bigilla

In Malta, I tasted a delicious bean dip that is called bigilla. We had it every morning, slathered on fresh baked bread, with sausages and assorted sheep's milk cheeses. Bigilla is traditionally made with dried broad beans, but there are variations of the dip that use fresh fava beans. It's a staple in Maltese country cooking, but in recent years has made a comeback in mainstream and contemporary Maltese cuisine.

In trying to keep with authenticity, be sure to use plenty of fresh garlic, good olive oil, and the dried mint.

Try this as a dip with raw veggies, or a spread for sandwiches and wraps.

Bigilla (Maltese Bean Dip)
yields 1 cup

1 cup dried broad beans
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 tsp chili powder
dried marjoram, mint, and parsley (mixture)
1 clove garlic, minced
salt and pepper, to taste

1. Soak the broad beans in cold water overnight. The following morning, cover the beans with salted water in a large pot, and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook until beans are tender, about 1 to 1.5 hours. Drain, and remove as much of the skins as possible.

2. Coarsely mash the beans, and stir in the remaining ingredients. Serve with bread or crackers.

$1 book project

So... I'm STILL ALIVE and kicking! Just been super busy hopping from place to place... Officially moved into my new apartment in San Francisco last week, and a blustery cold week it was! (I've become quite used to the disgustingly humid summers of the mid-Atlantic now...)

And I'm currently sitting at our diningroom table in Malta, during one last week-long family hurrah before law school starts for me, and before my parents must return to the grind of well, working. We landed in Rome 5 days ago, relaxed for a couple days, drove to Florence and Venice for another 2 days, then flew here to the beautiful (and incredibly sun-drenched) island of Malta.

All this traveling, and moreover, literally gawking at how little an American dollar gets you in Euros these days, has reminded me of the value of a dollar and what it can buy from country to country (apparently not much now all across Europe!). Speaking of dollars and whatnot, I want to bring to everyone's attention the $1 Book Project. It's a compilation of reader-submitted photos of objects, across the world, that are worth exactly 1 US dollar, no more no less. Really amusing entries.

The object of the project, according to the creator:

"The $1 Book Project attempts to prove that the value of an object depends on culture and geographic location. Currently a work in progress, the following images explore the power (or lack thereof) of one American dollar. I asked people to submit a photograph documenting what they bought. They could not spend more than $1. Not a cent over."

So far, I've found a small pack of gum in a nearby Maltese supermarket and some postcards in Venice that cost roughly $1. So it's actually a much more difficult task than it may first seem. There's a link to a currency converter at the site; helpful for international folks. I'm certainly going to keep on searching in the next few days...

yeye's sweet and sour spareribs

I attribute my strong carniverous tendencies to my grandfather. He raised his 4 children on pork, and his grandkids were no exception to the rule. Most parents urge their kids to drink plenty of milk, to eat all their veggies and fruit, even resorting to tricks of the parental trade in order to get these things down their child's unobliging throat. My grandfather, my yeye, in stark but delicious contrast, force fed me braised chicken dishes, glazed spareribs, steamed fish...much to my heart's delight. Greens, to him, were an afterthought, something to add a bit of color and texture to, you guessed it, meat. And we never ate fruit since both he and my grandmother were both diabetic. Thus I grew up knowing my repertoire of meat, meat-products, and on the occasion, by-products.

There are some dishes that to this day, I still crave from my yeye's kitchen. His edamame (we called it mao dou) always came steaming hot and salted, studded with peppercorn and star anise, in a huge gigantic metal bowl for me to pick through. For my birthdays, he would make me jiao zhi yu, a whole fish fried and smothered in a sweet and tangy garlic sauce. He would set the dish so that the head faced me, a portent of good fortune. Mostly I remember the very simplest dishes he made, for a weekday dinner, or a quick lunch on his break between work. Noodles with gravy, scrambled eggs with fresh tomato, a bowl of noodle soup. But mostly, he was famous for his meat dishes (and I mean famous, since he owned two successful restaurants).

One dish that was always a hit with my aunts, uncles and cousins was his Tang Cu Pai Gu, otherwise known as sweet and sour spareribs. Don't let the seemingly mundane name, nor the overly sweet flavors those words conjure, scare you. "Sweet and sour" has become bastardized, a once tangy and savory dish in its native state, has been doused with pounds and pounds of granulated sugar, not to mention bright orange dyes, here in the U.S. throughout take-out joints and large Chinese restaurants.


The real deal uses fresh, small and tender pork spareribs, about 2-3 inches in length. Most of the fat is rendered out in the cooking process, leaving a truly lean and savory portion of meat. The sauce is what ties this dish together, a tour de force of glazes, if you will. It is reminiscent of those rich, caramelized sauces found in Vietnamese clay pot dishes, but with more vinegar, reduced down to a thick and syrupy tang.


More memorable than the taste was the way that Yeye served his spareribs to the family- piled up high in a large metal mixing bowl, set on the diningroom table, which was laid over with old newspapers. No need to say it was all a bit of a messy affair. But nonetheless, finger-licking delicious. When I visited him this year, he was once again busy in the kitchen, peeling garlic, rattling woks...this is how he keeps busy now at age 83. A little before dinnertime, the scent of vinegar and garlic lured me into his kitchen, and to my surprise, a wokful of ribs was braising on the stove. I remember asking him for the recipe, but he just threw out a listing of spices and herbs, and promised to let me watch in a few days as he recreated the dish again.


Just like when I was little, I laid out the newspaper on the table, in preparation for dinner with my grandparents. This dish will always be known as "Yeye's Spareribs" because no one else can make them like he does. I always eat them with such intensity and gusto, letting my little pile of bones build up, never fully realizing just how much satisfaction and pleasure is written over Yeye's face, as he looks on.



Tang Cu Pai Gu - "Yeye's Sweet and Sour Spareribs"

Look for smaller ribs, as these will be more tender. Cut them up, between the rib bones, then across the bone again, to get small "riblet" pieces.
Chinkiang vinegar is a black Chinese rice vinegar that's readily available at all Asian food stores.

1 1/2 - 2 lb pork ribs, cut into 2-3" in length

Braising Liquid:
1 1/2 cups beef stock or broth
1" piece ginger, sliced into rounds
1/2 water, optional
1/2 tsp ground white pepper
2 whole star anise
1 tsp chicken stock granules or MSG, optional
2 Tbsp dark Chinkiang vinegar
3 Tbsp soy sauce
1/4 cup Shaoxing cooking wine
1/4 cup sugar
2 cloves garlic, smashed
1 scallion, cut into thirds

1. Place the ribs in a large pot, fill with water, and set over high heat. Let the water come to a boil, then turn down the heat to simmer for 1 hour (lid on of off). Drain ribs and lay them out on a large dish to dry up some more.

2. Heat the oil in a wok to about 350F. In small batches, fry the ribs, about 1 minute. Drain any excess oil on paper towels.

3. Pour the hot oil out from your wok, and give it a quick wipedown. To the wok, add all the ingredients for the Braising Liquid, except for the sugar. (You can add the optional 1/2 cup water, if you prefer more sauce.) Bring to a gentle boil, add the ribs, stir to coat, and turn the heat down to a simmer. Cover, and cook for about 10 minutes.



4. Stir in the sugar, cover again, and cook over low heat for another 10-15 minutes until the liquid has turned thick and glossy, like a glaze. Turn the heat off and transfer the ribs to a serving dish.

beard papa

I can't say I'm not a little bitter. It was my idea first. As a kid, having eaten my way through too many a Chinese restaurant buffet, where Jello, almond cookies, soft serve fro-yo, and cream puffs were always reliable mainstays at the dessert island, I thought wouldn't it be nice if those soggy cream puffs were filled for you, to order? Gee, that sounded like a great idea for a business- fresh cream puffs filled upon request. Alas, being only 11 at the time, with $20 in my piggy bank, I was a bit unprepared for such a business venture.

A decade later, as I was perusing my choices at a mall food court in Beijing, I immediately noticed the bright yellow and white storefront and the jolly, white-bearded brand mascot, aptly named Beard Papa. (I cursed myself for not having taken out some sort of loan 10 years earlier.) Hungry and intrigued, I purchased 2 still-warm puffs, filled with strawberry and vanilla creams. They were delightful- a crisp and light shell that surrounded a subtly sweet filling of whipped custard. I was so taken with the puff that I went back and bought a dozen.

Little did I know it at the time, but thousands of miles away in New York, customers were lining up for a taste of the puff too. Beard Papa opened its first U.S. franchises in NYC in 2004, and since has spread through California, Hawaii, and parts of NJ. It's not surprising that Beard Papa is a Japanese enterprise, as the Japanese are notorious for re-engineering decidedly un-Japanese things and making them better, prettier, but oftentimes nonsensical and quite the paradox (take for instance, Japanese pizza). I'm puzzled, even by Beard Papa himself. What does this blue-eyed, white-bearded, pipe-smoking old dude have to do with cream puffs? Instead of trying to make sense out of it all, I say, just eat a puff and you'll forget everything.

Last time we were in San Francisco, Mr.S and I stopped by the Beard Papa across from Yerba Buena gardens and picked out a coffee cream-filled eclair.

Essentially, just a cream puff swathed in melty chocolate. Good, but I still prefer the pure vanilla taste of the original Beard Papa cream puff.

There's a tempting selection of fillings to choose from: vanilla bean, chocolate, strawberry, pumpkin, coffee, green tea and caramel (some seasonal flavors will vary regionally). Papa also offers cheesecake that comes in the shape of a stick, for potable eating of course, like a Snickers bar. Cream puffs are all $2.25 a piece (that's up $0.50 since opening in 2006) and $22 per dozen. That's a pretty reasonable exchange in my opinion as these puffs are bursting at the seams with cream; they're freshly baked several times during the day, and filled to order, on the spot. Plus, they use all natural ingredients, whatever that means these days, but sounds good to me. Hey, old bearded papas have to make a living somehow!

Though I do like to take credit for initially coming up with the idea of made to order cream puffs, I will now most respectfully defer to Beard Papa in the arena of all things cream puff related. He seems to have a knack for these sweets.

jian bing: beijing street food

Ever since I was little, my parents treated street food in Beijing like the bad boy in high school; they barred me from even getting within a 10 feet range, they covered my eyes, telling me how it was dirty, cheap, and would give me unwanted health problems. Like the ever-obedient child that I was, I listened, though a longing built up in my gut everytime I walked down a small sidestreet and spied one of those pushcarts. Sure, at one point, these mobile vendors would have been a health inspector's worst nightmare (or dream) with the number of health codes they were violating. But nowadays, the situation is much better, as more sanitation laws and requirements have been put in place.

My first tryst with the popular Beijing street food known as jiān bǐng happened one hot summer morning when I was deemed by my family just old enough to start going out on my own. The cart that I remembered from summers past had upgraded to a small dimly-lit store front window, where customers lined up, shouted out their orders, paid and watched the young boy in the window as he whipped up a steaming hot crêpe in under one minute. As the morning rush of nannies, housewives, bicyclists going to work pushed past me to pick up a quick breakfast, I inserted myself at the back of the quickly moving line. Nervous and wide-eyed, I wasn't sure how to order. There wasn't a menu posted overhead, no pictures, nothing. This was Beijing street food at its best- for everyday people, not hyped up for tourists. Mustering up my confidence, I pointed to the dark crêpe batter, raised my finger to indicate one, and said "I'll have everything." I handed over my ¥2 (about $0.25 at the time) and excitedly watched through the fogged-up glass as my jiān bǐng was expertly made.

He wiped off the circular griddle with a towel, and ladled out some of the dark batter, spreading it out with a wooden tool. Paper thin at the edges, the crêpe instantly cooked up as it hit the smoking hot griddle. With a flick of the wrist, he cracked open an egg right on top of the crêpe, breaking up the yolk with the same tool, and sprinkling on a mixture of scallion and cilantro. With the egg still somewhat runny, he flipped the crêpe in one fell swoop, and brushed on two sauces on the other side, one hoisin, the other a spicy chili paste. The final element in this process is what jian bing is best known for- the crispy-fried rectangular cruller that gets placed inside. The edges of the crêpe are then folded in to form a steamy package of egginess, slid into a filmy plastic bag, and was handed over to me. All this in less than a minute. As I stepped away, the boy was moving onto making another crêpe, one of the many hundreds more he'd made that morning.

With that first bite with my nose and face buried into that warm baggie, I was hooked. The crêpe part was nutty, which I later discovered I'd ordered the buckwheat batter. The egg was wonderfully hashed in with the crêpe, spicy and sweet from the mixture of sauces. The addition of the scallion and cilantro gave it a cooling and fragrant freshness, with an added bit of crunch. I particularly enjoyed the thin fried dough hiding inside, which had wilted down from the heat, but gave the jian bing a degree of richness. (This is the same dough as used in Chinese fried crullers.) It was chewy and warmly satisfying, proof that a well rounded breakfast doesn't have to be eaten sitting down. Little did I know it, this was the beginning of an addiction, but at least an affordable one.

In subsequent years, everytime I visited Beijing, my internal jiān bǐng clock would rouse me at sunrise, driving me downstairs to the stand I knew and loved so well. The owners must have been doing well, since they expanded their morning selections to all sorts of savory and sweet pastries, steamed and stuffed buns, and warm soymilk and silken tofu (dou fu nao), another one of my morning favorites. In later years, they raised their prices to a shocking ¥2.5 ($0.35), which is actually a big increase for locals, who remember the days of ¥1 ($0.15) crepes.

I've never tried to make these in my own kitchen; I know it could never be the same. Not just in terms of the ingredients and equipment, but I'd be missing so much than that- my expectant grandparents upstairs nervously awaiting my return, the buzz of the morning working class, hungry and slightly edgy, the excitement of biting into a once-forbidden food, and the experience of eating from a plastic bag, while walking down a Beijing alley that was just coming alive with the day's first light.

There are hundreds of jian bing operators and vendors scattered all throughout Beijing, but you must hit the streets early, as it is a breakfast item. (Though now, you can probably find them sold to tourists at larger night markets.) There are the usual batters- white, mung bean, and buckwheat, and the toppings are the same from vendor to vendor. Prices will range from ¥2 to ¥3.

Illustration from Luxuryeats.com

culture club: make your own yogurt

What's happened to the dairy aisle of our supermarkets? It's as if a lipo machine came through and sucked the fat out of all that yogurt, replacing it with stabilizers, thickeners and artificial sweeteners. It seems nowadays we're more concerned with the bacteria (and how it can reduce our bloated waistlines) in our yogurt than how it actually tastes.

Yogurt is one of the oldest, and most ubiquitous, foods in the history of civilization. It dates back to over 4000 years ago, somewhere in the desert, in a nomad's leather satchel that carried his day's supply of milk. There, a wild culture started to grow, and curdled the milk, transforming it into a tangy and nutritious drink. What a happy accident.

One of the foods I miss most from China is the yogurt. Unlike yogurt in the U.S., the Chinese kind is only subtly sweet and most brands that you'll find in the supermarket are full fat, instead of skim or lowfat. I'm not certain if the better taste is due to a difference in the milk quality (different feed, treatment, processing, etc) or perhaps a difference in the bacterial cultures used. There is just a completely different mouth feel to Chinese yogurt. It's also tangy in a different way, more subtle and rounded, less acidic. There is a deeper, richer milk flavor that lingers much longer on the palate, than the American counterpart that's heavily masked with sugars/sweeteners and artificial flavorings.

If you're not a fan of runny yogurt, like kefir, then you probably wouldn't like the yogurt in China. Due to its more drinkable nature, yogurt is normally drunken through a straw. It is sold in small plastic tubs, half-liter size containers, or plastic pouches (like Capri-Sun) and always comes with a plastic straw for your poking pleasure. I actually got strange looks from people once as I was eating my tub of yogurt with a spoon! During the summer, they're sold from umbrella-ed carts and snackshops by department store entrances in ceramic pots. You're asked to drink it in the vicinity and return the empty pot to the vendor when finished.

To answer the lactose-intolerance question, dairy products in China are becoming more and more popular due to their nutritional benefits. Most lactose intolerant folks can still eat yogurt since a majority of the lactose sugar from the milk is eaten by the bacteria culture present and therefore removed . Regular milk is more popular with the younger generation, but is no where near consumed with the same rapaciousness as in the U.S. In fact, the Chinese often never drink cold milk straight; they usually heat it to get rid of some of the gamey flavors. Drinking warm milk with a piece of white sandwich bread has become quite common at the Chinese breakfast table nowadays. Unfortunately, there is still only one kind of cheese available- the cubed, spreadable kind that comes wrapped in foil. Bleh.

When I was in Beijing last month, I ate no fewer than 2 packages of yogurt a day. There were the familiar flavors- plain (sweetened), strawberry, blueberry, pineapple, peach, and then some not so common ones- sweet cucumber, aloe (very popular), kiwi, mulberry, and coconut, or any thereof in combination. At a mall food court, I once had a yogurt parfait with diced watermelon, mango and strawberry jam! With my yogurt-binging days quickly coming to an end, I knew there was only one thing I could do: bring back a culture to the U.S. and mass-produce my own simulation of Chinese yogurt. And that's exactly what I did. Without going into detail about the packaging, chilling and tranport of my live culture overseas, I'll just go right into the yogurt making process.

Making your own yogurt is simple, and frankly, more economical than buying from the supermarket. The other big advantage is that you know exactly what's going into it, pure and natural ingredients with no additives. For the recipe below, use a starter yogurt that is the most natural you can find. Look for the shortest ingredient list on the back, with no pectin, artificial additives nor thickeners. I've had the greatest success with Liberté (from Canada) and my own personal overseas culture. I've heard that Stonybrook and Brown Cow work well too.

You will need:
1 quart whole milk
3-4 Tbsp sugar or honey (optional)
1 small tub of high quality, plain yogurt

Equipment:
heavy-bottom pot, big enough to contain all the milk
thermometer
1 large glass jar or several smaller glass jars
cooler
plastic or metal spoon (not wooden)

Make sure all the equipment is sanitized before you start. Run the jars through the dishwasher and clean all other equipment with dishsoap and water.

Heat the milk in the pot until it hits a temperature of 180F, no more. Take the pot off the burner and let cool to about 115F. Stir in the sugar/honey and tub of yogurt. Pour into your jar(s) and cap off.

Place the jar(s) into a cooler. Fill a quart size bowl or tupperware container with hot (almost boiling) water and place in the cooler too, some distance away from the jar containing the milk. Close the cooler and let incubate for 8 hours.

The yogurt will be thick and should smell tangy. There will be visible curds at the top of your yogurt; this is the residual whey. You can mix it into the yogurt or skim it off. If there's anything funky growing, or if it smells off, throw out the batch and start anew.

After the yogurt is fully chilled, it's time to dig in. As you stir it, you'll notice that the yogurt has a thinner consistency than commercial types. This is because you've added none of those starchy thickeners. At this point, you can strain it over night for a Greek-style yogurt or just eat it with some fruit and honey as is!

I ate mine with cherries and sliced white peaches mixed in.
The whole milk really makes a world of difference in the taste. Though it wasn't exactly like the yogurt from China that I remembered and was so fond of, in many ways it was better. They say that the experience of travel is constantly measured against and colored by memories of home, but for me the exact opposite is true. My home cooking is oftentimes heavily influenced by what I have seen and tasted from across the world. My little kitchen at home probably has traveled to as many places as I have, at least from a culinary standpoint; acting as witness to my many whims and creations from ideas picked up abroad. Despite my best efforts at recreating dishes from afar, the experience can never fully be recaptured; it's never the same. And so, though my yogurt tasted similar, but not quite exactly the same as to the original, I am still content in knowing it's distinctively my own.

napa, day 3, bouchon overload

Needless to say, the morning after the wedding was a late start, involving a Starbucks run, and a happy decision to drive up to Yountville for some culinary TLC at Bouchon.

Yountville turned out to be a very small town, but full of big names, thus the touristy feel. We drove down Washington Street and within 2 blocks passed by Ad Hoc, Bistro Jeanty, The French Laundry and Bouchon. It was my first visit to Bouchon, and the original one too, and Mr.S's second time (his first was at the Vegas locale, which I also reviewed). Now, it was midday, the sun streaming in through the open veranda to light the mosaic floor tiling, and our lovely meal to come.

this baguette has handles for me to grab onto

The folded, brown parchment paper menus were set on our plates, like a map waiting to be pressed open, to depict French bistro classics. The trouble was, I wanted to taste everything! Our neat and prim waiter announced the lunch specials to be a salmon tartare with red onion, capers, and hard-boiled egg, a puree of sweet carrot soup, and a lamb tartine sandwich with pickled red onion and watercress. I didn't want to be left eating a half dozen oysters by myself (Mr.S doesn't eat them) especially for my first meal of the day. I was truly tempted by the terrine of foie gras, but at $47, seemed like too much of a lunchtime splurge. The steamed mussels in white wine ($27.50) that came in a lovely covered, earthenware tureen was also an option, as was the salmon tartare ($16.50) with a side of the macaroni au gratin ($6.50).

I chose from the list of fromages to start, a ripe and nutty cow's milk cheese called Sea Stack. Made by Mt. Townsend Creamery in Washington state, Sea Stack is wonderfully mild and creamy that it reminded me of a cross between a ripened brie and good, salted butter. Today it was served with slices of walnut bread, and a spiced peach and pecan chutney. If you don't already know it by now, anything creamy is my weakness, and by the way the slice of cheese was oozing out of its ashen shell, I was in fromage heaven. The peach was nice, but a tarter fruit like apple or pear would have helped to balance out the butteriness too.

Our server expertly de-crumbed our table and brought us our plats principaux- my lamb tartine and Mr.S's Croque Madame. Since his came with a heaping mountain of frites, I substituted mine for a side of ratatouille. (I was curious as to how Keller's version tasted since he was the consultant chef on the set of the namesake movie, Ratatouille.) Though I found it to be somewhat greasy, I still managed to finish it off without difficulty. A good flavoring of fresh herbs here. My lamb was the star of my meal, served chilled over toasted levain and a light shmear of aioli. The meat was tender and had no trace of gaminess, and paired well with the sour pickles and bitter watercress.

At some point during my lamb euphoria, I tasted a bite of Mr.S's cheesy, eggy sandwich. It was sweet and mild, being that the brioche was wonderfully decadent and buttery. The whole thing was moistened with a light, but creamy, Mornay sauce, and topped off with a fried egg. I liked the fries the most, because I remember the first thought I had when tasting them was that it reminded me of McDonald's fries. Is that uncouth of me?? (I don't much care, as they were frickin' awesome.)

mmm eggy

Satiated and content, we wobbled next door to Bouchon Bakery. How clever (and evil) to tempt customers as they walk out of Bouchon with a sweeter, chocolatier version of Bouchon!

The pastries were all a lovely, cohesive shade of crackling, golden brown, some stuffed with chocolate, others fruit, and others still with nuts and pastes. Lining the back wall was a selection of artisan breads; like if you hadn't had enough of their chewy, delicate baguette from lunch, take one home! Or eat it in the car... There was a case full of cookie-like things, another of cakes, and a few pre-made sandwiches. Boxes of truffles and biscotti were also for sale.

At $3 per cookie, I knew I'd be limited in my decision making. I knew I wanted to try certain ones, so that's what I bought- the famous TKO (Thomas Keller Oreo), his version of the Nutter Butter, and the French mararons. Since I've made the TKO at home before, I knew what it'd taste like, and honestly speaking, mine tasted better. This one was too large, and didn't have enough filling for the huge amount of cookie it was sandwiched between.

My favorite was the Nutter Butter. At about 4 inches in diameter, this was a hefty old thing, probably with a whole half stick of butter in each one! No complaints there! There were chunks of peanut in the cookie, which was a nice touch. The best part was the filling- it tasted like a peanut ganache, rich but not overly sweet.

I picked out 3 flavors of macarons- pistachio, caramel and raspberry. There was also chocolate and vanilla to choose from. The texture was perfect, crunchy exterior with a chewy center. However, the I found the taste to be lacking. They were very sugary and I had trouble tasting the pistachio and the caramel flavors. The raspberry, on the other hand, tasted artificial. I think I prefer a smaller, more poppable, size macaron as opposed to these larger ones (about 1.5"). The best macaron I've tasted yet was not in France nor in a French pastry shop, but from an upscale delicatessan in Madrid called Mallorca. (The raspberry tasted like raspberries, and it was buttery and light.)

pistachio macaron

Thank goodness Mr.S offered to drive back to San Francisco, seeing as I was comatose, from good food. All that Bouchon was good, but it seemed like a far way to go when you live in the city to come all the way out to Yountville. Especially when there are numerous French bistros and bakeries equally on par in SF, in terms of taste, service, and menu offerings. It was a tasty experience, and next time I'm out here in Y-ville, it'll be for dinner at the French Laundry!

Bouchon

6534 Washington Street

Yountville, CA 94599

Bouchon Bakery
6528 Washington Street

Yountville, CA 94599

napa, day 2, the wedding!

Mr.S and I basically ate on the run the whole day, at least up until the wedding. Why does it always seem like everything piles up on you the day that you have the most going on? So in an attempt to just focus on the wedding, I'll skip all the nonsense and not-so-memorable meals that occurred the first half of the day.

The Napa sun pounded down hard on our shoulders, the winds whipped around our 'dos, but the champagne was flowing freely and we had a wedding reception on our hands! Hell yeah. Our friend was married off, dowry and all (joking!) and we were ready to start the evening off.

I was so starved at this point that even the vegetarian options on the menu appealed to me. I anticipated a pretty awesome dinner, at least in the way of wedding food, since it was the Carneros Inn and I was told the menu would be incorporating mostly locally-procured ingredients. It was a seated dinner, with 3 courses, starters, salad and entree. What was impressive, yet strangely eerie, was the way the servers performed a simultaneous "drop" service, where they surround your table, stand behind your chair, and set your plate down all at the same time. Too fancy for me!

I had the scallop appetizer while Mr.S had the vegetarian tomato soup. I wouldn't say that the flavors of each dish were lacking, but there was nothing that "popped," or like, "exploded" on my tastebuds. I tried a bite of scallop with his soup, which actually turned out to be a good marriage of flavors. Haha, no puns intended.

The next course was the salad, which I have no documentation of, since we were all busy watching a short movie the groom had made. A doctor making a movie? Wow! It was an endive salad with Pt. Reyes blue cheese and pistachio oil. Frankly, I find Pt. Reyes blue to be overly done. It's become ubiquitous on menus. And it's really mild, whereas I prefer a more pungent blue. Domestically, perhaps that's harder to find, but many dairies are producing wonderful blues, especially in California.

The last seated course was the meat. A steak of locally raised beef, with rosemary jus, a slice of potato gratin and broccolini. Flavors were right on here, but the steak needed a more charred crust. The potatos were cold, and the cheese and butter had congealed it into a gummy block, so few people at our table actually ate it. I remember still being hungry at this point, and trying to fill up on the nice crusty rolls with butter.

Later, the staff brought out the cake, but only for a few minutes, and ushered it back into the kitchen quickly and silently, like some sickly child from the Victorian ages. It was too bad, because it really was quite a lovely cake that should have been put on display. It was a triple-tiered square cake, with real buttercream frosting, instead of fondant (which makes me want to throw up). Yes, I feel strongly about good frosting. The first layer was vanilla cake with rasperry filling and vanilla buttercream. Layer 2 was Snickers cake- chocolate with caramel and peanuts. The third layer was the "world's best carrot cake," as previously described to me by the bride. However, this layer was never served to us guests, and when asked about it, the servers denied knowing about such said layer. I was greatly disappointed. (Carrot cake is my favorite!) Could I have actually dreamed up this pretend third layer? To answer my suspicions, I spied the wedding planner crossing the lawn later that evening with the elusive third layer, wrapped up, presumably for the bride and groom to take home. Quel horreur! And that, my friends, is my sad sad cake story.

I took away a lot from this wedding experience... one thing for sure is that I do not want a multi-course seated dinner for my own wedding. I am resolute that I want to serve huge platters of spicy Thai food, family style- big boats of satay and sweet/sour cucumber salad, platters of fried noodles and rice, and tureens of pumpkin curries and meat curries swimming in all sorts of colorful broths. I want people sweating, mopping their brows, loosening their ties (and belt buckles) and dancing up a storm while toasting with iced Tiger lager. This, I'm sure of. The dress, the ceremony, all that I've yet to contemplate...

Cheers to the happy couple, my dear friends, the Doctors!

napa, day 1

After over 2 hours of grueling bumper to bumper traffic on the freeway, we finally found ourselves in open country... wine country, the valley of the Napa, that is. Our good friends, I'll refer to them as "the Doctors," (both are residents at UCSF) had decided to tie the knot on this auspicious weekend at the Carneros Inn. The very first one of my best girl friends to get hitched! And I was a bridesmaid! (And I honestly say that without the least bit of sarcasm.)


This was my second trip to Napa/Sonoma counties, the first time, seeing as I was about 12 at the time, cannot fully recollect, save for my tipsy mother during several wine tastings. (Tipsy Mom is needless to say, greatly amusing.) This time though, was different. I had my boy by my side, and one of my best friends was throwing a blowout California-chic soiree. The landscape grew old after about an hour of driving through it- blazingly blue skies, miles and miles of golden grasses and hay, obsessive-compulsively orderly rows of young grapes, but lots of pretty cows, if you consider cows to be pretty animals. After a while, I started to ask myself, how do people live out here? I guess maybe all that good wine helps.



The rehearsal dinner had better-than-standard-rehearsal-dinner food, though I've really only been to one other such dinner in my whole life. This one reminded me of some sort of Calvin Klein ad, the men in their light linen suits and loafers, the women in their flower sundresses and floppy hats, pressed white tablecloths, and platters of colorful, grilled foodstuffs. Me, I was in my semi-loose-fitting dress, so I was all about the tray of ribs I spied on the buffet table.


It was very fresh, more pretty to look at than to actually devour. There was a caprese salad, Israeli cous-cous salad, grilled chicken, ribs, shrimp skewers, and mini cornbread. My ribs needed more sauce action, as along with pretty much everything else on my plate. More sauce! More salt! More seasoning! Still, it made a pretty photo op.


Dessert made my whole evening awesome. The trio of ice creams/sorbets included vanilla bean, coffee and strawberry sorbet. I forgot how good vanilla ice cream is when paired with a fresh fruit sorbet. It also helped that I was sharing a bowlful with my sweetie, making pink swirls and hearts in the melted stuff. Yea, we're sickly cute like that.



I almost forgot about the mini fruit tarts. Yea, those were good too. Very typical Napa wedding dessert though; the fresh peaches were a nice addition.

Then there was a delicious Cabernet that rounded off our evenings, along with more after dinner cocktails. Come to think of it, there was never a shortage of libations all weekend!


The Carneros Inn
4048 Sonoma Highway
Napa, CA 94559

SF, day 2

I strolled over to Mr.S's office today to meet him for lunch, al fresco. It was one of those rare, hot days in SF, almost 80 under the sun. I've been craving Mexican food often lately, probably because of all the time I've spent in China this past month, eating, well, Chinese food. Mexican food is like the complete opposite- full of melty cheese, beans, avocado, and a whole different kind of spice. (Traditional Beijingese style food actually lacks heat, using very little chili peppers.) Mr.S suggested Tlaloc, a quick spot to grab some fresh Mexican fare in the Financial District.

If you're dining in, you order at the counter, take a number, and sit either inside or outside in their dining area, and wait for your food to be delivered. The lines were long, but moved pretty quickly. The staff has this lunch crowd thing down. They had some interesting specials including a chicken burrito with pumpkin seed mole sauce, and a few options with nopales (cactus). I finally decided on the Tostada Costeña- grilled shrimp, tilapia, calamari and baby octopus, covered in adobo salsa over lettuce and a crispy tortilla ($9.95).

With a few trips to their self-serve salsa bar, we horded a small collection of mild to spicy salsas, all fresh and flavorful.

My tostada was more like a large seafood salad piled onto a small tortilla, but it was delicious; that adobo sauce gave it all a nice kick. I was surprised to see baby octopus, not that I minded, but it seemed out of place for the business lunch crowd that usually frequents this place.


Mr.S got something with the house-made chorizo, which he thought was just ok. It wasn't spicy enough for him, and hadn't been crisped up enough either.

The best part of my lunch was my watermelon agua fresca, with bits of watermelon all throughout, served over crushed ice. With the sun and spice that day, I gladly chugged it all down.


The food at Tlaloc is more Americanized Mexican food than what you'd find in the Mission, but it's fresh and spicy, and still pretty tasty. Avoid weekday lunch hours when the lines are long, and almost impossible to find a table, unless you creepily lurk behind a seated group who're almost finished. (We've all done that.) According to their menu, they're now growing their own organic vegetables in Sonoma County, so you've got to feel good about that. The eggs that they use for their breakfast menu (available only at their Berkeley location) are all organic, from free-range chickens. Not a bad deal.

I ditched the boy for dinner to be with the girls all night long for a crazy bachelorette party. Thank goodness she is a fellow lover of Mexican food, as my lunchtime meal had not really satiated my cravings. Donned in our heels, beads, tiaras, and overcoats (the temp had dropped to unbearably chilly) we marched our champagne-filled selves over to the Marina, to Mamacita, a trendy Mexican tapas bar of sorts.

Like any reliable hotspot, the music was loud and the crowds were alive. Sit at the bar, that's where the pretty people are. Well, at least that's the usual case. But it's worth cozying up to the bar to start off your evening with a couple of the margaritas...really damn good. I would stay with the classic; there was a pomegranate version that was too sweet, where we could hardly taste the Patrón. And snack on an order of the chips with salsa and guacamole.

Strangely, there was like 5 times more guac than salsa on the plate, which totally threw my snacking/dipping ratio off. The chips were nicely crunchy and salted.

Before ordering, just remember that the plates are not entrée sized; they're meant for sharing. Hence, tapas. The tacos and enchiladas arrived, 3 small homemade tortillas to a plate. The carnitas were the real crowd pleaser of the evening- slow cooked pork with corn, avocado, salsa verde, crema latina and crumbly Mexican cotija cheese. The carne asada was similar, but not as tender as the pulled pork. The mahi mahi tacos looked more like a platter of Mexican fish-and-chips, as they were made with a cornmeal-beer batter.


My Ceviche Entomatado left much to be desired. Small bits of yellowtail were marinated with mango and pico de gallo, served up in a martini glass, surrounded by chips. Seemed kind of played out to me. I remember when something like this was the "it" dish, circa 2001. The flavors were alright, but there wasn't enough fish for me to actually call this dish ceviche. The chips (for dipping in ceviche??) were a bit awkward too.


The chiles rellenos were an interesting take on the original- stuffed with black bean hummus and white pecan salsa. What are white pecans, anyway? Well, they ended up being pretty good; you can't really go wrong with a fried, stuffed jalapeño pepper (or two), covered with cheese. Mmmm.


According to the bachelorette, the dessert looked like "pudding with peanuts and strawberries." She was actually right on. It was a baked chocolate pudding with candied peanuts, caramel, dulce de leche gelato, and diced strawberries. Though not visually stunning, it was pretty tasty.


The real challenge of the evening for me was trying to remember everything I ate and take notes while taking shots of tequila, sipping one margarita after the next, and catching up with friends whom I'd not seen since college. Perhaps my judgment was slightly off, and definitely the quality of these pictures is somewhat lacking. However, I do remember raving about the food and margaritas to Mr.S the following morning, and promising to take him back for some delicious carnitas.

Most Mexican restaurants serve you up huge platters the size of sombreros filled with rice and beans, most of which is never really finished anyway. What I appreciate about Mamacita is the portion restraint, which allows all the dishes to be shared amongst friends. Definitely a trendy, modern take on Mexican fare. Most of the dishes tend to be a bit heavy, generous on the meat and sauce, so they're quite filling. Next time, I'll be sure to try the albondigas- Niman Ranch meatballs in a red mole, the jicama salad, and the churros con chocolate, those crispy fritters dipped in thick hot chocolate. Try to get there early, stake out a table or a niche at the bar, and plan on talking really really loudly over the music and fabulous crowds.