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.

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.

 

A Righteous Spider Battle

For those of you who may one day find yourselves preparing to engage in a righteous spider battle (the parameters establishing any such battle as “righteous,” naturally being 1) the spider is in your domicile, and 2) the spider is of sufficient size, toxicity, and/or fang to give you the howling fantods and disable your ability to think rationally).  If you should ever find yourself in this situation (i.e., you are in Australia), it may interest you to know that, after much panicked deliberation and failed experimentation, Michael and I have determined that you will need the following battle armaments:

1 shoe (the heavier the better)

1 inverted plastic bowl (for trapping your foe or wearing as protective head gear)

1 Solid Gold Reggae’s Greatest Hits album (I leave to you the decision as to which volume in the series you might like to sacrifice – if volume 1 was any indication, you can probably afford to lose the bunch)

1 iPhone (which you will use to research whether the spider in question is, in fact, lethal, in which instance you will abort your battle preparations and simply move)

 

Ideally, you approach the spider from a safe distance and simultaneously slip the album beneath it while covering it with the plastic bowl (leaving your head unprotected to attack from above – so you’d better be sure you’re just dealing with the one spider).  Once the target is securely encapsulated, you can release it back outside into the vast spidery wilderness.  The shoe is really just part of a (self-evident) contingency plan code named “Playground” because if you are unsuccessful in your attempt to corral the target, you should be prepared for all observers present to shriek and scatter as you might imagine a gaggle of school children would do if you were to walk into the middle of a play ground at recess and shout “SPIDER!”  Once you’re in plan Playground, you’ll know what to do.

 

And that concludes today’s public service announcement.  May you never have cause to need a Solid Gold Reggae’s Greatest Hits album (because, despite the title, it is actually not “solid gold” or very great – except, of course, for battling spiders).

The More You Know (aka How to Win Delegates in Guam)

 

Guam is receiving some unexpected media attention of late.  It seems that Senator Obama has opened a campaign office in Hagåtña, Guam’s capital “city,” in an effort to woo Guam’s eight Democratic delegates.  The Guam caucus is as unnecessarily complex as the rest of the Democratic nominating process, so I won’t bore you with the gory details.  I do note that each of Guam’s eight delegates has one-half of a vote, which I find curious.  More importantly, Guam does not have any electoral votes in presidential elections.  Hmm.  Seems to me – and I can say this because I’m from Guam – a whole lot of fuss about nothing.

 The funniest part of the news coverage I’m seeing is that a goodly amount of time is dedicated in each instance to explaining to people what Guam is, where it is, and the fact that it is a territory of the United States.  Now, to be fair, I don’t know the names of half the fly-over states – I think there’s an “Arkantucky” in there somewhere – so I can hardly blame people for not searching out the island.  It is small and it is in the middle of nowhere.  What is especially ticklish to me is that, with no other real issues on which to focus, both Obama and Clinton are trying to win over Guam delegates with confident assertions that they know where the island is.  This from the Wall Street Journal:

“Senator Clinton and her husband are reminding voters about their multiple visits to Guam during stopovers on presidential trips to Asia in the 1990s.”

“Senator Obama is pointing to his upbringing in Hawaii and Indonesia, saying, ‘I learned firsthand about the unique issues facing Pacific island communities.’”

While I agree that Guam is surely starved for national media attention and unaccustomed to making decisions that affect the country, I’d like to think the candidates could do a little better than that.

 Words of advice to Obama’s campaign – go ahead and close the campaign office.  While I have respect for his campaign’s groundswell of grass-roots activism, that is not how you win an election on Guam.  What you need to do is take whatever funding you allocated to print flyers and make buttons, and spend it on a giant fiesta.  If you want to make an impression on Guam, you have a fiesta – the bigger the better.  A fiesta is basically a big party – heavy on food and beer, Budweiser being the perennial libation of choice – and, generally, on a large enough scale that the correlation between invitees and attendees cannot be feasibly managed.  If one of the candidates figures this out, they will indubitably be the delegate of choice on the island and the proud owner of all eight one-half votes.  Call me crazy, but I’m from Guam and odds are you don’t even know where it is.

Notions

As some of you may have noted, it has been a while since my last post.  What can I say?  It turns out I am not as interesting as I’d hoped (but you’ve probably figured that out).

Here’s a stream of consciousness survey of what I’ve been up to lately.

iPhone – Michael bought me an iPhone, which is great.  I wouldn’t have predicted that I’d be so “geeked out” over it, but it really is super cool.  I am still exploring its surprisingly handy features and investigating potential web apps.  Good stuff. 

Movies – None to speak of really.  Hollywood needs to get on the ball.  I can’t remember the last time I was excited to see a movie in the theater.  Incidentally, Word is telling me that “theater” is misspelled and that I actually meant to type “theatre,” which, in fact, I did not.  Sometimes Word is a little too big for its britches.  No one uses the copyright symbol as often as Word thinks you want to.  Okay, that wasn’t so much about movies…my bad.  Now you see why it can sometimes be so long between posts.  I’m really doing you all a giant favor (without a “u” despite what Australian Word thinks).

Books - Currently reading “Watership Down,” which I never expected to be about rabbits, much less a “Lord of the Rings” type quest by rabbits.  Certainly interesting, but according to the headlining review on the cover it should be undertaken by “anyone who can read English.”  Seems like a bit of an overstatement to me.  Moving on to “Harrington on Hold’em” next, which, hopefully, will provide lessons with more practical application.  One of the guys Michael works with is in Vegas and he and his girlfriend stumbled upon a bunch of world-class poker players in the wild – Brunson, Ivey, Negreanu, Jennifer Harman Traniello.  Pretty cool.

Weather – Rain with a chance of more rain.

Restaurants – North Bondi Italian is officially on my shortlist of favorite Sydney restaurants.  We’ve been twice now and their fried calamari with fried herbs (mint/sage) and zucchini is a crowd-pleaser.  The restaurant itself is in a great location overlooking Bondi beach, though the acoustics are awful and you have to shout to be heard as a rule.  Not the place to go for a quiet or intimate meal, but if you don’t mind a little noise, a bit of a crowd and a potentially long wait (they don’t take reservations), the food is well worth it.  I have a special place in my heart for a restaurant that regularly features an “offal” section on the menu.  Not just a single offal offering, but a selection.  I can recommend the stuffed trotters – veddy nice.   

Poker – Played in the weekly free hold’em tournament at the Paddington RSL last week, which taught me that pocket 4s are fraught with peril.  Sadly, that is the best hand I saw all night.  Early on it cost me dearly, but turned up again late in the game to save me when my stack had dwindled down to embarrassing proportions. 

And that’s about the sum of it.  I bet now you’re sorry you asked.

Maybe I Am Crazy (or It’s the Vast Conspiracy I Suspected All Along)

For those of you who don’t know me very well – I wonder why you’re reading my blog – also, you may not know that I am a ranter.  That is, I am prone to unload, without notice or provocation, painstakingly-crafted, long-festering rants about things that annoy me and which I feel ought to annoy others (unsolicited rants, naturally being expressly excluded from the aforementioned rant-worthy topics).

Here is the latest.

I have, since moving to Sydney, developed the opinion – whether well-founded or not – that the shopping carts here (known as “trolleys”) are chronically wonky.  Every time I go to the grocery store, I have a shopping cart that refuses to roll true.  It consistently careens off course and drifts left, always left, of my desired path, so that I continually have to throw my weight to the right to counteract the cart’s inborn drive to go askew.  I have to literally fight these carts up and down every aisle of the grocery store, swearing under my breath, unintentionally ramming into the carts of fellow shoppers (sometimes the shoppers themselves) and stacks of dry goods and sundries as I slowly carve a serpentine swath of desperation through my local supermarket.  Now, you might be thinking – and Michael would agree with you – that perhaps I have simply had the misfortune of selecting wonky shopping carts on all my shopping excursions, to which I reply -

“Every time?!?!  Really?!?!  What are the odds of that happening?  Whatever they are, they are not good. Unless…that’s right…they are all like that.”

Also, I frequently see other shoppers wrestling with their trolleys or pushing them along with an unnatural cantilevered stride – jaw clenched, elbows locked, eye twitching – that suggests they have simply adapted their behaviour to accommodate the wonkiness.  That being the case, I have for some time now wondered why this isn’t an issue of national importance.  Why am I not forced to cross picket lines of soccer moms (“football mums?”) with signs protesting the perpetual wonkiness of their trolleys?  Well, to that end, I today decided to google “Australia supermarket trolleys fail to go straight” and similar collections of synonyms.  To my shock, the results were sparse and largely nonsensical.

So maybe I am crazy.  Frankly, if that’s the answer, it’s kind of a relief.  If I’m crazy, I guess I can stop worrying about wonky carts and the rest of it.

Phew!

Stay tuned.  The next rant is never far off.

Juno the Kind I Mean

Every once in a while you encounter a creative work or experience that restores (or reinforces, depending on your particular state of mind) your faith in humanity and reminds you how much you like people.  “Juno” is that kind of movie.  I cannot recommend it highly enough. 

Juno has been compared by many to “Little Miss Sunshine,” a fellow Sundance favorite.  It’s a fair comparison insofar as both films are quirky, showcase impressive performances by burgeoning talent, and are, thankfully, not your average large production fare.  The principal distinguishing factor is that Juno is superior by far.   

The premise isn’t new – “A comedy about growing up…and the bumps along the way” – but the presentation is refreshingly matter-of-fact and the acting is so natural, that the result is an unqualified pleasure.  Ellen Page, who plays high-schooler Juno, gives what appears to be an effortless performance and delivers sophisticated dialogue with a frankness that makes it impressively believable.  Page delivers a spot-on performance that is a ticklish mix of suburban slacker and cherubim.  There are also very strong performances from her supporting cast – a collection of friends and family who are as endearing as they are unconventional. 

Go see it.  You’ll be glad you did.

Bjork (aka “Byerk”)

Michael and I went to see Bjork perform at an outdoor concert at the Sydney Opera House this week.  Possibly the best show I’ve seen (of course, I haven’t been to many, so make of that what you will).  There were bats and fireworks!  To be fair, the bats are just part of the usual scenery, but the fireworks were ordered up especially for Bjork.  Pretty neat. 

Bjork was her usual weird self.  She stomped onto stage with a cortege of all female horn players dressed in rainbow costumes with flags mounted on their shoulders.  Bjork herself wore an exaggerated version of the worst 80s prom dress you ever saw fashioned out of a bouncier version of aluminium foil.  Somehow I think that is what passes for “normal” in her wardrobe.  Sadly, I have no photos to offer as we were instructed “per the artist’s request” to refrain from photography of any kind during the show (more importantly, I am too old to be engaged in any sort of altercation with burly security guards). 

She did a good job of playing the popular songs from her back-catalogue, with a few new numbers thrown in.  While her voice is beginning to show the strain of her years, she strutted about in a herky-jerky interpretive dance with no obvious effort.  What I really love about Bjork, and what I particularly enjoyed while watching her live, is that you get the distinct impression that she behaves the same way in front of a thousand people as she would singing to herself at full volume while brushing her teeth at home in front of the bathroom mirror.  I have to respect that kind of abandon. 

A great show from a singular performer.