oOkkPWe8TY47mHBdGvenF-7hJYAmOXt3Rcj5p-T8JRk50U_WYVqC9OJesm4/s200/P1000808.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>It's great being home in Bend. As I mentioned at the outset, it's unlikely that we'll ever move out of this area again. The mountains, river, relatively slower pace, four seasons (unpredictable as they surely are), and the amazing group of friends we've amassed up here, has totally won us over. I'm so grateful that family members and friends continue to visit from California and elsewhere, and I'm always happy to provide them a place to stay, and hopefully cook some good meals for them. It's what I do, and I enjoy playing host. There still may be a B&B in the future ... who knows. But for now, I'm content to be back in the big house by the river, and able to entertain friends and family in relatively nice style. <br />
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Thanks to everyone who attended and contributed to the incredible array of food. We'll of course see most of you with some regularity, and you can all look forward to next year's Evite for Meatfest 14 ... quite likely in July!Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-12512386190926062862010-08-27T12:33:00.000-07:002010-08-27T12:33:13.737-07:00Anniversary Dinner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZLntJk2WeAD8SXmOoM-jVxHtGo40ultmdFoPn8lH2bKAF0H2tVRWICEFiB_zLQyG74urgZC5s5I6uaj4iWn_2YlbtJBUhGwD9Wx9M6DFypw52qYsre0GjcYt_yU3WJOBMKynLJRB9WU/s1600/Dom-Closeup.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZLntJk2WeAD8SXmOoM-jVxHtGo40ultmdFoPn8lH2bKAF0H2tVRWICEFiB_zLQyG74urgZC5s5I6uaj4iWn_2YlbtJBUhGwD9Wx9M6DFypw52qYsre0GjcYt_yU3WJOBMKynLJRB9WU/s200/Dom-Closeup.JPG" width="200" /></a>Yesterday was our twentieth wedding anniversary, and we decided to dine at home and I'd create something special. We have two friends with birthdays, plus our anniversary, so we'd already made plans to go dinner tonight with them at a new restaurant here in Bend. Our actual anniversary would be a stay-at-home dinner compliments of yours truly. To make this even more special, we had a bottle of champagne and a bottle of wine that would be the perfect compliment to what I'd planned to make. </div><br />
We have a couple of friends, Gary and Laura, who are Hollywood stunt people. Gary's a former stunt guy, and pretty much concentrates on directing stunts now. This is a business that takes its toll on your body, as you can probably imagine. Laura still does stunts, including doubles, driving, martial arts, and anything considered too risky for the "stars." She's appeared in Fast and Furious, Coyote Ugly (the one who did the "fire trick" on the bar), Speed, and many more. Very nice people, and we love having them visit. Gary and Laura stayed at our house for a couple of nights last year when we were in the Bay Area, and as a thank you, left us a bottle of 2000 Vintage Dom Perignon Champagne. An amazing gesture, to say the least. We've been tempted to pop it several times, but our 20th anniversary was the <em>perfect </em>time. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLNnIIdfelvDQBKBM44KZtluHyHpCOSkSYqxPtGCqS6CSqNDfDELmzfTZQFm71NNqyWvr9DladVUvPSNA5_vZSzmwxZT_MpPW4qM_Ahw7E5V1yl7hPkYqLhnA3_Pa_eUqe5xiSJBCZfU/s1600/P1000768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLNnIIdfelvDQBKBM44KZtluHyHpCOSkSYqxPtGCqS6CSqNDfDELmzfTZQFm71NNqyWvr9DladVUvPSNA5_vZSzmwxZT_MpPW4qM_Ahw7E5V1yl7hPkYqLhnA3_Pa_eUqe5xiSJBCZfU/s200/P1000768.JPG" width="200" /></a>I'd started prepping dinner, and thought I'd open the wine that I'd planned to serve (more on that, ahead). My wife heard the "pop" and yelled down ... "Don't open the champagne yet!" I'd already gotten out the Waterford champagne glasses that I bought her for our first anniversary, but I was actually opening the wine so it would breathe ... not the champagne. I assured her that the Dom Perignon was still chilling, and a couple of minutes later she came downstairs with a bag. "Open this," she said. The reason she didn't want me to open (and pour) the champagne, is that she'd gotten us a pair of beautiful champagne glasses for our anniversary, and wanted to use these instead. Then, I popped the Dom, and we enjoyed it immensely ... in the new glasses pictured here. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORiXkmGHJkTPhKAyV1S0fmFNHuOfMdqtpt2MLldYX8t-Rh8MkY7-hjxShcF9NH94fs6XmqCYISDNxfUWvw8s3F5SQiErHJAx29q9wtKQubW32o1k4-xBlxHJfUBiHDnbb_cjjxfeI0-k/s1600/P1000770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORiXkmGHJkTPhKAyV1S0fmFNHuOfMdqtpt2MLldYX8t-Rh8MkY7-hjxShcF9NH94fs6XmqCYISDNxfUWvw8s3F5SQiErHJAx29q9wtKQubW32o1k4-xBlxHJfUBiHDnbb_cjjxfeI0-k/s200/P1000770.JPG" width="200" /></a>The wine I've been alluding to was a gift from my friend Larry Wolff, who visited us last week with his lovely wife Trish. I met Larry in our seventh grade homeroom class, and we've been the best of friends ever since (this was a <em>long </em>time ago!). He wanted to be a doctor as long as I've known him, and is in fact a cardiologist, specializing in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cardiac_electrophysiology">cardiac electrophysiology</a>. Larry and Trish made their annual trek to Washington, where Trish's family has a piece of property that they've camped on since she was young. And instead of going straight down Interstate 5, back to Sacramento, they cut inland along the Columbia Gorge, past beautiful Multnomah Falls, and south on 97 to our house in Bend. Larry's also an amazing athelete, currently training for a world class level bicycle race in Portugal. He could end up number one in the world in his division, and knowing his drive and capabilities, he just may do it! He had one of his Scott bikes with him during his visit, and of course had to take a little jaunt up to Mt. Bachelor, which is a twenty mile uphill battle that would kill most mortals. But this is the kind of thing he enjoys, and he totally took it in stride and rode up and back, in the afternoon Central Oregon summer heat. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImRZ708DlCnFwEnXH9hqyOTj2A-k8Hbvu54FY8v2u2dv47jwZFgTXs7qhl5K-nwzCK2lplEpMCjpf-UJguhRMGcDUlh6Da1_cRj8TN5b4kZBgwdrLZysSmuWITIDduvNJqfIOf2wbgvk/s1600/P1000769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImRZ708DlCnFwEnXH9hqyOTj2A-k8Hbvu54FY8v2u2dv47jwZFgTXs7qhl5K-nwzCK2lplEpMCjpf-UJguhRMGcDUlh6Da1_cRj8TN5b4kZBgwdrLZysSmuWITIDduvNJqfIOf2wbgvk/s200/P1000769.JPG" width="200" /></a>Back to the wine ... Larry brought us a bottle of Joseph Phelps Cabernet, vintage 2003. A <em>very </em>nice California red, to say the least. Although I could have and arguably <em>should have </em>put it in the wine rack and let it be, I decided that it would be the perfect compliment to the 20th anniversary meal (which I promise to get to eventually), and had to pop it on this night. And what would be the perfect glasses to serve it in? Of course, I had to go for the Waterford wine goblets that Larry and Trish had given us twenty years ago. These were in fact our <strong>first </strong>wedding gift, and a very nice one at that. Done! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">The Meal ...</span></strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;"><strong>Grilled loin lamb chops</strong></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Marinated for four hours in garlic, olive oil, chopped fresh rosemary, salt and pepper</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Grilled on the gas barbeque, 7 minutes per side, turned a couple times, medium high heat</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Vodka cream penne rigate</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(Variation of a recipe from the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Silver-Spoon-Phaidon-Press/dp/0714845310">Silver Spoon</a> cookbook ... the bible of Italian cooking!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is a very simple, yet totally tasty pasta recipe. As opposed to the classic idea of a spice and garlic laden Italian preparation, this one's pretty much devoid of these expected ingredients. This pasta, along with the tomato cream pesto rigatoni (also from the Silver Spoon) are two of my favorite pasta side dishes. And if you don't have the Silver Spoon in your collection, and aren't lucky enough to have someone like my friend Angela <em>give </em>it to you as a gift, you owe it to yourself to buy a copy. Amazing book. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">16 oz. of penne pasta, cooked 11 minutes for al dente</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3-4 ounces of proscuitto, chopped</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 tablespoons of olive oil</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 tablespoons of butter</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 tomatoes, diced, seeded, strained</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3 tablespoons of heavy cream</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3/4 cup of vodka</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 tablespoon of dried parsley flakes</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Parmesan cheese for garnish</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Plan ahead for the penne rigate</u> ... the sauce will take about 15 minutes to prepare, the pasta takes 11. Have the water boiling, drop the pasta in the water about 5 minutes into your sauce prep time. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Heat the oil and butter over medium heat</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Add the proscuito, parsley and tomatoes and cook over medium low for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stir in the vodka and cream, simmer on medium low for another 5 minutes</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Drain the penne rigate, combine with the sauce, stir in a couple tablespoons of freshly grated Parmesan</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Cold Asparagus</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 pound of thin, fresh asparagus</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Drizzle of your best extra virgin olive oil</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Balsamic vinegar</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Shaved parmesan strips</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's a simple trick to trimming asparagus to the perfect length. Find the place on the "thick end" that breaks easily when you bend it. It's usually a couple inches from the end, you'll know it when you find it. Save the broken off piece to measure the right spot, and cut the remaining pieces the same length. You'll now have equal length pieces to cook, without having to break them all individually. Looks better cut, vs. broken too!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The technique is to blanch the asparagus, then cool it on a flat pan or plate until you're ready to garnish and serve it. Have a big bowl of icewater next to your sink. Boil a couple quarts of water with a little salt. Drop the asparagus into the pot, and boil for 5 minutes. Drain the asparagus in a colander (a pasta pot with an insert works perfect for this), and immediately plunge it into the icewater. This stops the internal cooking process and keeps it crispy, which is what you want when you serve it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After a minute in the icewater, lay the asparagus out on a small cookie tray or dish, cover with foil, chill in the refrigerator until you're ready to serve it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Serve by laying the asparagus out flat on a serving platter, drizzle a small amount of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, sprinkle with salt (good use for your fleur de sel), and garnish with some Parmesan cheese, shaved with a vegetable peeler. Makes for a beautiful presentation, and it's a consistent crowd pleaser. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dessert? Couldn't do any better than chocolate sundaes with Oregon's own Umpqua Vanilla Bean ice cream. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Great dinner, plenty of leftovers for lunch today, and tonight we'll check out the brand new "Bourbon Street" restaurant in town. Not a bad couple of days and meals!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-18377594976024626942010-08-17T18:59:00.000-07:002012-01-19T12:07:19.785-08:00Asian Noodle Soup<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've gotten so many requests for this, and people seem to love it, so I thought I'd post it as a blog piece. Feel free to use it, copy it, exploit it, whatever you want. It's my recipe, but it's simply the end result of lots of experimenting in an effort to get close to pho flavor without spending all day doing it. Don't be put off by the list of ingredients, this is actually an easy soup with a bunch of stuff that you're probably not used to using. This is a guaranteed crowd pleaser. <br />
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This soup is good year ‘round, and it takes less than an hour to make. I love making homemade pho, but it takes way too long for a weeknight dinner. This is very close, and infinitely easier. There are a few ingredients you likely don’t have in your pantry (I do, which is sort of scary!). All of these should be available in any good supermarket’s Asian section. If we have them in Bend, you have them where you live. Noodles are a personal choice. I’m using Udon tonight, I also like Soba, or you can certainly use real Vietnamese pho noodles. All are good, and work equally well. <br />
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The recipe also works with either chicken or beef. This recipe's for beef, but you can substitute chicken and chicken stock for exactly the same effect. I've made it with just chicken or beef broth (and no meat) and it's still great. Haven't tried a total vegetarian version, but the rest of the spices and ingredients are likely to yield an awesome soup as well. <br />
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<strong>Ingredients:</strong></div>
<ul>
<li>8 cups of water</li>
<li>32 oz. box of Swanson’s low-sodium fat free beef broth</li>
<li>2 tablespoons of “Better Than Bouillon” beef stock concentrate</li>
<li>1 pound of lean beef, cut into 3 inch, very thin strips (I like eye of round)</li>
<li>1 large white onion, peeled, quartered, slice thin, <u>soaked in cold water for 30 minutes</u></li>
<li>1 bunch of green onions, sliced at an angle (white and most of the green)</li>
<li>½ bunch of fresh basil, chopped</li>
<li>½ bunch of fresh cilantro, chopped</li>
<li>1 teaspoon EACH of <a href="http://www.thaikitchen.com/Recipes/Chicken-Beef-and-Pork/Thai-Red-Curry.aspx">Thai Kitchen</a> green and red curry pastes</li>
<li>Lemongrass, either:</li>
<ul>
<li>Teaspoon of <a href="http://www.gourmetgarden.com/us/product/view/Lemon-Grass">Gourmet Kitchen lemongrass herb blend</a> (tough to find)</li>
<li>1 stalk of fresh lemongrass, chopped in 3” pieces (you’ll remove it at the end)</li>
</ul>
<li>1 stick of cinnamon</li>
<li>2 star anise pieces</li>
<li>4 tablespoons of soy sauce (light, low sodium works fine)</li>
<li>12 oz of your choice of Asian noodles, cooked according to the package. I prefer Udon or Soba (buckwheat)</li>
</ul>
Garnishes of:<br />
<ul>
<li>Lemon or lime wedges</li>
<li>Thin sliced jalapenos (with seeds)</li>
<li>Fresh bean sprouts</li>
<li>Thai basil if you can find it, regular basil leaves if you can't - whole leaves on the stem</li>
<li>Sriracha red hot sauce (no substitutes, track it down!)</li>
</ul>
<strong>Technique:</strong><br />
<ul>
<li>In a stockpot on high heat, combine the broth, 8 cups of water</li>
<li>Stir in the bouillon concenrate, chili paste and curry pastes</li>
<li>Add the lemongrass, star anise, cinnamon, soy sauce</li>
<li>Stir in the beef, reduce to medium high heat</li>
<li>Stir in the cilantro, basil, green onions, return to a boil</li>
<li>Drain the water from the white onions, add to the stockpot, return to a boil</li>
<li>Reduce to medium low heat, partially cover, simmer for 45 minutes</li>
<li>Remove the star anise and cinnamon, and the lemongrass if you used whole pieces</li>
</ul>
Prepare the noodles according to the directions (generally, have the water boiling and allow 15 minutes for the noodles. Some take longer, some shorter, this is a good guideline).<br />
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<strong>To Serve:</strong><br />
<ul>
<li>With tongs or a pasta server, place some noodles at the the bottom of large soup bowls</li>
<li>Ladle the soup over the noodles</li>
<li>Serve with the garnishes and chopsticks and Chinese soup spoons</li>
</ul>
<strong>The Vietnamese Way:</strong><br />
A former employee and good friend of mine, Hai Nguyen (just say "win" for the correct pronunciation) introduced me to pho in Sunnyvale about 15 years ago. He also taught me the correct Vietnamese way of garnishing and eating it. <br />
<ul>
<li>Tear off a few leaves of basil and toss them in the bowl</li>
<li>Throw in a handful of bean sprouts</li>
<li>Squeeze a wedge of lemon or lime on top</li>
<li>Use Sriracha to your own level of heat tolerance (it's hot, but imperative!)</li>
<li>Pick up the noodles with chopsticks, "chew" them off. This is not a neat process, but this is how you do it!</li>
<li>Use the soup spoon for the broth and remainder of the ingredients</li>
</ul>
Enjoy! <br />
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</div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-77000397776229497082010-08-09T23:17:00.000-07:002010-08-09T23:17:16.691-07:00Walk This Way!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGD_fYb_B7g6d2gecPDXa9y8jIl2yIzhpUbiUPrlBkX5lToXYRYrwI1iKktH31GcnmeMnPstnE-1PcOO4h_5HT3l9XM1992ZRfDqjXz-Wie3JkqT9LrFU8Qu7fKADh2vu2HBz-_WRVrE/s1600/LS-Riv-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGD_fYb_B7g6d2gecPDXa9y8jIl2yIzhpUbiUPrlBkX5lToXYRYrwI1iKktH31GcnmeMnPstnE-1PcOO4h_5HT3l9XM1992ZRfDqjXz-Wie3JkqT9LrFU8Qu7fKADh2vu2HBz-_WRVrE/s200/LS-Riv-1.JPG" width="200" /></a>We've had an extremely nice summer so far, up here in Central Oregon. Warm days, cool nights, nothing outrageous one way or another, other than a couple freak thunderstorms here and there. We get four seasons here, and you have to learn to both appreciate them and adjust to them, or it can drive you crazy. Winters sometimes seem to go on forever, springs and falls can be way too short, and summer's generally mid-June to the end of September, and no more than that. <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
One of the things we totally love about our home in Bend, is the proximity to the river, and specifically the Deschutes River Trail that's five minutes from the house, and parallels the river into town. I've written about the walk and posted lots of pictures in earlier articles, but I made a concerted effort to shoot pictures all the way into town today, so this will be more about the journey via the pictures, and less of my babble. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0RS6b5Mxc7yXGVDfKiBs3X1J6DVKWoVcU6aZkL_VO-I0PnPDLvr9c63Bkiff08HLOn3TQCqgjAbjAkJ410chrcbC8Lk4IDpnGUfW9mYWAimdOq4yC25ObOpbAWB93MyZBw79pY79zflc/s1600/Trail-to-the-Trail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0RS6b5Mxc7yXGVDfKiBs3X1J6DVKWoVcU6aZkL_VO-I0PnPDLvr9c63Bkiff08HLOn3TQCqgjAbjAkJ410chrcbC8Lk4IDpnGUfW9mYWAimdOq4yC25ObOpbAWB93MyZBw79pY79zflc/s200/Trail-to-the-Trail.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>This is the "trail that leads to the trail," and is about a five minute walk from our house. Actually steeper than it looks, and nothing you want to mess with without snowshoes in the winter. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ht39aRqFH-r_s4XJ62njNdrWt11dvPYtgIjtDRYtL4hFgnjZiYtj7btHnHtuXc4FwnvHZZdFTI7s2tuGzH0AeZeizfKDC0yTVBhlfbnkrK0R6ynsBrz0pNyBXbysgP7Uf2b9z988ZiI/s1600/Water-In.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ht39aRqFH-r_s4XJ62njNdrWt11dvPYtgIjtDRYtL4hFgnjZiYtj7btHnHtuXc4FwnvHZZdFTI7s2tuGzH0AeZeizfKDC0yTVBhlfbnkrK0R6ynsBrz0pNyBXbysgP7Uf2b9z988ZiI/s200/Water-In.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJ5-4-6YClY-zMUOXn6KMOzCTSNSMgViT3Xzuqw9YSg3vbWpxbZZ90LiHy4cLtyR04KTtNsZ_xbvlpHf29grNJvZt0q8oRcRAi0TAJLaybNn1Difu_lLy2tV7M11TtvsQ6cTAQ7cRE4Y/s1600/Water-Out.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJ5-4-6YClY-zMUOXn6KMOzCTSNSMgViT3Xzuqw9YSg3vbWpxbZZ90LiHy4cLtyR04KTtNsZ_xbvlpHf29grNJvZt0q8oRcRAi0TAJLaybNn1Difu_lLy2tV7M11TtvsQ6cTAQ7cRE4Y/s200/Water-Out.JPG" width="200" /></a>The Deschutes River starts in the Cascade Lakes, and flows south to north. They direct some of it from the river into this spillway on the left, where it flows into a 10' pipe, and ultimately to several smaller streams that run through town. This water is MOVING!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDzgN2APOUznefYpb7ZuFYofH3vCqWoQbd4h_FzuZnQlryRBaDmiOn3XQD7qXhCFBY-B2xLI2F5ghijt3hpG6JmnR-S_uOgAn_fHRrVv0YXQIjxrbvVZRTB49NDKFwvATcUVvw3RVrsA/s1600/SmObsDeck.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDzgN2APOUznefYpb7ZuFYofH3vCqWoQbd4h_FzuZnQlryRBaDmiOn3XQD7qXhCFBY-B2xLI2F5ghijt3hpG6JmnR-S_uOgAn_fHRrVv0YXQIjxrbvVZRTB49NDKFwvATcUVvw3RVrsA/s200/SmObsDeck.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This is a little metal and wood pier that juts out into the river about 20' or so. Undoubtedly has fly fishing potential, as it extends out into the river at a seemingly perfect angle. Just gotta find the right little spots to toss the bugs out to ... Riffles, riffles ... <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0rbPUcZIeK_fHhXc9zCHFOj5lVJfbeHJD8gXitLDAQptQ5ez5KyOM1NSdqpsVIIirG2T-3ah1SP4JHQUK0_Ptg6T6Wq2xkdlyFOYmByXelrZOteJXFbzM4NZD1wQARA5l6KGdiofrwM/s1600/River-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0rbPUcZIeK_fHhXc9zCHFOj5lVJfbeHJD8gXitLDAQptQ5ez5KyOM1NSdqpsVIIirG2T-3ah1SP4JHQUK0_Ptg6T6Wq2xkdlyFOYmByXelrZOteJXFbzM4NZD1wQARA5l6KGdiofrwM/s200/River-3.JPG" width="200" /></a> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Looking downstream from the little pier. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEufSkMsoizI4pfYDXCOlG2zb3R30JV5LHfeRv8p4Pdun4KwkJNqySKq5wzebwG5XGN96u8YQcknG9A3OlLLW_WIrs9C9om4_0_dJvkbuZ4W6n-vdRIK8ZEteYZHewzHMaOPlb8W1glWE/s1600/OspreyNest.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" mx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEufSkMsoizI4pfYDXCOlG2zb3R30JV5LHfeRv8p4Pdun4KwkJNqySKq5wzebwG5XGN96u8YQcknG9A3OlLLW_WIrs9C9om4_0_dJvkbuZ4W6n-vdRIK8ZEteYZHewzHMaOPlb8W1glWE/s200/OspreyNest.JPG" width="200" /></a>This is an interesting shot (if you can believe it). The semi-tree-thing in the middle is actually an osprey's nest. Some friends pointed this out the first year we moved up here, and it's remained a nest year after year. You can occasionally see the "mama" fly in or out of it, and with binoculars you can spot the little ones. The mama bird is HUGE, and we see her flying around every night. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4hClwA9q7A8wCgmzp-bXzrmOw1ZD39Kr_idUSU92d22V7l2lJlzv5uwbJ1odpOiqB8ENt8-qmQOqJkWvOPiJOE76OzrfW0Of5TFToyz7mA8VRWAxVH0VstrJgpKg9UUU_m-VIeqAiag/s1600/Riv-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4hClwA9q7A8wCgmzp-bXzrmOw1ZD39Kr_idUSU92d22V7l2lJlzv5uwbJ1odpOiqB8ENt8-qmQOqJkWvOPiJOE76OzrfW0Of5TFToyz7mA8VRWAxVH0VstrJgpKg9UUU_m-VIeqAiag/s200/Riv-4.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The river trail is a circuitous route that goes from close to our house in River Canyon Estates, to the Old Mill District, in the middle of town. The Old Mill is a great spot to shop, eat, hang out, listen to (or pay to watch) a concert at the Amphitheater, or just to walk around. This is a shot of the river, flowing in that direction. Still amazes me that this river (and several other prominent ones up here) flow south to north. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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This is a little up<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnVGUxS15nI0EeJGS7MLNo8Da3JQ4pqffqCTMdPushdYvwad19v4KDPE3q2SvZW4ylzTqcCycOFHo0R2jKgkFLlcizAiuZXLdWpAkGd5jl67Ax_cpUIj7zWb1ZSeQPHYnAeKfPsZ7VrvY/s1600/Riv-5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnVGUxS15nI0EeJGS7MLNo8Da3JQ4pqffqCTMdPushdYvwad19v4KDPE3q2SvZW4ylzTqcCycOFHo0R2jKgkFLlcizAiuZXLdWpAkGd5jl67Ax_cpUIj7zWb1ZSeQPHYnAeKfPsZ7VrvY/s200/Riv-5.JPG" width="200" /></a> higher, looking down at the river in one of its wider spots. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The trail into town has very little in the way of ups and downs, but the river goes from eye level to "this high" over the course of the three mile trek. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbymYd-Srrm2nLuCaO8liBW5fCZ8KGDvn5V3KHG42TVT1AfyI17-PuJ4npXP0jLXWo70rJ-aqFeOpL6bo5giRRPI8_akKQbSbB-MtXDvKKIqNg4ReaIM-1gnee82TeJPgdxWkiIeznpQ/s1600/Pipe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbymYd-Srrm2nLuCaO8liBW5fCZ8KGDvn5V3KHG42TVT1AfyI17-PuJ4npXP0jLXWo70rJ-aqFeOpL6bo5giRRPI8_akKQbSbB-MtXDvKKIqNg4ReaIM-1gnee82TeJPgdxWkiIeznpQ/s200/Pipe.JPG" width="200" /></a>This is the 10' pipe that channels the flow off of the Deschutes to the little tributaries around town. You'd think you could actually hear the water running through it, but amazingly you can't. BIG pipe!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;">My lovely bride<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyzMG3DsBTbtGsNb3Ky3Cd51mN4JoDMVeWxr8RIAIEjzOAlcZiZngw5WP5nRzUSf2xFR9RiblzVKBSp0gNk5OS_DDOimcpXBuk7O8aLrJ3h_KsgHSicp_f_NYnxyLKAiSV4UHyvgd2hg/s1600/Risa-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyzMG3DsBTbtGsNb3Ky3Cd51mN4JoDMVeWxr8RIAIEjzOAlcZiZngw5WP5nRzUSf2xFR9RiblzVKBSp0gNk5OS_DDOimcpXBuk7O8aLrJ3h_KsgHSicp_f_NYnxyLKAiSV4UHyvgd2hg/s200/Risa-1.JPG" width="200" /></a> pausing and refreshing. We've made our way to the fork in the road where you can travel the rest of the way into town on the "other side" of the river, or "this" side of the river. This day, we chose "this side." </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoTA-WjrBLfnN8buZwRYzeU-i34XnjXOz10ffLYNHoXxJGadLXsKytCGuLLwcd4gEidhhry1Z4So-jG1kD_ml_fyyPV3amffC_WGCQoNRv-WKn08chq5t0kRUAYsQDI7tMh-PecEO6sc/s1600/Riv-Bridge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoTA-WjrBLfnN8buZwRYzeU-i34XnjXOz10ffLYNHoXxJGadLXsKytCGuLLwcd4gEidhhry1Z4So-jG1kD_ml_fyyPV3amffC_WGCQoNRv-WKn08chq5t0kRUAYsQDI7tMh-PecEO6sc/s200/Riv-Bridge.JPG" width="200" /></a>The final little wooden bridge, as you're approaching town. You're obviously right on / off the river here, and it's a very cool sensation. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SQaF3TyZz74JQYB69BNsA08MRMERouF-bO1A-m1XsDlkGVPZl67T-QdCHhMqSDyyOlpPKn5aPM5tsDyuUWrgRw_IB3IcohR85RRS4jcw1JHo4pj2S_r5uavgkTspZN0JAK8grssE4js/s1600/Downstream.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SQaF3TyZz74JQYB69BNsA08MRMERouF-bO1A-m1XsDlkGVPZl67T-QdCHhMqSDyyOlpPKn5aPM5tsDyuUWrgRw_IB3IcohR85RRS4jcw1JHo4pj2S_r5uavgkTspZN0JAK8grssE4js/s200/Downstream.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">After the miles of ups and downs, rapids and relative calm sections, it's finally a totally peaceful river as you approach the Healy Bridge and "civilization as we know it." Bend's just around the corner. Let's hope.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjby-Qh3Iajo2yzH-4S1UjTlzXsMfQdelEoS-0ZdJzWmRbru0Bp_IbZ0oSHjRWvb8shbS4FObewRHIO9jPiBlZYN2BbBuy-2st3IMv8h0fyOYrRNaguBcBPjBOlC2nA3OwUoxMyAKUTQh8/s1600/Healy-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" mx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjby-Qh3Iajo2yzH-4S1UjTlzXsMfQdelEoS-0ZdJzWmRbru0Bp_IbZ0oSHjRWvb8shbS4FObewRHIO9jPiBlZYN2BbBuy-2st3IMv8h0fyOYrRNaguBcBPjBOlC2nA3OwUoxMyAKUTQh8/s200/Healy-2.JPG" width="200" /></a>The beautiful Bill Healy bridge. This is such an incredible site that we (and others we know, trust me!) actually go out of their way to cross it. You can't tell from the picture, but that "black thing" sticking up in the front of the raft is actually a very big Labrador Retriever. I suspect he's been left in charge of the yacht while his people are diving for treasure. Or something. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Farewell Bend Park, with the Old Mill smokestacks in the distance. This is one of the most gorgeous places in town, and we never tire of it. Along with the Sisters, Bachelor, and the other mountains of the Cascade range, this is simply a site to behold. Dogs run free here, people use the picnic tables, it's the place to get into the water for a float down the Deschutes, and it's just a gorgeous place to hang out. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptjPcAYcyAddApnFNu-CKHp1vVaNUWErwloUM8iHwUgv49bcy371XTR1uGhKwQVzBci1xi4vvBjCxaSO5WKk_ypOvjro5FB4V8i0JAeQCHUx-H7B3Z-jYDOIp0Ipe-J76vYEJAGkBZVU/s1600/FBPark-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptjPcAYcyAddApnFNu-CKHp1vVaNUWErwloUM8iHwUgv49bcy371XTR1uGhKwQVzBci1xi4vvBjCxaSO5WKk_ypOvjro5FB4V8i0JAeQCHUx-H7B3Z-jYDOIp0Ipe-J76vYEJAGkBZVU/s200/FBPark-1.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">This specific spot at Farewell Bend Park was apparently the spot where the city was first conceived, and everything was built out from here. Now I know, and I'll always take out of town friends here to see it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8LRWv6a59kfX2M35vM7Tj88BQvRVnudAlK8bVv6VQ4LgFSKc3pE42BJ6mn028JhJ4snMxBejnQHNZDMTaVNd8nbHU-Bme8m56qh8EY1zje5RiHgssRAUCY5rLyJdib5cFs5UWfBvP0A/s1600/Birth-Town.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8LRWv6a59kfX2M35vM7Tj88BQvRVnudAlK8bVv6VQ4LgFSKc3pE42BJ6mn028JhJ4snMxBejnQHNZDMTaVNd8nbHU-Bme8m56qh8EY1zje5RiHgssRAUCY5rLyJdib5cFs5UWfBvP0A/s200/Birth-Town.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-61542121943071617152010-06-04T12:12:00.000-07:002010-06-04T12:12:13.522-07:00Happy Birthday Marty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4IDSZJOzkYVrGYrMLxHwkpPfiU8e_SqQLdpKw6TkPm7l4qAzBGtnfdX4nOFx0afG-5KobekbOHfuy_WRhTvtfJIb2EqZ6B_Ja6tlVek5QwgeXJMRxpU2EA7DBYpNW2yADIrW6wtxd8Qs/s1600/PPoint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4IDSZJOzkYVrGYrMLxHwkpPfiU8e_SqQLdpKw6TkPm7l4qAzBGtnfdX4nOFx0afG-5KobekbOHfuy_WRhTvtfJIb2EqZ6B_Ja6tlVek5QwgeXJMRxpU2EA7DBYpNW2yADIrW6wtxd8Qs/s200/PPoint.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Some of the best times of my (much) younger days were spent traveling with my friend Marty. He and I met at catechism at about seven or eight years old. We were more acquaintences for the first few years, but we both had a dislike for attending the afore-mentioned religious training (Our Lady of Perpetual Guilt, I believe the church was called?) and commonly would "cut" catechism and walk up and over what was then called Alemany Boulevard, to Thornton Beach. Alemany ultimately was renamed John Daly Boulevard, after the founder of Daly City, and Thornton Beach is now a dim memory in the minds of those of us who used to hang out there when we were kids. I believe it had one too many bouts with erosion and the San Andreas Fault, and they simply closed it down and made a parking lot out of the top of the hill that used to lead down to the beach. Curiously, the Mar Vista Riding Stables that have always been right next to this parking lot, are still in operation. They were boarding and renting horses to ride along the trails on the cliffs when I was a kid, and they're still in business. This used to be five bucks an hour ... I wonder what inflation has done to the cost of renting a horse on the coast, just south of San Francisco. But Marty and I spent plenty of time there in our youth, and no offense to Sister Timothy and Father Powers, but we had way more fun than we would have had at catechism. <br />
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Our friendship really took off when we discovered a few common passions ... surfing, music, cars, and of course girls. There were several occasions over the years when our girlfriends were actually best friends themselves. Made things much simpler, and seemed to be a repetitve pattern for a few years. We played in a band together for most of our high school years, and both of us caught the surfing bug in about 8th grade. We were relegated to bumming rides from older friends, parents, or hitchhiking to the beach until we could drive ourselves, but we somehow managed to get to Pedro Point in Pacifica a couple times a week, and Santa Cruz every couple weeks. Both his grandparents and mine lived in or near Santa Cruz, so overnight visits were commonplace.<br />
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After getting our driver's licenses, we probably averaged 3-4 trips to Santa Cruz per week. For those of you unfamiliar with this surfing mecca that lies about 65 miles south of San Francisco, they've raged an ongoing battle with Huntington Beach for the official "Surf City" moniker, for many decades. Within the span of about 15 miles, there are literally dozens of known and secret surfing spots. Our favorite place was always Pleasure Point, which is where the legendary Jack O'Neill (of wetsuit fame) has a house overlooking the waves. "Outside" Pleasure Point could usually be counted on for bigger waves (as well as the worst wipeout of my life), but also more crowded conditions. "Inside" Pleasure was an easier climb down the cliff, and a much easier paddle out. High tide was best, low tide provided a lot of boulder dodging, but either way, we loved surfing there. <br />
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As a chef, looking back at the he food we ate in those days makes me cringe. A common day would include a trip to A&W Rootbeer on our way out of town, probably for a Papa Burger or a huge Sub sandwich, fries, and a huge rootbeer or float. If we'd spent the night, we'd probably hit up both our grandmothers for breakfast, playing the starving student card frequently. They enjoyed feeding us, we took advantage of their hospitality often. We'd surf for a few hours, then it was lunch time. Several tacos from Taco Tio on Ocean were the norm, but if the waves were good we'd simply pick up "sandwich kits" from the little Pleasure Point store. They'd package a sourdough roll, lunch meat, cheese, mustard and mayo, and sell them by the billions to the surfers. Then it was back in the water for a few more hours before heading back up the coast. Dinner at my parents' first, then his house for another meal. <br />
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We took many trips to Southern California, beginning when we were both 16, and able to drive ourselves. The first trip was in his parents' Ford Country Squire wagon, which was smooth and comfortable, althouth the big V-8 probably guzzled plenty of gas (which was a quarter a gallon then). First food stop on the way south was at a restaurant in Pismo Beach. I remember Marty's meal like it was yesterday ... he ordered the chicken dinner and asked the waitress how much food was involved ... after she described it as a pretty good size meal, he retorted with "then you'd better bring me a burger and fries while I'm waiting." Classic Cloonan. <br />
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The first waves of the trip were in Huntington Beach. I'd just gotten my first "short" board, which was an 8'6" Gordon and Smith Midget Farrelly Model. Beautiful blue V-Bottom that replaced my 10' Hansen Superlight. Both of these ran about $175 apiece, and they'd fetch about five grand today. They don't make 'em like the used to! I managed to get some waves at the Huntington Pier, but the last one managed to nail me and I had to swim in to my board which washed up on the beach. There were no surfboard "leashes" in these days. In the span of the next ten minutes, we encountered all the bad karma we needed for the rest of the trip ... First, I was stung by a jellyfish. Then as we stood on the beach watching a rescue team diving into the water to save a swimmer, I managed to jam the skeg of my new board into my foot while standing it up in the sand. We returned to the parking lot to discover that Marty had left the wax on the hood of the car in the 90 degree sun, and it now covered the hood. And finally, pulling out of the lot, he ran into a metal post, putting the only dent that car had ever seen in the right front quarter. Memories of Huntington Beach.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItvsHqrOrwOToT4YHucG34jVFsSEBW6R6gaYGWNJGc6Swk70_5nj0l1LPx_2KixVxOMCwY5oK7rUaq8tB8Ukonqbn3w-SQS59Uesfk67NPlBoaTlVXELOuWy3J0NH6VSQEPau0NcpBMQ/s1600/windansea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItvsHqrOrwOToT4YHucG34jVFsSEBW6R6gaYGWNJGc6Swk70_5nj0l1LPx_2KixVxOMCwY5oK7rUaq8tB8Ukonqbn3w-SQS59Uesfk67NPlBoaTlVXELOuWy3J0NH6VSQEPau0NcpBMQ/s200/windansea.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>But the rest of the trip provided some amazing surfing in places like Redondo Beach, Hermosa, <a href="http://www.beachcalifornia.com/turmo.html">Tourmaline</a>, and the famous Windansea off the La Jolla coast. We also surfed the Tijuana Sloughs, which was a long stretch of crummy surf in front of where his brother was living, just north of the border. Two memorable nights here that will forever remain in the memory of these two impressionable 16-year-olds. We went to see the Beach Boys and Gary Puckett & The Union Gap at the Coliseum in San Diego one night, and Marty's brother Wayne was driving the car. Apparently he did a rolling (California style) stop through an intersection, and a bike cop pulled him over. Without missing a beat, as the cop walked up to the window Wayne says "I'll have a Super Burger, a bag of fries, and a Jack Cola please." The cop laughed, and proceeded to write him out a ticket. <br />
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The other "fun" night was the first of dozens of trips I'd eventually take to Tijuana. If you're old enough to reach the bar and order a beer in "T.J.," they'll serve it to you. I think we both drank about a dozen Superior Mexican beers that night. Tijuana's a trip ... 'nuff said on that subject. We were 16. <br />
Another memorable trip that once again ended up in Santa Cruz, was one night that we had a band gig in Pacifica. We were opening up for another band that was managed by our manager, the Western Civilization, who were from Santa Fe. I'd been semi-dating a girl named Kathy at the time, but she was spending the week at her parents' place in Clear Lake, thereby clearing the way for me to invite a friend of Marty's girlfriend Cathy, named Janet, who was visiting from Seattle. So Marty and Cathy and Janet and I loaded all of our band equipment into my '51 Chevy Woodie and headed to the gig. Upon arriving there, the bass player from the other band told me that his stewardess girlfriend was at the gig, and she had lined me up with a friend of hers for my date for the night. The evening was getting complicated very quickly. Sometime during my drum setup, I hear a little "Hi" from behind me, as "my" Kathy walked in. She decided to come back early from Clear Lake to see us play. I was cordial, and also made nice with the "setup" stewardess (who was gorgeous as I recall), but there's no place like backstage when this kind of thing happens. We played our first set, hung around backstage, played the second set, and promptly piled everything into the Woodie and headed for Santa Cruz while the other band was finishing the show. Most nights I'd be very lucky to have <em>one </em>girlfriend at a show ... three was unheard-of, and way too complicated.<br />
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The last trip I'll attempt to entertain you with was one we took to the Lake Almanor area. Once again, it was in Marty's Country Squire (which he'd bought from his parents when he was 18), and once again it involved his girlfriend Cathy and by sheer coincidence, another friend of hers. Cathy had gone on vacation with her family to the booming metropolis of Graeagle, California, a tiny resort town near Portola, in the vicinity of Lake Almanor and Mt. Lassen. Unfortunately, Marty's parents were away for the weekend, and his 100 pound boxer "Duke" was his responsibility. But Cathy's parents invited us up, and she mentioned that she had a girlfriend up there who she wanted me to meet, so we piled ourselves and Duke in the wagon, and headed north. We were pleasantly shocked to find that Cathy's parents were kind (or stupid) enough to get us a room in the resort, so we wouldn't have to sleep in the car. Fine, so far. <br />
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We left Duke in the room, had some dinner, and went for a swim in the resort's pool with the girls. We'd been gone for maybe an hour when one of the resort people came and got us, saying something like "you need to vacate the room ... your dog ATE the door." Yes, he used the word "ate," I didn't make this up. He didn't of course, but he mangled it pretty badly, and we were once again relegated to sleeping in the back of the Country Squire. Duke got the front seat to himself. <br />
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Marty has a big birthday today ... one of those "left digit" birthdays that we all hate coming along every decade. I skipped second grade so he's older than I am, meaning my "turn" at this birthday is still a year off. But it's a momentous one for him, and he's been a great friend for such a long time. He's the kind of friend that you can go without seeing for a couple years, and when you get together it's like you saw eachother yesterday. It's a friendship that hasn't missed a beat since we met during Sister Timothy's catechism classes (which we cut so many times). It's endured through his time in the Army, my time at San Diego State, and moving to St. Thomas and Chico, and now Bend. He's raised great kids, and now has a few grandkids to spoil. His lovely wife Donna is his best friend, and their homelife is the classic American dream. <br />
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So on the occasion of this birthday, which is meaningful in more ways than I went into here ... I'd like to wish my friend Marty a happy one, and many more to follow! Alla Ka Zip!Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-73501850895806340732010-04-25T13:00:00.000-07:002010-04-25T13:08:38.784-07:00Returning Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXszqqriFUKaDO0L4NP8T2HbP5K4mMuovI5cIdn4XWcLFCPBUjtcLl6DhtpOG_Tm-sWDNPGqtVFPrCrRjxHV6E_dEYVFXm1oJ8aAhUIL3SIliWhz-GzpBZOnD3yHyhxCcyKR2sp-XUSw/s1600/LS-GGBridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXszqqriFUKaDO0L4NP8T2HbP5K4mMuovI5cIdn4XWcLFCPBUjtcLl6DhtpOG_Tm-sWDNPGqtVFPrCrRjxHV6E_dEYVFXm1oJ8aAhUIL3SIliWhz-GzpBZOnD3yHyhxCcyKR2sp-XUSw/s200/LS-GGBridge.jpg" tt="true" width="150" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;"><strong>Sayonara, California</strong></span><br />
Two weeks ago, we made what I believe to be the final move from California to Bend, Oregon. The proverbial bottom line of an otherwise very long story, is that we moved to Bend in 2005, but subsequently ended up moving back to the Bay Area for jobs and the economic downturn in 2008. Ridiculous tax rates everywhere you turn, a crazy economy on a grand scale, an unfathomable cost of living, layoffs and corporate politics, and simply way too much population has tarnished any luster that the Golden State once held for this San Francisco native. So it’s back to the beautiful house across the street from the Deschutes River, and all the wonders that the beautiful state of Oregon has to offer. <br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><strong>The Move<br />
</strong></span>I decided to do a "pre-move" trip in the little GTI, which is a total blast to drive through the Sacramento Valley, up over the Siskiyou's, and up through Central Oregon. Keep a diligent eye on the speedometer and the rear view mirror, and it can be a very fun trip. I've gotten so used to making the trip, that the whole thing seems to fly by (in 8 hours). I pack a few diet coke's, crank the tunes up, and just go. The only mandatory stop is of course Granzella's Deli in Williams, for a quick sandwich to go. <br />
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I spent a busy week at the house, arranging the garage, carrying in and unloading the 30-40 boxes of items that we'd been storing out there for the last two years. I'd originally planned to drive back, but it made more sense to fly, and leave the GTI in the garage (which now looked like a garage again and would actually keep the two cars out of the snow!). So it was back to the Bay Area for another week of packing and getting everything ready to load up and move. <br />
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The 2005 move north was done by the nice people at United Van Lines, who for the sum of nearly ten grand were happy to load, move and unload our 18,000 pounds of "stuff." Let me say up front that you never have a true idea of how much you've accumulated, until you have to pack and move it. Crazy! But this time I decided to do it myself, since we were able to move everything to California in a couple medium truckloads. <br />
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I flew back to SFO with the intention of loading up a huge 26’ truck and driving the remainder of our worldly possessions from Belmont to Bend. But it became evident about three quarters of the way through the load up process that this was not to be. It was going to require an additional truckload to get all of our stuff home. So move day #1 began with loading up the monster truck and driving the 525 miles north, which unfortunately began during San Francisco’s famous rush hour, at 4 PM (something else you never give any thought to, in Central Oregon). Ten hours later, I pulled into our little track of homes in Bend. We hired “loaders and unloaders” to help with this portion of the move, so I only had to do 1/3 of the work myself. Still a lot of work, though, considering I did the bulk of the packing, and all the driving. We unloaded the big truck the following morning, turned it into U-Haul, and reserved a 14’ truck for the following Tuesday, since there was snow expected on Monday and there’s no way I was going to drive a moving van through snow in the Siskiyou’s. <br />
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Tuesday morning … up at 4, on the plane at 6, Angela picked me up at SFO at 7:45 and drove me to the U-Haul place in Millbrae, back at the house at 8:45 and began loading it up with the remains of our worldly goods in the garage. My friend Danny was kind enough to drive over the hill from Pacifica and help with the heavy stuff, and I was able to get out of Dodge by 10:15. Eight and a half hours later, I was once again in Bend, hopefully for good. <br />
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I generally love the drive to Bend. And it’s not just because I’m heading back to the place I now call home, but in fact it’s the ride itself. Several years ago when we first started making this 500+ mile trek, it seemed to be a long arduous ride that couldn’t end quickly enough. But I began looking at it in more of a positive light (what else was I to do?) and began enjoying the many “chunks” of scenery that this ride provided. <br />
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The first hurdle is always the same … getting out of the Bay Area. Same thing when you’re traveling north to south … it can be a beautiful ride for 400 miles, and then you hit Vacaville and it’s anybody’s guess how much congestion you’ll run into for the final push. But once you’re through the traffic of the greater Bay Area, and make the turn from Highway 80 to 505, it’s generally smooth sailing. <br />
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The “chunks” I’ve referred to in earlier pieces include the 505 connector from Vacaville to where it meets Highway 5 (my sister refers to this stretch as the Nurburgring, since the 70 mph speed limit and long straight expanses of road tend to encourage a lead foot), the long ride through the valley to Redding, the winding road through the Siskiyou’s and around Mt. Shasta, the turnoff onto 97 at Weed which provides some phenomenal views of the north side of Shasta, as well as the high plains and the lower section of the Cascades, and finally the turn from northeast to due north at Klamath Falls and the last 135 miles to Bend. See how easy it is to make a 525 mile trip seem like a piece of cake? But three times in two weeks, and twice in three <em>days </em>was plenty, and I’m staying put for now. <br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><strong>Back on the Deschutes<br />
</strong></span>After several days of unloading and feeling the full impact of packing and moving the entire house full of “stuff,” (not to mention the afore-mentioned three driving trips), I was ready for the first real nice day outside, and the first walk along the Deschutes in quite some time. I often refer to our home as being "across the street" from the river, which technically it is. But it's down a bit of a gorge, and to get to it requires a walk around the corner, and a small hike down to the path that leads along the Deschutes into town. It literally takes five minutes to get to the path ... a huge plus! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgts3uwAFyl4NqACzcrChv1ZClcaChV66EBIXCOtKlmarCynxBxSM0mJ4hGVNtq1SSwuTQKFUZuq4Hoiq5EvuilhdW26jrzS0ooyo0iscan8QBxInQWg3xXU05yhyphenhyphenLWetr5N5cbvOyN-Y4/s1600/IMG_0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgts3uwAFyl4NqACzcrChv1ZClcaChV66EBIXCOtKlmarCynxBxSM0mJ4hGVNtq1SSwuTQKFUZuq4Hoiq5EvuilhdW26jrzS0ooyo0iscan8QBxInQWg3xXU05yhyphenhyphenLWetr5N5cbvOyN-Y4/s200/IMG_0016.JPG" tt="true" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31-zzkxDmh109E8-HjHwziNUfgDZjBItQGkUM9K91B5ggWQiKUeWvETzeFi56AOeAlvxDq8QT5OaX-dt4iB77y197QkTEc5eDnJjhkSzEbdFdSDh8mf_ULxaOgYfrsDU86nTpmdzlW8U/s1600/IMG_0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31-zzkxDmh109E8-HjHwziNUfgDZjBItQGkUM9K91B5ggWQiKUeWvETzeFi56AOeAlvxDq8QT5OaX-dt4iB77y197QkTEc5eDnJjhkSzEbdFdSDh8mf_ULxaOgYfrsDU86nTpmdzlW8U/s200/IMG_0009.JPG" tt="true" width="200" /></a></div>You're greeted at the beginning of the path with a rushing of water that is split off of the river and into a massive ten-foot round metal pipe, which then carries a portion of the river runoff through several smaller tributaries around town. Like any runoff, it's regulated from high in the mountains (in this case the Cascade Lakes), and varies with need and time of year. But the spring runoff is in full force currently, so the water in both the river itself, and the split off mechanism were pretty impressive. The Deschutes (and several other rivers in Central Oregon) runs south to north, which I've always found fascinating for some reason. It just seems that "downhill" would mean the opposite direction of flow, but such is not the case. The Deschutes starts on the south side of Mt. Bachelor high in the Cascade Lakes, and flows north to the Columbia Gorge, which separates Oregon from Washington. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqdE830aB0Kq1N6DoWMZlRVU4uSrrQ6r6X8kVvqwErbTg6hmG1defQzQv5leULdNoSoyBkYb7AzCswBJ6kQTVbE8ytLhyS0kd0tvRHSUvMbl_k0-tRnEPrqYlWDxhQ363icOEqmgtbOMU/s1600/IMG_0019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqdE830aB0Kq1N6DoWMZlRVU4uSrrQ6r6X8kVvqwErbTg6hmG1defQzQv5leULdNoSoyBkYb7AzCswBJ6kQTVbE8ytLhyS0kd0tvRHSUvMbl_k0-tRnEPrqYlWDxhQ363icOEqmgtbOMU/s200/IMG_0019.JPG" tt="true" width="200" /></a></div>This day's walk along the river would be about a mile each way. I didn't have the time (or energy) to do the full walk into town, which is two and a half miles each way. But I definitely enjoyed the beautiful scenery along the way, and the views that range in elevation from nearly even with the water, to maybe a couple hundred feet up. Wildlife is ever present, particularly in the spring and summer months, and today was no exception. Deer are sometimes seen on the other side of the river, but generally only at dusk, not mid-day. Osprey are common, and there's been a family of them nested at the top of an old hollowed-out tree every year we've been here. Great blue herons are a rare spectacular site, butterflies and dragonflies are everywhere, and of course the path is heaven on earth for all forms of dogs. Some of them are content to walk and explore with their "people," but some of the retriever-types can't resist a romp in the river, which is abundantly evident by the wet canines along the way. The river moves at a fairly good pace, so I'm sure they have to "sneak" a quick swim in the water before they're told not to by their owners. Go for it, guys! <br />
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Central Oregon's weather is famously unpredictable. The local saying goes something like "if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes and it'll totally change." And there's a lot of truth to this. In the three weeks since I drove up in the GTI, we've seen four days of pretty good snowfall, several days of rain (which we need - this is after all, high desert), a little bit of wind, and days like my afore-mentioned walk and today that are totally gorgeous, warm, with nary a cloud in the sky. Days like this beckon you outdoors. Among the many things we love about it here is that there's so much to see and do, so close. The river's always an easy choice, but brief rides in any direction can provide some spectacular scenery and outdoor activity. Tumalo Falls, the peak of Mt. Bachelor, the Cascade Lakes, Sisters, Lava Butte, and some amazing views of the Cascade Range are all within a very few minute drive. The Old Mill District and an outdoor restaurant seat with a river front view is within walking distance. Our great little two-block Downtown is another mile. <br />
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So we're back for good, and obviously enjoying it. My years in California and high tech management are history. The politics and layoffs of the Silicon Valley are a thing of the past. With any luck the real estate industry will return to some semblance of normal, and I'll be able to make a living here! And although we've only been back for a couple of weeks, we've already seen a good number of our wonderful friends, and have had a couple of dinner parties, as well as being invited to a great "welcome home" party at our friends Bob and Chris' house. It's nice to be home. And it's once again time for a walk along the river!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2mEEbwZy6seoAquu6yekf3FF4IE9sNfJog51cSkvp8RRf1ohFx9CEYLwW3hOpJPR5-ESL312L701IYuk9LcgrZZdKt5d3I4QApOmg6qUDgkveCCDbgkORD1GCmTK2_BGHyWNwgwEiFHU/s1600/LS-River.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2mEEbwZy6seoAquu6yekf3FF4IE9sNfJog51cSkvp8RRf1ohFx9CEYLwW3hOpJPR5-ESL312L701IYuk9LcgrZZdKt5d3I4QApOmg6qUDgkveCCDbgkORD1GCmTK2_BGHyWNwgwEiFHU/s200/LS-River.JPG" tt="true" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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<div></div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-10550701246494516222010-04-02T14:53:00.000-07:002010-04-02T14:53:08.318-07:00A ZinFull Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsnEkezcBY8HT1S65Ka_wnfQ0iaCNy3iuJzGdz-pnSXT9jgRDi8-atZIZwVLIAF3agw_GFh4ChMce3RaWz4P4hVuUc43VMDt2xkz26EHqHBM5qO1ov_G59cYl5JSdIF7Z-cXB9iyfio8/s1600-h/IMG_0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsnEkezcBY8HT1S65Ka_wnfQ0iaCNy3iuJzGdz-pnSXT9jgRDi8-atZIZwVLIAF3agw_GFh4ChMce3RaWz4P4hVuUc43VMDt2xkz26EHqHBM5qO1ov_G59cYl5JSdIF7Z-cXB9iyfio8/s200/IMG_0002.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Since we're returning to our home in Bend soon, we had to take advanage of our friend Dave's consistently gracious hospitality, and spend a weekend in beautiful Morro Bay, an exclusive tiny community nestled in California's Central Coast. And as luck would have it, it was also the weekend of the annual Zinfandel Festival in nearby Paso Robles, our favorite wine country. While we enjoy an occasional trip to the Healdsburg area and the wineries of the Alexander and Dry Creek Valleys, we've pretty much stopped going to the Napa Valley wineries, as the area's always too crowded, the wineries are no better than Sonoma or Paso Robles, and they're all getting into the $20 range apiece for tasting. <br />
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Paso Robles boasts some of California's best wines, and in particular, Zinfandels. The dry, warm coastal climate is absolutely prime for growing uniquely interesting wines. I've written extensively about this area, but some of our traditional favorites are Zin Alley (my personal favorite), Denner, Jada, Lone Wolf, Jack Creek, Whalebone, and the beautiful Eagle Castle estate, which looks spectacular when you're cruising over lazy Highway 46 between Paso Robles and the coast. <br />
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To make this trip even more special, we got to meet our friend Dave's new friend Mindy, who's visiting from Colorado. She splits her time between Avon (near Vail) and a farm in Costa Rica, where she grows, eats, and gives away some wonderful sounding produce. Mindy has an enviable zest for life, and both inner and outer beauty that made a huge impression on us. And from all appearances, it seems that they're getting along quite well!<br />
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Mindy and Dave handled cooking duties on Friday night, and it was a total treat. I not only didn't have to cook, but I got to eat someone else's great food! Great local tuna from Morro Bay, served over an amazing bed of peppers and onions, was outstanding. A great salad nd of course some local wines were all that was needed to round out an excellent Friday night feast.<br />
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Saturday's tastings would take us to some of the usual haunts mentioned above, as well as a couple new ones. Mindy had never been wine tasting before (among the few negatives of living near Vail, I suppose!), so we opted to start at Zin Alley, a small winery that produces some of the best wines in the region. Frank Nerelli does a consistently superb job on the four wines he produces; Zinfandel, Port, Syrah, and a dessert wine that's spectacular (and difficult to keep around once it's opened). Four Vines Winery sits just below Zin Alley, and for some reason we'd never stopped there in the past. The tasting room sits behind a restaurant and fresh produce establishment, but it proved to be well worth exploring. Great zins (of course), and some amazing blends that generally don't break the bank. They charge a $7 tasting fee, but you leave with a beautiful logo'd Reidel stemless wine glass in addition to some great tasting wines. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7QJSP1WO1CQYXM_bfMzl8HQObdXexEhjBfJNauocvIG0nJs4hx3JB7w4G19ASiRG7akKKZkkyb4knjTwlYUjCXutZaBbBCq11sfD1Zan3D77XLtborlddIc9xnFnjNAKjiXDfEDz9Ts/s1600-h/IMG_0040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7QJSP1WO1CQYXM_bfMzl8HQObdXexEhjBfJNauocvIG0nJs4hx3JB7w4G19ASiRG7akKKZkkyb4knjTwlYUjCXutZaBbBCq11sfD1Zan3D77XLtborlddIc9xnFnjNAKjiXDfEDz9Ts/s200/IMG_0040.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Our next stop on this warm, clear day was Denner, which sits a on a bluff a couple of miles north, on scenic Vineyard Drive. Denner is a relatively new winery, but they're doing some great whites and reds. They make an amazing white blend called Theresa, as well as an excellent Viognier. Their blends include "The Dirt Worshipper," which is a blend of 95% Syrah and 5% Viognier, a Mourvedre, a Syrah, and another blend called "The Ditchdigger." Bought the wine and a Ditch Digger T-Shirt. All good stuff, and my "stash" of these reside downstairs ... out of sight and temptation, other than for special events. And since Dave belongs to the Comus Club, we were treated to some of their rare, estate wines as well. Great winery, highly recommended. Both Denner and Jada are standouts in the ever-increasing selection of new wineries in the area. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGhQzSMhyphenhyphenhkmvEhpi-MHO5F2SYiX5Kvg1179FQ9yM0xQ-bEifPHfa4MWqWq_JeW6uUM7RfGSkzin8_-RRXqEyGkZS7LRK7SeKH92-IeiuA1qncEYCGROCmZcvvRmY-Rjl2ZlyFFHgTZ0/s1600-h/IMG_0050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGhQzSMhyphenhyphenhkmvEhpi-MHO5F2SYiX5Kvg1179FQ9yM0xQ-bEifPHfa4MWqWq_JeW6uUM7RfGSkzin8_-RRXqEyGkZS7LRK7SeKH92-IeiuA1qncEYCGROCmZcvvRmY-Rjl2ZlyFFHgTZ0/s200/IMG_0050.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Saturday night was my turn to cook for everyone, and Dave's awesome kitchen made it a pleasure. Mindy asked for Italian food so I opted for a big pot of pasta, using some Italian sausage that I'd picked up the week before at my favorite meat store in the Ferry Building. A simple bruschetta with basil, olive oil, (lots of) garlic, and fresh vine-ripened tomatoes on local artisan sourdough bread, and a tossed green salad completed our little Italian fest. Since this was the best wine growing region in Central California, we had no shortage of reds to compliment the meal. I love cooking for friends, and doing so at their homes is always a treat. Tonight was no exception. I guess the pasta turned out ok, since Mindy also had it for breakfast the next morning! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQSsWWs0Q76ToDM7yvhHBFqy9XFP9C0eliICtPUUt9eahL6exwGawAksUTU0JVyXJQ0-C1YJtLGiv8RQuj3sneh6hVRAsDH3r0xaCx7POVxqsAfLP42NZ_cuVBxIgi53tKBYJsyqh8rY/s1600-h/IMG_0015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQSsWWs0Q76ToDM7yvhHBFqy9XFP9C0eliICtPUUt9eahL6exwGawAksUTU0JVyXJQ0-C1YJtLGiv8RQuj3sneh6hVRAsDH3r0xaCx7POVxqsAfLP42NZ_cuVBxIgi53tKBYJsyqh8rY/s200/IMG_0015.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>We ended our weekend in beautiful Morro Bay and Paso Robles, saying goodbye to our friend Dave, and his lovely new friend Mindy. It was truly a memorable one, and this is saying a lot since we make lots of trips to that area. Unfortunately, we probably won't be down there again for quite awhile. Next week will be our return to the beautiful Central Oregon town of Bend, and our incredible house that sits on the bluff across the street from the Deschutes River. Circumstances have both allowed and dictated that it's time to move back home, and although it's going to be a struggle returning to real estate, it's worth it to live in such a beautiful locale. <br />
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This will be a week of "lasts" for awhile ... We were treated to lunch at Joe's of Westlake on Wednesday, compliments of our wonderful friends John and Linda. Hopefully, I'll sneak in one or two more trips to my all time favorite restaurant, where looking at the menu became a moot point several decades ago. There will be a final trip to Toto's, where I'll undoubtedly order a "#2 pizza," with salami, italian sausage, and mushrooms. Best pizza anywhere ... always has been, since I was a kid. I'll try for a final trip downtown, and specifically to my favorite meat store in the Ferry Building, and hopefully to Economy Restaurant Supply, where I buy most of my cooking gear. I don't need anything, but I still have to make a final visit. <br />
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And tonight will be an early celebration of our first day of massage school. It was 4/4/04 when we entered the big Classroom B of Body Therapy Center in Palo Alto. First day of "Fundamentals of Massage," which was the first 125 hour core class. We followed this with Advanced Massage and Bodywork, Cranio-Sacral Therapy, Acupressure, and elective classes in Deep Tissue, Hot Stones, Hydrotherapy, Chair Massage, and seminars in advanced "point" identification, sidelying technique, and neck and shoulder concentration. I also was fortunate enough to be a teacher's assistant in several of the Advanced classes and the Chair class. Big fun ... I like to think it taught me to rub people the right way!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6DPcDiu9N5LSwdHBNOTzYP-P1oLxbhVeBPd3PjUm2JpAXCMU6CHUC2jwKce9mjyTahnfByFcCkO4gsoEPZJD_G87Yxyx4emT5TtyZWhMP4U_wEXEDrOaWZSeIDjwp-HBh7iaguEq3Wo/s1600-h/P1000289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6DPcDiu9N5LSwdHBNOTzYP-P1oLxbhVeBPd3PjUm2JpAXCMU6CHUC2jwKce9mjyTahnfByFcCkO4gsoEPZJD_G87Yxyx4emT5TtyZWhMP4U_wEXEDrOaWZSeIDjwp-HBh7iaguEq3Wo/s200/P1000289.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Next Thursday will be the big move north. I'm hoping for clear weather, which is predicted, but isn't evident, given the foot of snow they got last night. I'm about 90% packed, the 26' truck is reserved, movers are arranged for both ends of the trip, and I'm ready to go. But it's all bittersweet, as we're both returning to friends, and once again leaving friends in the Bay Area. It was a very conscious move back in 2005, which followed extensive investigation around the country. Circumstances and the economy brought us back to the Bay Area in 2008, and the same is true of our return. We love Oregon, and the high desert area in particular. The mountains are spectacular, with the Sisters, Bachelor, Jefferson, and even Hood constantly in view. The river walk along the Deschutes is a short jaunt around the corner, and provides a beautiful 2 1/2 mile trek into town. Osprey nest on the other side of the river, high in an old abandoned tree top, great blue herons can be seen skimming just above the river which flows out of the Cascade Lakes from South to North, emptying in the great Columbia basin, which forms the boundary between Oregon and Washington. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I was born and raised in California, spent my early years surfing at Santa Cruz and Pedro Point, always played drums in local bands, attended local schools and colleges, and never gave much thought to permanently moving away. A brief stint in St. Thomas was amazing, and I spent some time in both San Diego and Chico, but the Bay Area was always home. I feel this has changed ... although I'm not a native, Bend has become home. And I'm ready to be home.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ocp9-z0fUwe7rl4GuLgzVdKmN75HSvY8iuPOm31zn0_YJaditPsCS1hPYJcLZ6DXD7bJo0xtH04K8Ru-08gZB4CmQ5rrLWxfSWeI9fxHO7OaBpKq2ky6HdpqSLXSRLD6Yk1d1cp0I4Y/s1600-h/IMG_0025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ocp9-z0fUwe7rl4GuLgzVdKmN75HSvY8iuPOm31zn0_YJaditPsCS1hPYJcLZ6DXD7bJo0xtH04K8Ru-08gZB4CmQ5rrLWxfSWeI9fxHO7OaBpKq2ky6HdpqSLXSRLD6Yk1d1cp0I4Y/s320/IMG_0025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-2339228320936766792010-01-21T15:52:00.000-08:002010-01-24T16:24:01.518-08:00Staying local, keeping it real<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5PVhkcC39uNEtmrNfBGoUBqJ5wQQY_rafybSSKjoQa-PXNkqLcqRdg_HeLD_AWf-kH-ASmGV10QW07roXuzweGoBUIBjykczWlji1S9Kh45FwGu-yPs9dWgRWzHdkZ9H5wSM2hQDAtA/s1600-h/MorroRock.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430461116543719234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5PVhkcC39uNEtmrNfBGoUBqJ5wQQY_rafybSSKjoQa-PXNkqLcqRdg_HeLD_AWf-kH-ASmGV10QW07roXuzweGoBUIBjykczWlji1S9Kh45FwGu-yPs9dWgRWzHdkZ9H5wSM2hQDAtA/s320/MorroRock.JPG" /></a>We spent a recent weekend in beautiful Morro Bay, enjoying the hospitality of our good friend Dave. Due to a number of storms that would prove to continue through the following week, a good amount of time was spent at his home, which is a warm, comfortable, beautifully appointed single level house just adjacent to the hiking trail that leads to the beach. It's close enough to the shore that it sounds like the waves are breaking in your back yard, which technically is the case. Reminds me of our home in Bend, with the Deschutes River's proximity providing the same sort of soothing backdrop that seems to help every mood.<br /><br />No trip to Central California is ever complete without visiting several of the great wineries in the Paso Robles region, as well as our favorite little haunt on the Central Coast ... Cambria by the Sea. Two extremes hit me over the course of the weekend, and have gotten me thinking ... no, <em>obsessing </em>about the whole concept of buying locally made products and food. The "locavore" concept is open to interpretation, and true believers commonly impose anywhere from a 100 to 250 mile radius as being considered "local" when buying food products. But regardless of the radius you choose to choose, the idea is that residents of central Oregon shouldn't be buying their berries from Mexico ... they should get them seasonally from the surrounding farming communities. Consumers in the San Francisco Bay Area should be getting <em>all </em>of their fresh products from within Central California's fertile farm and ranch land. If something's out of season and can't be purchased at the Farmer's Market or local Whole Foods or Mollie Stone's, figure out a substitute that's regionally produced, and serve it instead.<br /><br />We visited several wineries, many of which are regulars for us ... <a href="http://zinalley.com/">Zin Alley</a> (my very favorite wines, currently), <a href="http://www.dennervineyards.com/">Denner</a>, <a href="http://www.jadavineyard.com/">Jada</a>, <a href="http://www.tobinjames.com/">Tobin James </a>and <a href="http://www.eaglecastlewinery.com/">Eagle Castle </a>are always on the Paso Robles tour. But we always try to hit a couple new ones, and this trip found us at <a href="http://www.dovercanyon.com/">Dover Canyon</a> and <a href="http://www.lcwine.com/">Le Cuvier</a> wineries, and both had some wonderful new wines. It was at one of the new wineries that I spotted a really cool looking gadget, but quickly decided that twenty-two bucks (plus California's current 9.5% sales tax) was too much for such a toy. The gadget was basically a large corkscrew with a foldout bread knife, housed in a beautiful wooden handle, made by one of my favorite knife makers, <a href="http://www.lamsonsharp.com/">LamsonSharp</a>. It caught my wife's attention too, and after reading the beautiful description, she bought it for me. Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful knife and corkscrew and I'm sure it will get lots of use. I plan to keep it in the car for the next time I find myself at a winery with the need to cut up a baguette of sourdough, slice up some great cheeses, and open a bottle of zinfandel for an impromptu picinic lunch.<br /><div><div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 80px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430460834436335554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN2hSSBx7x2499rH77yiJzoW4yd2GLMAB7a2Ksyu9enX_NSYXKNhgsp3hQr-C8z2gfv8hBJnALvIYdYMVtNq5QuIBVHPq46n2AjKeRRVfk1m8chrc0a4Nhdb_P857nnD76HA71xkniMHE/s320/LSharp.jpg" />Back to the gadget ... Lamsonsharp's<a href="http://www.lamsonsharp.com/"> home page </a>proudly proclaims "American Made Cutlery and Kitchen Tools since 1837," so I naturally thought I'd be getting another fine American-made product from the nice people at Lamson and Goodnow. One of my very first "good" knives, and one that I still used quite regularly, is a Lamsonsharp Chinese Cleaver, which was a gift from my wife, back in the early 90's. I subsequently picked up 6", 8" and 10" chef's knifes from them as well. While not the work of art that a Shun may be, they're in fact beautiful and reliable knives that any chef would love to own. The inside of the box for what they call a <a href="https://store.lamsonsharp.com/catalog/product_info.php?cPath=33_55&products_id=978&osCsid=331891793fb4ce9246f5dae1fd2012be">"Batard Folding Picnic Knife"</a> goes into a lot of detail as to how they came up with the design, and of course the quality and tradition of their wonderful knives which are "still manufactured in the USA," according to the description on the box. It appears to be Lamsonsharp's typcially very good quality; the blade works well, the corkscrew's set at a perfect angle, and the wood is gorgeous. But this one's not made in their factory in Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts ... if you look closely on the back of the box, and then again on the <em>back </em>of the blade, the small print says "China." I don't like being misled, I don't like our businesses outsourcing to foreign locales, and I'm absolutely sick of virtually everything you buy saying "Made In China" on it.<br /><br />J.C. Penney's carries a line of blue jeans called the "Great Arizona Jean Company," and you've no doubt guessed that they're also made in China. Virtually everything in front of me as I write this, comes from China. The computer and virtually everything in it, the monitor, Logitech mouse, and even the Microsoft keyboard. Dell speakers ... China, Western Digital hard drive, the lamp in the corner, the printer on the table, the fan across the room ... you get the picture. We've quite simply outsourced our entire commodities production to China. Stetson Hats should come from Texas (they do) and Levi's should come from San Francisco (they now come from China too).<br /><br />The other "extreme" of our recent getaway, was during another tradition whenever we visit the area ... a trip to <a href="http://www.linnsfruitbin.com/">Linn's Restaurant</a>. We've been going to Cambria, and therefore to Linn's, for about fifteen years. We actually thought of moving there at one point, but they have a severe chronic water shortag<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimarXJ4T9UsOB4hFEHoMgQNnrYThK11VyohSCGhpZsZ685hqpxynC02pHs5fJW9Jl45tbr_DamxP5XaJl6CMizjMF266u-lgu5KQ_ZkZqVMj4DHKVnqcgZgBWXbJN_F3LCpoHSsHXCWdQ/s1600-h/Linns_Restaurant.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 216px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 144px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430460648757721826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimarXJ4T9UsOB4hFEHoMgQNnrYThK11VyohSCGhpZsZ685hqpxynC02pHs5fJW9Jl45tbr_DamxP5XaJl6CMizjMF266u-lgu5KQ_ZkZqVMj4DHKVnqcgZgBWXbJN_F3LCpoHSsHXCWdQ/s320/Linns_Restaurant.jpg" /></a>e problem, and it's not the easiest place to make a living. But a great place to visit. Linn's is a family run restaurant that features products that predominantly come from the Linn Ranch, which is a couple miles out of town, along meandering Santa Rosa Creek Road, a favorite of local bicyclists. The main restaurant had a pretty catastrophic fire a couple of years ago, which forced them to secure a couple nearby buildings for the retail business. They've rebuilt and improved upon the restaurant, and kept the adjacent buildings for both retail items and fresh and frozen food gems, most of which are either from their own farm or produced in the surrounding areas of San Luis Obispo County. I try to never be "out" of Linn's ollalieberry pies or chicken pot pies, and the latter needed replenishment so I picked up four of them for the freezer. Linn's is the real deal ... honest local products, family owned and operated, staffed by locals, and providing excellent food and food products for anyone lucky enough to frequent the restaurant or retail shops next door. <br /><div><br />We're currently living on the San Francisco Peninsula, but our home is in beautiful Bend, Oregon. Both these locales have excellent weekend farmer's markets, as well as top notch grocery stores that strive to carry both local products, and healthy, minimally processed foods. We're fortunate to have markets like Mollie Stone's, Whole Foods, Draeger's, Andronico's and Lunardi's nearby, as an alternative to the ubiquitous Safeways (3 of them within a mile). Bend has the Newport Market and a Wild Oats, which is now owned by Whole Foods so they have similar quality and selection.<br /><br />Farmer's markets are a great way to keep your money local, while getting genuinely healthy foods from nearby growers. And everything just seems fresher when it's displayed in a packing box, fresh from the ground or off a tree from a relatively close farm. Weather permitting, the Belmont and San Carlos markets are operational every weekend. Bend's market is seasonal, since the snow and very cold weather precludes them from holding the weekly sales outside in a parking lot, or next to Mirror Pond, which often freezes over in the winter.<br /><br />We took a trek into San Francisco on a recent Saturday, and they also have a weekly farmer's market right on the Embarcadero, in front of the recently revamped Ferry Building shops. So it's possible to buy locally and be guranteed of fresh product, quite literally in the heart of the City's financial and tourist district. The one glaring difference in shopping here, vs. down the Peninsula or in Bend, is the parking meters that want 3.50 an hour. San Francisco should be <em>encouraging </em>vs. discouraging this business via these outrageous parking fees. There are no meters in Bend, and we cherish the fact. No sales tax either, while I'm on the subject. But there are actually farmer's markets all over the City, and I'm sure they don't <em>all</em> gouge you for parking. Worth some research, and I found the information's readily available on the Internet.<br /><br />It's likely that either your town or one close by has a weekly farmer's market, and I highly encourage the reader to check it out. This is where you'll find the freshest products available, grown locally on a non corporate-size farm, with minimal pesticides, available for you and your family. The lemons aren't waxed, the lettuce and celery don't spend half a day soaking in water to make them appear prettier than they actually are, and the tomatoes are fresh off the vine. Carrots are sweeter, tomatoes tastier with less of the acidic quality they pick up in Mexican hot houses, and lemons and oranges smell like the first day of spring.<br /><br />Another interesting thing I've noticed with both farmer's markets and some (not all) of the products at higher end markets, is that there's not a huge difference in prices. Sure, you can pick up fresh strawberries at Draeger's in January, but you'll pay five bucks for them. But wait 'til they're fresh and in season, and they're likely to be very close to what Safeway gets for them. I'm fond of fresh, bulk grains, and while it's always a good idea to do your homework and find the best combination of quality and price, these can also be purchased from the specialty stores at a substantial savings over the boxed varieties that your local Safeway offers. I saved over a dollar a pound on the quinoa I picked up in bulk from Mollie Stone's, over Safeway's packaged and processed variety. I don't mind doing the rinsing ... don't process my food in an attempt to save me time or energy in the kitchen. It's like frozen orange juice ... there's nothing wrong with it, but sometimes you just want fresh squeezed, and don't mind spending ten minutes doing it.<br /><br />I'm trying my best to buy locally, or at the very least ... the freshest possible products. The more I read about corn vs. grass-fed beef, pesticides, and the measures taken to make your food <em>look </em>fresh, the less I want to eat it. And the factory farms and ranches that are subsidized by the government in the same way the banks and insurance companies have been because they're too big to fail, could stand a reality check and a re-thinking of how they do business. Bigger isn't better, small farms and ranches need a fighting chance.<br /><br />The winery I noted above as my favorite, <a href="http://zinalley.com/">Zin Alley</a>, produces two zinfandels, a syrah, a port, and a dessert wine on a small ten-acre hillside vineyard off Highway 46 in Paso Robles. Continuing east on 46 and then turning north on 101, you'll notice vineyards for as far as you can see<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49rBNw-7TmIcphqkKaHQMMygmW6QF1jPVOtbICRM6qsHrG1qZZ64fKAlZKg2asO1mq-6ZUYdvK5SLbWljnhmxm5CF7iNFzO86KwNrVnBrvrzmrd2827A-08EU_MFSCOjzqwQzPtxwCwI/s1600-h/ZinAlleyBtls.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 247px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 184px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430460163011370178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49rBNw-7TmIcphqkKaHQMMygmW6QF1jPVOtbICRM6qsHrG1qZZ64fKAlZKg2asO1mq-6ZUYdvK5SLbWljnhmxm5CF7iNFzO86KwNrVnBrvrzmrd2827A-08EU_MFSCOjzqwQzPtxwCwI/s320/ZinAlleyBtls.JPG" /></a>, on both sides of the highway. These are the corporate vineyards which commonly contribute to the production of a good many of the large producers' case totals. This wasn't the case a decade ago, but the region's caught on and now the big corporate wineries have everything in sight planted with grapes of every variety. Not a bad thing, but I like the idea that Frank and Connie Nerelli dry farm and pick their grapes, and process them in oak barrels right in the tasting room. Frank produces around 500 cases a year ... small change compared to what the Gallo's and Mondavi's turn out, but this is the way he likes to do business. The wines are incredible, the hospitality is overwhelming, and they don't gouge you for the tastings <em>or </em>the wines. It's an honest business, and it shows ... year after year. This is the type of business I like dealing with and supporting, and will continue to do so.<br /><br />As a final footnote ... We have friends who had a house outside of Vail, and we were fortunate enough to be invited to be their guests many times. I don't ski, but this is a skier's paradise in the beautiful Colorado Rockies, and the local communities have some of the best shopping and restaurants I've ever seen. <a href="http://www.sweetbasil-vail.com/">Sweet Basil</a> is one of the top 10 places I've eaten in my life, and we made it a point to eat there on every trip. Their chocolate martinis and infused vodkas alone, are enough to keep the bar packed every night. One of the most fun shops in the little village of Vail is <a href="http://www.vail.com/storedetail/Vail+-+Scotch+on+the+Rockies.axd">Scotch on the Rockies</a>. They carry a nice variety of clothing, blankets and throws, and home products, all from Scotland. Or so I thought. On one of our last trips, I saw and bought a great navy blue pullover windbreaker from the little store, and it's become my "go to" jacket for cool evening walks along the Deschutes River. And so it was with a degree of fascination, verging on sheer amazement, that the first time I consulted the tag on the collar for washing instructions for my blue windbreaker from Scotland, it read "Made In USA." </div></div></div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-27073830362189217932010-01-15T10:22:00.000-08:002010-01-15T10:26:34.213-08:00Musings has joined LSCooks!Hi Everyone,<br />I've merged the contents of the other blog "Musings" into this one. Seemed simpler to keep everything in one place. The Musings blog was a place where I sort of stepped out of the food writing area and hit on some more obscure topics. So you'll now see some non food-centric writing every now and then, as topics come to mind. <br /><br />Thanks for checking in!<br /><br /><a href="mailto:larry@lscooks.com">Larry</a>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-78762493765782000452010-01-01T11:27:00.000-08:002010-01-15T10:09:00.868-08:00New Years Past<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SpJZ9yusasTnhRVBiQ6uH_iufhmoH9A2ldPjCkvpfW0O8FtsLjQVhLBw-RvxU3uSCmTE6TdDhGLblSI4rVAGlbr7COh5FXwGlsxWKV_PUE8CiteIdp1OrKLH-1dZgL9Aa-Onlyso-k6A/s1600-h/901231_ticket.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 154px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421969402719397154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SpJZ9yusasTnhRVBiQ6uH_iufhmoH9A2ldPjCkvpfW0O8FtsLjQVhLBw-RvxU3uSCmTE6TdDhGLblSI4rVAGlbr7COh5FXwGlsxWKV_PUE8CiteIdp1OrKLH-1dZgL9Aa-Onlyso-k6A/s320/901231_ticket.jpg" /></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> Like many people, I'm welcoming 2010 with the sincere hope that it's an improvement on 2009 in every conceivable way. We just ended a horrendous decade, and last year was surely the perfect capper. For me personally, I ended up the year laid off abruptly a week before Thanksgiving, and although it's financially not the best thing that could have happened, there is one good thing that came of it ... I told my former manager as I was leaving his office that the plus side of being laid off is that I'll never EVER have to go to that horrible job again. But that's water over the bridge, a thing of the past, and life will surely go on. Hopefully in a more positive way, working at something I enjoy, vs. something that made me physically ill by mid-Sunday afternoon, anticipating that I'd have to go to work again the following day.<br /><br />New Years have generally been fun celebrations, although I've always made it a habit to <em>not </em>drink much, and ideally to just stay home, or somewhere that didn't require interacting with the hordes of amateurs who thought it was ok to drive a car in what was surely an impaired state. New Years and St. Patrick's Day have always struck me as good nights to be home.<br /><br />Growing up in Daly City brought predictable festivities each year. I'm the oldest of six kids, with five "baby sisters." My dad commonly worked two jobs to support this small tribe, but he was usually home on New Years Eve. And since he couldn't cook to save his life, snacks were generally fairly simple fare, and New Years and the annual screening of The Wizard of Oz (every March, as I recall) would always mean the same "snack," which consisted of orange soda and popcorn. No idea why, other than the fact that it was cheap and easy to fix.<br /><br />My mom was a great cook ... but only dinner. Our lunches were awful, and we were on our own for breakfast, which was a rotation of several types of cereal. Corn Flakes, 40% Bran Flakes, Cheerios, Puffed Wheat, Rice Krispies, then back to Corn Flakes again. But she put on a great dinner every night, and we were all required to attend ... no excuses. In retrospect, it was quite commendable that she managed to put on meals with salad, a protein, vegetable, a starch, <em>and </em>dessert, every night. For eight people! Loyal readers know that I do all the cooking for my wife and myself, and I've been known to throw some fairly nice dinner parties, but to cook for eight picky eaters every night? Commendable doesn't come close ...<br /><br />My dad, on the other hand, couldn't cook at all. Maybe two or three times a year he'd surprise us with some overcooked pancakes (and never enough syrup, I seem to recall) on a Sunday morning, and of course the popcorn and orange soda, but that was about it. He could boil a mean can of Franco American spaghetti (which I don't regard as food in the first place), and I believe he could handle a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese. He was also known to "fry" a hot dog on a fork, directly over a gas burner on the stove. This of course did not amuse my mother, and when she found out that several of her kids had taken up this practice as well, it was brought to a halt quickly.<br /><br />New Years Eve took on a whole new meaning in 1979, when I worked the first of what would be ten consecutive years for Bill Graham Presents. BGP, as it was known, was the premier producer of rock and roll shows for the greater San Francisco Bay Area. New Years would commonly mean four or five BGP shows going on simultaneously around the area, and it was an "all hands on deck" for the 150 of us who worked Security for Mr. Graham. Most of us did this part time, and it was obviously a great way to see shows for free, sometimes from enviable vantage points. And if you had any aspirations of getting one of these "good spots," you didn't want to say no to your New Years Eve assignment. Doing so would guarantee you months of no work at all, likely to be followed by a spot watching a back door at a Triumph or Christopher Cross concert at the Cow Palace, in the rain. Everyone was needed for New Years Eve shows, and virtually everyone worked them. I worked them every year, and was rewarded with spots like in The Who's dressing room area, backstage at dozens of shows, front of stage at dozens more, and on the mixer platform for two days of the Rolling Stones at Candlestick Park. For New Years, I almost always worked the Grateful Dead shows. These were the best shows to work, as the crowd was generally mellow, and they were simply very fun nights. It helps if you like the Grateful Dead, which I most certainly did, and still do. Always sold out, always memorable in one way or another, and these were the shows that Bill himself made an appearance at ... always at midnight, always as Father Time, sliding down from the rafters on some sort of a gliding mechanized sled.<br /><br />One memorable year that I <em>didn't </em>work the Dead show turned out to be an incredible night, and I didn't expect it to be. My friend John and I had already checked in at the Oakland Auditorium to work the Dead show, when our boss came up and asked if we'd drive back over the bridge and work the Cow Palace gig instead. A couple people hadn't shown up to work, and they needed us. We were told we'd have "easy" posts, but they definitely needed our experience at the show. I'm a rock and roll fan to the core, and the thought of working this particular concert really didn't appeal to me. But if you do what you're asked, it usually pays off within the BGP organization. So we got in the car and high tailed it back over the Bay Bridge, sat in for the traditional briefing from Mark Lewis, just in time to see Earth, Wind and Fire, and The Commodores. Our "easy spot" turned out to be a perfect vantage point <em>behind </em>the stage, where we had an unobstructed view of everything, and virtually nothing to do other than keep fans away from the lighting equipment. For a show that we had no interest in working, it turned out to be one of the best I've ever seen, and certainly more lively than the Dead show. The crowd was totally stylin', exceptionally well behaved, and this was a real live party. Dancing everywhere, happy people, great music, amazing lights and production, and I was totally glad to be there.<br /><br />The Bend, Oregon years were always fun. We'd left the Bay Area with high ambitions that never really came to fruition, but the combination of some amazing friends and "real winters" made for some great New Years. Parties in Bend would take place at our house, Bob and Chris', or Chuck and Barb's. Always fun, great food, great people, and a short ride home (although you could count on some ice and snow, just to add to the merriment!). I'm sure we're going to get back to our beautiful house and wonderful friends in Bend fairly soon, and this time we'll stay for good. We miss everything about it, other than the challenging financial conditions which were, and still are a stark reality. But since it's a challenge to live <em>anywhere </em>these days, I figure we might as well be happy and in our own home while we're figuring it out. Something good will develop. It has to.<br /><br />So last night was the end of the first decade of the millenium we ushered in ten years ago. I remember the night like it was yesterday ... Monterey, great dinner with friends, watched the fireworks go off over Monterey Bay, drank some Middleton Irish (bless you, John) and called it a night. We all had such high hopes for the next years ... the economy was on an upswing, we were healthy, we had great friends, what could go wrong? We, along with most of the nation found out that our complacency was about to cost us dearly. We'd be saddled with eight years of a Bush administration, which will likely have the dubious distinction of being generally regarded historically as the very worst American President to date.<br /><br />It was the decade that we were attacked by terrorists from the middle east, and the realization that there's a good number of people in the world who would like nothing more than to see the fall of all of the civilized western developed world. We were in Maui on the infamous morning of 9/11, and like every other citizen of our great country, we were shocked that this could happen on our soil, as well as the notion that a group of people could hate us so much. It's scary knowing that they're out there, undoubtedly planning more attacks, while we sit and wait. We all owe the brave men and women of our armed forces a major debt of gratitude, and I don't envy what they have to go through on a daily basis.<br /><br />It was a decade that saw too many good people leave us. The public figures who have died are of course well publicized, and their talents and presence are gone forever. But it's also a decade that saw the passing of some dear friends and family. My mother, my wife's mother, and our wonderful friends Trudy and Leilani, are no longer with us, and there isn't a day that passes when one or all of them doesn't come to mind. Whether it's thinking about the meals my mom prepared, the incomparable cranberry molds that Risa's mom would make once a year, Leilani's wonderful smile (and a voice as loud as mine), or Trudy's uncanny ability to make us laugh and put a positive spin on the worst of situations.<br /><br />We lost two cats; my gorgeous 26 pound monster Maine Coon Cody, and our 18 year old mutt Annabelle. Our friends Barb and Chuck lost their beloved vizsla, Driver, and Bob and Chris lost their beautiful German Shepherd, Cody. Be kind to your friends and family, cut the pets a little slack. Nobody's around forever. I quote Neil Peart way too often, but there's truth to his line "We're only immortal for a limited time." Amen.<br /><br />Which brings me to New Years Eve 2009. I had no intention of leaving the house and mingling with the crazy people on the Bay Area highways, and life in general is not particularly exciting currently, so the best I could do was create a good meal. It's what I do, and tonight wouldn't be any different. I began the night with an "early" cocktail. Uncharacteristically, I shook myself a Grey Goose martini fifteen minutes before the theoretical "cocktail hour" of five o'clock. Just felt like it, so I did it. Up, with a twist thank you. And for the New Years Eve meal? I opted for a variation of a recipe that comes from a small but <em>very</em> well done cookbook called "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Book-Curries-Indian-Foods/dp/0895868202/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1262387120&sr=1-1"><span style="color:#000000;">Curries & Indian Foods</span></a><span style="color:#00cccc;"><span style="color:#000000;">," by Linda Fraser. The recipes in this book range from basic to fairly complicated, but it's a wonderful way to take a step into this amazingly flavorful type of cooking. I've made many of them, and they always please my audience immensely. Tonight's was no exception, garnering oooh's and aaah's from my wife.<br /><br />The first decade of the new millenium is now behind us. We're only one day past 2009, but it just <em>feels </em>like things will improve. They have to, right? For me, I'm fairly confident that it's going to mean that I'll finally devote the time and energy I want and need to, into real estate and writing. Two things I keep gravitating to, and love doing. I also foresee a return to our beautiful home in Bend, where I'm sure it's not going to be easy and nothing will be handed to us, but it's where we belong and want to live. I'm looking forward to having the Deschutes River across the street, and the river trail available via a five minute walk. To being able to have my fly rod cast out after a ten minute walk up the trail. To seeing the Cascades in the near distance, from almost anywhere in town. To 4th of July parties at Barb & Chuck's, and Meatfest 14 in our backyard (and hopefully it won't be snowing in June!). To four seasons, dressing accordingly, dealing with snow and ice, and appreciating the long(er) days of summer. I see these things as "normal" and I'm certainly ready for some normalcy and predictablity in my life. We all are, and we all deserve it.<br /><br />So with that, I bid you all a Happy New Year, and let's hope that 2010 is a good year for all of us. It's about time!<br /></span><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Chicken In Ginger Sauce</span></strong><br /><br /></span><span style="color:#3333ff;">Ingredients:<br /></span><ul><li><span style="color:#000000;">Package of 4 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into 2" pieces</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">2 tablespoons of canola oil</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">6 scallions, chopped</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">4-5 white mushrooms, sliced thin</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">1 - 2" piece of fresh ginger, chopped fine</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">2-3 garlic cloves, crushed, chopped fine</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">1 teaspoon of ground cumin</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">2 teaspoons of Garam Masala (middle eastern markets or Cost Plus/World Market)</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">Salt and Pepper to taste</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">1/2 cup of water or chicken stock (I used stock)</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">1 tablespoon of lemon juice</span></li></ul><br /><br /><p><span style="color:#00cccc;"><span style="color:#3333ff;">Technique:</span> </span></p><ul><li><span style="color:#000000;">Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium high heat</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">Saute the onions for 2-3 minutes, stirring</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">Add the mushrooms and saute another couple minutes</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">Add the chicken, stir to coat, brown on all sides, about five minutes</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">Add the garlic, ginger, Garam Masala, salt & pepper, stir to coat</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">Add the lemon juice and water / stock, stir well</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#000000;">Cover, simmer on medium heat for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally (chicken will be tender)</span></li><br /><li><span style="color:#00cccc;"><span style="color:#000000;">Serve over plain rice or rice pilaf. I made a simple pilaf and it was perfect with the chicken dish. If you have access to Indian naan (flat bread) at your market, it also goes great with the meal.</span> </span></li></ul>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-62254560257523103592009-12-20T13:40:00.000-08:002009-12-20T15:09:21.494-08:00Impressive Indian Fare<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Wd72gw7n_tE80A7RIJREhF5V9HUo487YdYjEUhHX4yNXqMRaGyiWenDuSpcHKglACg400UgeLkjr85TJBbBCFc_iHT-lFsAh4BMFEp4-hIawRGgx-wD2hHolK9btOGCBxOGRbOWRHZM/s1600-h/tandoori-chicken.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 224px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417455146943039378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Wd72gw7n_tE80A7RIJREhF5V9HUo487YdYjEUhHX4yNXqMRaGyiWenDuSpcHKglACg400UgeLkjr85TJBbBCFc_iHT-lFsAh4BMFEp4-hIawRGgx-wD2hHolK9btOGCBxOGRbOWRHZM/s320/tandoori-chicken.jpg" /></a>This is an excerpt from the book I'm writing, which is called "The Entertaining Guy." The basic premise is about a male that suddenly finds himself alone after a lengthy marriage or other kind of cohabitation, in which his contribution to the preparation of the nightly meals consisted of putting the napkins and silverware on the TV trays, or maybe burning an occasional steak on the barbeque. And that's all the teaser details you get for now!<br /><br />This comes from a chapter called "Party of Four," where our slowly evolving home chef decides to put on something of an exotic meal, much to the delight of his unsuspecting guests.<br /><br /><div><div><div>These two recipes were originally from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Book-Curries-Indian-Foods/dp/0895868202">"The Book of Curries and Indian Foods"</a> by Linda Fraser, but of course as always, I took some liberties with them. Excellent book, small footprint, highly recommended for your cookbook collection (unless of course you don't like Indian food of any kind, then you'd be wasting your money!). In it, you'll find a huge array of menus and preparation tips for a wonderful style of food that runs the gamut of simple to very complex, fairly bland to extremely spicy, yet always exotic and a consistent crowd pleaser. You'll find recipes for all things vegetarian, rice and lentil dishes, fish, chicken, lamb, and yes ... even a few beef dishes.<br /><br />She also goes into the various spice combinations, some of which you'll need to assemble yourself, and others that can be purchased off the shelf. Unless your spice cabinet looks like mine (and I'm a nutcase and should seek professional help for thi<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbp5lO467g88H80_uAXJN_lh8vALnzShQPEf90bkgOsVCuqdo-B385LsBmzpaCTZgNMHCIy55tqZ8MuipimTHD0U_a9IT1p9kpZxNlxOg6RbC_b-jCBvV4uYZ49CPT50ts3zkKmm5s55g/s1600-h/Spice+Cab.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 318px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417448182866716258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbp5lO467g88H80_uAXJN_lh8vALnzShQPEf90bkgOsVCuqdo-B385LsBmzpaCTZgNMHCIy55tqZ8MuipimTHD0U_a9IT1p9kpZxNlxOg6RbC_b-jCBvV4uYZ49CPT50ts3zkKmm5s55g/s320/Spice+Cab.JPG" /></a>s illness), shopping for Indian spices can be a challenge. Depending on where you live and what kind of stores you have access to, you'll likely need to do some searching. I'm writing this in the Silicon Valley (south of San Francisco), and it's a melting pot for literally every culture imaginable. While you likely won't find anything more exotic than a basic curry powder at your local Safeway, a visit to any middle eastern grocery will provide you with a much broader selection. And most of the spices are readily available at Cost Plus / World Market. I picked up several of them from our local World Market in Bend, Oregon, which is not a culturally diverse area at all. The dishes below require a few items that likely <em>aren't </em>in your spice cupboard. If they are, you're probably already using them and you don't need me to tell you where to buy them!<br /><br />Traditional tandoori chicken is cooked in a tandoor, which is an Indian clay oven that's rarely found in residential homes, unless you're genuinely se<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCM7vB7QWyoNiOaLKtRfwCKkWFKeRDWeeOfnDur3bkzZj1ESZkxkQySi47tcljosC0A_iu82tq49OD98avXaY3IF-prfukpOiAFIqYoo7WessLF3ry-NqHWM6T-7c_b9ViQF3PxHAk-I/s1600-h/tandoor-oven.png"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 122px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 146px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417448310073188226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCM7vB7QWyoNiOaLKtRfwCKkWFKeRDWeeOfnDur3bkzZj1ESZkxkQySi47tcljosC0A_iu82tq49OD98avXaY3IF-prfukpOiAFIqYoo7WessLF3ry-NqHWM6T-7c_b9ViQF3PxHAk-I/s320/tandoor-oven.png" /></a>rious about your Indian cooking. Tandoori ovens provide very high, dry heat, and they're commonly fueled by charcoals that line the bottom of the clay vessel. Temeratures on the bottom of the tandoor can reach 900 degrees, meaning that most foods cooked in such an oven develop a very crisp outer layer without sacrificing the moisture on the inside. Great technique, but you'll likely want to cook yours in the oven or on the barbeque, both of which work great. You can use a whole cut-up chicken or various combinations of chicken pieces, but I'd recommend whole chicken pieces, versus boneless skinless cuts. Part of the attraction is the crispy skin, combined with the rich flavor of the marinade's spices and other ingredients.<br /><br />The prep time for the chicken is under 30 minutes, but it needs to be refrigerated between 4 hours and overnight. Cooking time for the chicken is about 45 minutes, the vegetables about 30 minutes in total. Serves four, comfortably.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">Tandoori Chicken<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZbOQN7FTEjVTL1oeCZV1wsP12q65PvkZYiE-Tu4eFl-tqbc_VB1WKkB-zWuPidUyq2ndamhf_R2trXnWfSofqeSOmXw9hsujw_YOFD2YcE10i2xTDgMThic3B-idOMDf8JrZWYHLi_0/s1600-h/Garam-Punjab.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 215px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 128px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417453408336654066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZbOQN7FTEjVTL1oeCZV1wsP12q65PvkZYiE-Tu4eFl-tqbc_VB1WKkB-zWuPidUyq2ndamhf_R2trXnWfSofqeSOmXw9hsujw_YOFD2YcE10i2xTDgMThic3B-idOMDf8JrZWYHLi_0/s320/Garam-Punjab.JPG" /></a></span></strong></div><div><br /></div><p><span style="color:#6600cc;">Ingredients:</span> </p><ul><li>Whole cut-up chicken (3-4 pounds)</li><li>1/4 cup of fresh or bottled lime juice</li><li>Salt</li><li>1 small yellow onion, peeled, quartered</li><li>1 tablespoon of Tandoori Masala (Cumin, coriander and cayenne. Punjab Red Tandoori also works, and is available at Cost Plus / World Market)</li><li>1 tablespoon of Garam Masala (Ground cardamom, cinnamon, black pepper, ground cloves, cumin and coriander. Also available at Cost Plus / World Market)</li><li>1 inch piece of peeled fresh ginger</li><li>1 1/4 cups of plain, unflavored yogurt</li><li>Handful of chopped fresh cilantro and lemon wedges for garnish</li></ul><div><span style="color:#6600cc;">Technique:</span></div><ul><li>Assuming you're using a cut up whole chicken, start by laying the pieces out, skin-side up on a non-metal plate or semi-flat large bowl</li><li>Drizzle the lime juice over the chicken pieces, sprinkle with salt</li><li>Place the onion, ginger, garam and tandoori masala, and yogurt in a blender or food processor and pulse to a smooth mixture</li><li>Pour over the chicken, mix well so all the pieces are coated, cover with foil or plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 4 hours, up to overnight</li><li>Preheat the oven to 400 degrees</li><li>Shake the excess marinade from the chicken pieces, and place skin side up on a grilling rack on a cookie sheet, lined with aluminum foil</li><li>Cook at 400 degrees for approximately 45 minutes. Internal temperature should read 165 degrees with an instant-read thermometer</li><li>Can be served with a rice dish or the vegetable dish below</li><li>Garnish with cilantro and lemon wedges</li></ul><div><br /></div><p><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Mixed Vegetable Curry<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95zkthy8r5FTTubHdxU8BRBTBin79VsapBEzjzj2XUX5bDiUASC52i4A59iZiBhjmSn_LP2IUYYSUWNiRaxKzgjc8Z0qhad-twZj59DE37pidvxpyzOcrNzZlWvjy4UALAahJhARvWbo/s1600-h/3+Spices.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 251px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 186px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417447713870260594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95zkthy8r5FTTubHdxU8BRBTBin79VsapBEzjzj2XUX5bDiUASC52i4A59iZiBhjmSn_LP2IUYYSUWNiRaxKzgjc8Z0qhad-twZj59DE37pidvxpyzOcrNzZlWvjy4UALAahJhARvWbo/s320/3+Spices.JPG" /></a></span></strong></p><div><span style="color:#6600cc;">Ingredients:</span></div><div><br /></div><ul><li>3 tablespoons of vegetable / canola oil</li><li>1 yellow onion, quartered, sliced thin</li><li>1 teaspoon of ground cumin</li><li>1 teaspoon of generic chile powder (light or dark)</li><li>2 teaspoons of ground coriander</li><li>1 teaspoon of ground turmeric (both available at most grocery stores)</li><li>4-5 yellow or Yukon Gold potatoes (don't peel), cut into 1-2 inch cubes</li><li>2-3 carrots, peeled, angle cut into 1" pieces</li><li>Half pound of fresh green beans, ends trimmed, cut into thirds</li><li>4 tomatoes, chopped</li><li>1 1/4 cups of chicken or vegetable broth</li></ul><div><span style="color:#6600cc;">Technique:</span></div><ul><li>Heat the oil over medium high heat, sweat the onions, stirring occasionally, until translucent</li><li>Add the cumin, chile powder, coriander, and turmeric and stir thoroughly</li><li>Add the potatoes, beans, and carrots, stir to coat</li><li>Add the tomatoes and chicken stock, bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer</li><li>Cook approximately 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until all the vegetables are tender</li></ul><div>Serve the chicken and vegetables with some warm naan (Indian flatbread, available in the bread section of most markets). Best choice in a wine is a spicy zinfandel or pinot noir. If you happen to be in posession of a <a href="http://zinalley.com/">Zin Alley</a> zinfandel from Paso Robles, this is the time to open it. </div><div><br /></div><p>This is the kind of meal that will get you "ooohs and aaahs" from your unsuspecting guests, particularly the ones who didn't know you could cook anything more complicated than a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. It's not particularly difficult to prepare, and the spices will add an incredible exotic aroma to your home. Be brave -- give it a try!</p></div></div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-1551436609877640882009-11-15T16:41:00.000-08:002009-11-18T07:56:07.234-08:00Monterey Weekend<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHftg37LwdDm1Et8QonQbHcc7Zn9g312fJVFLoHQQ35QYTHxuZBPvJWl2bfd8ISRnaoUyLQ1l2zt_LCsZXYuzHMx8RfQZg1fxkWkBiajU48hZNIbEfL5y-ZjWuzyEeUVR1jIACUViehus/s1600/view-of-monterey-bay.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405191493144686610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHftg37LwdDm1Et8QonQbHcc7Zn9g312fJVFLoHQQ35QYTHxuZBPvJWl2bfd8ISRnaoUyLQ1l2zt_LCsZXYuzHMx8RfQZg1fxkWkBiajU48hZNIbEfL5y-ZjWuzyEeUVR1jIACUViehus/s320/view-of-monterey-bay.jpg" /></a>We had the pleasure of spending last weekend with our friends John and Linda in beautiful Monterey, this past weekend. We traditionally get together with friends Larry and Trish, and all of us rent a house in Cambria for a pre-Thanksgiving feast, but the good doctor Larry was on call this weekend in Sacramento, so the doctor's loss was our gain, as we had a wonderful time in Monterey.<br /><br />Weather can be spotty this time of year on the Central Coast, but it couldn't have been better for this trip. Low to mid sixties with nary a cloud in the sky, Monterey Bay was a gorgeous dark blue, wind was absolutely minimal.<br /><br />The ride down was uneventful, after getting out of the always-too-crowded peninsula and inching down El Camino Real on a Saturday morning. We wanted to get John a wine carafe for his upcoming birthday, which meant driving down the King's Highway for about 10 miles, making a stop for his gift, and then heading out Woodside Road towards beautiful 280, and our ride south. 280 cuts through some of the most beautiful (and expensive) real estate in the state. Formerly sleepy (although always nice) suburbs like Los Altos Hills, San Carlos, and even the Belmont and Redwood City hills have become homes to a good many of the benefactors of the dot-com and computer surges in nearby Silicon Valley. Homes that sold for under $50k when I was young, are now commanding several million dollars. Suffice it to say, if you can afford to live in one of these areas, that's where you want to be.<br /><br />South on 280, onto 85 and through the western part of San Jose, past the equally upscale communities of Los Gatos and Saratoga, and the totally untouchable enclave of Monte Sereno, then onto 101 south. This stretch of 101 used to be an incredible bottleneck, virtually any time you drove it. I remember driving south through this area with my dad, when I was a kid. It seemed to be a perpetual backup in both directions, and it's the only way to get from the peninsula to the Central Coast, unless you're willing to drive WAY out of your way into the Central Valley and catch 99 or 5. But times have changed, and this is now five lanes in both directions, and traffic flies through here. Slow to 70 in the right lane, and you're likely to have people on your tail. Speed up, KEEP up, or get out of the way!<br /><br />We arrived in Monterey at around three, and after bringing our things into the guest bedroom of our wonderful host and hostess' abode, we proceeded to get into a martini (gin, like God intended), some munchies, and of course getting nostalgic about the several decades (I'm not saying how many) that John and I have known each other. Linda raises Lhasa-Apsos and her two bundles of joy, Kitty and Daisy were their usual entertaining selves. These are wonderful dogs, descended from Tibetan palace guard dogs, so their small size belies their capabilities. The trick is that they don't <em>know </em>they're small, so they just go for it, when need be. Like us, they had four cats for quite a few years. We're down to two, they're down to one ... John's prized Bengal cat ... Jake. Jake's coloring is incredible. It's hard not to fall in love with these when you first encounter them, and this is exactly what John did at a cat show we all went to about 14 years ago. I was looking for a replacement for my Maine Coon (Ben), who'd died at at only 18 months old, and John was totally taken by the Bengals. But he's the last cat in their household currently, having survived Funny Face, Curie, Sabrina, and their outside cat whose name escapes me. I enjoy my cats, they love their cat and two dogs, but I've come to believe that fewer is better. They get more attention, stay mellower, and really appreciate their homes and peeps.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">Taste Cafe and Bistro, Pacific Grove</span></strong> <div><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3Qn4qC3LOxyNgM_C6g225bRPI-9v9mu3kCL1wxGgarGINXRY92d1Hw_G-a37wB3_qryOtuAbeIKE-3uQYcnJ14pazXyq_5swRHxxqlcu1tvVUM5dAPKiCuOF3p6P8jP9QPzlsjTXZ5w/s1600/taste.gif"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405190900633411266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3Qn4qC3LOxyNgM_C6g225bRPI-9v9mu3kCL1wxGgarGINXRY92d1Hw_G-a37wB3_qryOtuAbeIKE-3uQYcnJ14pazXyq_5swRHxxqlcu1tvVUM5dAPKiCuOF3p6P8jP9QPzlsjTXZ5w/s320/taste.gif" /></a>Saturday night's dinner was at a local spot called <a href="http://www.tastecafebistro.com/">Taste Cafe and Bistro</a>, in nearby Pacific Grove. I'd been here before, and remember it being very good, but last night's meal was one of the best I've had in years. Absolutely superb food, service, beverages, ambience, interaction with the owners, and for me, it's going to be a tough one to beat.<br /><br />I had a Chilean meritage while the others shared a bottle of <a href="http://www.sansaba.com/buywine.html">Bocage Chardonnay</a>. All were superb, complimented the food perfectly, and priced fairly.<br /><br />The Caesar salads were the most perfectly balanced I can recall. It's so easy to go too much in the wrong direction with <em>any</em> of the ingredients in a Caesar, and this one was perfect. Traditional romaine lettuc<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCX_5KQkMzedHc9CwhWRLwkb4hQWXAj4TFnw6zUnBRSTSfLNUK-bdIXSbFH1HAVVBkd8G-uEYQlLWq__t1fJnEMomnG_H5SZE0ficSzD9mDFnVehbh-mvIxnATjbo_AH3DO6zVGo0T5E/s1600/Taste2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405196863536240738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCX_5KQkMzedHc9CwhWRLwkb4hQWXAj4TFnw6zUnBRSTSfLNUK-bdIXSbFH1HAVVBkd8G-uEYQlLWq__t1fJnEMomnG_H5SZE0ficSzD9mDFnVehbh-mvIxnATjbo_AH3DO6zVGo0T5E/s320/Taste2.jpg" /></a>e with a light dressing, garnished with shreds of Reggiano Parmesan, and topped with a thin slice of baked brioche. Inventive, balanced, impeccable.<br /><br />The ladies both had the halibut special, which was perfectly cooked and seasoned, accompanied with mixed vegetables, incredible camelized onions, and their famous potatoes au gratin. John had the veal medallions, which were equally delicious. I had the roasted half chicken, again perfectly cooked, garnished with roasted garlic and Italian parsley sprigs, also served with carmelized onions, mixed roasted vegetables and the au gratin potatoes. My benchmark for roasted chicken is the Los Altos Grill (formerly called Bandera's), and I think tonight's was better. This is no small accomplishment!<br /><br />I've used the word balanced twice here, and it's meant as the highest form of compliment. With any of these meals, the diner could have easily been led in an extreme direction with just the slightest more "this or that" in the mix. But everything simply <em>fits</em> at Taste. Nothing overshadows anything else, all the spices are done in proportion to the dish, gravies and sauces are complimentary, not dominant, and it all makes for a rare meal indeed.<br /><br />I'm not a big dessert eater, but I had to sample the home made butterscotch pudding, which is served in a creme brulee type ramekin, garnished with fresh whipped cream and a sprig of fresh mint. Once again, something you don't see on every menu, and it was absolutely perfect. If I wasn't totally full from the meal, I would have been tempted to lick the dish.<br /><br />Host / owners Bill and Sue Karaki have created an elegant, yet comfortable dining experience. They personally visit every table, and are at the ready for anything the diner may need. Between Monterey, Pacific Grove and Carmel, our friends John and Linda truly have a plethora of excellent restaurants around them, and there's good reason why they eat at Taste a couple times a month. An absolutely wonderful food and dining experience.<br /><br />Saturday night was capped off with some amazing 16 year old Lagavulin Scotch. Appreciating fine Scotch whisky is one of several "vices" my childhood friend John has gotten me into over the years. Others include fine cigars, great gins (which is the ONLY way to have a real martini), cameras, and fly fishing. We also have a strange anomaly in common, which is that we tend to make an in-depth study of our interests. I've said too many times over the years that I believe I know a lot about a very few things. But I definitely do my research, as does John. Doesn't hurt to know everything there is to know about your vices (interests), right?<br /><br />We awoke Sunday morning to a warm, crystal clear Monterey sky. There was no question but to pack some essentials and head for the beach for a makeshift brunch. John had brought a bottle of Dom Perignon to my brunch last Easter, but given the fact that I had about 10 people, we opted to save it for the "pre-Thanksgiving" gathering. I stopped at our local Lunardi's Market on the way out of town and picked up some huge, gorgeous strawberries, which I thought would be the perfect compliment for the Dom P. A stop at a great French bakery in Pacific Grove would add an absolutely perfect ham and gruyere quiche to our quarry, and we were off to the beach.<br /><br />The Central Coast gets its share of fog, Monterey being no exception. But this November morning was absolutely gorgeous. Mid 60's, no wind, clear skies, and it couldn't be a more perfect setting. We shared the quiche, strawberries and Dom Perignon, and felt very decadent sitting on the beach watching the surfers. As much as I love our home in Bend, there's something to be said for November weather like this.<br /><br />We headed back to their beautiful home for a little more conversation, then headed out for the 102 mile drive home. Along the coast that skirts Monterey Bay, inland past Castroville (artichokes galore), up past our old home of Gilroy (garlic capital), and back up 280 and home.<br /><br />I was thinking pork chops for dinner, but the local Safeway didn't have any thick ones that weren't already pre-stuffed and living in the meat display case. I opted for a pork loin roast, which I stuffed with an apple, shallot, thyme, bread crumb and salt and pepper combo. Note to self: Omit the shallot next time. Not a disaster, but a distraction for sure. Rice pilaf and simple green beans capped off a great Sunday dinner.<br /><br />I love weekends like this, and they're quite rare. We spend our lives working too much, and not enjoying the genuine pleasures in life. Good friends, great food, beautiful surroundings, and a reduction in the pressures around us, are something to be cherished. And I do. </div></div></div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-21985917805808168392009-11-07T13:15:00.000-08:002009-11-07T13:15:19.713-08:00This Chef's Knives<img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 247px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 168px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401469261827612162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqyfKF5FFVKPNidUJAi96ItKG1wLMVE4dePrbkNwQKDDCbIN__RhV9by75Zp3iMSQOT6lzYumXXZUIgwe2v4qOLH_8r7hfxwXQ61qNF2cgwNHxC1LKLUffQe-yzLKSVOUJ6r9LQKqDvo/s320/Shun2.JPG" />This article was prompted by a visit from my good friends Carolyn and Bruce, a few weeks ago. They were out on a business trip from their home in beautiful Roswell, GA and we decided to spend the day up in Napa doing some wine tasting. Carolyn wants to get him a great set of knives for Christmas, and asked for advice. The "need" on his end was prompted by him hacking off the end of a finger with a dull knife, which he relayed to us as we were partaking in some rack of lamb, risotto and haricot verts, which I'd thrown together for Carolyn and her co-worker, and our friend Dave. Note that you CAN "throw together" a totally lavish meal in under an hour, after work. I do it every night.<br /><br />But as I thought about recommending a set of knives, I decided to do what I tend to do, which is to dive into it more thoroughly, and present some pros and cons of several types, as well as a final recommendation. Keep in mind that this is purely my recommendation, based on knives and accessories that I use and / or have used, and specifically knives that are in my collection. I'm fascinated with the concept and supposed sharpness-factor of ceramic knives, but I've never used one so you're not going to see any discussion of them here. I'm not going to write about the $25 Forschner/Victronix 8" Chef's Knife which is touted universally as the best buy in a knife, but I use one that's very similar, which is made by Dexter, and I'll tell you about that one.<br /><br />What you <em>will</em> read about are what's in my knife block, what's hanging on the two magnetic wall racks, what's in the drawer, why they're where they are, and what gets used the most. I'm not particularly into ga<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDy85op-zzzgizfQyu9yhBhaWkictdmtPxcF2YbGAGwIUF78trC51iSsOXlrkZUd10L_LumHAjWNyw0UYq6VhLDMlNc5qby2eG_OAn3AHoBIkNiCS0wLC2Q4yG_gIXGW9gD9BNKSq8AdI/s1600-h/Henkels.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 281px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 199px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401469029302759218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDy85op-zzzgizfQyu9yhBhaWkictdmtPxcF2YbGAGwIUF78trC51iSsOXlrkZUd10L_LumHAjWNyw0UYq6VhLDMlNc5qby2eG_OAn3AHoBIkNiCS0wLC2Q4yG_gIXGW9gD9BNKSq8AdI/s320/Henkels.JPG" /></a>dgets and gimmicks, but there are a couple that I'll mention, as well as some essential accessories.<br /><br />Actually, let's <em>start </em>with an accessory ... Where do you store your knives? In a drawer? Wrong, unless they're in a wooden holder specifically made to hold knives. Otherwise they bang together which makes mince meat out of the blades. In a block? Ok solution, but not the best, and they're expensive and take up counter space. Assuming you have some available "side-of-a-cabinet" space near your work area, your best be is one or two magnetic knife holders. They run $15-20 apiece and hold six or seven knives safely, and within easy reach. As much as I love Sur La Table and Williams-Sonoma, if you have a restaurant supply store nearby, that's where you should buy them. They're generic, and half the price of the afore-mentioned culinary temples of joy. I have two of them and they hold my most-used knives (with one exception, the Shun Ken Onion has its own bamboo holder).<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1uIqbuYM0hpT23TSwTZZc7CQN2EtvipEWdzn-L4HGZk_O1BIYC9LZgTYTmZECRvt-rbcFpXbB9oTxv0SLoHaHvEsG4iXfXNaBaYEUX0dI8U-aKKt7pP9fkVuf6TzSYEipoPE4JNUE7jg/s1600-h/TopRack.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 167px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401468384762756386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1uIqbuYM0hpT23TSwTZZc7CQN2EtvipEWdzn-L4HGZk_O1BIYC9LZgTYTmZECRvt-rbcFpXbB9oTxv0SLoHaHvEsG4iXfXNaBaYEUX0dI8U-aKKt7pP9fkVuf6TzSYEipoPE4JNUE7jg/s320/TopRack.JPG" /></a><br />My small collection includes:<br /><br />(Top rack) 8" Henkels santoku, 8" Henkels chef's, 6" Wustof chef's, xxx, Forschner-Victronix 7" Granton edge santoku, Henkel's paring knife<br /><br />(Bottom rack) Martin Yan Chinese cleaver, 8" Global chef's, 8" Dexter-Russell chef's, 4" Dexter-Russell utility knife.<br /><br />In the knife block on the opposite counter is a Dexter bread knife, serrated tomato slicer, straight boning knife, curved Granton edge boning knife, Lamsonsharp Chinese cleaver, 6", 8" and 10" Lamsonsharp chef's, and kitchen / poultry shears. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVoZblk84-4pgzSyCiiiaZwGP2ahQxbq-cOmbxI2qK5xdnxlrKraDdgll11HrF2Q3wpTi0gIvAczwJsRwDAHrKypNZ9gWrd9KKTpR_QAgmeYMYoKchMhLSy1mKLw3Dn6e0Del3W8pOa4/s1600-h/B-Rack.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 155px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 176px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401467717092598626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVoZblk84-4pgzSyCiiiaZwGP2ahQxbq-cOmbxI2qK5xdnxlrKraDdgll11HrF2Q3wpTi0gIvAczwJsRwDAHrKypNZ9gWrd9KKTpR_QAgmeYMYoKchMhLSy1mKLw3Dn6e0Del3W8pOa4/s320/B-Rack.JPG" /></a><br />(Top drawer knife rack) 10" Dexter chef's, my indispensible F. Dick steel, a couple utility knives, another Japanese cleaver (smaller version), and an Acu Sharp sharpener.<br /><br />So what do you need all these for? Obviously you don't. Most home chef's specialize in a couple styles of food and can get by with very few knives. It amazes me that people buy huge knife collections and expensive blocks to hold them. Even the three-piece Global set that I bought, which seemed like such a great deal at Sur La Table, has proven to be a was<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0AY02nE6UM3Djc7EnkoteSKxoEb8VDXU_MPhSzyMsgn0v6mEWnzrgHyttRMLQHqjoLf8drGuXQmz2M-bqps3tNfbxKj2ZP1IsciAQhEiFHUCu4mxB7NwhVZ0dgOFjm_A7T-Wutwq0Og/s1600-h/Global.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 236px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 143px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401467090851282722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0AY02nE6UM3Djc7EnkoteSKxoEb8VDXU_MPhSzyMsgn0v6mEWnzrgHyttRMLQHqjoLf8drGuXQmz2M-bqps3tNfbxKj2ZP1IsciAQhEiFHUCu4mxB7NwhVZ0dgOFjm_A7T-Wutwq0Og/s320/Global.JPG" /></a>te. I love the 8" Global chef's knife and use it daily, but the two utility knives have been used two or three times each, and they live in the drawer.<br /><br />Regardless of your budget, your most used knife will be your main chef's knife. Some prefer a 10", I prefer an 8". I have several, they have varying degrees of pros and cons, but they get the most use by far. And the one that gets the most use is a Dexter 8" chef's which I bought prior to attending a six weekend Professional Cooking series at the California Culinary Academy. It cost me a whopping $25 in 1994, and it's still the most used in my collection. The Global chef's gets a lot of use because it's very thin, perfectly balanced, great for fine slicing and dicing, and a total joy to use. The Henkels gets used for things that require a heavier knife (great for chopping onions and smashing garlic cloves). The 7" Wustof is a great knife, and was a present from my wife-to-be, just prior to our marriage. I use it for in-between type jobs, and I use it a lot.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4l2KsqumoyOBnCq5PB-kADz5imI0xp0kPj-34NRMYMHFLcUTQXEyMRZgEwfBGALsFvDoaPgbUKPBny3Obo2H25c9tVfyXvsq2ssyEzk1x2qgboY1YiPlMr1__XMCbRzz7KiA69ABaGxA/s1600-h/Lamson.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 211px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 115px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401466641253903938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4l2KsqumoyOBnCq5PB-kADz5imI0xp0kPj-34NRMYMHFLcUTQXEyMRZgEwfBGALsFvDoaPgbUKPBny3Obo2H25c9tVfyXvsq2ssyEzk1x2qgboY1YiPlMr1__XMCbRzz7KiA69ABaGxA/s320/Lamson.JPG" /></a>The 6, 8, and 10" Lamsonsharps get very little use, but the Lamsonsharp cleaver gets tons of use. I had the cleaver first and used it all the time, so I ordered the chef's knives having never used them. They're probably great knives, but I've never gotten the edge I want on them. Sounds like a good weekend project in my copious spare time. But the cleaver is a very nice knife, and quite likely the one I'd pick if I could only have one knife on a desert island. The Martin Yan cleaver is nice and stays very sharp, and it also gets quite a bit of use. A cleaver or a good santoku is essential, I feel. Both my cleavers have permanent "thumb" marks at the top rear of the blade, because I hold them at the front of the handle and upper rear of the blade, I've done so for years with both of them. <br /><br />The 7" Victronix with a Granton edge is an awesome knife, and was under $30. Great all around knife and excellent for slicing meat and poultry. I also have a long ham slicer with a Granton (scalloped, not serrated) edge which gets lots of use around the holidays. Ideal for slicing a turkey, prime rib, pork roast or a whole beef filet section.<br /><br />I have two 10" chef's knives, and I'm not exactly sure why I bought them. I probably read somewhere that every collection should have one, and I really don't understand why. I use the Dexter 10" for slicing half-frozen London broil meat into thin slices when I make beef jerky. And that's the only time I use it. The Lamsonsharp doesn't rock well, so it goes unused for the most part.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5UUqIRk-zmLIgtN_gdpFOjX61CqVM9JxcMKo8xfguBwaC6TZntWHNMevCv-OJMicMuI7hQvgFhfGFnZE5Fpq7YPSPn7y0vW7x5-hNGobNEYPdXo0TnadUZzUFVgy6D4nPua4CVT4STI/s1600-h/ACces.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 207px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 154px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401465582844961234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5UUqIRk-zmLIgtN_gdpFOjX61CqVM9JxcMKo8xfguBwaC6TZntWHNMevCv-OJMicMuI7hQvgFhfGFnZE5Fpq7YPSPn7y0vW7x5-hNGobNEYPdXo0TnadUZzUFVgy6D4nPua4CVT4STI/s320/ACces.JPG" /></a>I have a couple of utility knives that I like. My 4" Dexter gets as much use as the 8". I use it constantly when I'm cooking. I believe I paid about $6. for it. The Henkels 4" on the other hand, was likely five times as expensive, and I almost never use it. I also have a small curved knife which was sold as a cheese slicer at one of the garlic stores just south of Gilroy. It's absolutely the perfect knife for slicing tomatoes, which is all I use it for. And I slice EVERY tomato with it. I believe I paid six bucks for this one too, and I've had it for well over ten years.<br /><br />Last but certainly not least, is my latest acquisition and pride and joy ... an 8" Shun Ken Onion chef's knife, which comes with its own bamboo holder. If you've never used<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZDrsxifbZX_ez94o12FB2xXqzEkEW4kzLRftAtlsljGD2oKn7cG2UEBYhdfpB_x8M_ymBK2sJyl4tkX5yYLlzE-j0GqMySqsLIhmVjud4HeUWy6QgYfBpp97uaVsTewucOfCrwwy7dQ/s1600-h/Shun1.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 239px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 164px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401465972163389026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZDrsxifbZX_ez94o12FB2xXqzEkEW4kzLRftAtlsljGD2oKn7cG2UEBYhdfpB_x8M_ymBK2sJyl4tkX5yYLlzE-j0GqMySqsLIhmVjud4HeUWy6QgYfBpp97uaVsTewucOfCrwwy7dQ/s320/Shun1.JPG" /></a> a Shun, make it a point to ask if you can try one the next time you find yourself in a Sur La Table or Willaims-Sonoma store. It's one of those things that's ridiculously expensive and worth every penny. I believe mine was around $200 which puts it at eight times the cost of the Dexter, a great knife in its own right. This was a gift from my wife, which is the only way I'd ever get one. No way I could justify paying that much for a knife. But they're absolutely awesome looking and feeling, perfectly balanced, very unique handles, a blade that looks like a samurai sword, and it's the sharpest knife I've ever used. It literally <em>glides</em> through an onion. It also garners lots of "ooohs and aaahs" from guests who hang around the kitchen when I'm cooking. But a more expensive knife won't make you a better cook.<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 244px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 185px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401465083406796498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJDj3WHO9RqQU2qaTERh2cmMHVBXEQTKY3QB2rGRG_0-Bp9dh5TmkIzbyLvRtLNv1alFaihzl96z3udSFcCh0cdpxBf7dxAnOkOqey_WH37gPfU0xugPEEPWCZp2b3cxNTnxxwSNXi4E/s320/Sharpeners.JPG" />A <em>dull</em> knife can make your prep time miserable, but virtually any knife can be sharpened to a fine edge. Good ones hold their edge better, but you can make do with what you've got, if you know how to use the knife and of course how to sharpen it. I've tried every kind of sharpener and I have two extremes that I use exclusively. I have a three-slot Chef's Choice electric sharpener that can put an edge on anything (including granton and serrated edges), without ruining the knife. Great sharpener, but they run about $125. Again, it was a gift, and I love it. I also use an Acu-Sharp sharpener that works phenomenally well on dull knives and costs about ten bucks. Sharpening stones work great if you have the patience to use them. I don't. I have a couple of them, and they sit in the back of the drawer.<br /><br />While knife brands and sharpeners are debatable, one constant that you'll find among butchers is the type of steel they use; the steel of choice is made by German company <a href="http://www.cutleryandmore.com/details.asp?SKU=4149">F. Dick</a>, and at about thirty-five buckes, this steel's a steal. They've been in the knife and steel making business since 1778, and they've got it down. I was introduced to it on the first day of a three weekend butchery class at the culinary academy, and it's the only one I use. Learn how to use a steel correctly and do it after every use of the knife. If you're doing a lot of cutting with one knife, stop and steel it every now and then. A steel doesn't "sharpen" your knife, but rather keeps the edge straight and the inevitable burrs that develop, at a minimum. Mine's on the counter within reach the whole time I'm preparing a meal.<br /><br />Along with being the most expensive and unique looking of my knives, the Shun also has one additional feature. While they say you <em>can</em> use a Shun sharpener and get good results, they recommend you keep the original packing box and ship it to them once a year. They're more than happy to sharpen it back to factory standards at no cost other than the postage. Amazing toy, for sure.<br /><br />So to get back to the original intent of this article, what would I recommend to my friend Carolyn for Bruce's Christmas present of a set of knives? A set of Globals that includes an 8" chef's, the larger santoku wth a granton edge, a utility knife, and of course an F. Dick butcher's steel would be all he needs. A nice set of Henkel's with an 8", utility, slicer, and shears would also last a lifetime and he'd love using them every night. Both of these stay sharp, look great, and make your time in the kitchen a pleasure. Never put them in the dishwasher, buy a magnetic rack for them, steel them often, and watch the smile on his face the first time he uses them.<br /><br />However ... you can't go wrong with a few Forschner-Victronix knives, and anything that says Wustof or Lamsonsharp will also last a lifetime, and of course if your budget will accomodate a Shun Ken Onion ... that's the best.<br /><br />Oh, and Bruce ... ANY of these are capable of taking the tip of <em>another</em> finger off, by the way</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-14989208147063231202009-11-01T20:57:00.000-08:002009-11-01T20:59:37.760-08:00Cajun Halloween<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ur0VxIBBB5iSmNcCuk9EmIUi1MvTxJ3CKf7TwJIdudyw6hhZbSeCnfCYAHsrie50MryGZAVMJF1j7ZQFS-OVPh_CfTELrJ_8SPlmCM5zvf6yjPVBzJlmob96PdIqIVKIY3X2dyoInDM/s1600-h/Clocks.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 239px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 140px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399364533884626610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ur0VxIBBB5iSmNcCuk9EmIUi1MvTxJ3CKf7TwJIdudyw6hhZbSeCnfCYAHsrie50MryGZAVMJF1j7ZQFS-OVPh_CfTELrJ_8SPlmCM5zvf6yjPVBzJlmob96PdIqIVKIY3X2dyoInDM/s320/Clocks.jpg" /></a>It's a chilly Saturday on the San Francisco Peninsula, Halloween 2009, and also the end of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daylight_saving_time">daylight saving time</a>. I just received an email from my friend Barb, up in Bend, which is a picture of an elderly native American gentleman and the following observation: When told the reason for daylight saving time the Old Indian said, "Only the government would believe that you could cut a foot off the top of a blanket, sew it to the bottom, and have a longer blanket." I like this. Arizona doesn't have daylight saving (other than the Navajo reservations), nor does Hawaii, Puerto Rico or the Virgin Islands. But in California, it's always a welcome treat in the Spring, and I suppose we gain an hour tonight so I'll endure the next few months of it getting darker earlier in the evening. Life will surely go on ... always does.<br /><br />But tonight's going to be a Cajun Halloween, of sorts. Small gathering, so far ... my wife and myself, my sister Colleen and her husband John. A small but excellent gathering! My sister loves kids, adores her nieces and nephews, and is a firm suscriber to the Peter Pan principle of "Never allow yourself to feel older than seven." So she arrived early in her Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin T-Shirt, prepared to dole out candy to the millions of kids that were surely going to visit our house in this <em>very</em> family-friendly neighborhood. She was thrilled when the first set of kids (great home made bug and rocket costumes) arrived a little after five, when it wasn't even remotely dark yet. But hopes of a big crowd of trick or treaters faded quickly as the hours went by, and we ended up with four sets of two kids to the house. This means a couple things ... first, my co-workers are going to have a huge amount of assorted candy to share tomorrow, and second ... what's happened with Halloween and all the kids? I'm obviously unsure if this is the trend elsewhere, but it was a little disappointing, to say the least.<br /><br />Friends and avid readers know I grew up in Daly City, California. Now this was a few years ago of course, but Halloween was awesome! First, after the age of five, kids' parents never joined them in their trick or treating rounds through this little suburb just south of San Francisco. We'd go out in groups of two-to-four, fill up our pillow cases with candy, go home and empty them out, and head out for another round or two of the same. I had candy for months! And at around 9:00 we'd all head down to the Westlake Shopping Center for the annual Halloween celebration in the parking lot that faced what was then known as Alemany Boulevard, and was renamed to John Daly Blvd a number of years ago. For those of us who grew up there, it will always be "Alemany."<br /><br />The parking lot that faced the afore-mentioned boulevard featured the likes of the Westlake Liquor Store which was owned by 49er legend Bob St. Clair, the Westlake Music Store, King Norman's Toys, Johnson's Enchiladas, a drug store, Georgette's Beauty Salon (still there, as is Georgette), Vern's Ice Cream, Compton's Cafeteria (best custard anywhere), See's Candies, and Walgreen's. And on Halloween, this lot would be packed with kids, parents, and pets who would partake in the live music and free goodies. One thing that could be counted on every year was little tubs of "50-50" orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream, which would be given away for the asking. This was back in the days of Cho-cho's and Sidewalk Sundaes being the most popular ice cream varietals, but the little tubs of 50-50's were awesome. I'm sure I'm dating myself ... how many of you remember Cho-cho's? Just as I thought.<br /><br />It was a safer time, for sure. These were also the days when I'd ride my bike ten or fifteen miles in several directions, with the only condition being "be home for dinner at 5:30." It wasn't unusual to spend a Saturday with a friend or two, riding into the City, all over Golden Gate Park, over to Larsen Pool for a swim (for a dime, as I recall), to the Zoo (which was free, back then), and back up Lake Merced Boulevard, across ALEMANY, and home to the Park Plaza Apartments. Just be home for dinner ... and we always were.<br /><br />So where were the kids last night? I'd like to think they were at parties or gatherings where they were having fun, and of course being safe ... undoubtedly with parents in tow, as that's how things are done these days. But I miss the notion that they can't be out and about visiting the friendly neighbors in their home turf, amassing a collection of sweets that they'd take home and sample, sort, and squirrel away somewhere for the next several weeks. But last night, they were a no-show.<br /><br />My sister and John did show though, and dinner turned out awesome. Colleen brought a Malbec from their recent trip to Argentina, and it was incredible with the jambalaya. I added a bottle of Zinfandel from Adelaida in Paso Robles for good measure. Also good.<br /><br />Appetizers were kept simple because I had a feast preparing in the kitchen. Carr's crackers, a brie, and a Kerrigold aged Irish cheddar were <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSxZMrp_w_Qo8JTIGywMuElnW-RmXcXNBbsvo5ov3GTL8X6hPKJgvAl-U-tH4_P0uTH7sDUiV0OSAFUvUQeMC-6gUx-D3nhrpO7m_jm_IyY_z0jWhupH8kb9_I-DNws9_RHoF9A66_2b8/s1600-h/IMG_0019.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 215px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 181px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399362749937557426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSxZMrp_w_Qo8JTIGywMuElnW-RmXcXNBbsvo5ov3GTL8X6hPKJgvAl-U-tH4_P0uTH7sDUiV0OSAFUvUQeMC-6gUx-D3nhrpO7m_jm_IyY_z0jWhupH8kb9_I-DNws9_RHoF9A66_2b8/s320/IMG_0019.JPG" /></a>plenty. Colleen brought an awesome salad, which meant one less thing I had to prepare. I love doing salads, but I always like <em>not</em> having to prepare a course. Most cooks do. I've said this many times in this blog, but <em>never</em> be hesitant or intimidated bringing things to a meal at a chef's house, or in fact <em>inviting them over! </em>Your food's undoubtedly great, and we love being cooked for. All of us do!<br /><br />I started the red velvet cupcakes early in the day, and made the frosting while the two dozen little gems were cooling on the cooktop. This is a fairly common recipe, and in fact if you Google it, the results are virtually identical. Mine came from my friend Siobhan, who owns the Wagon Wheel Restaurant in Truckee. I'll try to remember to post it on the <a href="http://lscooks.com/">website</a>, and the jambalaya recipe is already out there. These turned out really good ... I thought the frosting that consists of two cubes of butter, a pound of cream cheese, and four cups of powdered sugar needed just a bit more ... so I sprinkled some Sharffen Berger mocha chocolate nibs on the top. Perfect.<br /><br />The jambalaya took shape early in the afternoon, and was actually done before anyone arrived. Very easy to do a quick reheat, which is what I did just before I served it. The cornbread was served in the Lodge cast iron pan I baked it in, which seemed fitting.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs0-e7KzADYS1rrP849OiQzrlShX7PhdcaI0zWEmPMUQXaaMOxurwVDN195DeeJfsN-aD-ZfqStyMltE4EshGAFqhxqQMXU19be_BorvZUhPof3vnNXX98bo3xrDE0IkGKcN7s9W2Lks8/s1600-h/W2065Full.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 211px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 192px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399364238966237650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs0-e7KzADYS1rrP849OiQzrlShX7PhdcaI0zWEmPMUQXaaMOxurwVDN195DeeJfsN-aD-ZfqStyMltE4EshGAFqhxqQMXU19be_BorvZUhPof3vnNXX98bo3xrDE0IkGKcN7s9W2Lks8/s320/W2065Full.jpg" /></a>After dinner, we got into the last of my Zin Alley Port, which of course is always served in my Port Pigs. Consistent crowd pleasers, both the Port and the Pigs. There's just something to sucking your dessert wine out of a glass pig's tail, I guess.<br /><br />Great night, always a treat seeing my sister and her hubby, the food worked, and we gained an hour via the end of the afore-mentioned Daylight Saving, granting us an extra hour of sleep, which I currently need as I'm fighting a cold. But I'm still wondering where all the trick or treaters were last night. Perhaps there were ghosts and goblins out in the neighborhood, and we were the only ones <em>safe??? </em>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-33959230214691751442009-10-18T18:00:00.000-07:002010-01-15T10:09:39.550-08:00Stopping At FiftyOn a recent trip to the Bend house (pictured to the right), my wife and I got into a discussion of moving, and specifically "moves" we've done both individually and together. Although we weren<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9U9PrzxyECNRMobR2zCf9Dyo_gqS8hw_mzi3XJlCduL_q2_ICHGA9dBz57CKsSAhs_DeNop3fEeXBkEqlB5nMyajeuVpFDNVEylSynJq-PgRjswyN8Q-r_7J4K-D09uLkpbqnr6AsvUke/s1600-h/House-NewPaint.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394106797524548770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9U9PrzxyECNRMobR2zCf9Dyo_gqS8hw_mzi3XJlCduL_q2_ICHGA9dBz57CKsSAhs_DeNop3fEeXBkEqlB5nMyajeuVpFDNVEylSynJq-PgRjswyN8Q-r_7J4K-D09uLkpbqnr6AsvUke/s320/House-NewPaint.JPG" /></a>'t "Army brats" with moves dictated by the whims of a branch of the government, it seems we moved quite a bit. The discussion delved further into the pain or pleasure aspect of moving. It's nothing that either of us likes to do at this point in our lives, but for the most part over the years, I've greeted moving with a positive attitude, vs. something I dreaded. Sure, you're always going to leave friends behind, and you'll miss the 'hood, but I enjoyed moving to new places and meeting new people. Friends and readers of the food blog (<a href="http://larry-lscooks.blogspot.com/">LSCooks ... Stir It Up!</a>) know that most of my youth was spent in the community of Daly City, just south of San Francisco. I’ve also spent many years in and around Pacifica, seven years in Chico, a few in Gilroy, and most recently of course, several years in beautiful Bend, Oregon.<br /><br />But I got to thinking about all of the places I’ve lived, even ever-so-briefly in some cases, and thought I’d get them down in one place. And as the title suggests, I’m hoping that I don’t have to do too many more.<br /><br />1. Taraval St. apartment, San Francisco. I was born at St. Mary’s Hospital in San Francisco, and this is the first place I called home. My parents had a small apartment in the Sunset District for a couple years. My dad worked for a bank, and my mom worked for City of Paris department store, which is unfortunately no longer in business. I remember absolutely nothing about this place!<br /><br />2. Parkmerced, 40 Rivas St. We moved to a little apartment in Parkmerced which I remember vividly. Parquet wood floors and stainless steel counters, two floors, white doors, sort of a garden setting in front where neighbors would congregate. My grandfather (Gene, my dad’s dad) would visit often in t<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibautV5eOcvUkZ-FSmkNIKf24aVXmDspGs8566JowIiHoOjx5ZaucPvQeZlJDOupQ1XrkF8NyPa5aasC9puYjxVQiAeJ5wXNjvw6vtxhYvftmuAXXgE9r5LJuj65_gFTJarCktYplHndvh/s1600-h/PMerced.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 190px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394106519681281410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibautV5eOcvUkZ-FSmkNIKf24aVXmDspGs8566JowIiHoOjx5ZaucPvQeZlJDOupQ1XrkF8NyPa5aasC9puYjxVQiAeJ5wXNjvw6vtxhYvftmuAXXgE9r5LJuj65_gFTJarCktYplHndvh/s320/PMerced.jpg" /></a>he afternoons, as he was a guard somewhere in the big complex at that time. Most memorable day there was when I was about 3 ½, and I decided to take my little girlfriend Diane (who was 3) on streetcars all over San Francisco. We were gone for several hours, saw lots of sights in the City. I managed to get us home in one piece, and my parents were not amused. What they didn’t know at the time was that I could actually read at 3 ½, and I’m sure I simply read the signs on the streetcars and managed to transfer to the right ones. Don’t all 3 ½ year olds have this capability?<br /><br />3. San Mateo House. My parents’ first home purchase was a little corner home in the Shoreview district of San Mateo. Best part of this place was its proximity to my grandparents’ house, which was about two blocks away on South Norfolk. I spent afternoons at my grandparents’, helping in the yard where they grew what seemed like every vegetable in the world in a few rows of an immaculately laid out suburban yard. Fresh everything, commonly plucked right from the yard. This has to have something to do with why I shop every day for what I want to prepare that night!<br /><br />4. 141 Park Plaza Apt #6 in Daly City was the first of two apartments we’d occupy over several years. My mom kept having babies, so we pretty much were forced to move into roomier places. It was I and my younger sister Lynda when we moved in to this two bedroom one bath apartment. As with the Parkmerced apartment, this one had parquet floors and stainless steel counters. Must have been the fashion, I can only imagine. Danish modern furniture was also popular at the time, and I recall my mom buying “squarish” couches, chairs, and occasional tables in some wild colors. Blue upholstery and black lacquer tables, if my memory serves correctly. The Park Plaza apartments were fun. We were directly across the street from the Westlake Shopping Center, which we would watch grow from the Town and Country Market and a few department stores, to a giant mall with dozens of stores in a single locale. One of the first such malls in the nation, and very successful in its day. I’m told that this bright little boy used to take himself to the dentist, get haircuts, and go shopping alone. I was about 5. Kindergarten was a half mile away at Westlake School, and I’d make the walk every weekday.<br /><br />About this time, my grandparents moved from San Mateo to Bonnie Doon, which is up the Empire Grade, outside of Santa Cruz. This lasted a couple years, and they moved into the little house on Lazywoods Road, in Felton. I would spend virtually every holiday period and every summer vacation there, and have major fond memories of the times. I’ll bore you with that write up, at a later time.<br /><br />5. Salinas apartment. My dad was working in sales for a canning company out of Oakland, and was offered a “golden opportunity” to manage his own territory. Unfortunately, it would require moving the family from our beloved Daly City, to what surely was the armpit of California at that time … Salinas. Although the area has expanded into lots of fruits and vegetables (and even vineyards) in the last couple decades, at the time we lived there it was all lettuce fields, and the population was 100% Latino. I’m of course not putting a value judgment on that fact, but we were quite literally the only English speaking Caucasians in our complex, and it was a tough time for both my mom and us. And it was hot … Daly City has an annual average temperature of around 64 degrees, and it rarely varies much above or below that. Our little apartment in Salinas had no air conditioning, and opening the windows would allow the 115 degree summer heat to make the place miserable. Salinas didn’t last … six months was about all my mom could take, and my dad was given a clear ultimatum … we’re moving back to Daly City or …<br /><br />6. 141 Park Plaza Apt #20 was our second apartment in Daly City. The shopping center continued to grow, the old Town and Country Market was about to be replaced by the new, modern Westlake Foods, which was in the middle of the shopping center and directly across the street from us. It was here that I had my first slice of pizza … nineteen cents got you a big slice of cheese pizza from the giant supermarket’s deli. Very important early formative years were spent in the Park Plaza apartments. Many friends from Westlake School are still good friends who I see several times a year. It was a safe, fun, friendly place to grow up. But alas, my mom was about to have twins, so …<br /><br />7. 41 Grandview, Daly City. Five kids just weren’t going to cut it in the little apartment, so we moved into a real house in the Westlake Knolls. Small place, looking back, but a giant leap from the two bedroom apartment. We still had to share rooms for the first few years, but ultimately my dad and grandfather build a makeshift room in the garage, which would be mine. Cold and drafty, it wasn’t much more than two doors and some two by fours and sheetrock, in the forward part of the single car garage of our little ranch house in suburbia. But once again, this was a safe neighborhood and we all have fond memories of the Grandview house. My Grandview school years included a brief (bussed) stint to Fernando Rivera School, until Thomas Edison was built and I could walk down the street for 5th and 6th grades. Then Ben Franklin Jr. High, which was also a bus ride, and then to Westmoor High, which was an easy walk of about a half mile.<br /><br />It was also at this house that my mom decided she liked monkeys. When I tell people this in 2009, they can’t believe it, but it’s true and all of my sisters will vouch for it as well. My mom was dying to have a pet monkey, so my dad surprised her with a little spider monkey. Pain in the butt little thing, and it didn’t last long before being given away. Then came a squirrel monkey which met a similar fate. But then we got Shoo-Shoo the owl monkey, and had her for upwards of 10 years. At one point Shoo-Shoo ran away, and we got a second owl monkey. After finding Shoo-Shoo a couple blocks from the house, we gave away the backup owl monkey. A couple years later my mom increased the monkey population to two, with the addition of a capuchin. It lasted a couple years, and was replaced by the last monkey in the Sullivan house … a wooly. This one was like a little chimp, or actually more like a two year old kid, including all the associated crying and moodiness. The wooly was given away, and we were down to good old Shoo-Shoo for the last few years of her life. Fun pets.<br /><br />8. 244 Morton was the next move for the clan, which now included five younger sisters to yours truly. This would be my first real bedroom which I didn’t have to share with a<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QwwPmnS2SoZbHzSRDjjn533kfxB27gHdj3B9YBP9N3T4n8eVT0-zxbwtLn8EBhonrXKL82bjYdeiQvTrqRA573uwMRlU8oLUsVGXdAnW4vf5TIbCbZherNiDpxbauGcA63BbicZxz7Ll/s1600-h/SMonte.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394106311268326114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QwwPmnS2SoZbHzSRDjjn533kfxB27gHdj3B9YBP9N3T4n8eVT0-zxbwtLn8EBhonrXKL82bjYdeiQvTrqRA573uwMRlU8oLUsVGXdAnW4vf5TIbCbZherNiDpxbauGcA63BbicZxz7Ll/s320/SMonte.jpg" /></a>ny of the girls. I had my own phone and TV, and a bathroom right outside the door, as opposed to going upstairs and the far back of the house, which was the routine in the last house. I’d died and gone to heaven. This was a nice new house in the new community of Serramonte. This whole stretch of homes that included both Serramonte and the previously-mentioned Westlake area, were the inspiration for the Malvina Reynolds composition (and Pete Seeger recording) of “Little Boxes.” Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky, little boxes, little boxes, little boxes all the same. There’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one, and they’re all made out of ticky-tacky and they all look just the same.<br /><br />9. San Diego State and a dorm room in Zura Hall was my next stop. I remember packing up all my worldly possessions, which included a pretty nice stereo, tons of record albums, two surfboards, clothes, and my trusty typewriter, piling everything into my little orange VW (named Humphrey) and driving 500 miles south. San Diego was a great experience, but unfortunately it would prove to drain any savings I had, and my parents couldn’t afford to pay for it, so I was forced to return to home base for awhile. But once again, I met some great friends in San Diego, and still keep in contact with a couple of them. Took a lot of searching to track one of them down, and the other recently found me, but it’s great being in touch again.<br /><br />10. San Jose Apartment. After briefly moving back into my old room on Morton, it was off to San Jose and a shared apartment with my friend Marty. Marty and I go back to early grammar school years, and we’ve always been the very best of friends. Fondest memory from this apartment was the release of Who’s Next, and cranking up the entire “album” as loud as my stereo would go. We WON’T get fooled again!<br /><br />11. Oakmont house, South San Francisco. Marty was working 30 miles north, and I was about to return to San Francisco State, so for the immediate future, it seemed like a good idea to move out of the apartment and back into the parents’ abode in South City. I was once again relegated to a room in the garage, but this time it was a professionally built room (with a heater!) in an otherwise very large garage. I was working in grocery stores at this point, making union wages and benefits that gave me a taste of having a few bucks. I had a decent car and a motorcycle, a new surfboard, and a nice set of Ludwig drums which I drove my parents crazy with. I was never a “subtle” drummer, and this was the height of my “I wanna be Keith Moon” days.<br /><br />12. Pacifica, Esplanade #1. I soon tired of being under my parents’ roof, and moved to a nice apartment on the beach in Pacifica. The apartment overlooked the water, and work was a five minute walk to Brentwood Market.<br /><br />13. Pacifica, Purple House. From the apartment on the beach, I moved about 3 blocks up Monterey Road to a purple house, with friends Marty and Bob. It was great telling people how to find us … Monterey Road is a main thoroughfare that cuts down to Pacifica from Skyline Blvd, and all we had to tell them was “look for the purple house.” You didn’t need the address … just look for the purple house. Trust me, you’ll see it. This place was a party house in the true sense of the phrase. Marty and Bob eventually moved out and replaced by two other friends (and we all were equally crazy party animals at that juncture), and we really had a good time there. Unfortunately when we finally moved out, I discovered that my waterbed had been leaking slowly for a year, and the floors were quite a site. Oh well.<br /><br />14. Pacifica, Esplanade #2. When the lease at the house ran out, I moved back to the apartments at the beach, but this time to an “upper” unit, for an even better view. I recall an older lady next door who apparently took pity on this lonely bachelor, and frequently would send food over, via the adjoining patios. Amazing that I’ve gotten so into cooking, looking back at such days when I would consider a good dinner to consist of a heated can of store-bought Dennison’s chili con carne on an English Muffin with some pre-shredded cheese and hot sauce as the sole garnishes. Last Sunday’s full beef tenderloin with a wild mushroom duxelle stuffing and a port reduction, with sides of risotto and haricot verts, would never have seemed possible, in retrospect. You’ve come a long way, baby.<br /><br />15. Culver City apartment. My dad was offered another of a seemingly endless stream of golden opportunities; this time it was a relocation to southern California. Four of my younger sisters were about to graduate from 6th grade, Jr High School, and High School respectively, so the timing wasn’t right for the whole family to move. I loved southern California, so I opted to move with my dad for a few months, after which the girls and my mom would move down as well. After a few months, it became clear that my dad’s job was not going to pan out as presented, so he moved back to South City, and I moved to Redondo Beach. Another fun place, very close to the beach and I truly enjoyed the area. I recall a memorable evening when I drove to the Roxy Theater in Hollywood and sat through two Tubes shows, back to back. Alone. Me and my little yellow Fiat.<br /><br />16. South City – Brunswick townhouse. Returning to the Bay Area to resume my San Francisco State “studies” (a term I use loosely … I was going through the motions and not applying myself at all), once again meant a brief stay at the parents’. They had moved to a townhouse in South City, and I was allowed to camp in their family room until I found another apartment. This is something I went about in a very diligent fashion, in an effort to quickly escape the parents and girls once again.<br /><br />17. Pacifica, Hickey Blvd apartment with a view. The next apartment was a gem. I was at the top of Hickey, where it met Skyline Boulevard, also known as Highway 35. It was a small studio apartment, but one of only two in the complex that were situated in upper outside corners of a building. The view was a sight to behold. For those of you familiar with the San Francisco area, I had an unobstructed view from the Cliff House and Ocean Beach, to south of the airport. The entire north peninsula was out my living room window. This was my “house plant period,” and I probably had over 100 plants in this little place. My cat Tillie loved to eat them, so they were mostly hung from a variety of macrames and other hanging devices. Wandering Jews, Creeping Charlies, philodendrons, climbing ivy plants, a couple Norfolk Island Pines, and every color of coleus imaginable, were the main décor items for my beloved Tillie and me. Very solitary lifestyle at that point, as I recall.<br /><br />18. Pacifica Vallemar house. From the apartment, it was another house with friends, once again in Pacifica. This one was a big house back in the Vallemar area, which was known for being sunny while the rest of Pacifica experienced the usual fog bank. Significant feature: a kitchen sink that was stopped up for 6 of the 12 months we lived there. We ran a hose downstairs to the stationary tub in the garage. Yes, this is true.<br /><br />19. Oceana Apartment. Yet another Pacifica apartment. This one was on the east side of Highway 1, facing the ocean, and once again had a phenomenal view of the Pacific Ocean. Pacifica gets an inordinate amount of fog, but on a clear day you can see forever.<br /><br />20. 18th and Santiago in San Francisco. For someone who was born in San Francisco, I haven’t lived there much. The Taraval apartment, Parkmerced, and that was it until this house, which is the 20th place I called home. I had the room downstairs, my own kitchen, and a couple good friend / roommates upstairs. Another in a seemingly endless stream of party houses that I managed to land at, during this period. <div><div><div><div><div><div><br />21. St. Thomas, USVI. An old friend from high school came to one of our parties at the house above, and mentioned that he was about to move to St. Thomas to live and work. It didn’t take much convincing for me to give my two week notice as Head Clerk at Byrne’s Fine Foods in the City, pack up, and head to the Caribbean. St. Thomas and the whole Caribbean area was a phenomenal experience.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrAdJf88KzNcWfe8YQcDgcI4YDpHTZ3M9S8wyGJEWb0f4odGQfHB5PiDsbA_PF8_ijaPRQ_v1rMUbrUoXLaHvTdEdDEPATliCE1CUi_-yyFXT2G-EO0dHjcbdNj2hcGJLGhJeeYigmM5T6/s1600-h/GreenHouse.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 178px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394107842148668674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrAdJf88KzNcWfe8YQcDgcI4YDpHTZ3M9S8wyGJEWb0f4odGQfHB5PiDsbA_PF8_ijaPRQ_v1rMUbrUoXLaHvTdEdDEPATliCE1CUi_-yyFXT2G-EO0dHjcbdNj2hcGJLGhJeeYigmM5T6/s320/GreenHouse.jpg" /></a> I worked for a company called Resort Pool Management, Inc. The gig was that we took care of three different resorts’ pools, and in return we got to have a concession on the beach where we sold suntan products (Panama Jack), diving, fishing and sailing tours, and rented snorkeling equipment and sailboats for use in the harbor in front of us. I worked at Pineapple Beach, and my day would start by putting on a bathing suit and T-shirt, going to work and taking off the T-shirt, cleaning a couple pools, and either working on the beach or sailing to St. John’s and back. I returned to San Francisco three days before Christmas with the best tan I’ve ever had. Thanksgiving in St. Thomas was quite an experience. From the decks around the house (atop the Estate Wintberg district), you could see Puerto Rico, St. John, Virgin Gorda, Tortola, St. Croix, and a myriad of smaller islands that dotted the Caribbean around us. And I can't possibly begin to estimate the amount of time we all spent at The Greenhouse on the waterfront in Charlotte Amalie (pictured to the left). Amazing time.<br /><br />22. Parkmerced, with parents. I returned from St. Thomas with the afore-mentioned tan, and about twenty dollars to my name. The only answer was to spend a few weeks with my parents, who were now living in a little townhouse in Parkmerced. Something about living here felt like I’d come full-circle, but not necessarily in an ideal or predictable way. But here I was.<br /><br />23. 18th and Santiago in San Francisco, round two. Back to the room downstairs for a few months, but my life and subsequent professions were about to change profoundly.<br /><br />24. Oroville, CA. My friend Bob had an entrepreneurial idea that he needed some help with. He wanted to open an unfinished furniture store in Chico, which was about twenty miles from where he and his lovely wife Chris lived in Oroville. At the risk of offending any readers from Oroville, it’s not the most pleasant of places to live. Nothing much going on there, too much crime, ridiculously hot in the summer, and in fact would be a perfect place for an enema, if the Sacramento Valley needed one. ‘Nuf said. But move to Oroville I did, and commenced to putting the business plan, marketing ideas, advertising, profit charts, etc. for what would become Natural Habitat. I knew absolutely nothing about furniture or creating a business, and at that point it was unlikely that I could tell a piece of oak from one of pine or cherry. Quick ramp up, but I learned the business quickly. We started in Chico, expanded (and closed) in Paradise, opened a bigger store in Chico, and another successful one in Redding. Very fun business, which in fact I miss to this day.<br /><br />25. Chico, mobile home. I’d never lived with a girlfriend before, but that was about to change. I met “D” through one of the ad reps who worked our store account, and it was a fairly quick ramp up to serious dating status, which led to her asking me to move in with her and her daughter. The next seven years would be spent in an on again, off again relationship with her and her daughter. Suffice it to say, this was not the smartest way that I could have spent this time of my life.<br /><br />26. Mountain View, CA apartment. “D” decided that there could be some real opportunities outside of Chico, and the furniture stores I was managing weren’t doing tremendously well (one of many recessions I’ve weathered, looking back!), so she decided to sell the mobile, and we moved to the Bay Area. Nice little apartment in the heart of Mountain View, but it was quite an adjustment for both “D” and her daughter, neither one of whom had ever lived outside of the sleepy college town of Chico, CA. I managed a rent-a-car company, and it was a miserable and low paying job.<br /><br />27. Pacifica house. As luck would have it, her new dental career and my (once again, although for the last time!) grocery store experience, dictated a move to the north end of the peninsula. We rented a nice big house in Pacifica, which we needed for our two cats and nice big dog. We got Zorba as a puppy before leaving Chico, and he grew to be a 175 pound merle-colored Great Dane very quickly. Big boy, best dog I’ve ever had. You know how some dogs chase cars? Zorba would catch them.<br /><br />Alas, “D” and daughter missed Chico, I’d had enough of living with the two of them, and she decided to move back to Chico. I stayed in the house, and had subsequently met someone new, and she moved into the house. Amazingly, her cat got along with both Zorba and Tillie, so it seemed like a natural.<br /><br />28. Pacifica, townhouse. I came home from work one evening to discover that “K” had found a place that she was sure we’d like, and signed a lease on it. Unfortunately, it meant I had to give up my beloved Great Dane, but he went to a great house with kids. It turned out to be a nice place, but after some initial good times, it was a quick downhill turn for this relationship.<br /><br />29. Kathy and Chip’s, Daly City apartment. I was pretty much in dire straits at this point. I had a decent job with Pak ‘n Save (which we used to call “Pack and Slave” in Colma, but I’d pretty much had it with the grocery business and the Bay Area. After leaving the Pacifica townhouse, I found myself pretty much a man without a country … I had few possessions, nowhere to live, and I was very ready for a change. I spent a few weeks at my sister Kathy’s, and took a leap of faith and returned to Chico. I’d had enough of the Bay Area again, the furniture store was once again calling, and it was back to Chico for a few more years.<br /><br />30. “D’s” apartment. The first apartment for the second time around in Chico was a small place near the college with “D+daughter.” The best thing about this place was that it was walking distance to the best hamburger joint in town – the Burger Hut. Simple concept; Great burgers made to order, baskets of fries, and a long counter with anything you want to put on it, available for the taking. Yum.<br /><br />31. House near the park. We soon tired of the small apartment, and rented a nice little house by Bidwell Park. Chico’s a fairly small town, but this put us closer to friends, and it was really a nice setting.<br /><br />32. Apartment off East Avenue. There was a pattern developing here … “D” and I didn’t last long periods of time together. We didn’t fight or argue particularly, but it was a total pain being in the same house with them … commonly. So my next place would be alone, on the far side of town.<br /><br />33. Funky apartment. Another lease ran out, the rent was going up, I opted for what arguably was the funkiest place I’d ever lived. Tiny little apartment, and for the first and last time in my life … cockroaches. Never again. This one didn’t last long … a few months was plenty.<br /><br />34. Apartment off C&J’s house. My friends “C&J” had built a room off their house, which was initially a macramé business for her, then an antique business for him, but they decided to rent it to me and make some extra money. Making a living in Chico is ridiculous. It’s a beautiful place to live, and lots of college students and grads end up staying here because of that fact … but they get away with paying you minimum wage and no benefits. Such was the case with C&J, and this is no way to get ahead.<br /><br />35. House across the street. “J’s” father Paul was an excavator, meaning he tore down houses and buildings and hauled them away for people. A small Caterpillar tractor, a backhoe, and a big truck were his entire business tool collection. Every once in awhile he’d run across a house that someone wanted to tear down, but it would be in good enough condition to warrant having it moved onto the street he owned. “C&J’s” house, as well as his own and several others were all “tear downs” that he moved, put some labor into, and either sold or rented out. One morning, we saw a big truck coming up the block with a fairly nice looking blue two-story house in tow. Paul had bought it and moved it, and it was going right across the street from C&J. A couple months of work and a coat of paint produced a very livable home, and once again I decided to take a gamble and rent the place with D & daughter. This was a fun house, and we actually had some great times here. C&J were great friends, we had other great neighbors, the kitchen was a huge sprawling country kitchen that I loved, and we actually got along well here and enjoyed the house.<br /><br />36. Last Chico Apartment. We moved from the house to an apartment, once again near Bidwell Park. The furniture business had closed, “D’s” job was eliminated, money was tight, and the house had to go. About six months in the apartment was to be the end of my days in Chico, and the last time I’d see D & daughter, after seven years of ups and downs. I worked for a few months at Computerland as a sales person, but quickly discovered that I was much better on the technical end. Back to the Bay Area, into a new profession that would be life-altering.<br /><br />37. Shelter Creek with my sister and brother in law. My sister Colleen was kind enough to offer me a room in their condo while I got back on my feet. It took me about two weeks to get a job, which was downtown San Francisco at a Computer Craft store. Some sales, some technical, and a huge learning experience in what would be my new profession.<br /><br />38. Shelter Creek studio. After a couple months at my sister’s place (for which I will forever be in her debt), I got my own little studio apartment in the same complex. I’d spend the next 3 ½ years here … all alone, with my cat Tillie, who had now gotten a little long in the tooth, so goes the old saying. This place would prove to be Tillie’s demise. She simply ran away, never to be seen again. You’ve heard that animals can sense their “time” coming and they just go away? It’s true. But the Shelter Creek studio was fun. Small, for sure, but it was mine, and I treasured having a place of my own, making a few dollars, being able to buy a car and some new toys, and generally enjoying my life again. Chico, and living with “them” for so long was a mistake that took way too long for me to leave.<br /><br />39. Fremont, with Colleen. After 3 ½ years in San Bruno, my sister presented me with an irresistible offer. She’d recently divorced her first husband and suggested I move into a spare room of her house in Fremont. We got along as we always have – tremendously. These were good times. I was doing great at work, where I was now a network manager at Western Digital. I had a new car, could afford to live a little, and things were definitely on an upswing. It was while I was living in Fremont that I met my future wife, at work. After a couple months, my nights would be split between Fremont and her house in Palo Alto. But we didn’t live together until a month before we got married, so I was technically still living in Fremont for well over a year.<br /><br />40. Palo Alto. Just prior to getting married, I moved in with Risa at the house she shared with her son and a couple roommates. Very nice place in a great neighborhood in Palo Alto. This was an “Eichler” home, which featured some interesting design features, as well as some downright weird ones. They got mixed reviews when they were built, but amazingly have stood the test of time and are once again something of a fashionable acquisition for young Silicon Valley couples. Along with getting married during this period, it’s also significant to mention that it was in this house that I became the “cook of the house.” I’d cooked quite a bit over the years, but it was always a shared duty. Not so any more … I’ve cooked all but a handful of meals for the past 20 years since this house. It has in fact become a major part of my life, and a lot of my social structure revolves around food, cooking, and writing about it. But alas … <a href="http://larry-lscooks.blogspot.com/">that's an entirely different blog!</a><br /><br />41. Greenhouse apartment. We decided to get into an apartment with amenities and save some money at the same time. The Eichler home was expensive to rent, heat, cool, and keep up in general. The Greenhouse condos on San Antonio Road on the Palo Alto – Mountain View border seemed like a good move. Great pool and clubhouse where we had many gatherings.<br /><br />42. Bird Street house. From the Greenhouse, we once again opted to move into a “real” house. This one was in Sunnyvale in an area known as the “bird streets.” All the streets are named for different types of birds. You have to wonder what the city planners were thinking … particularly since the “bird streets” blend into the “fruit streets.” Interesting concept for sure. Another nice house which had its own pool. I’d worked for a pool company in St. Thomas so I had no problem being the pool boy here. Our pool was immaculate, and I loved it. Fun place.<br /><br />43. Manufactured home on Tasman. The next move was a gamble, of sorts. We were secure enough in our jobs that we decided we’d actually buy our first place. This was of course the Silicon Valley, and home prices are legendary. But we could afford a new manufactured home. This was just like buying a new house, meaning we got to pick colors, carpets, options, etc. We loved this place, and we managed to time the boom in housing pretty well. Two and a half years here would net us enough money for a down payment on an incredible house in Gilroy.<br /><br />44. Gilroy home. The house in Gilroy was awesome. Huge, four-bedroom, three bath place with a great yard, incredible neighbors, a wonderful community with proximity to the coast, the central valley, or the peninsula, nice restaurants, and amazing weather. We loved this house, and arguably should have stayed there. The only problem was the commute … I was working in Los Gatos, Risa was initially in Cupertino and then San Jose. The weekday grind took a minimum of ninety minutes, and could easily become in excess of two hours … each way. They’ve since added three additional lanes in each direction which has made a huge difference, but this drive was absolutely killing us (and multiple cars).<br /><br />45. La Mesa house. We then bought a house in San Jose, which should have been both a good move strategically, as well as a much easier commute. It was neither. We soon tired of the tiny house which we’d purchased from a contractor who had just remodeled it. But the remodeling was not the best, being more appearance than function. And the commute, although only 14 miles instead of 50, still took an hour each way, through the streets of San Jose and the lower peninsula. Crazy way to spend a significant part of your life; On the road to and from work, stuck in traffic at a crawl. It was about this point when we decided to start looking seriously for an entirely new place to live. Major contenders included Cambria (central California coast), Boulder, Atlanta, Fort Collins, and ultimately … Bend, Oregon. We sold the house on La Mesa, put the profits in the bank in anticipation of buying something out of state, and moved to a rental in a different part of San Jose.<br /><br />46. Willow Glen home. We rented a house in Willow Glen, which is one of the nicest areas in San Jose. Very close to the downtown area, 10 minutes to the HP Pavilion where all the major musical acts play, and walking distance to the quaint Willow Glen downtown area. This is truly a “walking” neighborhood, which is a rarity in San Jose. Safe, quiet, friendly, featuring tree-lined streets and older homes with predominantly older inhabitants who’ve lived there for decades. This house also had a pool, which of course I loved, as well as a room that was perfectly suited for my drums and occasional visits from the members of my band. We did lots of entertaining here, and as most of the places we’ve lived, I think people really enjoyed visiting us here. It was during our eighteen months in Willow Glen when we took up our next life-altering activity; Massage therapy training. What began as a two-weekend introductory course became several years of professional level training. Fundamentals, Advanced, Cranio-Sacral, Acupressure, Hot Stones, Deep Tissue, Hydrotherapy, Chair Massage, seminars, plus several semesters as a teacher’s assistant in the Advanced class. Dangerous hands that can rub you the right way!<br /><br />47. Bend. In August of 2004 we took a trip to Bend and Ashland, Oregon. We’d read very positive things about both of them, and figured a week would be enough time to come up with a yay or nay on a move to Oregon. We first drove to Bend, where we’d planned to stay three or four days at the La Quinta on 3rd Street, which is the main drag that runs the length of town. We fell in love with the place almost immediately. The river is gorgeous, the Mt. Bachelor and The Sisters mountains are a spectacular site from just about anywhere, the towering pines, aspens, and junipers are everywhere, the people were friendly, the restaurants excellent, and at least in August … the weather was phenomenal. We looked at a good number of new homes, and one tract in particular caught our attention. But of course we had to compare this with Ashland, where we’d spend the second half of the week. Ashland’s beautiful, but we soon found out that the town revolves around the annual Shakespeare Festival, and that’s pretty much the basis for the economy. I’d planned to get into real estate, and the sales in Ashland weren’t nearly as attractive as they appeared in Bend. I’d already gotten my license twice in California, and had managed to hit two recessions. Little did I know, the same would happen in Oregon the following year. We returned to California after a beautiful week in Oregon, and had pretty much decided that Bend would be our new home. Risa spent some quality time working with the sales guy (Julian) and picked a wonderful corner lot in a cul-de-sac. We’d be across the street from the Deschutes River with a peek-a-boo view of Mt. Bachelor from the upstairs windows. The house would be started in December, and complete and ready for its new occupants, the following June. A trip up in late December proved to be an indication of what can happen on some years up there … the winters are generally mild (although cold and full of snow), but this one was the worst in a decade. The normally eight-hour trip from the Bay Area, took about 15 hours. Terrible weather, blizzard conditions, accidents, delays, etc. No fun. The house was finished in May, and the decision to leave the Bay Area and take a gamble in Bend was a relatively easy one. The house was just too beautiful to be a part time home, or something we’d move into “some day.” We gave notice at our jobs, and moved all of our possessions and four cats, on the last day of July, 2005.<br /><br />48. San Jose Apartment. As I mentioned earlier, I became a real estate broker in Bend … just in time for the whole market to fall apart (worldwide, not just here). I found a job in I.T. at a local healthcare provider, and spent the next two and a half years working for exactly half of what I made doing the same thing in the Bay Area. A call from a former co-worker, who was now the CEO of a promising start-up in San Jose, was too good to resist. We packed up about a quarter of our possessions and once again headed back to San Jose. This time, to a small apartment in a huge complex. Two months after we landed here, the “promising” company I went to work for had a 25% layoff, and I was a victim. First time I’d ever been laid off, and coming from a guy who was allegedly my friend, really hurt. A summer of consulting work and job hunting produced a new position in South San Francisco. As Risa was working on the north peninsula as well, we left the apartment and moved to Belmont.<br /><br />49. Belmont house. The house in Belmont was built in 1951, and was occupied by its original owners until we moved in. It started out fairly small, but was added on to over the years, producing a nice living area, master bedroom, and a killer downstairs area which provides ample area for our massage room, my drums, and a second “living room.” The big yard was a hit for this year’s Meatfest, which is a big BBQ I do every Memorial Day weekend. Although amazingly, the weather was just as bad here as it was the first year we were in Bend. Cold, rainy, dreary, unfriendly. But the yard’s nice, the house is old but comfortable enough and I can’t complain about the commute.<br /><br />50. Bend … Home. The Bend house is currently occupied by my friend Bob’s daughter and her cat. 3000 sq. ft. house with four bedrooms, three full baths, massage room, media room, separate living, dining, family rooms, and a kitchen to die for, with one person and her cat. But<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXFk1xDCJBc2NOyaiNu3d_i9F1tF0k-Ghz-DZNUkCwvMrT3-ITxVtjMwPioLPHSur8JKHIz-MLkqREPr3Tloo6eeMgOfz1BL278wnvIXyfTR3eVWZi2fT46cfsCQnqdg-ex6uE3-8lq0H/s1600-h/IMG_0012.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 241px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 159px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394104864238694818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXFk1xDCJBc2NOyaiNu3d_i9F1tF0k-Ghz-DZNUkCwvMrT3-ITxVtjMwPioLPHSur8JKHIz-MLkqREPr3Tloo6eeMgOfz1BL278wnvIXyfTR3eVWZi2fT46cfsCQnqdg-ex6uE3-8lq0H/s320/IMG_0012.jpg" /></a> it’s in good hands, and I’d rather see it have one appreciative occupant, than to be empty. I have no doubt that we’ll ultimately end up back in Bend. The weather can be a struggle some years, and the “four mild seasons” we heard about are a fallacious marketing ploy. The “mild” winters can start as early as October (they got seven inches of snow two weeks ago), and it’s not uncommon to have snow on Mother’s Day in May. Summers are usually three months long … no more, no less. Spring is usually an extension of winter, until late June. But fall is gorgeous, and our trip up there a couple weeks ago provided some exceptionally nice weather and fall colors.<br /><br />We miss our friends, the slower pace, the lack of traffic, the beautiful scenery, and of course my kitchen. I can’t believe I’ve lived fifty places. When I got the idea to approach this piece, I hadn’t taken a count, nor did I get into the emotions and decisions that were to come with this little exercise. One thing that’s definitely changed is something I mentioned in the first paragraph … the notion (at least when I was growing up) that moving was not a negative thing, but rather an interesting experience that would certainly provide new friends and new places which I’d get to know.<br /><br />One thing that’s proven to be true over the years is that people tend to gravitate to our homes, and I’d like to think they enjoy being here. Gatherings tend to be in the kitchen, which was also the case in my parents’ and grandparents’ homes. I’m sure it’s a combination of people wanting to watch how I prepare their meal, as well as just liking to hang out in or near the kitchen. I’m friendly by nature, and the fact that I put on a reasonably good meal tends to attract people to our homes. For the time being we’re living two lives; One’s on the San Francisco peninsula, where we spend the bulk of our time and of course where we’re employed. But our heart’s in Bend, and I’m sure there will come a day when four or five trips a year to the house and area we love so much, will cease being enough.<br /><br />Note: I’m working on a book with a working title of “Out </div><div>Of My Kitchen,” and I’m already planning to modify this piece and create a chapter called “50 kitchens.” Stay tuned. </div></div></div></div></div></div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-67637370369840274292009-10-07T23:00:00.000-07:002010-01-15T10:10:02.493-08:00A Late Summer Week Off ...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6LwkikZ9dKFObogOBCpMP_8U43ilc6TQfo_s0dewZFt86MX02IDmbM6ssbyHNU7Xwv3DCEhghU3eEM5ePdgxjM46_PABxnFmZUmHfwaumkQekOnHsFe7WcG-dTXow8hP580H07QaBUMn/s1600-h/FallColors.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 222px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 187px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390363800442917922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6LwkikZ9dKFObogOBCpMP_8U43ilc6TQfo_s0dewZFt86MX02IDmbM6ssbyHNU7Xwv3DCEhghU3eEM5ePdgxjM46_PABxnFmZUmHfwaumkQekOnHsFe7WcG-dTXow8hP580H07QaBUMn/s320/FallColors.JPG" /></a>After months of debating and investigating places to go for the final week of vacation for the summer, we decided on half the week at the Bend house, a day at home, and four days in Cambria, on the Central California Coast. We’d considered Hawaii or Mexico, but decided we didn’t want to fly anywhere, or spend the money that both destinations are happy to take from you, once you’ve arrived. Even “all inclusive” vacations looked like a streamlined collection of your bank account. I always love going to Maui, and it came close to winning this battle, but we opted for Oregon and California trips, and were quite happy with these decisions in the long term.<br /><br />The ride to and from Bend is one that I’ve written about ad nauseum in both the blogs, and loyal readers know that for some sick reason, I truly love this little 500 mile jaunt (each way). Getting into and out of the greater Bay Area is always a crap shoot, and can range from an easy, relatively traffic-free cruise, to a several hour nightmare that makes me wonder how anyone can live here. We managed to get out of the house by 8:30 on Saturday morning, and the cruise North was one of the easiest I can remember. Very little traffic, and before I knew it I’d made the turnoff onto 505, which is a short stretch of freeway that connects Vacaville to Highway 5 North. My sister Colleen refers to this road as her personal Nurburgring, as it’s usually relatively free of CHP’s, and the 70 MPH speed limit and virtually no traffic invites enthusiastic drivers to open it up a little. I still watch for gendarmes like a hawk, but this road’s pretty open and you can see forever in every direction. Slow down for the overpasses though, as they’re commonly hanging around on the on-ramps, waiting to pop some unlucky driver for daring to go 10 miles over the limit. My last ticket was for 53 in a 50, while crossing the Bay Bridge en route to a fraternity party at UC Berkeley. That was nearly 40 years ago, and I’d like to keep it that way. Don’t give them any reason to pull you over, and they won’t.<br /><br />This trip would provide a “first,” in that I didn’t stop at Granzella’s on the way up OR back. It wasn’t quite lunchtime on the way up, and too early for dinner on the way home. Plus, Joe’s of Westlake was beckoning, it seemed. In general, the newly remodeled deli in Williams is a virtual magnet for me, as well as anyone else who’s ever been there.<br /><br />Redding was once again the only notable bottleneck on the trip (both ways). They’re widening the highway, and it seems like a never-ending project. We moved to Bend in 2005, and it was under construction then. Just north of Redding, you start to climb through the beautiful Siskiyou’s. With Mt. Shasta looming in front of you most of the way, the ride is spectacular. You cross Lake Shasta twice, and the boaters were still out in full force in late September. But why wouldn’t they? It’s a crystal clear 90 degree day! <div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9ChBO8czx0pgkFLjVfgw9w9gGIgcMLaob4ubAhOEnky4rEBond6pQP-r0mgK4Vg3YepiR6SnNh8lrnuL7Ma9MfrEWpWxmmyJeu5ifDtvs9gfOF27Mvxbv0A29ROA0_Zz0LTGEML-7MIl/s1600-h/CastleCrags-2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 191px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390362891959601490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9ChBO8czx0pgkFLjVfgw9w9gGIgcMLaob4ubAhOEnky4rEBond6pQP-r0mgK4Vg3YepiR6SnNh8lrnuL7Ma9MfrEWpWxmmyJeu5ifDtvs9gfOF27Mvxbv0A29ROA0_Zz0LTGEML-7MIl/s320/CastleCrags-2.jpg" /></a>Off to the left as you round one of the “slow to 55” corners, the amazing Castle Crags jump out at you. Located between Castella and historic Dunsmuir, this product of glacial erosion from the Pleistocene era, is absolutely stunning. Today it’s a California State Park, and lucky hikers and campers can venture from a base of 2500 feet at the Sacramento River, to about 6500 feet at the summit of the tallest peak, exploring these majestic sheets of granite. Beautiful site, and one that I never get tired of watching.<br /><br />Somewhere between the turnoff at Weed onto Highway 97 North, I had “this trip’s” big thought. As we passed the multitude of farms and ranches that occupy the high plains of Northern California and Southern Oregon, I wondered how many of these farmers and ranchers sought their profession out, as opposed to being born into the family business and staying there. Those of us who come from the “big city” tend to go to school, some go to college or beyond, and a choice is made as to “what you want to do when you grow up.” I have friends from high school who fell into the family business, but for the most part, this isn’t an option for city folk. I think this is very different in rural America, where a good percentage of the country’s farmers and ranchers were in fact born into this type of trade. And I can only imagine that they either stayed on at the family farm/ranch, or ventured into one of their own. The thought that struck me, is that I doubt that a significant percentage of people, whether they’re city or country born … actually seek out a farm or ranch as a career. In other words, from my graduating class of 600 individuals in the bedroom suburb of Daly City, California, it’s unlikely that more than a very small number have “gotten into” farming or ranching as a profession. And likely an even smaller number who stuck it out and succeeded at it. But regardless of the origin of the people doing it, or how they stumbled into a rural life of raising livestock or fruits, vegetables, trees or grains, America needs them. As a cook (and a picky one), I appreciate every bit of meat or produce that I pick up from the market. It’s actually very rare that you get a bad “anything” from your local store or farmer’s market (which I highly recommend for anyone who has one nearby). We take it for granted that our food is going to be good, clean, fresh, and something we’ll be comfortable serving friends and family. And our farmers and ranchers are responsible for this. I for one, appreciate their endeavors. And I don’t think I could do it.<br /><br />We arrived at the Bend house in a record 8 ½ hours, which included lunch at Chevy’s and a couple gas and convenience breaks. The new trees are doing amazingly well, but as I write this in early October, I bet they’re starting to think about losing their leaves. This is ok, as long as they come back next year. The first two trees I planted were 50-50 in this regard. The maple survived and is thriving; the other one died a quick one-season death. All the other yard foliage is thriving, and I was actually proud of myself, having planted everything in the yard a couple years ago, and it’s comforting to see that they’re enjoying their domain as much as the home owners.<br /><br />Sunday night in Bend was spent with a good collection of our friends, celebrating the life of our friends Barb and Chuck’s dog Driver, who passed on a few days earlier. Driver was a gorgeous Viszla who lived to a ripe old age along with his buddy Addie, who’s noticeably bummed with the loss of her housemate. I can say first hand that the fact that a pet lives a long healthy life is no consolation for them dying. I think particularly for those of us who don’t have kids, your pets become members of your family and their loss is huge.<br /><br />Barb managed to put on an awesome dinner, and people brought some great side dishes and appetizers. Sandy Mills’ bean salad was amazing, as was Chris’ bread and dip. It truly kills me that I can’t cook when I’m up there. I have an incredible kitchen, but virtually all of my cooking utensils, pots and pans, knives, etc. are down in the Bay Area. I brought wine and a cake that I had to purchase at the local Ray’s Market. Not my style, but it would have to do. For now.<br /><br />Chuck put together a photo show of his life with Barb, which was totally entertaining. And with his audience laughing at all the “old” shots of the two of them (as well as several of the guests in attendance), he segued into shots of Driver and Addie, finishing off with some great shots of Driver in his last days with them. These are great friends, great dogs, and Mr. D. will be missed by anyone who crossed his path. Simply wonderful, all of them.<br /><br />After four days in Bend, it was time to return to the Bay Area. The ride back was uneventful, but the number of CHP’s was boggling. Unfortunately, this means that everyone is relegated to a slower pace, and traffic backs up accordingly. Think of what you’re doing with your radar and cruisers, guys!!<br /><br />As I mentioned earlier, it wasn’t quite dinner time when we passed Granzella’s, so we continued to head south in anticipation of yet another great meal at Joe’s of Westlake. This is the local institution in Daly City that I’ve been frequenting since the early 60’s. Hasn’t changed much, and this is a good thing. Restaurants like this are interesting, because you generally don’t even think of looking at the menu, having committed it to memory several decades back. I knew what I wanted to eat, a full 50 miles earlier in the trip. Tonight would be a bowl of minestrone soup and an order of “half and half,” meaning half raviolis and half spaghetti. Add a half liter of wine and traditional San Francisco sourdough, and it doesn’t get any better.<br /><br />Wednesday was a stay-at-home day, with a couple of side trips to local malls. Lunch at Max’s in Stanford Shopping Center provided an interesting high point. I’ve eaten here a hundred times, but never had the Kobe hamburger before. How could I have missed this on the menu? Oh that’s right … I try not to get things that I can cook at home, when I go out. Turns out that this is (are you sitting down?) quite likely the best burger I’ve ever eaten. Anywhere. Joe’s does an awesome burger, I do a pretty mean burger for that matter … doesn’t compare. If you have the opportunity … have one.<br /><br />Early Thursday had us on the road again, this time bound for our favorite Central Coast hamlet of Cambria by the Sea. We love this area, and have been making three or four trips per year, for more than 15 years. Most of the tiny local shops have survived, but a number of them have succumbed to the downturn in the economy, and it’s a loss to the community as well as the shop owners. You take a gamble when you undertake a business of any kind, and smaller ones that are dependent on tourist trade seem to be particularly vulnerable. The same situation is true in Bend, unfortunately.<br /><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 160px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390361348125398578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9YR-FMFuLhvLaulBd108CrQyvH7hN0t93K2riR9-SNkdKepswVtdPavYyqqeST0bGEb42JYeptNde-U23ZY4-nRzgnvyKUz6JfdSOzH2qdwUzI5nE_11p67BYDG74Dng0tG_2AUl0oVr/s320/MontVinyrds.jpg" /><br />But the ride to Cambria is another of my favorites. Once you’re south of the Monterey turnoff, it’s a leisurely cruise through the farming and wine producing meccas of California. My family lived in Salinas when I was very young, although about six months was all my mother could stand of the heat and lack of bridge-playing friends. But I recall this area as being predominantly lettuce-producing, with a few other vegetables in the mix. Now, it’s everything from spices (big McCormick plant) to everything imaginable in the vegetable kingdom. And just south of there is the Monterey wine-growing region, which blends seamlessly into the Paso Robles wine-growing region. The past 20 years has seen hundreds of square miles of rolling hills become one of the biggest concentrations of vineyards in the state. A friend at Tobin James Winery commented recently that as recently as 5 years ago, he knew every vintner in the area … all 20 of them. There are over 200 wineries now, and they’re producing some of the most phenomenal wines in the state. <a href="http://www.zinalley.com/">Zin Alley</a> produces four of my current favorites. Their signature Zinfandel is literally my favorite wine. Their Syrah is incredible, and their Port and Nerelli After Hours wines are all amazing. <a href="http://www.dennervineyards.com/">Denner</a> and <a href="http://www.jadavineyard.com/">Jada</a> are two new wineries that show tremendous potential. Winderful whites and unique reds and blends stand out from the crowd and will only get better as the wineries get a few years under their belts. <a href="http://www.greywolfcellars.com/">Grey Wolf</a> produces some phenomenal zins, whites and blends, and the friendly staff is a pleasure to interact with. <a href="http://www.eaglecastlewinery.com/">Eagle Castle</a> continues to improve, and is finally living up to the beauty of the beautiful estate-like setting. The winery appears as a medieval castle, complete with a moat and draw bridge, and featuring a huge banquet room with suits of armor on display. Quite a site.<br /><br />We rented a house in the Marine Terrace neighborhood, a half block from the beach. The first day was a little foggy, but the subsequent three provided some awesome sights and sounds of the Pacific, and some amazing sunsets. Clean, roomy, quiet, great hot tub, we’ll be back.<br /><br />The first night in Cambria always seems to land us at the <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?sourceid=ie7&rls=com.microsoft:en-us:IE-SearchBox&oe=&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=main+street+grill,+cambria,+ca&fb=1&gl=us&hq=main+street+grill,&hnear=cambria,+ca&view=text&latlng=4171380504706320155">Main Street Grill</a>, which is a BBQ spot at the north end of town. We’ve watched this grow from a tiny take out spot, to a huge restaurant with inside and al fresco seating, large screen TV’s, and a BBQ menu that will please the most finicky of meat eaters. Dinner on the second night was up for debate. We almost always eat at <a href="http://www.thesowsear.com/">The Sow’s Ear</a>, but it had been awhile since we ate at <a href="http://www.robinsrestaurant.com/cm/Home.html">Robin’s</a>, so we opted to go there for our Friday night dining experience. We’ve been to Robin’s many times over the years, and it’s always a wonderful meal. They’ve been serving fresh Asian-fusion foods with the freshest of local ingredients since 1985. The menu always has some favorites such as the The Chow, which is a wok-flahsed pasta with local vegetables, garlic, ginger, and soy, with either tofu or chicken. Specials are always interesting, and again are always done with fresh local fish, proteins, and vegetables. The wine list is reasonable and features some of Paso Robles’ best.<br /><div></div><br /><div>Cambria seemed a little quiet for this time of year. September is traditionally some of the best weather of the year along the Central and Northern California coast, and this weekend should have drawn a lot more visitors than were evident. More ramifications of the lousy economy, no doubt.<br /><br />Saturday was a perfect day for a ride. We turned south onto always scenic Highway 1, with the coastal community of<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEs5iX1B5-NxrYTbgltCIpbGpJAF6QspAMPFPuW8VnbkFvDHX0ueBM9Fi5flHXe0roOJYQhLXa6XKi0LQufFSYuA8_ibMnn9w1ieRm2U0qGHKrFn5gmeXAZu58awd_V8mRGC-Bke61H3DU/s1600-h/P1000680.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 238px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390359062160222658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEs5iX1B5-NxrYTbgltCIpbGpJAF6QspAMPFPuW8VnbkFvDHX0ueBM9Fi5flHXe0roOJYQhLXa6XKi0LQufFSYuA8_ibMnn9w1ieRm2U0qGHKrFn5gmeXAZu58awd_V8mRGC-Bke61H3DU/s320/P1000680.JPG" /></a> Morro Bay as our destination. It quickly became evident that there was a fairly major bike race taking place. A few pods of riders became a few hundred, all the way down the coast. We found ot later this was an annual event called the Lighthouse Century. For those unfamiliar with bike race lingo, the “century” meant that this group of hearty riders were going to pedal a hundred miles on this warm day. Along with the riders, we passed through several micro-climates as we headed south … Cambria was in the low 60’s, but by the time we hit the booming metropolis of Harmony (population 18) it was in the 90’s. Then back to the 60’s fifteen miles later. And I thought Bend weather was unpredictable! The picture at the left is in the courtyard that leads to a little pottery shop in Harmony. I thought the blue door was an interesting contrast to the surrounding scenery. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaefSoTXQXp1s3-uBFf80AaSBV_YOQ7zPBpwLLNMCpgFsMkkMdnqmczwsR-k-O-Sb-JiD3ygzn09t8AGVqq_SX1Uwn-tuivO7mllKVgVvEeWbkSEG1dqVKMhPg0Q1wmnIZymgKQaO1EFgb/s1600-h/P1000645.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 145px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390358314853755506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaefSoTXQXp1s3-uBFf80AaSBV_YOQ7zPBpwLLNMCpgFsMkkMdnqmczwsR-k-O-Sb-JiD3ygzn09t8AGVqq_SX1Uwn-tuivO7mllKVgVvEeWbkSEG1dqVKMhPg0Q1wmnIZymgKQaO1EFgb/s320/P1000645.JPG" /></a>Morro Bay has one of my favorite surf shops, Wavelength’s. This is always a mandatory stop, and I never get tired of looking at surfboards and related items. Lunch would be across the street at a little seaside dive called Giovanni’s. Our friend Dave took us here on our last trip, and they have some of the best fish and chips around. I thought it was particularly appropriate that the first boat in the harbor when we were entering and leaving the restaurant, was the Trudy S. Dave’s wife and our dear friend Trudy left us a couple years ago … way too young. She is missed by everyone who knew her. One in a million.<br /><br />Back to Cambria for some relaxing time in the hot tub, an amazing sunset from the deck, then into town for dinner at <a href="http://www.linnsfruitbin.com/">Linn’s</a>. This is a family owned restaurant and local land<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13EvOOzDP9veCbzf50IrFsaLt22OqLQF47XtW8_FGfbKg-7AUZgfr8fuHTFFjF-Nc5hpJwyJ_isBG_ECP1GotUlInyUvnVKAp_Y4b4MWma8TDIfJViSaQif5CeJ6likpADvwSR7qZ4Knb/s1600-h/P1000684.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 226px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 163px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390360371962900642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13EvOOzDP9veCbzf50IrFsaLt22OqLQF47XtW8_FGfbKg-7AUZgfr8fuHTFFjF-Nc5hpJwyJ_isBG_ECP1GotUlInyUvnVKAp_Y4b4MWma8TDIfJViSaQif5CeJ6likpADvwSR7qZ4Knb/s320/P1000684.JPG" /></a>mark that features fresh fruits and produce from their nearby ranch, located five miles up Santa Rosa Creek Road. They’re famous for their pot pies (I had the chicken) and desserts, particularly all things ollalieberry. My fridge is always stocked with frozen pies from Linn’s, and when I get low I know it’s time for a trip to Cambria. Highly recommended for any meal of the day.<br /><br />Sunday meant the ride back home, once again traversing by the beautiful vineyards and sleepy valleys of San Luis Obispo, Monterey, and Santa Clara Counties. Our vacation was about to come to a close, and it was back to work the next day. Friends and loyal readers know how much I love to drive. Not in traffic, particularly, but in open country, through mountain passes, across vast spans of mileage, I’m as close to nirvana as I dare imagine. This was a fun week. Low key, not at all stressful, no airplanes, no tourist trappings, and exactly what I wanted it to be. Now if only I could take these any time I wanted. That dream’s going to have to wait awhile. </div></div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1864049214165786633.post-45645305672438941592009-10-05T18:57:00.000-07:002009-10-05T19:02:20.015-07:00Gourmet - R.I.P.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid0qx7YkDe8l0YB24aJPNBUOl1wx-yYXJs7mbfEcXjgFLZ5iysTuEmvllPwjgSdopuWTUTCehVjmZDl_MciZeazd5Hz4e0YE9k2ty0WCCnj9yvLtFT5MUmAenAARaFsudtIfsCp-K_r4A/s1600-h/gourmet.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 190px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 259px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389300523998716530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid0qx7YkDe8l0YB24aJPNBUOl1wx-yYXJs7mbfEcXjgFLZ5iysTuEmvllPwjgSdopuWTUTCehVjmZDl_MciZeazd5Hz4e0YE9k2ty0WCCnj9yvLtFT5MUmAenAARaFsudtIfsCp-K_r4A/s320/gourmet.jpg" /></a><br /><div>The news came out today that the powers-that-be at Conde Nast Publications have seen fit to cease production of Gourmet Magazine. I’ve been reading Gourmet since the late sixties, when I was still in high school. It was in fact one of the first magazines I subscribed to (along with Surfer and Road and Track, actually). Gourmet was a trendsetter, inasmuch as it paved new ground in the way that food, travel, and the “good life” was written about. Specifically, it brought the mysterious world of “gourmet” food preparation and travel to exotic locales, to the common person’s mailbox each month. And I was every bit the “common person” in the late sixties.<br /><br />Prior to Gourmet, “food” magazines were generally written for the lady / cook of the house, and took the form of family meals buried in the bindings of Redbook or Ladies’ Home Journal. Cookbooks of the era were still of the Joy of Cooking and Better Homes and Gardens variety, and were similarly aimed at the family cook, who was predominantly the lady of the house.<br /><br />But Gourmet opened up the world of food to people like me, and millions of others. In my case, a straight, single male, who simply enjoyed the kitchen, and had no use for anything resembling fast food or Swanson’s TV dinners. Throughout my college years in San Mateo and San Diego, and for a good number of years after, I lived alone and prepared all my meals. And it's no coincidence that I've been the cook of the house for my wife and myself (and some very appreciative guests) for the past 20 years. From a relatively young age, “fast food” meant a meal prepared in my wok. Not a run to McDonald’s (although until “Fast Food Nation,” I must confess two or three Big Macs per year … but no more than that).<br /><br />Gourmet made exotic things like risotto and rack of lamb seem doable to the untrained home cook. Braising wasn’t much more complicated than boiling, so why not try it? Parchment paper actually had a use. Barbeque could actually include seasonings and something beyond a rib eye or New York strip. Foods had a correct point of “doneness,” which didn’t include cremation of innocent cuts of meat. Vegetables could be combined in a myriad of ways and spiced in a million different ways, to produce something tasty and even “exotic.”<br /><br />Gourmet was also about travel and the rewarding experiences of foods that weren’t common to the American palate. A pictorial of Morocco would include not only shots of Casablanca, but also an explanation of what a tagine was (both a cooking vessel AND the meal that is contained in it). A tour of China would contain pictures of the Great Wall, and a true recipe for local Szechwan fare. A visit to Japan would feature Shinto temple pictures, and the way the Japanese prepare miso from scratch.<br /><br />What you didn’t find in Gourmet was anything other than natural preparation methods. Very little in the way of canned, frozen, packaged … anything. These are the raw ingredients; this is how you put them together to create something special.<br /><br />Gourmet was gorgeous. It was a visual masterpiece to behold. Month after month, it was an amazing production with few peers. Recent publications such as Saveur and Fine Cooking do a commendable job, and excel in some ways Gourmet didn’t, but for the sheer beauty of each issue, Gourmet had no competition. They were simply the best at what they did.<br /><br />Inevitably, this conversation has to turn to the common verbiage of hard times, recession, and the like, but I for one don’t have to like it. My favorite surfing magazine, Longboard met a similar fate recently, and this is the capper. Gourmet will be missed. You have to wonder what the proverbial “powers-that-be” are thinking to let such a gem slip away. To give you an idea of the importance of this magazine to the cooks of the world, I just ran the spell checker on this document, and the words “tagine” “miso” and “rib eye” were flagged as not in the dictionary. I rest my case. </div>Bend, ORhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13127414788863690388noreply@blogger.com1