Hooray for me! I decided I would share my newly acquired ability to make a darn good baklava with Vanja's brother's family my last day in Belgrade as they all love it, and Lori never makes it. I love cooking in other countries. It is always a challenge and consistently brings me up short as I inevitably discover that something I need to use doesn't exist where I am at, and I have to find an adequate substitution. This has happened several times. I wanted to make Tacos for Vanja's family a few years ago. Taco shells, salsa, cheddar cheese, and iceberg lettuce could not be found anywhere at that time. Still, many of the items are not available in the newly built mega markets there. Next, it was a tiramisu. I wanted to treat his mother for a special occasion. The lady finger biscuits are completely different, the eggs are completely different. I knew to sneak my own tiramisu into the country, but it was definitely a challenge to get the consistency and the flavour I was happy with. So, the baklava was a new challenge, but lucky me, there are all kinds of phyllo dough for sale in most corner grocers in Belgrade. Of course, I used the one that was made just for Baklava. It was definitely thicker and hardier than the multipurpose one-kind-only phyllo dough we find in our grocery stores here. The walnuts were so fresh and delicious.  Walnut trees are common throughout the region, but if you don't have a tree, the nuts are very expensive to buy. The nut grinders? Ancient. The sugar has larger crystals, but behaves the same as a generic granulated white sugar at home. I worked on it all morning. Focused and eager to pleasure this lovely little family with a treat from their own culture made by me!

 

Did I mention it was over 40 degrees that day? Thank God for air-conditioning. Lori thought I had lost my mind to want to do this on such a hot day. Honestly, it had never entered my mind. Silly me. When I am focused and determined, I lack more than a bit of common sense, it seems.

I was proud of myself. It looks really good, don't you think? Well, admittedly, everyone's palate is different when it comes to such treats. Lori thought it should be much wetter. I like mine drier, but moist, like this. I think if I had known how she liked it, I wouldn't have done it that way, anyway. I don't know how, and it would have felt like I was ruining a beautiful thing.

 

Odd how that is. Anyway. I did it, they did love it, and I was able to leave it behind for them after we left the following day. I was really happy about that.

This was my main, but I shared. Every Tuesday we try to have our dear friend, V, for dinner. I am not much of a meat eater, so I dressed up a large, soft, pillowy bundle of wobbley, young unripened bocconci cheese from The Italian Centre Store with my own homemade ajvar. I dressed it with some delectable extra virgin olive oil and some black Hawaiian sea salt. So, so, so goood. Then, I took the leftovers from the stone soup salad we created for Cathy's birthday (yes, in June - I planned to post this before now!) and added some chive flowers and the same dressing and more greens.

I was delighted to find that Edgar Farms was producing pea tendrils this spring. I had craved them since my dinner in Boston at Olives.I could not wait to steam some up with some spring salmon. V would be thrilled. He is a vegetable junkie.

Now this is actually the Thermomix Mousse Salmon with Mango Sauce that I made in my Thermomix. The recipe will follow. It went perfect with the oven roasted potatoes and the pea tendrils. (And the bocconcini that I DID share.) Isn't this a gorgeous, fresh spring meal? I was thrilled. The boys? Not so much. They really loved the stone soup salad, and the salmon and the potatoes. But the pea tendrils? "What are these curly things that catch in between my teeth? Am I really supposed to eat this? Isn't it some kind of weed?" Next time, I will prepare such a succulent meal for more discriminating guests. Humph!

Anyway, I was thrilled, and I will be the first in line next spring when the pea tendrils are ready again at the Edgar Farms booth at the City  Market!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here we are, just after 8 in the morning, down the street from Fisherman's Warf in San Francisco at The Ferry Building Open AIr Market. I was excited. I wanted coffee. (I never got it, as I couldn't take the time to go get it!) People were already everywhere sitting where ever there was a spot in the warm early morning sun eating a variety of delectable hearty breakfasts cooked to order at the booths across from the water. I didn't have an appetite for anything but coffee, but was very interested in the Mexican and Spanish influenced cuisine that was being served to the freshly scrubbed faces waiting in line.

This gal is pouring coffee into individual papers above. Can you see that?

See the happy breakfast crowd?

And this must be darn good chicken. The line was veeeeerrrrryyyyyy long! (and remember, it is just after 8 am)

Tomatoes will always catch my eye. I adore them. I roast them and toast them and slice them and dice them and I cannot get enough of all kinds of them. To me they are a perfect gift from God. One of many, but certainly a huge favourite of mine.

Loved this sign (below). The essence of it was apparent throughout the entire market. The people were hospitable and warmly embraced their public, we tourists, and one another.

This was one of the few booths that had three of each specialty. Of the three specialty salts, I did buy the smoked chipotle one. It is really special. I cannot wait to dress something up in it for company!

Peppers are beautiful everywhere, and I had certainly never seen a zepher squash! Not in my neck of the woods! I would buy them. Maybe I can get Mary Ellen and Andreas at Greens Eggs and Ham interested in these! Maybe I can get them interested in growing squash blossoms. I would buy a lot of those!

Dirty Girl Produce was another clear customer favourite, and one of mine, too! Their vegetables and herbs were so reasonably priced and absolutely stunningly beautiful. I stayed and gawked and fondled almost everything at least twice before I felt like I was being looked at suspiciously and that maybe I should leave. I did buy a bouquet of basil here for Lauren. But, i wanted every single item they sold. I could make such an amazingly luscious feast!

Martha Stewart will probably start using these white radishes in her summer wedding bouquets if she lays her eyes on this lot. And then, look at the basil below. Honestly, it was really hard for me to leave this booth. Eventhough I bought the basil and burried my nose deeply into it throughout the rest of my browsing, it was an electric sensory experience to be there.

Now for my favourite herbist: Four Sister's Farm. I don;t know which of the Four Sisters I met, but she was personalble, enthusiastic, informative, patient, and encouraging. I introduced Lauren to her and showed Lauren her produce. She was interested, but didn't really "get it" yet. She also didn't need anything from her, but she will remember her, and there is always next time!

 

Purslane! That's what we had served to us at Chez Panisse in our salad! Yes, it was! So, what is it? And, here it is again! People eat this here. It is pretty and has an interesting crunch and mouth feel with a very mild flavour for a cultivated weed! But, that is essentially what many of the leaves we eat were.

Did you notice how perfect and healthy and hardy all of the leaves are? Are you salivating like me? Clearly, these farmers love what they do and take pride in their work. I really appreciated the information about each product on the cards above. I learned a great deal. I would like to support them from here, but that is not possible. So, hopefully, someone there will read this and hop on over and buy up a bunch of these delectable greens. I had never seen wild arugula until this market. It is everywhere here, and gorgeous. The varietals of spinach are also plentiful here.

Doesn't that sound like it would hit the spot about now? Organic Corn Crust pizza? YUM!

Teas were another thing that I noticed were very big in San Francisco. There are many independent makers of tea and many large importers of Asian teas.

I caught the photo as I was running by to remind me of this clever combination. I have purchased hibiscus flowers in syrup for drinks and the flavour is similar to choke cherry syrup, so this drink would be deadly.

Oh my gosh! Here is one booth that reminds me of our Alberta Markets!

I bought some fresh Bay Leaves from this man. How could I not? I knew they would keep and they were PERFECT. Look at these little babies in the bag above. Little miniature lettuces picked up by a restauranteur who let me take a peek. Oh, my gosh! I am so inspired. I was so frustrated that I was finding myself at the market with no place to create and cook after my visit. Talk about having to garner discipline!

I also bought a bundle of rosemary from him because it was so healthy and beautiful. I still have it and it is over a month later, and still lovely in the paper bag. Believe it. Yes, I have used some.

Look at these blossoms! I was literally quivering out of my skin with the thrill of seeing them here. Why don't we have these in Edmonton?

 

Then there was the seafood booth. These items were all fresh. None of them were previously frozen. Each little delicacy was resting on ice. How I wanted to pinch these little cheeks and then sauté them for supper. Serving them on a bed of fresh market greens would be perfect.

My fish soup at home is made from frozen fish heads. What am I missing? And, I had never heard of this kind of seaweed salad. The booth was too busy to ask for a sample. If it was good, I would buy plenty, but not without tasting. Not today, anyway.

Everywhere there were homemade seasonings and salts and sauces and such that had zillions of varieties. How do you pick? What do you taste? I was just too overwhelmed to even get into it with this kind of thing. Pick a couple of hits, and feature those. What is all this about? It is just too much!

The organic garlic was a piece of art. And the brown bags and paper baskets are so evocative of my past that it just felt good to be near them.

If I didn't know what something was, or how to use it, I would just ask the person buying it, and usually they were very open and friendly about sharing their ideas. There was a host of unknown Asian greens, like the esoi sim above, and for the most part, people seemed to be purchasing them to use them creatively in salads. I actually "googled" it, and cannot find a bit of information on it. Others had special dishes in mind I had never heard of. Tasting was welcome, but like smelling too much perfume, after awhile it was just too overwhelming.

I am usually not a taster of what I know already, at the market, but the white peach was thrust in my face with such enthusiastic passion I could not refuse. Honestly, I have never tasted a "peachier" peach. It was juicy, and ripe, but not soft. The flavour was bright and strong. YUMMERS. I turned around to tell Lauren about them, and she was already in the buying line.

A statue of Ghandi is in the middle of the market draped in laural leaves. Ah, the tomatoes. The first thing you notice is the viney fragrance in the air. These tomatoes smell really great. All colours, all shapes. How do you pick? Aparently, you do not. They had a mixture of varieties packed together in plastic clamshells. Of course, celebrate the harvest!

 

These were calling everyone's name. Lauren succombed, thankfully.

The red and yellow striped bean is the new "in" vegetable these past few seasons, for sure. I don't believe they taste as good as the green ones, but that is a personal preference thing.

This is artichoke country. They were everywhere, and the small ones looked divine! The fresh organic fowl also looked really beautiful.

The prices directly above are certainly higher than at home. Thought our local farmers would be interested in these prices. I pay just under $5.00 a dozen for my organic farm raised eggs in Edmonton. These are in American dollars which wasn't too different this past August when we were there.

At this point, it became clearly apparent that the green produce at this market is the exceptional offering that completely surpasses any other open air market I have ever seen. The quality of each leaf was sturdy and hardy. The variety of herbs and leaves was unfathomable. I learned a lot. There were many varietals I had never heard of, Many I had never seen before, and I was able to taste so much of what I had heard of but had no frame of reference for.

The mushrooms were offered in a couple of places, but I found that it was the same company. I am not a mushroom expert, but there were certainly kinds that are very unusual for our region. However, I do have great faith in MoNa's and I am convinced that if you know what you want, they would be able to source it for you. The beauty in this market was there was produce there that I would never know I wanted having never heard of some of it.

The  micro greens were really exciting. I consistently hear how easy they are to grow yourself, and I do know that. I used to have a bean sprouter when I was in University and as a young mother, but not now. I get excited when I see the varieties of micro greens and can taste the concentration of flavours in the tiny fresh shoots. I like the convenience of knowing where I can get them when I need them. It would not be often, but I would be a consistent customer. I don't know anywhere in Edmonton where this is possible.

Above is fennel, then buckwheat. There was everything one could think of and many things one could never think of!

As I have mentioned in other posts, butter is big in San Francisco. I don't mean eating it. I mean the quality of it. I mean that it is clear if you are going to indulge in it, that the belief here is that it had better be great. I had butters here that I have never had before, and I have actually made my own butter from unpasturized cow milk when I was a young woman. The varieties of butter and the differences wiithin them are not subtle. They are vastly different in flavour, texture, and consistency. What a treat to be able to have such incredible produce available at the outdoor market!

These are all butters. Lauren was so patient! XO

The freshly made juices were a real draw. I was so pleased to see these offered as a really scrumptious and delicious alternative to sodas and processed drinks. Look at the coconut drink the little gal bought. What fun to have a yummy drink in such a funky, natural grown container!

I enthusiastically stood in line at the "Cowgirl Creamery" stand inside of the Ferry Building, and then was told that they also had a booth outside I had missed and that there was a feature cheese maker visiting today. Apparently they have a guest at least once a month featuring their own cottage industry cheese. What an incredible idea. How generous of this company, as well. Certainly, they will sell some of these cottage industry cheeses, but they also scope out the interest during these kinds of events. The French Laundry buys some of their cheese. That is where I first learned of them, but as I was interested in the local produce, their products were available in a variety of specialty shops. Really yummy stuff!

Green Gulch Farms and Marin Organic Produce had gigantic booths, and at various locations. Both presented amazing offerings.

 

We found ourselved in the front of the Ferry Building surrounded by another myriad of producers and booths. Some were repeats of others that we had passed by. Others were located only here. I was so excited to see organic jujubes. They looked so perfect and healthy and I have only before seen the dried ones that taste very similar to prunes and are the size of dried cherries. Look at these! And the owner was passing out samples for free - as everyone was all day long. If only he spoke better English. I would have bought a bagful if I knew what to do with them. I maybe could have researched them, or thought of something if I was at home. But, I was on holidays. Yeah, and darn!

It was crunchy and crispy and moist, but not juicy. It was meaty, and nutty, but not woody. It was not flavourful, but not flavourless. The texture and mouthfeel were the draw. The taste was very subtle and not discernable to me. Not new to me, yet not familiar to me. I get very excited when I have an opportunity to gain a novel experience.

 

Well, we are gone, but this market is not forgotten. It is an incredible open air market and has the best leafy greens and herbs of any market I have yet experienced. The independent local cheeses and butter makers are very special and something we do not have in Edmonton that I was very excited to see. The influence of the Spanish and Mexican cultures is an inherent part of this experience and of local California cuisine that I did not expect, but certainly should have. The warm invitation to taste, to sample, to experience the wealth, depth, and breadth of this local food was sincere and enabled me to be an active participant within the market experience. The conversations were about the importance of the local producer and the importance of supporting them, but also about the quality of the produce and the combination of flavours that you can create with what each can provide. These people work together, support one another, and if they didn't know where to find something or what to do with something, they would absolutely find someone who could help you.

 

It was a great place to introduce my daughter to the importance of supporting the local and independent food producers. She is still repaying her student loans, and though she does understand the logic behind the theory, she usually buys whatever she can at the best price right now. If she is making a great meal, though, she does visit her local market. And, today, becasue I bought her a basic beauquet, she got some fantastic heirloom tomatoes and some fresh cheese curds. Then she went home and made a great salad with her local produce. Bravo, Lauren, and YUM!

 

You can not imagine how excited I was when I saw there were zucchini flowers on the menu. I have a major fetish, interest, desire, lust for zucchini flowers. Maybe because they are virtually impossible to acquire here. The evening was upon us. We arrived at Zuni Cafe just before 8 from our day at Carmel, Point Lobos, Pebble Beach and the Seventeen Mile Drive. I had made the reservation long before our trip as it wass a must for me on this vacation, so I booked it for Lauren's Birthday dinner. Too bad in one way. The day was so magnificent and this reservation definitely made us rush; however, we may not have all been able to come, otherwise.

We have said taking the subway really gives you a feel for the area, or walking, but this time, driving also let us note that this location was unexpected. It is on Market Street, but very far from the downtown area, and at 8 in the evening, a little scary in the side streets. I am getting very excited right now, as I find myself under the giant yellow Zuni Cafe canopy and see the massive windows along the street and the space inside filled with diners in what definitely looks like an earthy and trendy atmosphere. 

We came in through the front door which enters into the bar area. It was hoping and it was only a Tuesday evening. The main floor is very spacious, but feels cozy as there is a section by the bar, one by the kitchen and one by the windows. There is also eating space upstairs in a loft area overlooking the main area that you can see in the above photo.

Again we were seated where I would have chosen to be seated if I had been asked. Right in an alcove inside of a bay window by the door in the back that opens onto the street near the kitchen area that is not used. Perfect. Isn't the Birthday Girl adorable? The photo above is the back of the brick oven and you can also see the ceiling of the loft area on the second floor. The table was crisp with white linens and laden with wholesome whole grain bread and freshly churned delectably special butter. I love this juxtaposition: the formal linens paired with rustic farm fresh goodness. 

Vanja has a great tradition of drinking local beers where ever we go. It is always fun for him to try the recommended local brew.

And then we shared the appetizer that I just couldn't get my hands on fast enough. I was so disappointed the natural light had slid beneath the horizon and that the restaurant light was not the quality I needed for my photographs. I don't like to use a flash, but I did.

I wasn't sure that was Judy Rodgers, the writer of The Zuni Cafe Cookbook, and part owner of this restaurant, but I was sure enough to take the photo. I then asked, and it was her, but she had already left. I was disappointed as I would have like to have a moment talking with her about the restaurant and thanking her for the experience. She was setting up an extra table for a woman on her own who appeared to be a food writer. Then she literally let her hair down (almost to her knees) and left. I think it was the earthy "old hippie" feel about her that drew my attention to her. She had a very gracious demeanor and was most definitely keeping a low profile.

This part I feel very badly about. It was Lauren's birthday. She started to get really excited about the menu and the fresh fish on it. Vanja was excited about the pork chop. I was excited about the chicken. Zuni Cafe is famous for the brick oven roasted chicken served over a bread salad. But, it is for two. What I "should have" done, was order it anyway, and take the rest home. Instead, I encouraged Lauren to share with me. Quite selfish as I don't even eat meat. I cannot digest it well, but wanted a taste and to experience it. She was not a hard cookie to crumble, and I was certain she would be happy with her fare once it arrived.  And, here it is. It was spectacular. The bread salad was really different and a lovely experience. But, it is "just roast chicken". Now, it is a fantastic roast chicken, that is true. Just not what Lauren had in mind, me thinks, and as we are from the Alberta prairies, a great roast chicken is a common meal. The flavour, the presentation, and the bread salad were stellar. The quality of the chicken was not as good as the chicken we had the night before at Chez Panisse,. but it was still excellent.

Vanja's pork with polenta, peppers and vegetables was very special. It reminded him of the quality of pork he used to eat from the farms at home. He even ate his polenta, and usually doesn't care for it at all. That is a great compliment to the chef! We "should have" ordered an appetizer each, or more sides, or something else. As we didn't know what to expect, there was plenty to eat. Of course, the chicken did take an hour to roast and you much order it almost before you sit down. It didn't seem like too long to wait, but when it was served I wanted more to eat with it. There was plenty of chicken. Enough left over for the next day, but now that I have been there, I would have ordered something to provide a little more variety. I was disappointed that there was nothing said about Lauren't birthday. I had mentioned that when I made the reservation. But, we got a tour of the chicken at the end of our meal, and that was another highlight.

 

The famous brick oven and the evening chef proudly finishing a dish. Two chickens ready for serving.

Another long and narrow kitchen, not as long or as narrow as Chez Panisse.

The wood for the brick oven is part of the decor, as is the bread displayed on the other side. I don't have the cookbook, and really wanted to buy it, but sometimes it is a little much to treat yourself to yet another little goodie at the end of a long day full of personal pleasures. It will just have to wait until next time.

And more chickens resting before being cut up. It was a magical day, and this is one restaurant that serves really excellent local food at very reasonable prices with ample parking nearby. I will definitely be back when in town again.

I could have stayed here all day. I have never experienced this kind of ocean experience. It was magical.

After touring through here on our tour, Lauren was exuberant! We have to eat lunch here! Of course we do. It was definitely calling our name. Charlie Chaplin purchased it for his personal maid and she ran it for 50 years, but it is currently under new ownership. Who cares? With that kind of history, and the charm we just experienced as we traipsed through it at the end of our tour, let's stop!

The entryway beackoned, though the huge bucket of lavendar also begged a stop just to enjoy the moment at the door. Inside, we sat directly in front of this little fountain. There were many, many, many little open garden spaces within this restaurant compound. We were pleased with out little spot.

Lauren had already noticed the bread sticks, tepanades, and salts waiting at the table for the guests. We were all engaged in the variety of textures and tastes immediately upon sitting. The dip on the cracker was a sundried tomato pesto with extra olive oil. So simple.

What will we have> Hmmm... Well, we must have the grilled artichoke. They are growing everywhere in this countryside and we were told to sample the fried baby ones. None on this menu, but we will get the grilled one. It was so fresh and fabulous that it renewed my love for this prickely plants!

The dip was citrusy and fatty just as it should be. Finger licking good. YUMMERS.

Then the mains. Vanja ordered pasta and it tasted even better than it looks!  Believe it!

Lauren got a roasted vegetable sandwhich with goat cheese and bacon. What a winning combo! The bread alone was to die for.

And I got the leek and potato soup. It was served in a rustic old pot, and I got at least two big bowl fulls! Too much, but fun to share. Take a look at the background behind Lauren. The festive garden lights twinkled everywhere in primary colours, and it white, depending upon the garden corner they were in.

Off to the next stop. This was too much fun!

Well, here we are, in the heart of San Francisco's Little Italy in the North Beach area. We are to meet Grace Ann Walden right in front of the green doors in one hour. Just enough time for our morning coffee. Perfect. The Saturday morning aromas of freshly pressed espresso and baked bread waft through the air as we walk down Columbus Avenue looking for a great little spot to start our day. As Vanja is the espresso connoisseur, he picks the spot. There were many, so it was not an easy task. Perfect.

I started my sampling immediately. So much to choose from. Two little bocci, a biscotti, and an apricot cookie. The bocci look better than they taste. Maybe they are to be dunked? It is always fun! The latte was great. Now we are refreshed and ready to start our tour! After meeting Grace Ann and her other "victims", our first stop was XOX Truffles. Chef Jean-Marc Gorce is from France and I found him to be a passionate wealth of iinformation. If you know me, or have been investigating my blog, then you know I make my own truffles. I am self taught and have continued to hone my skill over the years. I am very pleased with what I have accomplished, yet was thrilled to learn what I did in the brief 20 minutes with Jean-Marc about the difference in the effect when the truffle covering is very thin. That changes everything, an I did really notice the difference in the mouthfeel and in the enjoyment of the generous bag of truffles he sent us on our way with.

Generous is relative, I suppose, considering we each paid $65.00 American dollars for this three and a half hour tour. Grace Ann did pay him something for the goodies he supplied, but I was very pleased with the selection and the opportunity to sample such a variety. Now, on to the bakery to see how sour dough bread is made. Interestingly, I had no idea that sour dough was such a big thing in San Francisco. It is everywhere, and clearly "famous" there. I have always loved sourdough everything, but Vanja was definitely not a fan, so that took a little enthusiasm out of my future plans to make batches of it at home.

 

The first place we passed by where Greace Ann usually goes was completely empty and closed for August. Apparently, August is the worst weather month in San Francisco, and many pack up and leave for their holiday that month. We had never been, so the cold and fog were completely unexpected, but still enjoyed by us as the city was so beautiful.

 

Looked like Mama's was a populare breakfast destination as the line up went around the corner. Grace Ann just grunted something inaudible when I asked her about it.

We were welcomed with a hot coffee and a biscotti. YUM. After a chat, and a little warm up time, we headed back into the kitchen. It was a lovely little tour of the kitchen. We certainly did not get to see how the sour dough bread was made, or get to speak with the baker there, but we did get to sneak home a little sour dough starter! I was absolutely thrilled about that. I will be bloggin about my sour dough baking experiences later. I have been home now for a month and only fed it once. I had better check it soon!

I fell in love with the old table, and the old ovens. The bakery was not spotless, but any means. Not even close to the gleam of Bouchon Bakery, but it was wrinkled with history, and that was intensely beautiful in a completely different way. I should add that I would definitely feel comfortable eating the bread baked here! This is where they store their started. And this is how mine came home with me!

I think we are now headed to the North Beach Museum. I am a happy camper now. San Francisco sourdough starter in tow. This is a foodie find! I should add, that we have taken several foodie tours, and this one was not the same calibre. Honestly. I did have a great time because I was learning and seeing points of interest in this little area. However, all other tours are far more historical, and cover so many other points of interest as you walk from place to place, Vanja has always been entertained and felt he learned a lot. Not on this tour. Grace Ann clearly had her own agenda and it was not filled with the stories of the founders of the area, or of little side trips through back alleys off the tourist path with little secret gems we have been treated to on our other foodie tours. I cannot compare her to others offered in San Francisco, as we didn't go on any others. I can say that I had a great time.

So on we go, and what do we see, but a man unloading his A6 Black Audi on the boxwood hedge in front of his restaurant (North Beach Restaurant). Grace Ann eagerly dips her hands into the arugula and pushes it ravenously into her mouth. Clearly, they were acquaintences. She chatted with him as though we were not with her. Did not introduce him to us (but told us who he was afterward) as she continued to exuberantly taste everything that came out of his car, except the eggs and raw chicken livers. I asked them for a photo, and in the middle of her chewing, and him chatting, they obliged. No, I am over here!

Beautiful produce, isn't it? I was a bit more than a little concerned when I saw the chicken livers come out of the car and sit on the hedge without any cover over them. Clearly, fresh from the farm. Is this legal? He wasn't being too discrete, but, then again, when I went to take a photo of the livers, he grabbed them and covered them with his arm as he whisked them into his restaurant. Sometimes these little unexpected happenings can be a definite point of interest while on a tour.

And here we are, at The Official North Beach Museum. Apparently hardly any of the NB residents are aware that there is a museum here, but I was glad we stopped by. The photos and very small collection revealed a part of the the city's past that I hadn't understood before.

Then to Little City Selected Meat Market for our promised sample of house made sausage. It really is a fantastic meat store. The recipes lining the outside windows look worthy of testing. The cuts and quality of the meat inside was clearly visible, and the owner was a very passionate man. I asked him how his veal was fed, and I don't even recall his answer. He was speaking so fast and so enraged by the question that he completely caught me off guard. I didn't want the answer that badly. If I was living there, yes, I would have insisted I understood what he was saying. But, I am on holidays, and just wanted an escape from what felt to me like a confrontation, not an answer. But, I had to appreciate his passion. Yes, I did. I would love to see a meat market like this in Edmonton. We do have really good meat markets here, but his was such a combination of a family history,  the Italian culture, and the opportunity he has to secure such a vast variety of meats.

Here is the passionate man, himself. We did not get the sausage samples. Grace Ann gave us each a crumb of Parmasan cheese like we had never had it or heard of it before. That was funny. "I guess I didn't give him enough notice to prepare our sausages for today, but we have a very special delicacy for you to sample: Parmesan Reggiano. Isn't it to die for?" Well, yes. It is. But, I have had it accessible to me most of my life. I think, by the eye contact, everyone had. However, who cared. No one. The shop was fantastic. We purchased two of each of the specialty house made sausages and had them a couple of nights later at Lauren's. They were very special. I would definitely be a regular customer of this market if I lived in the city, or even near the city. It still leaves me wanting!

 

Little City Market Selected Meats
1400 Stockton @Vellejo
The Spinalis offer handmade Sicilian sausage, eggs, chicken, meatloaf ready to cook at home or they’ll grind a meatloaf blend to your specifications.

 

Now, onto a little ceramics store on the way to Tony's for lunch. Ta-ta!

And, now back to the final stop: Tony's Pizza Napoletana! This made the entire tour "worth it" for Vanja. Back across some now familiar streets in the North Beach area toward Tony's... "Hey! Isn't that the owner of the    restaurant that was bringing in the vegetables and the open chicken livers a little bit ago?" It sure was. There he sat, now in his track suit, reminding me of Tony Saprano, not looking up at the crowd passing by, but instead, fully concentrating on his mid day meal of the most beautiful whole flaky salmon, a bottle of wine and a massive salad. Clearly, his reward from bringing in some fresh groceries for the day's menu. "Now, that is the life!"

But ours is pretty great, too. We traipsed in, were greated with gracious warmth and seated in the window immediately.

Through the bar to wash my hands, and a little peak into the generous wine storage, as well asTony watching his oven heat up. Then back to our table already laden with appetizers and a luscious salad.

Walnuts, gorgonzola, arugula, and little balls of pear. Beautiful, and absolutely the perfect dish for my palate as it was crisp, crunchy, juicy and busting with the strong flavours of spring on this late summer afternoon.

The deep fried beans with garlic were deadly. Absolutely scrumptious. The hearty meatballs reminded me of the ones we were served as an appetizer in Sorrento, Italy, one spring. Those ones were even larger than these, but the texture was as moist and tender, and the flavour as gently appealing. Vanja went nuts over these. I appreciate the memory they evoked, but they were too simple for me to get excited about them. I guess that was the point: the homemade appeal. Definitely.

There was also a lovely flatbread with tepenade dips. This, for me, was a huge full, and perfect meal... Then the pizzas started coming. First, the Traditional Sicillian. It was very good. It had a very homemade structure and taste. Thick crust, losts of cheese, gentle and typical Italian seasonings in the traditional type of tomato sauce, mushrooms, pepperoni. Basic. Really delicious, and basic.

Then came the Margharita. Apparently, Tony has won awards for this pizza. It was really beautiful, really delicious, and exceptionally simple. That was the beauty of this pizza. Here, the sauce was the star, and really took centre stage on this pizza. The hits of basil were bright and the cheese not too heavy. The crust was thinner than the last one, but could have still  been thinner, for my palate, for this kind of pizza. But, in its entirety, as it was, it was a high note.

Then came four more pizzas. I recall no specific names after this, but am glad I have the photographs to bring me back to the table at Tony's. YUM. I do remember the distinct flavours. Outstanding experience. The little tidbits of sausage were delectable.

The fig, balsamic and procuitto was my personal favourite. The combination of flavours definitely tickled my tummy and I will absolutely be making this one at home. It was spectacular.

Can you taste it? YUMMERS!

After a heartfelt thank you to Tony for this amazing feast, we teased and had a little silly fun before parting ways. Grace Anne was playing with someone's sour dough. Mine, looking similar, was packed away in my bag for the trip home.

I wandered around a bit and took some photos of Tony's "Wall of Fame" as he is currently the Pizza Throwing Champion of the World. I so wanted to ask him to do a show for us, but was disciplined, like any good Canadian would be in such a situation.

Thankfully, Tony's wife popped by at the moment we were taking photos on our way out the door and offered to take one of us together. What a sweetheart. She definitely read my mind. This was a really fun morning, a spectacular San Francisco North Beach experience, and Tony, only opened for two weeks, was clearly going places. It was a thrill to be in on the beginning of what I know will all too soon be a "must do" item on all San Francisco tourist lists. Fun, fun, fun!

He looks happy, doesn't he?  I am going to be that happy, too, if I live to be 80! I know it is much more common these days, but dad has severe athsma and so do I. We both got it later in life, and I think what has kept dad healthy and strong is his amazing work ethic, and his tender sense of humor. He gets up every day, and has a project. Maybe his days would be longer without his projects, but there is always work to do for dad, and if there isn't, he finds something that needs maintenance. I admire that. (But, don't think this comment is encouragement to get up on the ladder and clean the roof again this year, dad!)

 

His sense of humor is what endears him to me. I was always so proud of him as a little girl as he would even tease the paper boy. My firends loved him, and still do. He was always warm, friendly, and funny. The perfect kind of dad you would want to bring your friends home to. Not exactly the kind of dad you would want to bring a guy home, to, though, later in life. His warm friendly humor would then turn into black sarcasm and none of the fellows I dated ever liked him. That is, if I ever let them meet him! Until Vanja, of course. By then, life had moved on and my dad was just thrilled someone was glad to take me off of his hands! (I was an independent woman then, and for years, I might add, but that is my dad!)

He and mom have been married almost 59 years, and she will be 80 in April 2010. What an example of commitment they have set for all of us. My dad's humor has come in very handy in more ways than one, I might add! A young Saskatchewan farm boy born in 1929: just before the "dirty thirties". His parents were Catholic Irish immigrants from the "Derry" area. He had three brothers, and one sister. His father had him working fulltime on the farm when he was thirteen. Maybe that is where he began to develop his incredible work ethic. He worked on the farm until he was 17, then tipped his hat to the rural community of Bengough, Saskatchewan, bid farewell to his not too pleased family, and took to the open road, kicking his heals together, jacket over one shoulder. He had really been independent since he was thirteen, but now he was free!

 

I am not sure how dad ended up in Red Deer, Alberta. It seems to me, it may be because there was someone he knew from the farm there, but that is where his road trip stopped. And, because he was such a hard worker, he didn't have trouble getting a job. He immediately started working for Vern's Taxi, and met mom shortly thereafter. Here he is, over sixty years later. It is only when you get a little older that you realize how fast life passes by. I remember, as a child, hearing that from elderly people so often that I wanted to slap them. It was completely meaningless to me then. But, not now. Not at fifty four with a father who just turned 80, and when I look at him, I still see the most handsome young man with the wavy dark hair and dimples in both cheeks grinning at me. I have such wonderful and happy memories with him, but most of them are during the time we were all in the family home. I guess that is "normal". Is it? I have other vivid and important memories. They are not "fun", but they are profoound: working with my dad as he built my deck, or as we used an auger to did holes in the window wells of my first home to aviod basement flooding. And, yes, of course, the all too common trying to please him earlier in my adult life and never being satisfied I had. What's that all about, anyway. It is such a waste of relationship time. When I just stopped trying to please him, and worked to please myself, the sun was really shining in the morning sky!

 

So, here we all are together, to celebrate the birthday of this important man's life. To celebrate our years of knowing and loving him, and to remind us that each day we have is a gift. What a gift I have had to have George as my dad, and what a gift I still have to have both of my parents still married, healthy, and happy at this phase of my own life. Lots of reasons to party!

 

"And" and "but", in true "George" fashion: no big celebration aloud! The family would go together to dinner. He was paying, or he wasn't going. He has always been a hard fellow to give a gift to. He is generous to a fault, but when it comes to giving back, it is almost impossible to do this with my dad. So, it is his day, he can have his way. Besides, how hard is it to enjoy a dinner evening at La Ronde? I used to go often in the late eighties and early nineties in my "dating days". It used to be fabulous. I was curious, for sure, to see how it had changed.

The entire space has had a facelift, but the feeling and presence was still the same: elegant and refined. Loved it. Mom and dad were really excited and mom was having such fun enjoying the view as the world turned around her.

While waiting for our meal we shared our cards and gifts with dad. Such a tiny symbol of what he means to each of us.

 

The food was really lovely. I think the prices are about the same as they were twenty years ago. Truly. Maybe a little more. The  menu is faily conservative in some ways, and very innovative, in others. I was charmed by the sage and apple sorbet with whiskey jelly, but didn't taste it. I will be back! Our family, for the most part, is a fairly conservative bunch, so the main course selections were perfect. It was really nice to see that attention to our local farming community and our local producers is starting to be recognized by this restaurant. I did notice that still many of the main dishes do not disclose their source, and that means, megamarket, to me. But, hopefully, La Ronde will get the entire menu on track with local independent producers.

Our waiter praised the Casaer Salad as the dressing is made fresh in the kitchen daily. I have become so blinded by my expectations that I had expected nothing less! My sister is a Cesaer Salad fanatic, so that was her main course with the seafood on the side.  She figured out a way to give dad a little treat, that smartie! "It is just too much seafood for me!" she exclaimed convincingly as she pushed it over to dad. He loves anykind of seafood, particularly shellfish! He was complaining all the way home how he shouldn't have eaten that last shrimp... but we are all glad you did, dad. It is such a pleasure to see both mom and dad enjoy an evening like they did this one.

And I had the Butternut Squash Soup with a Quail Egg Sunny Side Up... it was good. It was pleasant. It was satisfying. The presentation was fun.

Dad had the Cheese Crusted Roasted Chicken and loved it. We were all very surprised to see him slect chicken when he is definitely a steak or seafood man. But, he loved it.

Mom had the Spice Rubbed Strip Loin with the Herbed Butter. She thought it was the best steak she had eaten in her entire life. She asked me what the herbed butter was for, as she tried to rub it onto her vegetables and meat, and it wasn't melting. Either it was frozen, or her meal wasn't very hot. She was happy, so I didn't point that out.

Ragan got the highly recommended (from our waiter) Arctic Char with a Creamy Broth under it. She did not enjoy it, but didn't tell anyone until later. She said it was far too rich and fishy tasting. I did taste it and it was rich, but the flavours were as they should be, to me. Yummy.

Jason ordered the Pork Tenderloin and was so hungry that he practically inhaled it. He really doesn't have a very big appetite, so it is unusual to see him so hungry. He was still hungry when we went home for Birthday Cake!

Vanja ordered the tenderloin and didn't say another word until his plate was empty. I think he had a wonderful plate. I did sample all of the sauces, and none of the meat, except the fish. Each was excellent.

 

You can tell by the look on dad's face how much he is enjoying his meal. That is the best part of any meal, for me, to watch the enjoyment of others. Particularly, when I am the cook. That is the only reason I love to do it. It was a lovely meal with a lot of laughs.

We had expected a sparkly something for dad at the end of the meal as we saw another table receive upon our arrival. I made sure they knew it was his 80th, and was assured all had been arranged by phone, but nothing happened. Probably just as well, as dad doesn't like a lot of attention, but not a great compliment to the organizers of the floor, that evening. One only turns eighty, once, and it is an incredible rite of passage and a very important evening for all family members.

 

We all missed you Lauren, and Denver, and Sarah. You are always with us in our minds when you cannot be with us in person.

 

Now, we have some serious party preparations to get started on. Mom turns 80 in April, and she will let us do something for her. YAY! And, then the 60th Wedding Anniversary next November. We've been thinking about it. Good thing mom will let us cook and prepare. I love to do it, and this will be a really fun event to take on.

 

Thank you, dad, for the lovely meal, and the "Leave It To Beaver" homelife that I had growing up.

Yup, just straight down the street from The French Laundry. Bouchon appeared first, and then the bakery, on the same lot, seperated by a casual outdoor cafe already dotted with couples enjoying their coffee in the warm morning sun. I could spend time here, later. Pull the door open! (The Martha Stewart green paint on the outside did surprise me. I expected it to be the colour of bread: oak. But, the colour, with the awnings, and the patio was so right.)

A feast for the eyes! And, there is nothing like the smell of freshly baked bread. Good morning! I fluttered around like a butterfly in a flower garden. "Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh! Look at this! Look at that!" And then started clicking my camera. I could not take enough photos. It was not a large room, but it was so quaint, somehow. Did you see the chocolate mousse with the chocolate mouse on top? The humour was great fun! The artisan breads were gorgeous. I could see immediately that when I make my bread (the one shaped like a head of wheat below) that I cut the ears too close together. I have made it since coming home, and they look almost like these. The only difference is the difference a professional oven makes. And, a professional oven does make a big difference when it comes to baking French or Italian crusty breads. I knew by now to ask for a tour of the kitchen. I didn't plan to ask. The desire just flowed through me and the question, out of my mouth. The fellow tolerating my antics and pleasure was so sweet. He was surprised, but did ask, and then, I was in! (Apparently the requests to visit the bakery kitchen are few and far between.)

"Hello! You are so lucky to be working in such a wonderful bakery! Thank you for letting me take a peek!" I got a big grin and then had a very brief sharing of a word or two about the lemon tart she was building. There were huge trays of yummies everywhere. Clearly, the pot de crème were for Bouchon. I love them. So luscious.

And then over to the other side where the bread is being shaped by this gal. This time, I had a little chat with her about breads. I told her I make my own, and love bread making. She then told me that the one she was shaping was her own creation, and this was the first time she had made it. They needed to proof, and wouldn't be ready for a bit, so I couldn't sample. But, what a healthy environment to work in. To be inspired to create your own bread, and then to be encouraged to do it. I was impressed. She was definitely an interesting gal, and as she was so busy, I was mainly speaking with her as she had her head down, though I had seen her look up and laugh, or smile a few times throughout our brief interchange, and really wanted to catch that image on my camera. So, I said, as I was heading out, "Come on, give me a little smile!" See he hilarious pasted-on grin? I really wanted to roll up my sleeves and just play in this kitchen the rest of the day. I mean, I would have taken orders, and worked hard. But would have learned so much. The experience would have been just such a dream. And, though they were very busy, there was a lot of room and I don't think I would have been in the way. I am certain, I would have been a significant help. I do have my Food Safety training, but, I guess there are other considerations. Are there?

I walked by a tray of buns (what is the correct word for these?) that had been slashed and were proofing. Immediately I recognized them as one of the intricately beautiful breads offered to us the evening before at The French Laundry. Honestly, until I saw them proofing, I hadn't realized how the design was created on the crust of the bread. Not as simple as it looks, either, as the depth would also have to be uniform.

Oooo. He looked important. I thanked him for letting me have my little tour, and then asked if I could take a photograph of him. His reply, (after a little sideways glance looking for an escape route), "Only if you participate." If I must. I really prefer to take the photo. But, here we are, Matt McDonald, the certified master baker overseeing the Bouchon Bakery in Yountville, and me. "Cheese!"

 

Double cheese, and my sweet clerk grinned for me. I am glad he did, as he was such a warm host.

Yes, I am buying a bag of goodies to take home. He is getting me my mouse mousse!

And, with my coffee (that was so hot, I never ended up being able to drink it) I purchased a scone that was recommended. I ate it the following day, and it truly was exceptional. I think there must have been a flavouring used that I may have read is used in some breads. It had a flavour that was really delicious, but did not come from any of the ingredients. Though, the glaze, and every bite as superb! I didn't expect that. I expected a scone. A plain old tasty scone. This really was an elevated version of that. I could not reproduce this. Yet, the signature chocolate bite I did buy and taste almost had me dancing. It was tasty, but if this is the signature bite, then I am a really good baker! I could easily make one much better at home. The almond bite was pretty, and tasty, but I could do better with that, too. What did I learn? I am better than I thought at making some things. However, come to think of it, almost anyone who bakes can make anything sweet better at home than the bakery can make it. I really think so. But not the bread. My homemade bread is really nice, but I cannot get the crust like a commercial oven can. I cannot get the heat a commercial oven can.

 

So, it isn't even close to noon yet, and I have traipsed through the French Laundry Garden, had a tour through the Bouchon Bakery, and sat in the morning sun, enjoying my treats, my steaming hot coffee, my husband, and the comical little black crows fluttering about the courtyard, pecking at the crumbs left of the ground. Off to Sonoma, Sausalito, and back to Lauren's home in Palo Alto. Still most of the day to come, and my level of satisfaction is already completely saturated. A great beginning of a great day!

I am absolutely crazy over French Macarons. Love them, love them, love them. I cannot make them. I cannot get a foot under them. I have tried and tried and tried and tried. And, I am still willing to try some more, but only if someone will show me how. I have exhausted my own ideas. There is an Edmonton Food Blogger called Béné who I have asked to help. She made some perfect looking chocolate looking macarons that I saw in photos of the last Edmonton Food Bloggers gathering. She was willing, but hasn't the time right now, and wants to perfect her technique. Anyone else out there who can help? Have eggs. Will travel!

 

After coffee, I had to revisit the bakery and take some treats to Lauren. (I ate most of them.) I bought a little bag of the signature chocolate treats, a bag of "homemade" potato chips for Vanja (which he did later enjoy), a chocolate mousse (mouse) tart, a small foil covered chocolate caramel fleur de sel treat, and four macarons. I confess, I really wanted one of each. So, this was my attempt at not being too self indulgent. Ha! I picked three, and asked the server to pick the fourth. He told me he chose his favourite. I should have told him, "not the espresso one, please" as I knew Lauren wouldn't eat that one. For some reason, I didn't think he would choose it. He did.

 

The macarons were the size of the ones I see all over Northern Italy, yet the texture and perfectness of the petite ones available in Paris. Big or small. These are the ones I want to learn to make. Is anyone listening?

 

Anyway, this package travelled under my feet in the car close to the air conditioner until we arrived in San Francisco in the evening. It arrived in perfect condition! I find the balloon logo charming, and the two toned ties do add more than a "touch of class".

Free range, farm raised, fire roasted Soul Food Farm chicken. The menu had read "pan roasted", but this method must be superior, as it was as good as it gets. To have this kind of facility to cook with must be thrilling for Alice Waters and her chefs! It was thrilling for me. Eating here was the fulfillment of a dream, but the desire to work here was overwhelming after my tour of the kitchen. It is a beautiful, warm earthy environment reminiscent of "the olden days" laden with the freshest and most wholesome of ingredients. An artist's paradise. I really had to exert a considerable amount of disipline to leave the kitchen. I felt very inspired in it, and the compelling urge within me to "beg" them to let me assist was quite honestly, surprising. (chez panisse)

 

As Lauren moved from Boston to San Francisco in July, we had to take advantage of another opportunity to visit her this year. It has been a very fortunate year of travel and amazing learning experiences for us. Chez Panisse was definitely on the "must do" list. As a member of Slow Food, and as a "foodie", one wouldn't miss an opportunity to check in.

 

I called to make a reservation as I could never get one on Open Table. It is very easy to get one by phoning in. It happened to be on a Monday because the football game was on the Saturday, and it is closed on the Sunday, so I took the Monday. I didn't know at the time that the Monday evenings offer a three course meal at a reduced rate of $60.00. When I found out, and read the preset menu, I was delighted. "Poulet Basquaise", or pan roasted chicken (which changed) with piment d'Espelette, sweet peppers, and garlic fried potatoes. Vanja would be satisfied. This would be familiar terrain for him. Fantastic!

 

We took the Bart from downtown San Francisco to Berkley. It cost $4.50, and took less than thirty minutes and was the best way to go, for us. One really gets the feel of a neighbourhood this way, too. We had a good ten minute walk ahead of us, but it was just straight up the street, so easy to find. I expected a hip University town similar to Palo Alto. Nope. The Berkley I saw (and I believe it was the main area) was run down, and poorly kept. I was disappointed. Across the street from Chez Panisse is a cute little cafe. We sat to wait for Lauren to meet us, and when I went to use the washroom, it became brutally apparent that this was a cafe for a hotel of very close to homeless people.

 

Chez Panisse was not clearly visible from across the street, a similar strategy as The French Laundry. Hummm. Maybe this is a high end restaurant trend?

Lauren arrived seconds after we did, and I was really curious about what lay within....

We had thirty minutes until our reservation, so waited upstairs at the bar. This is where Lauren ordered a diet coke. Oh-oh! I was curious as to what would happen. I knew they wouldn't have any, but she was sure they would. The bar tender was adorable: literally, and figuratively! He offered other healthy choices. Lauren opted out, so I ordered one. Then he came around to Lauren and said," I don't mean to be pushy, or annoying in anyway, but diet sodas are so unhealthy. They are just not good for you. There are so many other wonderful healthy choices." She was embarrassed, or at least looked a little embarrassed. She is the vision of health, and is about the healthiest person I know, so it was kind of cute. When she tasted the blackberry soda, she was hooked. But, so was I. We shared. Vanja had a local beer. He loves to do that when we travel. Interesting. I wonder how much better beer is for you than diet coke? I cannot believe I asked that question! I adore Alice Waters. Truly. Truly

We were ushered downstairs in no time. I did not feel comfortable taking photos of the upstairs restaurant, but it was really lovely. I expected, from what I had read, a casual environment. It was warm, and open, and bright, and had a beautiful balcony, but it definitely had a sense of formality. The meal choices here were also tantalizing. When I toured the downstairs kitchen, I definitely got the sense that there was another kitchen upstairs when I thought about it later. There was no evidence of any massive meal preparation as would have been evident if the kitchen accommodated both floors. It was dark on the lower level (really, the main floor), so no photos of the room, either.

The first course promised "Petite friture with purslane, cucumber and lemon salad". The "petite fry" was sardines, as they had acquired fresh ones earlier in the day. I was delighted. YUM. The salad was also exciting for me. It was my first experience with purslane which I later found in the Farmer's Markets and in many restaurants in the area. The cucumber salad had mint in it and another taste that was very compelling, and I could not identify it. I asked our effervescent waiter, Gionni, and he immediately brought a leaf to me that we broke together, and sniffed and he was so good, I actually felt that I shared a moment of new learning with him. I should add here that our waiter was exceptional. We were welcomed as if it was a home we were eating in. He chatted, and found out why we were there and then worked all evening to satisfy my "foodie" needs. Bringing me this leaf, and celebrating it with me was done with such earnest intent that I was completely charmed by him. I cannot find my notes, nor can I remember the name of this leaf. I am working at it!

The main course arrived and our waiter's assistant took our photo.  The "Poulet Basquaise with piment d'Espelette, sweet peppers, and garlic fried potatoes" was accompanied with an arugula salad and was the best chicken I have ever eaten in my life. Vanja was impressed, and really enjoyed his meal. That made me so happy. Sometimes I get more satisfaction from the tastes, and the photographs I take and the kitchens I visit, or the cooking experience than the eating experience. Actually, most times. See the little papers on the table. They were the specific menus for the evening meal. That is where my notes will be. I will find them again, soon.

I did ask for a tour of the kitchen, and we were invited through before out dessert. Below are the chickens to be cooked for the evening in a massive vat, piled on top of one another marinating in heavenly scented garlic, herbs, and oil.

The prep table was immaculate and the fig clafoutis we were about to be served was just out of the oven. Each item is made to order and clearly with very careful attention to detail. I commented on the beautiful clafoutis the pastry chef and he bantered back that he "should be good at it after 28 years." This kitchen was a warm, efficient, and "well oiled machine".

I was really surprised when Gionni kept waving us back, back, back into the depths of the kitchen. We were really getting shown, and with pride, the entire space. Past the main area, down some stairs, and he opened a large door to a walk-in fridge. I was delighted with what we saw behind that door!

Just look at that. Talk about the best of the best. I want a room like this.

As we came out of the walk-in fridge, we passed by a woman we must have passed on the way in. She was carefully preparing the meat. Maybe for upstairs? She was on the lower level on her own, and had this lovely space to work in. I am not sure what I said to her, but it was a comment about her space and how I would love to be working there with her. We shared a laugh together. She didn't think I was serious and I was so serious.

The gleaming copper covered light fixtures, the warmth of the rustic bricks, the worn wood surfaces with the terra cotta floor were perfect. The long narrow space was perfect. The tour of the kitchen was as profound for me this evening as the meal I ate.

The tea was a handful of fresh spearmint leaves in hot water. Beautiful and so satisfying. Gionni noted that all of the leaves must be submerged immediately, or the ones left in the oxygen will turn black. They were such a beautiful colour of green. We sipped and savoured. The clafoutis was outstanding: "fig and raspberry clafoutis with wild fennel". And when the plates disappeared, the candied orange zest appeared with some really delicious spiced almonds. The candied zest with the mint tea was so unexpected and something I would never usually order or think I might enjoy. I was mezmerized. The burst of bright freshness the zest introduced at the end of the evening was such an adventure. Yum. Yum. Yum.

So, if you are coming to dinner in the near future, and you know me well, you will know what to expect with your coffee after the dessert. Again, no secrets at Chez Panisse. Ingredients not only shared, but celebrated. Tours not only given, but with pride and commitment. This was more than a meal. It was a sensory expedition. That magical place within was ignited and I left so inspired and re-fired.

 

Now, time to create! Thank you, Alice Waters. Thank you, Gionni!

Directly across the street from The French Laundry is this three acre garden that I was invited to visit and snip, sniff, and taste by our waiter the evening before. We arrived early in the morning the next day, before our morning coffee (at Bouchon) so that I could do exactly that. I have been a gardener all of my life, and who wouldn’t want to have a kitchen garden like this right across the street? I am thankful for my edible city patches that actually produce much more than I had initially expected, but this garden is clearly the realization of one man's dream. It is very well tended. It appeared that there were at least two workers working at it the day we were there and two chefs or kitchen workers checking out the harvest, as well. There are a couple of little white houses on a corner of the property that appeared to house the garden staff. Just a guess. The American Flag flies proudly in the centre, and I didn't realize I had cut it off when I shot the photo.

Well manicured, wouldn’t you say? It was quite a treat walking through it. I live in a zone three climate, so some of the vegetables grown here cannot be grown in our garden, but many can. I was curious to see the labels and the varietals selected to be grown. Most were unfamiliar to me. (Not anymore!)

I adore eggplant blossoms. A delicate promise of what is to come.

I had a couple of these little bobbles of nature in one of my dishes the night prior. It was perfectly peeled, and the flavour was as perfect as this one, today. YUM. A big burst of sweet and meaty flavour for such a small vessel.

Inside of the greenhouse....

Of course, they compost!

The words of my waiter from the evening before were much more powerful today. "It's an open invitation." There are no secrets here. These people take pride in their work and I was completely at easy sniffing, and snipping, and tasting, and wandering around the garden in the morning. "What tree is that?" The eye contact of those working in the garden was warm and open. I knew I could ask. "A Sycamore." I had never seen one before to my knowledge. Really glad I asked.

 

And, it was hard to leave, so I took a couple of quiet minutes on the bench enjoying the realization of another man’s dream.

Pearls and Oysters. What more could one ask of a trip to the Pacific Ocean? This was my first experience with one of Thomas Keller’s spectacular signature dishes and I would choose this experience over a string of cultured peals any day, and I actually have! I quivered when the caviar spoon arrived and was a puddle in my chair at first taste. The buttery smooth opalescence awakened a sensual vernacular I had not been introduced to, but inherently understood. Pleasure distilled to its purest form: euphoria. I did not rush to the next bite. My illuminated palate ruminated as my tongue stroked the roof of my mouth and my lips capturing the last vapours of flavour. I remember regaining my vision and looking over at my husband who blurred into focus and was watching me with great pleasure wearing a wicked little smile. “Isn’t this an absolute fantasy?” I revelled. “If you like fish eggs.” He smirked. Oh my, God! I got to finish his, too! However, I must tell you, he did eat almost all of it, and was surprised at how much he actually did enjoy the dish. “I don’t have a sophisticated palate, Valerie. This kind of place just isn’t me.” By the end of the meal, I believe he felt differently. It was as if we were guests in the home of The French Laundry and our waiter was the warmest of hosts. I felt so comfortable, and so blessed.

 

Can you feel the joy when you look into my face after the meal that evening? I don’t recall there being a flash in the camera. I am certain it is my beaming smile that lit up the sky that evening. Thank you my dear sweet husband, Vanja. Thank you Chef Keller. Thank you Chef Hollingsworth, the Chef de Cuisine at The French Laundry who was solely responsible for expediting all of the food in the restaurant that night.

But I need to provide a little background to this “thrill of a lifetime” for me. I have been particularly interested in Chef Thomas Keller as a chef only the last few years. I became aware of him through my ongoing research and more so when his first cookbook, The French Laundry, was published. Then he purchased five Thermomix machines from Lynette McDonald this past spring. I have been eager to interview him about his use and personal experience with the Thermomix, and was attempting to arrange for an appointment with him during our recent trip to San Francisco with this Public Relations Manager, Kristine Keefer. Instead, she was able secure a table for us at The French Laundry! Thank you Kristine Keefer! We had previously secured a reservation for Bouchon,  but had been unsuccessful with finding an opening at The French Laundry until Kristine suggested she attempt to do this for us.

 

I was thrilled, but not too hopeful. I had excitedly told Vanja about the possibility, and he laughed and chortled, “I hope not!” And I know this comment came from the per person price of $275 dollars. I choked a bit when I read that, but when I learned it included tax and tip, thought it “doable”. Maybe not “reasonable”, but most definitely, “possible”! When the e-mail arrived about two days later that we actually had our reservation at the exact time I had indicated would be perfect, my laptop crashed to the floor in a heap as I found myself suspended in mid-air doing the most animated “happy dance” that I have ever done. When my feet landed back on the ground I realized that my husband may not be as excited as I. As a matter of fact, I panicked a little. I knew he would not be happy. At all. I spent two days trying to talk myself out of wanting to go. This was not that important to me, was it? Yes, it was. That strategy was not going to work. If we didn’t get a reservation, I would still have a good time. Of course I would. But, we DID get a reservation. I was pretty sure I could no longer have the “good time” I “could have had” before. I was sure I would be miserable. How ridiculous! I am an adult. I refuse to be miserable. Vanja deserves more respect than that. But, the reservations are really hard to get, and when will I ever get one, or even go there, again? Two days with all of this in my head, not yet sure I could live without going, but trying really hard to let it be an option, I e-mailed him the reservation and asked him what he thought about it when he got home that night. No surprise. He was very open, level headed, and kind, but said that it was a ridiculous amount of money to spend on an evening out for dinner only. I did explain, without wining, that this was not just a dinner. It was an experience It was art on a plate and on the palate. It would be an amazing experience. He nodded, looking at me for a moment, and then continued to read the paper.

 

I went about my evening chores. Upset, and upset with myself  Thinking, mulling, working it through. Of course, we could afford it. So, I just went back, sat down, and looked at him. I had decided I had to let him know how important this was to me. He put the paper down, looked at me, and without me saying a word, said, “Ok. Let’s go to The French Laundry!” He smiled, and I knew he would throw himself into making it a lovely evening  - even though he had to wear a dinner jacket. That was asking a lot of my sweet husband on a 35 degree afternoon, but, he did it, and we had a wonderful evening.

“It will be on the next block, the right hand side.” I said after we entered Yountville and had turned a couple of blocks. We were right in front of it, driving past it, when Vanja stopped the car, and said, “There it is!”. “Where?” I asked. We were the only ones driving on what appeared to be a beautiful residential road with a sprawling greenhouse and garden across the street. But, there it was. The French Laundry. I didn’t even see the name until I crossed the street and was almost upon it. It is in the bottom left on the walkway’s rock wall. No one was around. I had just pulled out the e-mail that said I was to confirm the reservation 72 hours in advance. I had not done that. I had received a voice mail asking for confirmation, and had e-mailed back saying we would be there, but that was done only the day before. I was somewhat worried that they may have let our spot go, but understanding the calibre of establishment this was, believed our reservation would be waiting for us.

 

I crossed the street immediately after jumping out of the car. Well, immediately after taking the picture of the restaurant. I ventured to the back of the yard. It was a lush, green, silent sanctuary. I could see people through the window. Were they in blue aprons like I had read about on the French Laundry website? I couldn’t really see. I could see that the serving staff were in black vests with white shirts and the wait staff were in black jackets with ties. Vanja was crossing the street. Where was the door? I could tell the door where the people were was a door to the kitchen area. The other door was blue with a gorgeous knob in the middle. This must be it. Clearly, it was manicured with pots and appeared to be the formal entrance. Yet, there was no other sign, and, it was 5:16, and the door was locked. Our reservation was at 5:30. Was there another door? It appeared not. So, I investigated the yard, went up the stairs to the balcony, quietly, and took photos from above. Came back down and sat with Vanja watching through the reflective windows to see what we could see which wasn’t very much. Occasionally, we would see someone very briskly walking from the other side of the kitchen through the open air walkway to the back storage area, or office area, and back. Then a couple came out of the kitchen door through the yard and back there. “Hello". “Good evening.”

I don’t know what I expected. Really, I do not. But it wasn’t this. I must have expected something a bit more obvious. Something a bit less subtle. Something a little more bold and obvious. I liked what I was experiencing. I felt like I was sitting in the Secret Garden and was kind of worried I might get caught. Another couple came, and then I heard the door unlock.

We were whisked into an intimate dining room and the first to be seated that evening at the table for two that I would have seated us at, had I been asked where I would like to sit. I loved that we were alone for a moment. We sat in the dining room at The French Laundry and we had it completely to ourselves. The elegant simplicity was perfect. Even the water bottles are hand blown; no two are alike, yet their design is of the simplest form. It disappears on the table in the photo with both of us, below, but it is there.

“May I start you off with a little champagne this evening?” I do love a bit of sparkly, but we had spent a magical day in the valley sipping wines: twenty two different tastings, to be exact, so I was not in the mood for any bubbles. However, our palates had definitely been awakened that day and we were both very interested in a glass of wine to savour with our food. But, what to choose? Who would know? Our waiter, of course. I gave him the wrong information. I said, acidic, but meant, not so acidic. I got a crisp puckering acidic glass of white wine. It overpowered me, so I could not drink it, but that was a lesson learned. Our waiter could not have been more gracious. He served two different glasses of white, and was to serve two different glasses of red with the second half of the meal. I eventually cancelled my red, as I was not able to consider wine with this food. My white was a glass of 2006 Alban, Roussane Estate, Edna Valley and Vanja’s was a 2006 Ramey Chardonnay from the Hyde Vineyard in Carnerus.

It seemed like seconds after being seated and introduced to the menu, we were served a choux pastry with gruyere cheese, and immediately after that, another one of Chef Keller`s  signature dishes: Salmon Tartare Cornets with Sweet Red Onion Crème Fraîche. I quivered with excitement. Not only with the placement of this dish on our table, as I had definitely seen it before in his cookbook, and elsewhere, but with the presentation and the anticipation. Our wine was served, and two appetizers not even on the nine course menu sat before us. What to do? Take a photograph, of course. Capturing a good photograph has become almost important as the eating to me, as the memory of the flavours is also captured when I am able to take a great close up. Most restaurants are far too dark, and I am not successful. I was not afraid, even in this setting, and when I asked if I could photograph my food, was told that this evening was mine to enjoy how I chose. What a lovely philosophical gift from this establishment.

 

We each tasted our wine, after swirling, and sniffing, of course. Then tasted each others. I preferred his. So did he. Interestingly, throughout the entire day of tastings, our palate was very similar. Then, the choux pastry. Yum. A sharp savoury awakening of the palate. ``Hello! Are you ready for this?`` Then the wine. Hmmm. Maybe not. We each picked up a cornet. I was eager; Vanja, tentative. ``How do you eat it?`` ``Just take a bite off of the top with as much as you can to get the full impact of the intended flavours,`` was my philosophy. So we did. Oh, heaven and earth and salmon and onions in cream! YUM! The last crunchy bite of the cream and onion scented cornet was the perfect chaser to the delicate oiliness of the salmon tartare. ``Yes, I am ready for this!``

And then the Oysters and Pearls were served in the simplest wide lipped bowl topped with a porcelain dome that revealed a steamy sea of opulence. Our waiter`s assistant took our photograph which I did want, but also did not want any distraction from that moment. Do you see the water bottle? The beauty of its invisibleness had me mesmerized. The flowers on the table, I learned the following day, were from The French Laundry garden across the street. I was admiring exactly that about them. They looked like freshly picked garden flowers, and they were.

OK. What can one say about buns and butter? Well, Vanja and I usually only have butter with bread when we eat out, so it is a treat we do really enjoy. But, the selection of buns baked at the Bouchon Bakery just down the street, were exceptional. And the butter, well, carefully considered and the one in the silver pot almost completely gone by the end of service. It was salty and wet and absolutely wonderful. The other was heady and cheesy and whole all at once.

Of the nine courses on the menu (remember there were two appetizers not on the menu), there were two choices on occasion. So, we just told the waiter to serve one of each so we could try everything. Maybe, if we had remembered that the Torchon of foie gras  was an extra thirty dollars, we may have not ordered it, but I am so happy we forgot that as it was another highlight of the meal. A divine delicacy that was served with a slice of toasted brioche and three salts. I am also a collector and user of exotic salts, and we both had fun trying all three with the brioche and foie gras. My dish, the Salad of Hawaiian Heart of Palm, was truly disappointing. Truly. So unfortunate when the goal of the restaurant, and the expectation of the participant, is that each morsel eaten leave you wanting more. What I thought was a little celebration of vegetables was very bland and flavourless. And, I love the canned heart of palm so was really looking forward to this fresh dish. The only sparkle was the brunoise quenelle of the heart of palm. I could really feel how important the precision of the knife technique was to the enhancement of the mouthfeel from that experience. That was fun for me. I could not taste the mizuna, and the kanzuri was also not memorable.  I really wanted my own foie gras! Is was so deadly, I am motivated to make it myself. We shall see. Watch for that in a future blog.

Not for long, as the next course arrived literally seconds after the table was cleaned of our messy brioche crumbs. I was served a filet of Japanese Medai and Vanja the Tartare of Island Creek Scallops in a Saffron Broth. Every morsel of compressed cucumber and every sliver of herb or drop of sauce was absolutely vivacious on the fish plate. The crispy skin was fatty and rich and succulent and chewy, and very fortunately, small. Again, the scallops were disappointing. Not as disappointing as the vegetable dish had been, but, still, not a memorable dish. The saltiness of the olives with the ceviche was complimentary, and the presentation was second to none. Look at the gorgeous bouquet. But the flavours fell flat. I kept eating it and chewing and pushing and squeezing the fibres of food inside of my mouth to find what I must be missing, but I just could not.

Course four: The French Laundry`s take on a Caesar Salad. A crisp Parmesan cracker with braised lettuce and Maine Lobster Tail poached in butter. What decadence! And, on top, some grated bottarga di muggine.  The salty dried grey mullet roe was a fantastic compliment to the rich buttery lobster that was undoubtedly the best lobster bite I have had in my life. A few generous bites, actually. There was a lot of lobster on my tasting plate. YUM! I am very familiar with lobster, so needed no time to acquaint myself with any new flavours on this dish. Just savour, enjoy, smack my lips, and lick my fingers. Yes, my fingers. I ate my Parmesan cracker with them and no flavour was to be wasted at this meal. The ingredients in this course were absolutely elevated to beyond what they each are on their own through the thoughtful preparation and combination of flavours.

Can you just see the plumpness of this lobster bursting with the delicate flavour of the ocean and the butter it was poached in?

Somebody is enjoying his duck. Course five: Epaule de Lapin de Facie aux Ris de Veau (rabbit shoulder stuffed with sweetbreads) and Fricassee of Liberty Farms Pekin Duck. Both of these dishes were extraordinary! The duck was tender and I was particularly excited to try the Huckleberry Sauce as I had never seen or tasted a huckleberry before. Interestingly, I could not discern a distinct flavour from the berry or the sauce. I was sharing, so only took a little taste, and then I took another berry with some sauce to really understand the flavour, but I still couldn’t grasp a flavour. The texture was chewy and that of a dry, dense berry. It was a bit of fun. There was a sweetness, but I just could not taste a bright note that I could identify as a flavour I understood or was familiar with. The rabbit was placed before me with an outstanding presentation as I have never before seen the utensil that the bone was clamped to. I was equally as excited to taste the pumpkin seeds that were cultivated from a pumpkin grown just for the seeds. They were larger, more plump and much harder than I expected. The flavour was dark and complex, and again I had difficulty discerning the specific flavour notes of the seed on its own, but it was a wonderful crunch and a little side adventure on the plate. Vanja had tasted the cardamom in the sauce with the rabbit and had pushed it my way, immediately. I was happy about that. YUM. The silver vice clamped to the bone enchanted me. What is it called? Someone please tell me. The texture and the flavour of the rabbit with the sweetbreads in the aromatic jus was addictive. The exotic Eastern spices in this dish coupled with the strength of the cauliflower puree rocked me into a hypnotic state as I nodded and chewed and chewed and nodded and savoured and flavoured and flavoured and savoured. YUM. YUM YUM. My favourite was the rabbit with the cauliflower foam and Vanja`s was the duck. That worked well! 

Drum roll please! We are approaching the crescendo: course six, the Calotte de Boeuf Grillée from Snake River Farms. And now, the red wine: a 2006 Shelter, Cabernet Sauvignon, from Headwater in Napa Valley. We both really enjoyed the flavour of this wine, and I found it beautifully enhanced the little taste of the beef I sampled. Mmmm.

 

At this point, I must have left the table five times. I have massive digestion problems, and need to walk about a bit between courses that seemed to come at us at a rapid pace, yet we were there a total of three and a half hours, and did not drink much wine, so maybe we weren't rushed. I believe it was not the intent to rush us, at all. I just felt I needed a little more time between each course. Every time I returned from my little jaunt outside, I had a clean napkin. I was feeling a bit guilty about this, so wrote our waiter`s assistant a little silly message: “I am still clean. It is all right if you leave me on the table.”  Apparently, he grinned, and changed it anyway.

 

The beef is the cap, or the top of the tenderloin, and was past superb. I tasted it, and gave mine to Vanja. Too much to digest in one meal. He was thrilled. The waiter had offered to prepare me something else earlier, when I saw that it was beef. I was actually delighted, for Vanja`s sake. I was also deeply pleased that the opportunity is there to have something special made, even with a set menu, should the need arise. It makes sense, but it is not always so warmly offered. This, and the lobster, were the highlight of my husband`s meal. I had many. The oysters and pearls, the foie gras, the rabbit and sweetbreads, the presentations, the condensed cucumbers and melons, experiencing the brunoise of heart of palm in my mouth,  the beefy hen-of-the-woods-mushroom, the texture of the melon on top of the chocolate cake, yet to come. There were many.

 "And a new choice of breads with your cheese course, madam?" Again, each was compelling!

The puff pastry was as light as air, yet as rich with butter as you would ever desire. The Vacherin Fribourgeois tasted slightly nutty and had a lovely creamy texture that was perfect with the fig tart and the Marcona Almonds. It seemed like I inhaled mine and that my plate was clean seconds after landing on the table. I was able to eagerly polish off the seventh course with relish. Surprise!

Ah, a quenelle. Chefs love quenelles. Not me. I like scoops! This ambrosia melon sorbet was surprisingly bright and clean. The frozen watermelon tidbits, basil nuage and condensed miniature melon balls absolutely left me wanting more. Yes, even after all I had eaten. More. “Please sir, may I have some more?” I did not ask, but I was tempted.

 

My palate was now cleansed. On with the spoils! I wanted the Gateau St. Nizier au Manjari (flourless dark chocolate cake with mango chilli relish, lime foam and coconut ice cream). Another quenelle. Ahh! And the little red chilli curls were so cute, but not hot as I expected. No matter. YUM! The melon on top and garnishing the plate was shaped into little bubbly bursts of juice. The mouth feel was completely unique to me. How was this done?

 

And Vanja received the Lemon Verbena Meringue with the Tellicherry Pepper Panna Cotta at the table, and then a fragrant Strawberry Consommé was carefully poured over it. Gorgeous. It was light, and lovely and fresh: like a soft little breezy sticky wet kiss. Yum.

 The menu stated Mignardises at the end, but we never received them, or maybe we did in the bag to take home? We ordered espresso and coffee, and were then given a copy of the menu, and a little thank you bag of truffles and shortbread cookies. So unexpected. Such a treat! But I was a little disappointed to not be served the mignardises. I had forgotten to expect the signature donut, and didn't miss it at all. Nor did I miss the signature truffled egg from the cookbook that I had earlier anticipated, but I still want to try it someday. I did miss the mignardises. I love sweet tidbits at the end of an extraordinary meal.

 

There was a table of six seated in the middle of the room beside us. It was apparent that one of the men was an owner of a winery in the valley. They had a special meal and I tried not to be too obvious with my interest their way. It was so unfortunate to see the amazing courses they received without any acknowledgement. One was a soup with summer truffles sliced into it. The truffles were brought out in a special cigar type of wooden box with a staff member appointed simply as the holder of the box. As the truffles were sliced into each dish, the conversation continued, the laughter continued, and it appeared that no one even noticed that they were being served individually, or the delicacy they had been served. It was almost as if the service was a bother to them. I did not once hear any of the guests at that table mention their food. And, sadly, yes, I was listening. To me, this kind of artful attention to each minute detail on a plate needs attention. It needs focus. To me, the conversation is on the food. This calibre of restaurant is rare. I wanted to stand up and applaud when it was over. Where was the chef. Not “in” this evening. Ah, but he was, though I hadn`t realized that evening that Timothy Hollingsworth was the newly appointed Chef de Cuisine as of August 1, 2009. I learned that when I returned home.

 

Now, for our tour of the kitchen. Heart a flutter. I have been through a few kitchens in my life. I just didn't expect such explicit calm. It was a busy place, and people were moving from here to there with an intent sense of purpose, yet there was a calm well earned confidence that comes with years of learning, hard work, careful thought, and fervent attention to detail.

Our waiter did point out Chef Hollingsworth (in the fore front of this photo) and explain his position that evening. I did thank him most sincerely for the amazing meal, and though I am sure he has heard it so many times before, I could see true appreciation in his eyes. Even our waiter was pleased when I voiced my gratefulness for the evening`s experience to the chef. I am so happy I had this opportunity. I should have clapped and sang to them all, and I don`t even sing. They were just too busy, but somehow. I wanted to give back a little of what I felt I had been given.

And, our waiter pointed out the TV screen in the kitchen with a real time connection to the Per Se kitchen in New York. I left the warm room walking on air. Picked up my gift bag and menu at the door, and then let myself out in to the coolness of the evening air and the beautiful yard. Vanja took the camera from me and directed me to stand in front of the back lit sign. ``Here. It is your turn for a photo. Express yourself.``

The French Laundry is now a formidable full bodied memory that still sends sensations of tingly excitement through me whenever I think of my time there. Ahhhhh! Incredible.

(Ok, admittedly, the writing about this experience is definitely more than "over the top"... but, no one is paying me to edit my work, or to censure my enthusiasm, or to "refine" it. I love writing in my blog! It is so wonderfully self indulgent!)