Meet Crash!

Crashlanding

It is day two with our new puppy, Crash.  We made the drive up to get him in Red Bluff yesterday.  There was some whimpering and a lot of naps on the way home.  He is no fan of being by himself, but otherwise he seems to be settling in well.  James Brown is largely disinterested in Crash.  Crash, on the other hand, is fascinated with James’ tail – and biting it.  James is not thrilled about that game (as you can see in the video link below).

He is very curious and increasingly bold as he discovers his new home.  We have high hopes as he seems a very clever fellow who has a natural instinct to fetch and is content to sit serenely and observe his surroundings (that mode not featured in the video link).

There will be more photos and video to come.  We are excited to welcome Crash into our family and into our home!

Chez Panisse

Alice Waters’ Restaurant in Berkeley has been on my list for some time, so I am excited to finally broadcast this review.  Last month my parents celebrated their wedding anniversary and happened to be in town for the occasion.  Michael and I had the pleasure of accompanying them to Chez Panisse to fête the event.  It was a lovely meal in good company.

Apértif of Proseco and Plum Purée

Antipasto of shaved zucchini with prosciutto and ricotta toast

2008 Robert Sinskey Vin Gris of Pinot Noir

Albacore tuna with capers, olives,
anchovy, roasted peppers and orecchiette

1999 Chateauneuf-du Pape, La Crau, Télégraphe

Grilled Cattail Creek Ranch lamb with
chanterelle mushrooms, wild fennel and fresh flageolet beans

Nectarine and blackberry millefoglie with zabaglione

Chez Panisse has built its reputation – and a groundswell of support for the domestic Slow Food movement – on its use of the freshest local protein and produce prepared with honesty and a devotion to the ingredients themselves.  Some might call this kind of preparation “simplistic” or “unadorned,” which it is, but it is also a great way to get reacquainted with how basic good food should taste.  You won’t find any of the complicated, time-consuming preparations or techniques you’re likely to encounter at other fine dining establishments, but that doesn’t mean you’ll come away wanting.  The evident care and effort dedicated to sourcing the best quality local ingredients is where the restaurant focuses its attentions, while the kitchen does its utmost to preserve the native, natural flavors that blossom on the plate as a result.

The downstairs restaurant (as opposed to the café dining option available upstairs) has a warm, coppery patina with a low ceiling and a wide view of the rustic kitchen and its open fire spit and grill.  The service was spot-on and the wine list featured many quirky boutique options from local California vintners as well as a fair selection of Old World wines in half bottles and by the glass.  All of the courses demonstrated the pure, bright flavors of their component pieces and, while they were not sophisticated, they combined to create a pleasant evocation of summer.  I cannot tell a lie – the tuna in my orecchiette was overcooked; possibly the result of resting a little too long under the salamander, but I found this misstep more surprising than distracting.  The lamb was perfectly cooked and well matched with the mushrooms, fennel and beans.  It was fantastic with the Chateauneuf-du-Pape (for which, I admit, I have a weakness).

We are quite spoiled in the Bay Area for good food and great restaurants, which we owe in no small measure to pioneering chefs like Ms. Waters who care about the food they serve and are staunchly dedicated to doing it in a responsible and sustainable way.  What Chez Panisse lacks in technical pizzazz, it makes up for with refreshing simplicity and honest flavors.  I look forward to going back.

Chocolate City

 

The puppies have arrived!  For those of you who haven’t yet heard the news, Michael and I have resolved to add another dog to the family.  While we dote on James Brown more than is probably healthy, we are forced to acknowledge that he will not always be with us and, in preparation for that dark day, we have decided that increasing our canine brood now may lessen the heartache – and flat-out despondency – that will seize us when the inevitable finally occurs.

 

To that end, we have arranged with a breeder up in Red Bluff to pick one of the three males of the sprawling litter of eleven (3 males, 8 females) featured above.  Have you ever seen so much adorable in one place?  I am dubious that you have.

More updates to come as things progress.  For the time being mother (“Foxy”) and puppies are doing fine and thriving.  James Brown won’t know what hit him.

Cyrus

It’s been a while since the last post, but I have to say I think it was worth the wait.  Michael and I dined at Cyrus in Healdsburg last night along with two charming dinner companions visiting from Boulder, Colorado.  You know the drill.  Full menu followed by commentary.  Enjoy!  We certainly did!

Those are some happy campers!

~ Cyrus ~

May 17, 2009

Champagne & Caviar
California Select, Farm Raised White Sturgeon with Traditional Accoutrements
Chateau Jean Vesselle “But Rosé – Oeil de Perdrix”, Bouzy, France
~
Canapés
Five Flavors
Salty – Sous Vide Cucumber
Sweet – Guava Mouse with Mint Gelée
Bitter – Grilled Grapefruit
Sour – Sudachi Marshmallow
Umami – Shitake and Sushi Rice Fritter
Vin Gris de Pinot Noir
~
Amuse Bouche
Kampachi Sashimi with Ocean Vegetables
~
Thai Marinated Lobster with Avocado, Mango
and Hearts of Palm
Riesling, Dönnhoff “Grosses Gewächs Dellchen”, Nahe, Germany 2007
~
Foie Gras Torchon with Tamarind and Dates
Grasberg, Marcel Deiss, Alsace, France 2002
~
Soft Shell Crab with Corn and Scallions, Sauce Billi-Bi
Chardonnay, Rouchiou “River Block”, Russian River Valley 2007
~
Duck Breast with Bok Choy and Asparagus, Sesame- Shao Xing Sauce
Pinot Noir, Littorai “The Haven”, Sonoma Coast 2006
~
Wagyu Beef with Burdock and Shiso, Oxtail Umeshu Consommé
Sagrantino di Montefalco, Paulo Bea “Pagliaro”, Umbria, Italy 2004
~
Artisanal and Farmhouse Cheeses
Kapcsándy Family Winery “State Lane Vineyard”, Napa Valley 2005
~
Verjus Sorbet, Blood Orange Riesling Soup with Crystallized Picholine Olives
Riesling Spätlese, Robert Weil “Kiedricher Graferberg”, Rheingau, Germany 2006
~
Strawberry Rhubarb Bread Pudding
~
Mignardises
House-made chocolates and candy

Yesterday was a scorcher in the Bay Area and wine country was no exception.  We arrived 20 minutes in advance of our reservation and were promptly shown to a table in the bar to refresh ourselves before dinner.  The Cyrus bar serves a traditional mint julep – crushed ice, frosted silver julep cup and all – and, while I did not partake, it did appear to be particularly thirst quenching on a hot spring night.  The ambiance of the restaurant is refined – as one would expect – but relaxed enough to put one at ease.  Patrons used their normal speaking voices and chuckled to each other without the keen sense of being overheard that sometimes accompanies these fine dining experiences.  A welcome relief.  The more wine I drink, the harder it is to whisper.

The décor is simple, but luxe.  Columns of bone-white lilies atop rigid stems four feet tall were stationed at strategic intervals around the main dining room which was otherwise a calming combination of gold and ivory.  Textured white china and Laguiole knives.  Tables are placed at a comfortable distance from each other – close enough to feel sociable, but far enough apart to feel airy.  The staff was friendly, accommodating and jocular, which is crucial as the wine list is a tome and boasts many hard-to-find and limited release offerings about which our servers had much to say.  I had only a limited sampling of the wine pairings on offer.  None were outstanding, but all were good.  In addition to their standard pairings, the restaurant offers a “Grand” pairing of dinstinguished treasures.  I will certainly have the “Grand” the next time around.

The food was very, very good.  The lobster course was the best executed overall in my opinion, though the soft shell crab was a favorite of the table.  The foie with tamarind reduction and dates was served with miniature oven-warm naan.  Warm bread is always a good bet (even on a hot night).  The wagyu beef was more marbling than meat and a rare treat for that reason.  My favorite dessert component was the plank of picholine olive brittle propped against the verjus sorbet – perfectly crisp, salty and sweet and with just enough give in the flecks of olive to keep it from cracking apart.

Chef Douglas Keane just won the 2009 James Beard Foundation Award for Best Chef in the Pacific region.  He is one to watch.  I like that his tasting menus are at most seven courses.  I also celebrate the fact that you can have an entirely vegetarian tasting menu.  I wasn’t brave enough to try it this time out, but I would  be very tempted to go veggie on the next round - particularly in spring.  Diners also have the option of a less daunting five course alternative.  Part of me felt a little disappointed that we only had the two “meat” courses, but most of me was relieved not to relive the labored breathing and “food sweats” that so often follow a 10 or 12 course meal.  I think seven courses is just right.  I was sated after the meal, but not uncomfortably so.  Happily, you’ll also notice that fewer courses translates to lighter bill at the end of the evening. 

It was a meal to remember and, for those of you keeping score at home, on food alone I’d rate it above Tetsuya’s but below The French Laundry.  That said, we got a booking without any trouble at all and it didn’t require a transoceanic voyage, so if you’re after a truly special meal without a lot of fuss and within driving distance, Cyrus has what you’re looking for.

More at http://cyrusrestaurant.com/

This Food Is Haunted

I have just come this evening from the Twilight Zone, from the Land That Time Forgot.  There is a time capsule of a restaurant – a shrine to the color mauve – within a mile of our house that remained, until tonight, undiscovered.

We dined this evening in a place beyond description – a chapel bathed in silk damask, with a thirty-foot ceiling and a four-piece band.  This is the dining room scene they edited out of “The Shining.”  This is the last vestige of the mediocre country club meals of which I never had the mostly qualified privilege to partake and never had the stomach to imagine.  This is where the 1960s Milwaukee mob goes to celebrate after a big heist.

I am at once horrified and delighted to report that such a place exists.  That it exists within a mile of my house prompts similar ambivalence.  This place sets out real silver and gilded plates for two seatings a night in a dining room of delectable irony of which the management is stubbornly unaware.

They stop short of doilies, but only just.

If you ever wondered what happened to Sole Meunière and Steak Diane, wonder no more, for these throw-backs survive in geriatric splendor at a restaurant called “Chantilly.”  If you’re willing to bump elbows with patrons 50 years your senior eating cuisine of a similar era, you too can stare agape at the six-foot flower arrangement – bristling with gladiolas – that dominates the room.  I didn’t fully grasp the meaning of the word “milquetoast” until tonight.  It is a triumphant and unsettling spectacle of mediocrity.

The entire experience is devoid of imagination – everything about it had been done, and done better.  The food is as musty as the 70-year-old four-tops around you, and, but for a three-generation-family celebrating the birthday of a 13-year-old the spitting image of the Beave, we would have been the youngest people in there by leagues.

The food is, frankly, abysmal, but if you, like I, celebrate the strange and unusual – relics that defy the odds – you will make it a point to see it for yourself.

Go there (but do not eat anything).  They have a full bar, which is the strategy I would recommend.  I am sure – with a certainty approaching fact – that the kitchen is whittling down overstock from the 80s, but these past few hours spent in a freakish David Lynch snow globe has inspired in me a gratitude and appreciation for our current reality that I would not have imagined possible.

Buttons Are Scary

Spooky as Hell

This is my recommendation for “Coraline,” the 3-D stop-motion animated quasi-kids’ movie directed by Henry Selick, whom you may remember from “The Nightmare Before Christmas.”  Firstly, I am now wondering why more movies aren’t in 3-D, as in all of them.  Secondly, who knew buttons could be so scary?  (As if I needed something else to add to that list.)  The real thrust of this film is the visual effect of the dark and dream-like fantasy world conjured by young Coraline’s imagination.  It is half Dr. Seuss and half “Pan’s Labyrinth” embroidered with delicious details that jump right off the screen.  If you miss it in the theater, I predict you won’t be wowed by the at-home version.  Also, the Buddy Holly-framed 3-D glasses make a nifty souvenir.

I wouldn’t put this movie squarely within any “children’s movie” designation; it includes some grown-up themes and narrow-escape situations that young children might not appreciate (unless they already spend a lot of time feeling marginalized and fantasizing about replacing their parents with upgraded facsimiles who have buttons-for-eyes).  Coraline is a little girl largely neglected by her work-weary parents who, in exploring the sprawling Victorian manse that has now become her home, discovers a secret door leading to – you guessed it – a fairytale.  Of course, as with all things, this fairytale is flimsy and masks some deeply unseemly conduct by a domineering matriarch in the making.  Coraline’s supporting characters in this adventure vary from the anthropomorphic to the scantily-clad and each contributes significantly if not necessarily meaningfully.

The movie is an eye-full of rich detail and impressive animation. So much for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.  There is a new show in town.

I recommend you see it and start planning your Coraline Halloween costume now.

You’ll NeverWalk Alone

It turns out that, despite previous assurances to the contrary, I was unable to orchestrate a holiday-themed photo op for James Brown this year.  Having scoured the local pet store and drug store offerings, the best I could find was a striped elf hat (replete with ears!) which, sadly, involved a complicated and unsubtle seating apparatus VERY unpopular with the canine participant.  After several failed attempts and much whining, cajoling and petulance (by all involved), the enterprise was abandoned in its entirety.  We will clearly need a better plan for next year.

I offer instead photo-documentation of an important New Year’s revelation in the Reynolds-Knighten household.

Traitors Among Us

It seems that all occupants have now declared their 2009 EPL allegiances.  The final tally is Liverpool -2, Tottenham – 1.  To which my response is 1) it’s (cheap and) easy to root for the league front runners, and 2) I’m not naming names, but somebody’s a bad dog.

Happy New Year and go the Spur!

Go the Spur!

Supermarket Trolley Dash

I promise to get something holiday-appropriate up soon.  We are canvassing local pet stores.  James Brown will not make it through the Christmas season without being festooned with something jolly for your viewing pleasure.  Stay tuned.

The unsung art of understatement

 

 Until then, chew on this next post – another issue in a series I like to call “Why It’s Hard Being Me.”

 

 I concede from the get-go that I have more than my fair share of idiosyncrasies and a (hopefully endearing) brand of quirky “charm.”  In general, I like to think I keep most of the crazy under wraps from day-to-day.  I do acknowledge there are flare-ups that, while few and far between, are always entertaining.  I live to serve, so here you go.

 

I’ve noticed of late that my usual compulsions and preoccupations have become exaggerated as I age.  More frightening still is the revelation that I seem to have overcome my long-standing aversion to talking to strangers.  It has turned out to be an unfortunate confluence of events.

 

I was at the grocery store a couple weeks back stocking up on those boring but essential household items that seem to demand an ever-increasing supply of my attention.  Piling boxes of Kleenex into my cart, I encountered a bit of a hiccup.  My local Safeway-turned-Lucky “super”market had only seen fit to provide three suitably non-descript grey boxes of Kleenex.  I mined the depths of the options on offer but to no avail.  There were green boxes, blue boxes, boxes with kittens, boxes with dolphins, boxes intended to suggest you were walking through a forest at dawn and, finally, a hideous mauve misfire encased in a bizarre ivy overlay that I will have nightmares about forever.  Aside from the three acceptable instances already in my cart, there was not a single alternative sitting on the shelf that I would consider bringing into my home for reasons that I maintain are obvious.

 

And before you bother suggesting that I buy some other color (or heaven forfend another brand), allow me to explain how buying Kleenex works in my world.  It is a complex and many-tiered decision tree that I’ve developed over years of dedicated tissue consumption – really another post for another time – the quintessence of which is 1) I only buy boxes of Kleenex with acceptably subtle décor (usually grey), 2) I only buy boxes of Kleenex in even numbers, and 3) I always buy boxes of Kleenex myself because, well, if you want something done right…

 

So I’m standing in the household aisle looking from my three boxes of “good” Kleenex back to the 3’x5’x3’ shelf of nothing but “bad” Kleenex and wondering what my next play will be, when I notice a gentleman idly pushing his cart past the paper towels and BAM! Orange-off spray as he steadily approaches my location.  More importantly, I notice the grey box of Kleenex nestled in the bottom of his cart.  I wonder whether this man might be willing to entertain the notion of a Kleenex exchange and I select a relatively non-objectionable (but decidedly unacceptable) box from the shelf in front of me.  I want to say it had stripes and mini Christmas lights on it, but I can’t be sure since things started happening pretty fast after that.

 

By this point the man with the cart sees me watching him and gives me the kind of acknowledgement that leads me to conclude that this may become a more lengthy exchange than I’m willing to endure, but I’m stymied by the prospect of having to return one perfectly reasonable box of Kleenex to the shelf so that I can leave the store with an even number of boxes and my sanity (irony intentional).  As I’m running the cost-benefit analysis of engaging this man in conversation in the hopes of commandeering his Kleenex, he reaches speaking range and gives me a barely imperceptible nod, as if to say “You’ve been staring at me for a while now.”  At this juncture I still have it in my power to redeem myself and get out of there with Kleenex in hand by responding with any of the following:

 

“How do you feel about blue boxes of Kleenex?”

“You look like a sailboat kind of guy.”

(A nautical-themed box being crucial for this purpose)

“I’m hoping for a Christmas miracle and you can be the architect.”

 

What I actually said was:

 

“This is not weird for the reason you think it is.”

 

To his credit, the guy did not even slow down.  He looked at me appraisingly as he passed, but by now just to satisfy himself that I was unarmed.

 

I went home that day chuckling to myself with two grey boxes of Kleenex and a fresh reminder of why it can sometimes be so hard to be me.

Pardon me, is that the Ford Nepotism you’re driving?

I recently had the qualified privilege of viewing the most recent Bond movie, “Quantum of Solace.” For those of you who have seen the less than stellar reviews, I have to say it was better than I thought it would be. If you approach the experience with lowered expectations, you may be pleasantly surprised. I was encouraged to discover that Daniel Craig is less of an awkward fit as Bond than he seemed to me to be in the last film, but I nearly blew a gasket over this fresh onslaught of rampant product-placement by Ford.

Ford Edge

And so here it comes – my latest rant.

 

James Bond would never drive a modern Ford. I am personally insulted by the suggestion that he would. And he would certainly never stick with Ford across two installments of a revered cinema franchise. For starters, he’s British (and those people are fickle). More importantly, Ford makes a mediocre car and – say what you will about 007 – the man does not go in for mediocre (or, rather, didn’t until now). And, before everyone gets all up in arms defending Ford’s proud American heritage and their many (if aging) accomplishments, I am just as big a fan of vintage Ford models as a right-minded person should be. They just haven’t rolled out anything decent lately (including their ubiquitous and ham-handed promos).

64 Mustang from Goldfinger

I really struggled to keep an open mind about this, but ultimately decided that even if I were to accept – only for a moment and only for argument’s sake – that Bond might accidentally find his way into a Ford – meaning that he murdered some poor shmo and made off with his ride – it would still have to be a Mustang and it would STILL have to be minted before 1979.

 

 

Which really begs the question – what the hell happened?

 

I am neither sympathetic to nor willing to accept the theory that in these prequel films Bond has yet to “grow into” his trademark style. You either have taste or you don’t, and I have serious doubts about the undiscerning eye of the movie executive who gave this tie-in the green light. Even putting pure style aside – again merely for argument’s sake – Ford isn’t a frontrunner in any of the categories that could conceivably matter – technology, fuel efficiency, speed, endurance, longevity, craftsmanship, ergonomics; frankly unless he needed an F-350 to tow an airplane, Ford is nowhere near the list of potential Bond-appropriate conveyances. And to those who would suggest that the make and model of the car Bond drives is of little or no consequence, I welcome you to return to the rock under which you have been living and send you along with a friendly admonition to be mindful what you say and to whom you say it.

67 Shelby GT500 "Eleanor"

So vehement are my feelings on this topic (and so free, it would seem, is my time), that I devoted an hour to researching an appropriate focus for my limitless rage. The product of which is the discovery that I need look no further than one of the oldest tricks of the trade. A time-worn practice so entrenched in human history that it hardly requires explanation. Not the oldest profession, mind you, but close.

“Ford has had a long-standing relationship with the Bond movies since Henry Ford II brokered the deal with Albert “Cubby” Broccoli to showcase the ’64½ Ford Mustang convertible in “Goldfinger,” says Uzielli, senior advisor to Ford Global Brand Entertainment, who is also the grandson of Henry Ford II. But he hastens to stress that regardless of that relationship, the vehicles chosen to appear in the Bond films are selected solely based on their suitability for the role.”

 

I’m sure that’s true and Mr. Uzielli shouldn’t feel the need to defend himself.

 

“If we didn’t have the right cars, the relationship wouldn’t mean anything,” he said. “They are very particular about the way their brand is perceived, and they would never force fit a vehicle in that didn’t work.”

Except that he seems compelled to do so (while lying through his teeth).

 

And so, with that revelation, I find myself strangely placated by the knowledge that the world still works in the rational, if disappointing, fashion it always has. Who am I to question the horse trading and credit swaps that occur among the big men who make the decisions that matter, except to leave you with the following plucked verbatim from the media offerings at ford.com.

 

“For the third straight year, Ford topped all other brands (not just automotive) to win brandchannel.com’s 2008 brandcameo Award for Overall Product Placement, appearing in 30 of the 52 number one films at the U.S. box office from Jan. 1, 2007 through June 30, 2008. Ford also won the Scene Stealer Award, given to the brand that took the spotlight from its human co-stars, for the placement of the Ford Mustang in the 2007 hit “I am Legend.”

 

Thank you, Ford, for doing your part to ruin the things I love.

Zoom Zoom

 

This is my first blog post since returning to the Bay Area from Sydney last Saturday.  It has been a BIG week. 

 

On Tuesday I bought a brand new car – my first new car – and the current light of my life, a Mazda CX-7.  It is super fun to drive and much zippier than the 4Runner I used to have.  Highlights include a turbo-charged engine, keyless entry, navigation and integrated Bluetooth piped through a Bose sound system.  Not too shabby.  Also, market pressures being what they are, I got what I consider a pretty killer deal from a nice young salesman who gave me $500 off to compensate for a persistent aesthetic quibble I had in relation to a misconceived “racing stripe” emblazoned down the center of each seat.  I haven’t slept in the house since I bought it.  My pet name for her is “Maeve” (short for “Maven” – because I swear there is nothing that car can’t do).  I’m pretty sure it’ll do my taxes.  Details at http://tinyurl.com/p69oe.

 

On Wednesday I started my new job as Corporate Counsel for Accuray Incorporated.  Details at http://accuray.com/.  Thus far it appears to have the potential to be a winner.  Being the over-achiever that I am, I have already distinguished myself by losing my security badge.  The IT department has since given me a lanyard to wear around my neck, because I clearly cannot be trusted with the standard-issue belt clip.  I’m pretty sure I saw the guy write something on his clipboard too, so I’m probably on his “special needs” watch list.  Couldn’t hurt.

 

I have to say it feels good to be home and, if I had to guess based on the unseasonably warm and glorious weather we’re having, I’d say the Bay Area feels the same way.  We’ve moved right back into the same house we had before we left for Australia – Michael appears to have some Jedi-like mind control over our landlady – which means the move back has been a gazillion times easier than our move to Oz.  James doesn’t even remember that he hasn’t always lived here.  Despite having packed and delivered the boxes months ago, the balance of our things only left Sydney last week, which means they’ll arrive sometime after Christmas – a small price to pay in my opinion.  I will say I miss my morning flat white; bizarre as it seems my regular latte just doesn’t satisfy like it used to.  Props to Manny and Selene of Bar Serena in the Menzies Concourse above Wynyard station.  I hope you’re both doing well.

 

Stay tuned for more rants, musings and miscellany as we organize ourselves and remember what it’s like to have monochromatic money.