Travels with Penelope

Page 9 of 14

October 27, 2014 Pittsburgh’s Strip

It rained early on my second morning in Pittsburgh, lightly but enough to give everything a good cleansing. I jumped up and down for joy, until I realized I was not in California home of the worst drought in 500 years. Coming from the Golden State, the green hills here seem outrageous. With water, water everywhere I did not feel guilty about running it when brushing my teeth. I’ve gotten a lot of questions from Pittsburghers about the drought. My only answer is, it’s time to bring out the drums, do the rain dance and hope that the goddess of rain smiles on us.

After breakfast the rain cleared; humidity set in and the gray-coated sky provided the perfect backdrop for Pittsburgh’s hills edged with its ubiquitous red brick houses and rivers whose yellow bridges line up like giant tinker toys against the mud-brown waters. The weather boded well for our plans to visit the Strip, and St. Anthony’s Church.

We would forgo the Andy Warhol Museum as we had visited it on previous trips. If for nothing else, the Warhol is a great read on his life and work and a reason to come to Pittsburgh. The Pittsburgh art scene continues to burgeon through other venues including The Miller Gallery at CMU, Pittsburgh Center for the Arts, Pittsburgh Glass Center, Pittsburgh Filmmakers and SPACE Gallery.

In spite of its provocative name, the Strip is just that: a half-mile strip of land sandwiched between the Allegheny River and a mountain-like hill. Warehouses lined with truckers picking up and delivering goods, a flower mart, and various industrial suppliers flank its side streets. A jumble of eateries, coffee houses and roasters, specialty groceries, bakeries, and a plethora of ethnic food stalls crawl along Penn Ave. catering to every known craving: kielbasa, pierogis, banh mi, pasta, and tacos, etc. simply presented, and cheaply priced.

It’s not a Church!

It’s an Altar Bar!

I approached a stand where workmen were lined up for sandwiches. “Vietnamese?” I inquired. A customer replied, “I don’t know, but they’re awfully good. I come here all the time.” The Vietnamese woman behind the stand, famous for her sandwiches replied, “Yes, they are Vietnamese.” The Strip as a great spot for street food, just may be the Hanoi of America.

Banh mi in disguise.

My partner hungered for one of Primanti’s signature sandwiches. Fried sardines, tomatoes, pickles, onions, cheese and yes French fries slathered in mayo and mustard, squeezed between two slabs of bread large enough to feed a Steeler, filled the bill.

I did not inhale.

From the Strip we ubered to St. Anthony’s Church a museum of sorts in that it houses the largest relic collection in the world. “What is a relic?” An object that has survived from an earlier time of course, in this case, religious relics such as pieces of clothing, bones, drops of blood, ashes, or the personal affects of saints or venerated persons. Corporal memorials – they are saved for remembering and honoring a highly regarded being.

In 1880 Father Mollinger from a wealthy Belgian family, the pastor of Most Holy Name of Jesus Church initated the construction of a chapel to house his collection of relics. In his lifetime, thousands of people made their way to the chapel to receive his blessing and the relic of St. Anthony. Mollinger’s 5000 relic collection has been housed in the church for over a hundred years. They had been venerated in Europe previous to their transport to St. Anthony’s. Documents verify their authenticity. Included in the collection: a splinter from the True Cross, a thorn from the Crown of Thorns and a piece of stone from the Holy Sepulchre and many relics of first class saints.

Father Mollinger spent over $300,000 to provide the chapel located on Troy Hill on Pittsburgh’s North Side. When he died unexpectedly and having left no will, the Church acquired the title to the chapel. The Bishop settled with the family heirs for $30,000, a pittance of the original cost. At the time, the struggling parishioners of St. Anthony’s eventually raised the $30,000 to repay the Bishop.

Photos are not allowed inside the church.

My thought was that if the relics truly were the survivors of so many elevated and even enlightened beings, with 5000 pooled in the same room, the energy would be overwhelming. I anticipated the possibility of levitating and gliding through the church. My illusion was met by the silence of a morgue-like museum of unrecognizable bits and pieces of people from another time and age. I don’t want to be disrespectful, but I cannot deny my skeptical response to the idea of housing scraps from 5000 deceased humans in one room. What purpose do they serve save to placate our attachments and emotional needs? In some cultures, such as the Native American and in India, open-air cremations are allowed in which the fire consumes all traces of a body and releases the ashes back into the cosmos. My own father’s memorial card read, “Do not weep for me, in death I now surround you”. If you are reading this, I would be most interested in your thoughts.

Pittsburgh’s two trams up Mt. Washington have been running since the 1800s when they were originally constructed to transport steel. With the steel industry all but shut down today, they transport people up to the mountain-top where a bevy of restaurants lays waiting. Instead of using the tram, we treked up the mountain with Uber. We would dine at Altious with its unparalleled view of the Golden Triangle.

October 21, 2014 More to Pittsburgh than the Steelers

October 23, 2014 / penelopeshackelford / 0 Comments

More to Pittsburgh than the Steelers?

When we arrived in Pittsburgh, disembarked our plane and walked into the terminal an auspicious greeter waited. Just as I am about to head down the escalator to baggage claim I spot him: Franco O’Harris a Steeler famous for his Immaculate Reception! Steerlers galore, but and here’s the interesting thing, George Washington stood next to him. Two famous historical characters from venues miles apart, though George Washington is a bit more famous. Outside of Pittsburgh, of course.

Pittsburgh is brimming with history; its citizens are proud of the relationship with our first president, and sports, (Pirates, Penguins and Steelers) does reign supreme as one of the greeters indicated, but there is far more to this most friendly of all cities.

At the moment I am sitting in the William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh surrounded by the opulent design of a former time. There is no way I want to wallow in opulence, yet the Penn provides me with the comfort I need in this moment. A dated, but finely appointed lobby with comfy chairs, oversized sofas, bordered by restaurants, a bar, and a workout room, I am home for the next few days.

My gratitude goes to Henry Clay Frick the industrialist who ran up a six million dollar tab in 1916 to build the hotel. He intended to bring a hotel to Pittsburgh that would rival the great, grand, old world style hotels in Europe. To this day, the Penn remains what Frick envisioned: a grand old hotel.

The pilgrimage to the steel city is truly a trip down memory lane. My life on this planet began on Pittsburgh’s North side in St John’s Hospital. The Sisters of Divine Providence were there, an omen for my future, assisting my mother with her long, laborious labor. I learned only today that the hospital was torn down ten years ago for, of course, a development.

Born and bred here for my first seven years established such a deep connection I will forever remain Penelope from Pittsburgh, PA. Today, while strolling around the city, I felt a root running from the soles of my feet deep into the terra below. The city felt inherently familiar and familial. As I walked its streets, bridges, hills, caught the aromas of the rivers, and heard words like babushka, you-ins, washroom rather than restroom some of the local lingo, old memories lurking in the recesses began to come forward and the bond I have with the city reawakened.

I came to Pittsburgh to accompany my partner to a conference. As soon as the plane landed, the ghosts of the ancestors began to shadow me, filling my thoughts and pulling on my emotions. Last night they haunted my dreams as I slumbered. I have no family left, I am alone in a familiar land, but the old hotel like visiting Grandma’s house offers solace, a protective place to come in out of the rain and nurse recollections.

When it opened the Pittsburgh Gazette described the Penn as “A house of a thousand guest rooms, without the need of candles, which after months of tireless energy, the employment of every known art and craft, the calling service of every ingenuity of man, is now a fact for Pittsburgh, and as such, is not only a magnificent illustration of the enterprise of Pittsburgh men, but its opening is an epoch in the history of this city as a community, …” How wonderful that even the building of the furniture was farmed out to local craftsmen.

To this day, the Palm Court lobby with walnut pillars, green Italian marble floors, a resplendent ceiling reputedly copied from the French Palace at Fontainebleau remains luxurious and lavish. The one per cent who formerly lollygagged in the lobby, feasted in the dining rooms still adorned with frescoed walls, hand-cut chandeliers and vaulted ceilings, danced their nights away in the ballrooms. Later, in the forties my parents would come to dance to the music of Lawrence Welk. To this day the large ballroom is named in his honor. As I walk past I hear echoes of his champagne music.

When it opened, hotel guests were offered the latest amenities including: iced drinking water on tap, “certified” lighting, electric clocks, a telephone in every room and a private bathroom. The latter was offered at a time when many Americans were still using outhouses. (Add Internet, television, shower, refrigerator and room service for my current amenities.) The initial rate per night started at $2.50 for a standard room and escalated to $50.00 for a seven-room suite. I am paying a lot more. Thankfully it is under the cover of a business expense.

As we taxied in (Uber is not allowed to pick up at the airport), Liberty, Penn, Forbes, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh Aves – the names of streets that formed the grid I walked as a child called up images of taking a bus with my mother from the borough in which we lived to downtown. Frequently, we made on our way to Kaufmann’s Department Store where my grandmother worked at altering men’s suits, designing wedding dresses and making my clothes on the side. Edward Kaufmann, the President of Kaufman’s, commissioned Frank Lloyd Wright to build Falling Water leaving a legacy far more famous than my grandmother’s design skills.

I remember downtown Pittsburgh when hang-over from the raspy spewing breath of coal mines and steel mills was so thick some days we could hardly identify the sun. And in the dead of winter, skies rained so much soot the snow cover turned black.

I recall leaving the city seated in the back seat of my dad’s old forty-nine Chevy to drive north to Butler County where the crystal blue, elegant skies that covered my great grandparents’ farm offered welcome relief.

The farm had been in the family since deeded to my several times removed, great grandfather, General William Critchlow for his service in the Battle of Saratoga during the Revolutionary War. Drives through violet pocked shimmering chartreuse-carpeted hills in summer, snow and ice flows in winter, imprinted scenes of the rolling hills of Pennsylvania permanently into my cerebellum. Inexorably, our journeys concluded on a pebbly dirt road angling up to the farmhouse through Grandpa’s sheep pasture to one side, buckwheat crops to the other. Buckwheat pancakes. Wish I had Great Grandma Chatham’s recipe.

Years later after we had moved to California Grandma Ethel May informed me that the farm had been deeded to the Boy Scouts when my great grandparents passed. Considering how the farm came into the family, that the Boy Scouts got it seemed to hold a certain logic.

On arriving in Pittsburgh today one would never suspect there had been a time when it rated as one of the worst, smog-full, polluted cities in the country. As I poked my way around earlier today the skies bode clean and clear. Not only skies, but streets as well.

In eighty-five ethnic neighborhoods old traditions maintained with differences among groups respected, continue to this day. As children we were told that we did not cross over to their territory uninvited, or “they” to ours. There was nothing wrong with any of us we were told, it’s just that “we are different” and should stay among our own. Lines were not only black and white. A mixed marriage – momentous – engendered discussions among the elders about whether the wedding ceremony should take place in the Polish, Irish, Italian, German, or Slovenian Catholic Church? As they were all Catholic I wondered how the Irish Church differed from the Italian? When I questioned them, the elders chided me with, “that’s just the way it is.” I said little in response, but and argument about ethnicity and race indued between my elders and my inner voice.

As demographics are changing, I suspect that the beautiful mosaic of ethnic groups with each piece loving its own, is changing as well. Community and tribes gather and form for reasons other than ethnic lineage.

Before leaving California, I researched the Pittsburgh food scene. The meat, mashed potatoes, corn, beef and cabbage, kielbasa, pierogies and salt water taffy of my youth would not serve my aged body. I searched every food site from eater.com to Yelp to the Pittsburgh Chooses sites and made up a short list of the eateries that appeared most frequently in the top five. I consulted with the locals. I wanted to eat the food of a progressive chef who is not afraid to move into new and tantalizing places with eye fixed on vegetables. Paul the concierge at The Penn was confident that Grit and Grace would meet my requirements. “It was the only Pittsburgh restaurant to make opentable.com 100 best in the US list.” When I found out that its Chef, Brian Pekarcik from Murrysville, Pa had spent time at Gary Danko and Fifth Floor in San Francisco I was sold.

Walking over to Grit and Grace from the Penn earlier this evening, I missed the flocks of pigeons I chased off the street as a child. Nowhere to be seen. When we arrived we decided to sit at the bar where conversations can be lively and informational. It’s is a great place to get to know people in the industry and with Pittsburgh being one of the friendliest cities in America, it called.

As I pored over the menu, the same menu I had checked out on line earlier, the lady next to me introduced herself, illustrating the friendliness I anticipated. Told me she lived in the southern part of the neighboring state, West Virginia. Had come up to attend a Jackson Brown concert with her daughter. She went on about how much she loved Jackson and let us know that if we were interested it was still not too late to get tickets to Fleetwood Mac who would be performing the next night. Always pays off to sit at the bar!

Grit means the texture of sand or stone used in grinding, and courage, resolve, strength of character. Grace, the simple elegance or refinement of movement, free and unmerited favor of God. Definitions of both words printed at the top of the menu inform the diner about intention.

“grace

/ grit /noun

/ grās /noun

1. simple elegance or refinement of movement.

2. free and unmerited favor of God.

It is said that everything needs an opposite in order to exist… to achieve balance.

“Grit & Grace pushes opposites to the extreme to bring you the most unique and balanced dining experience Pittsburgh has to offer.”

Chef knows his dictionary; I wondered if the conceptual would carry over into the food. Pekarcik makes choices that represent “the diversity and sophistication of today’s diners.” Goat and curry, ramen, short ribs and biscuits, kimchi are but a few examples. He carries his choices through in the three daily condiments as well: soy and black vinegar sauce, chili sauce and fennel-onion compote. G&G specializes in small plates and American Dim Sum.

Dim sum is offered in small bowls.

Crispy tofu

To be honest, I did not expect to find such quality, creativity and artistic ability of the chef an a restaurant in the city on the rivers. How I wish that Grit and Grace were around my own neighborhood corner!

October 10, 2014 Reflections on Bean Paste

October 10, 2014 / admin / 0 Comments

To supplement or not to supplement with white bean paste?

Recently, I received an email from an old friend. No personal message, just a link to a weight loss product Forskolin, made from white beans. It included a video of Dr. Oz promoting the product. White bean paste sounded like a winner especially with Oprah on a sidebar giving it a thumbs up. According to the info I received, white bean paste can help a girl to get rid of excess belly fat. The hidden persuaders tempting, I went online to purchase a round.

Just as I was about to click on the add-to-your-cart button a pop-up of my father appeared in my mind’s eye. When I was a child, he was fond of asking me if I lived to eat or ate to live? I thought of his question as his humorous way of making me conscious of how much food I was consuming. I never gave him an answer; I knew he didn’t expect one, but as he sat there in my mind’s eye, smiling no less, I finally responded. One cannot be separated from the other; the act of eating is both necessary to life as well as part of why we live.

Several decades back, I began to reflect on the kind of vehicle with which I had been blessed to carry me through this lifetime. I noticed early on that in spite of my mother’s well rounded healthy cooking my body gained weight rather easily. By the time I was in high school I frequently went on grapefruit and hardboiled egg diets so popular at the time, to help maintain my girlish figure. I had friends with the opposite issue; they drank lots of milkshakes.

After high school graduation I joined a western monastic community where we were served three squares a day prepared by professional chefs. Between meals, we had coffee breaks peppered with pastries and cookies. A year after joining my knees began to bother me. Our horarium included several daily rounds of prayers – knees to kneeler! When I approached my director about my knee issue, she told me I was overweight and suggested a diet. So, while my fellow classmates ate the fabulous dinners prepared by the chefs, I hightailed it over to a special dietary kitchen to pick up my perfectly balanced, oil and butter free, low carb diet. And coffee breaks became just that: coffee breaks sans cookies! The diet worked and in a short time, as I took off ten pounds, the knees went pain-free! Goal accomplished, I returned to a normal diet but minus desserts. However, my fat loving body had its own plans and the weight slowly inched up. How I longed for grapefruit and eggs.

I had a slew of relatives with adipose tissue issues, far worse than mine. As I observed their plump bodies I knew the genes had it in for me as well. From high school on through the years in the monastery, and long after leaving it I returned time after time to a “diet.” Not binge, but just to what helped to prevent bulge. Not only was I prompted by vanity, but also the desire to be healthy. I rotated through low carb, no fat, juice, all veggie, two annual ten-day water fasts and Weight Watchers. They worked. I cleared the toxins, slimmed down, but after awhile I would have to return to a more rigid disciplined way of eating.

On another note and while living in India in the nineties, I was introduced to the 5000-year-old Ayurveda health system. In what has been called the oldest holistic health system in the world. I learned about the three body types and the appropriate diet for each type or dosha as they are called. Kapha, pitta and vata refer to the elements earth, fire and water. Each body, it is said has a predominance of one or two and is called accordingly.

Wouldn’t you know it? I am heavy on kapha-earth with just enough pitta-fire to keep the fat under control. It is recommended that kaphas abstain from wheat and dairy.

After I returned from India the blood type diet became the rage. According to its guidelines, Type O’s such as myself should avoid dairy and wheat! It was beginning to sound like a conspiracy!

From a yoga regimen in India I went on to Tai Chi and became interested in traditional Chinese medicine (TCM) where herbals instead of chemicals are used to overcome negative body conditions as well as to cleanse and energize. In general, nine body types are described; we have physiological, structural, and psychological elements that create our unique bodies. TCM looks at the person’s constitution for clinical treatment, to promote health and to balance the yin-yang in one’s body. Once again, I found myself confronting foods that I should avoid or in this case, add to my diet.

As I made my way through the various traditions and paths of eating, not to mention my interest in farm to fork and Slow Food, fortunately, I began to listen to my body. At one point it told me to stop eating meat. I did, not for any moral or spiritual reason, but only because my body said, “don’t eat meat.” I agreed. In recent years it said, “don’t eat wheat.” OK, I said. Every time it speaks I find its message generally in alignment with the information I had garnered from my studies. I think that’s what’s called body wisdom.

I have learned that I need to make food choices according to my genetics, doshas, blood type, common sense and perhaps most important, body wisdom. How I carry them out depends on whether the body and spirit are willing.

We eat to live, but what we eat has an impact on how we live. We also live to eat but how we live is determined by what we eat. In its Greek origin, the word diet means a way of life. According to the above mentioned ancient health systems, the intake of food is advised according to the body type. If one follows what is suggested and listens to the body as well, diet does become a way of life.

In my growing age I finally reached a point where I had everything with my diet nicely settled. And then I receive the email about bean paste. Here’s the upshot. An active ingredient in white kidney bean extract, phaseolus vulgaris blocks the enzyme necessary for starch digestion. Theoretically, the starch will pass through the digestive tract without being broken down into simple sugars and later stored as fat. At last, with this miracle supplement I can eat pizza, pasta, bread, in a nutshell. all the carbs I want.

Tell me, what’s a girl to do?

October 3, 2014 Madonna della Bruna

October 3, 2014 / admin / 1 Comment

As we traveled through Sardinia, Matera and Bologna last summer, I discovered a country rich with on-going annual festivals many of which date back thousands of years. Some have become major tourist attractions as with the Mamuthones mentioned in an earlier post.

When we stayed in Matera in July we had the opportunity to witness the annual three-day festival celebrated in honor of the Madonna della Bruna. Historical and legendary accounts give an interesting background for the festival.

The legend recounts that in a time long past, a peasant woman agreed to escort a mysterious woman to Matera. When the carriage bearing the woman arrived in Matera the woman had disappeared, leaving a statue and a letter to the local bishop in her place. The letter claimed that she was the Virgin Mary. The bishop honored the letter and had the statue carried around the Piazza del Duomo (duomo is the Italian word for cathedral) three times. She became the protector of Matera. Today the statue is carried around three times in the same way on the evening of the third day of the festival.

The historical account says that in 1389 Pope Urban IV determined that the annual date for the celebration of the festival the Madonna della Bruna would be July 2. An interesting history preceded the Pope’s call. July 2 from the tenth century on became the day for the celebration of the Visitation the name given to the story recounted in the Gospel of Luke. Mary, pregnant with Jesus does a charitable act and goes to see her cousin Elizabeth, pregnant with John the Baptist. Just what two women friends, let along cousins would do if simultaneously pregnant! Urban also elevated the Visitation date to give it a place on the Roman liturgical calendar about the same time he established the date for the celebration of the Madonna della Bruna. Matera had celebrated the Visitation on July 2, long before Urban formally appointed the Madonna her role.

Prior to the celebration we know that antequated rituals to honor the earth mother goddess long celebrated through out Italy were assimilated from the fifth century on into Christian expressions. That the stories and legends surrounding them are/were real or delusional seems less important than their mythical significance.

So, whether rite of earth mother, celebration of the Visitation or arrival of the legendary woman in a carriage, I was not prepared for the magnitude of the current day event. The shock of being knocked out of sleep by a loud cannon at 6:00 am on the first day of a tridium led me to my computer as well as to locals for a history lesson.

Marked with celebrations and festivities going on all over Matera the tridium caps on the evening of July 2. That night we witnessed colorful, loud spectacle with a secret float central to an ethereal performance that ended in an explosion of fireworks the likes of which I have never seen. (Fireworks From Matera can be viewed in an earlier post.)

The upper part of town, above the old sassis is where most of the events took place. In the week previous, elaborate decorations are constructed around and in the streets leading to the Piazza. Before the first day my partner and I took this all in, not because we were trying to, but because we happened on it as we strolled through the area looking for a place to eat, checking out shops and scouring the museums. We also encountered women from Africa doing exotic hairstyles along open-street salons and a giant street market that catered to the event.

Chalk street drawings are part of the rituals.

On the third morning, the Madonna statue was taken from the cathedral, put into the float and transported to another church away from the piazza. We witnessed an afternoon filled with revelry, concerts, followed by an evening meal, and as dark descended the beginning of the culmination.

In the evening invited to the home of some friends of Tim and Chris we ate buffet style-a little like Italian take-out, but made by the attendees. As travelers passing through my partner and I sans personal kitchen, took wine as our contribution to the meal. Surprised, our gracious hostess assured us that our gesture was appreciated, but not necessary.

After the meal we climbed up the stairs of the five story house to the rooftop that overlooked the Piazza, the place where the tour of the Madonna’s float and ritual would conclude. We had the equivalent of box seats for the spectacle. The friends and relatives of the hosts gathered at the balcony edge in full view. Since it was our first time, our host pushed us up front so that we would not miss anything.

For more than an hour we observed the scene on the plaza from the rooftop.

Finally, the paper mache float pulled by donkeys and carrying the Madonna appeared. As she reached the plaza populated to the max with locals and tourists, a full troop of uniformed knights of Santa Maria della Bruna riding tall, flower bedecked stallions, a parade of Roman clerics from the Archbishop’s court dressed in full religious regalia, and a band accompanied her float.

The float made the customary three rounds. Following, the Madonna was taken out of the float and carried back to the church from which she had been taken earlier.

Then something strange happened. The US is not the only country that is witness to the militarization of its local police. A swath of carabinieri, dressed in military gear surrounded the float to escort it to the edge of the Piazza where the people as is the annual custom would destroy it. For this police oversight is called in. It is believed that if one obtains a piece of the float it will give protection for the following year. As the scramble for the pieces was about to begin the slow roving scene moved a little out of our purview.

But all was not lost! We climbed back down the stairs to watch the conclusion on local television.

The screen showed a crowd turned mob. It reminded me of beer bloated fans screaming and yelling while watching the Super Bowl.

As I witnessed the spectacle I wondered if in earlier years the energetic aggressive forms of destruction that occurred at the peak of the celebration were present then as now. The police tried to maintain the revelers at bay until the float reached its destination. Several men taunted police and vied with one another to be the first to get on the float. A scuffle ensued. I had been told earlier that this was not a place to be as it became rough and ready, and injuries occur. On the small television screen I witnessed sacred go profane! A reveler broke through the barrier followed by several others and began to tear the float apart. The Madonna had been honored, the aggressors had conquered. At that moment my fellow spectators cheered

The annual ritual concluded, we thanked our guests and made our way back to the hotel. As we desscended down the steps through the sassis into the old part of Matera many people moved along with us. I wrongly assumed that they were returning home. When we reached the hotel, we prepared for bed and retired for the night. With shutter and window open a plethora of stars quivering across the night sky illuminated our room. Street lamps flickered on the plaza next to the hotel. Silent darkness filled the ravine. All quiet, we nodded off to the goddess of sleep.

Thirty minutes later, from the deep of sleep, I was roused from bed. BOOM! Shocked, I dragged myself over to the window and peered out. Fireworks. In my groggy state I thought the fourth had arrived a day early. The dark ravine had turned into a cauldron of light and color. The locals that accompanied us on the walk back to the hotel stood along the cliffs above the ravine watching the kaleidoscopic sky pummeled with rounds of fireworks for forty-five minutes. Until 1:30 am my partner and I took turns sitting on the windowsill watching the conclusion to the festival of the Madonna della Bruna

September 28, 2014 Short on Saint Frank

September 28, 2014 / admin / 0 Comments

I have an ambivalent relationship with coffee. It was late in life when I began to drink it, and I have never been able to fully commit to a monogamous bond. As a result, there are weeks, months and sometimes years when I go off it for tea, pu-erh, a dark fermented tea from Yunnan, China my latest affair, or Meyer lemon juice with hot water. When I am in India, chai with buffalo milk and cardamom is the only way to go, but, after I return, eventually coffee comes back to haunt me. When that happens, I pull out my Japanese Hario scale, fresh roasted beans and drum up the best pour-over of which I am capable. Many of you already know how critical or discerning depending on your view, I am about food. Believe me, coffee and tea are subject to the same scrutiny.

Just for starters, I want a taste so clean that nothing filters out or stands between me and my relationship to the coffee’s country of origin. Traveling through taste can be a multi-leveled journey to unusual sites around the world. The terroir of Ethiopia is in the coffee beside me at this very moment. I taste the qualities of its soil, I hear the voices of workers as they harvest the cherries, I feel a hot sun tempered by a quiet breeze as the day grows late in the rolling hills of the Yirgachefe District. The taste of floral, specifically lavender, coats my palate. Rich, round, full-bodied…I am beginning to sound like a set of tasting notes, yes, a few tasting notes to share. Not into dark roasts, this coffee is enough to make me commit! Long relationship guaranteed.

Several months back I posted a blog for Locals Only on Portola Coffee Lab in the OC. Today, for the second time, I must share my enthusiasm for another. Saint Frank on Polk Street in San Francisco is around the corner from Biondivino and across the street from Verbena (in former posts). I inadvertently discovered Saint Frank, named for Saint Francis the patron saint of San Francisco, when looking over a food-site on the web. What took me so long? Covering a coffee house was not on the agenda today, but this one happened to be in the neighborhood in which we needed to do an errand so we decided to check it out.

I sit, coffee in hand, surrounded by other writers and coffee hounds. Teas, available as well. Saint Frank opened last October and immediately zoomed into the national top rated coffee house lists on several media sites. Good publicists no doubt, but from my experience with this initial cup, it deserves the good press.

The philosophy of the owners for how they conduct business-described on St Frank’s website is admirable. The project in Burundi is impressive.

Meaningful connection with customers, coffee farmers, and roasters underlies the interactions at Saint Frank. The owners have installed a state-of-the-art espresso maker that fits under the counter. With machines and gadgetry down under nothing separates the barista from the customer. Conversation plausible, the feng shui could not be better! The uncluttered opens into unbounded space.

September 23, 2014 Les Clos

September 23, 2014 / admin / 0 Comments

To enlarge the photos, give them a click!

As we were crossing the new Oakland Bay Bridge yesterday I opened my iPhone and hit on Google. My job to look for a place to have lunch could not have been easier. With the depth of delicate morsels at Saison lingering on my palate, a long finish indeed, I came across news of the soft opening at Les Clos a new wine bar, café, coffee house on Townsend. Surely a cosmic hand was at play. The opening would run from ten – three. My clock read 1:00 pm. We descended from the bridge and headed straight for the opening.

Here’s the cosmic part: Les Clos is under the ownership of people from Saison. When I wrote the recent post for Saison I kept my attention on the food and chef – not beverage or wine director. Later, I debated with myself about the possibility of doing a second post on the latter, but when Les Clos did a pop-up on my Mac, the debate resolved itself.

Mark Bright is Joshua Skenes’ business partner and Wine Director at Saison. He comes in with a history in wine as impressive as Skenes in the culinary arts. It is in his stars to illuminate our path to understanding wine. His began at Aqua in the Bellagio, Las Vegas at seventeen while, he attended the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Can you imagine what it must be like to study food and beverage in Las Vegas? Later, working for Michael Mina he did a stint at Stone Hill Tavern in Laguna Beach as did Skenes. The list of hi-end restaurants where he has worked or consulted is endless, not to mention his own consulting firm: the Bright Wine Fund.

For me what is of consequence about Bright is that he has had an almost single-minded concentration on burgundy, (but I hear an expansion is in the works) of which he has amassed a legendary collection. When those in the business focus in, Ceri Smith is another with her attention on Italian wine, like old vines, they run deep with knowledge, expertise and the juice to make connections that open doors for the rest of us. When I started to get to know wines, I depended on the folks at Hi-Time, K&L, California, Sherry-Lehman Wine and Spirits, New York, Schaefer’s, Chicago, among others to show me the possibilities. Now that America is finally developing a palate, there is a vacuum longing to be filled by people such as Smith and Bright.

At Saison, a wine pairing can include ale, sake and wine. In my growing age, I must sometimes take heed so I chose not to do the pairing the night of our meal. (A recent survey by Robert Smiley at UC Davis taken among twenty-six heads of wineries indicated that, while wine consumption is declining among baby boomers, they are passing the glass on to the millennials.) Instead, I chose a glass of Chablis that paired well with every dish, my partner a Volnay.

I did not do the pairings but I had been duly impressed by what I read about Bright’s expertise and collection of Burgundies. I can now look forward to learning more when I visit his latest project: Les Clos. Forty wines-by-the-glass ranging from $10 – $25 dollars will be offered. Tastings and classes are also in the works.

We pulled up in front of Les Clos about 1:30. Plenty of parking spaces for mid-day were available despite the fact that we were around the corner from the AT&T Park where dozens of sightseers were milling about. A wood-hewn bar with stand-up cylinder seats formed a well-designed frame to the entry.

We walked in to an empty café save for a single dude dining solo at the bar. I thought I was in a neighborhood spot in Paris!

After all, this was a soft opening. Giddy over such accessibility to the café, I reminded myself that the odds are that never again in this lifetime will I arrive to an empty Les Clos. After snapping some shots we sat down to a table just big enough to handle cups and glasses and maybe food.

A few employees shuffled about taking care of initial projects such as filling wine racks. Hopefully, some of those hard to find Burgundies to be found in the Bright collection will be available. I thought I saw Cara Patricia Higgins the sommelier and also from Saison floating about.

A third alum of Saison cellar master Shawn Gawle, is leading the kitchen. As with the others, his background is stellar: Food and Wine’s best pastry chef in 2012. Did stints with Chefs Jean-Marie Lacroix, Joel Rubochon, and Gras. The latter allowed him to spearhead the dessert menu although he had trained in savory.

The best part of eating at Les Clos is that while quality is Saison-like, style and price are more beer pocketbook. Pastries from Le Maraise Bakery, coffee from Spyglass and ice cream from Humphrey Slocum add prestige to the larder. Charcuterie, cheese, escargot, caviar, gnocchi are planned for the menus.

Although wine was not available for our lunch as Les Clos awaits its liquor license, expected to arrive later this week we were shown the menu.

I had a salad and a cut of goat cheese sided with a swath of honey, my partner the duck sandwich on Josey Baker Bread. Salads that are simply composed of the best greens available ever so slightly slicked in olive oil and an acidic complement, topped with a twitter of fine salt are among my all-time favorite dishes. In fact, so much so that the quality of a salad is often my subjective test of a restaurant. Les Clos passed. My partner loved his duck sandwich, somewhat of a combination-like rillete and pureed liver he agreed that it too, made top scale.

When things are in full swing, Les Clos will be open from 8 am to midnight during the week and open at 10 am on weekends.

I will be back even if I have to negotiate the crowds.

September 13, 2014 Saison

September 13, 2014 / admin / 0 Comments

The first time I met Joshua Skenes in 2005 he was twenty five. Michael Mina had snagged him to open The Stone Hill Tavern at the St. Regis Hotel in Monarch Beach. Before coming to Stone Hill he had done stints with Jean-Georges Vongerichten in New York, helped open Troquet in Boston, worked under Anthony Ambrose at Ambrosia, and served as executive chef at Chez TJ in Mountain View, California. At Stone Hill just south of Laguna Beach, known for its paucity of upscale dining, Skenes, in my mind, turned the scene upside down with his cooking. I frequented Stone Hill in those days. When I requested an all veggie dinner Skenes came out to the dining room and personally consulted with me. It did not take long for me to turn my dining needs over to Skenes. He was tall, handsome and young. I knew this knight in chef’s clothing was destined. Not once was I disappointed, that is, not until he left to move on to his next step.

In 2010 I ran across Skenes again in the Mission District of San Francisco. My partner and I were taking a stroll when we saw the sign for Saison. The knight’s ascension already underway, we had heard good things about the place. It was mid afternoon and with the café door open, I suggested that we take a look. We walked up to the doorway and peered in. A very simple place, not what one would expect of a restaurant that had fully straddled the top of the tower for discerning diners. At that moment Joshua walked out from the back, greeted us and started up a chat. He responded quietly and humbly when I told what I had heard about his new place and gently encouraged us to return for a dinner.

The third time I came across Joshua Skenes was when I began to consider a dinner at Saison the French word meaning season, for my partner’s birthday.

The knight had continued to move on and up and opened his own restaurant now located in SoMa and housed in the former California Electric Building.

I read the press, scoured the reviews, checked out the menus and confronted the cost. The one thing that I had issues with was, and I say was because it has since changed is that Skenes originally ordered fish from Japan. That he no longer does may account for the fact that the menu price formerly advertised as 298.00 is now 248.00 He is/was not alone. Japan is in these days and, in my humble opinion, there is no fish market in the world that compares with the Tzujiki Fish market in Tokyo. It is worth a visit. Go soon if you want to see the old as it is slated for relocation – still in Tokyo – and the old site will become a development.

Skenes has explained some of the reasons behind the high costs of his current menu. He has twenty-four people working in the kitchen, including a full time forager, nothing is used, redone, or served from the previous days menu, and the restaurant is limited to eighteen seats. Everything is made fresh and from scratch. In this line a friend who owns a small restaurant in the OC once told me that every time the menu changed as in seasonally, it cost the restaurant 4,000. In this place, the ingredients are not sourced in the special way that Skenes sources.

So I hemmed, hawed, and fretted. Some of the best food in the world comes at a hefty price. If I have the best I want to experience a combination of taste and art that stirs up my creative juices so much that I can hardly wait to go home, enter my own kitchen and create. I had similar feelings about art when I was an art’s writer reviewing exhibitions. Food prep and service is a relatively high art form! My resolve to let go of the dilemma drama, go on line and set up a reservation met with another challenge. Reservations are held at Saison with the agreement that if a diner cancels less than a week before the dinner date, the full price is charged. I suspect this is the reason it is generally possible to get a reservation during the week without too much long range planning. Of course if the Michelin Guide 2015 to San Francisco that comes out on Oct 21, gives Skenes three stars that may change.

A week and a half before our dinner date, I got a call from Saison in the late afternoon on my voicemail. The person on the other end reminded me of my reservation and asked me to confirm. Unable to call back that day during business hours I planned to return the call the next day, but before I could I received another. This one I answered. The pleasant woman on the other end reminded me that I had three days left in which I could cancel with no penalty. She also inquired if there were any special food needs. Yes. We do not eat meat, but on rare occasions, fish. She assured me that that would not be an issue. The chef would prepare accordingly. It is rare to receive such an attentive call from a restaurant, but we were going to dine at Saison.

On the website, it is explained that Saison has no dress code. It reads, “Come as you are.” I must admit I was tempted to go in my pajamas! It was a Wednesday night when we ubered over to Saison from the Harbor Court Hotel on the Embarcadero. I had dressed appropriately (no pajamas). We arrived a bit early so as to avoid another restriction on the dining. If a diner arrives later than the reserved time, he/she will be seated, but if courses have already been served, the diner will start with the current course. Past courses cannot be made up!

We stood outside waiting for the restaurant to open as we usually do when our reservation is for 5:30. When other diners arrived and walked into the restaurant we realized the doors were open. (Chagrin). As we entered the hallowed space we were greeted by a framed wall of firewood.

A man in a black suit seated us at a table in the bar. We sat there for all of two minutes when another man in a black suit came to escort us to our table. He told us that we were to think of ourselves as having dinner at a friend’s house. I appreciate that an attempt is being made here to make the guests feel comfortable, without the “stuffiness” of a fine Michelin double starred restaurant. However, with the staff in black suits or designer chef outfits, I did experience a certain formality. Nothing wrong here, just it is what it is.

We sat in full view of the kitchen. One can actually walk through, as there are no restrictive walls or gates. Along the side of the dining room I took note of a series of slick coolers. I assumed the wine cellar, but our waiter explained that they were the refrigerators. Again, placed in the dining room as part of the idea of dining in a friend’s house.

The first course was tea served in a small, tubular porcelain glass. A tied package of herbs and flora from Saison’s garden hung over the edge of the glass. We were encouraged to steep them in the hot water for as long as we wished. My palate was soothed by the subtle flavor and yes, I felt like I had been served a cup of tea at a friend’s house. Now, relaxed and comforted I was ready for the meal to begin.

The fourteen courses that followed were served with clock-like precision. At first a gentle flow like a quiet stream, it opened to a river of wider possibilities then gradually concluded with dishes that quieted the awakened palate to allow the diner to relish and munch on inner, reflective musings about what had just occurred.

Tomatoes in a few forms in corn pudding and black mint.

Artichoke stuffed with scallop with sauce of grilled artichoke.

Diamond turbot with a sauce of grill bones.

I inquired about the source of the Talbot and was told that it came from Korea.

All other fish dishes came from California.

Battle creek trout smoked in the wood oven with anise hyssop.

Abalone roasted over the embers, sauce of the liver and capers.

Giant octopus, radishes, yuzu, sea salt.

White sea bass, roasted over the coals, sauce of citrus leaves and yogurt.

Brassicas leaves dried over the fire, seaweed bouillon.

Toffee, milk, bread and beer. In my excitement, I forgot to photo.

Duck, grilled whole and sea fig.

Pickles, a bouillon of the grilled duck bones.

Krug sorbet.

Wild berries, French marigold, raw milk ice cream.

Birthday cake.

Tea and canele.

Final treat.

The influence of Japanese cuisine was surely evident. Silvered handled chopsticks served as dining utensils for the first six courses, to be followed by traditional for the remaining courses. Our waiter shared that the chef had recently returned from Japan where he had spent his honeymoon.

Less than half way into the meal, the server brought a lovely platter of Parker House Rolls, the best Parker House Rolls in my memory. I generally do not eat flour, but in this situation I could not resist. The jagged sea salt twittered buns changed my history with Parkers. So good, we unabashedly and to the surprise of the waiter ordered another round. After the first round I referred to them as a course, but the waiter said no, that they were brought out as they come out of the oven.

That Parker House Rolls served in the midst of such a delicate, well designed work of art felt both like a nod to the history of American cooking as well as a bit of humor injected into the seriousness of the production. I paid dearly for my over consumption. It left me with that full feeling that accompanies over consumption. Next time: one order, please!

As we sat discussing our meal with a diner at the next table, a waiter brought a final treat: two muffins from Boulette’s Larder in the Ferry Building for a midnight snack or breakfast the next morning. Soon our head waiter came along and invited us to walk over to take an upclose look at the kitchen. When he asked us to take all our “things” with us I felt it was a most gracious way to tell us they needed the table.

The Knight in white.

How do I feel about Saison? What moves me most is the young chef’s intention to serve the highest quality food he can possibly find along with his vision and an amazing skill-set to create his art. In my research I came across a telling story about Chef that illustrates his destiny and skills early on.

“When I was about nine, my family sent me to summer camp in North Carolina. I went on a long hike and saw a water moccasin. I fished the snake out of the water, cut his head off, took out the poison sac, filleted the snake cooked it up and fed it to the camp. I can’t believe I didn’t poison everybody.”

That one blew me out of the water along with the moccasin!

I loved the food, the ambiance of the restaurant with the use of wood, stone and steel, and the over-all integrity of the performance. If I have any misgiving, it is only that I want more people to share Skenes cooking. As it turns out that will soon be possible when he opens Fat Noodle a fast food joint that he is undertaking with Adam Fleischman of Umami Burger. Hand pulled noodles, wine and beer available, priced from six to ten dollars, open 11 am to 2 am is the intended norm. Can hardly wait!

September 12, 2014 Ambrosia

September 11, 2014 / admin / 1 Comment

More on Matera is coming, but first I am taking time to post on events of the past few weeks.

It was Labor Day weekend and a big bday celeb for my partner had been planned. It was one of those knock-off number of decades that requires a mention. As chef for the family and friends I planned dinner with the intention to keep it simple. My granddaughter would come to visit for the first time and my preference was to spend time with her rather than be in the kitchen.

So here’s what I cooked up…

First, I contacted D’Artagnan one of the finest purveyors of meat and fowl in the country and ordered organic smoked duck breast and rabbit legs. When the guests arrived they were shocked to see fowl and rabbit coming out of my usually vegan kitchen, but none of them got foul with me about my choices.

A smoked duck appetizer was followed by gazpacho. OC chef Carlos Salgado of Taco Maria told me to soak the tomatoes in a little sherry vinegar and the cukes in champagne vinegar. The sherry gave just the right zing to the creamy texture of the processor-ed tomatoes.

Using Angela Cook Gardener’s recipe I marinated the rabbit legs in buttermilk, paprika, cayenne, garlic powder for eight hours. Drained them in a colander, shook them up with flour in a brown bag just the way my mother used to, and fried them in canola oil.

Accompaniments included a salad of zucchini sliced on the mandolin for fettucine-like shape and size, mozzarella, olives, heirloom tomatoes, and fresh corn soaked in olive oil, sherry vinegar and topped with Himalayan salt. Cornbread. Gave my personal recipe to a friend and she, surprised by the call for fresh corn, did the honors. A tomato smothered, slow cooker rice, filled out the details

We finished off with a cake, thin layers of chocolate separated by salted carmel, filling from Konditorei, a fine Austrian bakery in Davis and topped with a dollop of caramel ice cream.

Basically, a simple, no frills dinner, but the diners seemed satisfied.

The following day after the guests and out of town family departed my partner and I headed to the city to continue our celebration. When it comes to food, I don’t know of any place on the west coast that does it better than San Francisco. LA is finally on it’s way. Portland although a bit meat heavy for my taste, does it well. Seattle, not bad the last time I visited, but San Francisco is the gift that just keeps giving.

Our agenda included reservations at three new-to-us restaurants. We also made quick stops at a few old standbys: Delfina, Tartine Bakery, and The Slanted Door. All three continue to live up to their long and upstanding reputations!

We discovered 1760 the newer restaurant from the owners of Acquerello on Eater.com. It was the first we would try on our list of newbies. We arrived at 6:30 and were seated promptly. With local pub-like ambience it’s a casual place. Our first appetizer a crudo was topped with a crispy veggie that I could not identify. It had a strange taste, did not pair well with the fish. It was a tough chew, but I kept at it hoping to id the weird item. Finally, I asked the wait-person who identified it as daikon. Shocking. Daikon can be tricky, but generally the longer it is sautéed or roasted the sweeter it grows; in this case bitter, it left a bad taste in the mouth. The daikon along with a parsimoniously doled out second appetizer prompted us to get the check and leave. I rarely do this, but so turned off by the first two courses I could see no reason to stay. Later I heard that 1760 has had “issues.” Perhaps a second try will be down the road.

It turned out that our favorite Italian wine shop Biondivino was only a few blocks away. We decided to head over for some of their bruschetta. Emanuele Fromento from one of Genoa’s leading wine bars initiated a bruschetta pop-up for the month of August. With the pop-up so popular owner Ceri Smith decided to continue with the city’s first bruschetteria serving over a dozen including pesto, Taleggio, prociutto cotto from 6 pm Wednesday through Sunday. Ceri Wine Director of Tosca named by Bon Appetite as one of the top ten new restaurants of the year is also Food and Wine’s Sommelier of the Year for San Francisco. It’s a great place not only to sample Italian wine, tastings are held regularly, it is also a wonderful place to meet up with the neighborhood, with food writers and wine connisieurs.

We munched on the finest pesto bruschetta in my memory, sampled a rare white and discussed possibilities for another place for dinner. As recently as Aug. 25^th Eater.com called Nopa one of the “toughest places to snag a table in SF,” but Ceri checked in with Nopa a favorite and when she gave us a thumbs up, we ubered over.

Almost ten years in, Nopa is as vibrant as the day it opened. Both of us felt gifted when we were ushered to the seats at the chef’s bar next to the chef. To make matters better, Chef Laurence Jossel standing next to us checking and approving the dishes as they came out of the kitchen, initiated a conversation that lasted through out our dinner.

He informed us that two thirds of the seats are reserved for walk-ins. If you do not mind a wait, dining is possible even without a rez. Lulu the sommelier checked in with us several times as well making sure that we had just the right wine pairing with our dishes.

The food made with “local, organic and sustainable” ingredients is farm to fork at its best. Due to our earlier appetizers we had to limit our courses. When I tasted the warm water halibut I knew we had made the right decision. We followed with smoked trout, accompanied with crispy potatoes, horseradish, marinated peppers and poached egg. The tomato salad with spiced chickpeas, cilantro, lime and mozzarella could not have been more seasonal. We finished with small fried fish in dill and olive oil. Each dish was ample. Next time, we begin the evening at Nopa.

I thought long and hard about a priced to the max SF restaurant.

That I am a foodie, who refuses to eat in corporate restaurants, who requires welcoming, friendly service and healthy farm food when I dine out is not a secret. I search out progressive chefs who create veggie centric, but not necessarily an all vegetarian menu. I felt that my top choice for this celebratory occasion would meet all my expectations, still, the price tab at 248 per person, not including drinks or service charge, although less than the French Laundry, would be enough to make even the most endowed take note. Long story short, I held an internal debate. When it finally resolved, I decided to take the plunge and made a reservation.

Check the next post for the result.

August 29, 2014 Take a look at this!!

August 29, 2014 / admin / 0 Comments

Fascination with caves: take a look at this. Published today in NYT.

Explorer: Into a Lava-Lined Underworld Near Albuquerque

August 29, 2014 Treking through the Sassi

August 29, 2014 / admin / 2 Comments

To work one’s way around old Matera is to take on quite a trek. As I said to Tim, “No need to join a gym if you live in Matera.” He heartily agreed. There are ways to get from old town to new without doing the stairs, but not possible to fully explore the old without resigning to the trek. At the Sant’ Angelo I got my daily workout as I walked from my room to the breakfast site.

When climbing the stairs through the sassi I was reminded of a similar ancient site, Cappadoccia, Turkey that I mentioned earlier. While sitting here in my writing chair several others came to mind, Cliff Palace in Mesa Verde (green table in Spanish), a Native American settlement in the Four Corners for one. The Elora and Ajanta caves in India that I visited in 1986 for another. Then I found myself suddenly rappelling deep into the crystal caves in the Yucatan. A decade ago I had been invited by a friend to accompany her along with a photographer from National Geographic. We were led by the best local cave guide. One goes very high when crawling through rivers of crystals. Further, I was led to the hermitages of the desert fathers that I had witnessed in Egypt a month before the Iraqi war. From there my imaginal whirlwind tour landed me at the door of a hermit’s cave in the Himalayas. Following such a mind-bending trip, I needed to sit in meditation and recover. The hermits were willing hosts.

Why caves?

Those who live in them or under cliffs are known as troglodytes. Through the run of history there have been very few troglodytes, at least this is what Wikipedia (go ahead, be skeptical) tells me, but we seem to be fascinated by caves. One need only look at how many have been designated as World Heritage sites or are on major tour guide lists. The fathers of early monasticism retired to the caves in the deserts of Egypt to protect their solitude. Perhaps the important word is protect. By retreating into the wombs of Gaia, one feels protected. Caves can also be beautiful, mind expanding places such as Carlsbad; then, too, they have the ability to call up the scary realms of the unconscious. I would not consider myself a troglodyte, but in recent years I have discovered a personal penchant for caves. Hm.

The ancient sassi of Matera

Cliff Palace, nestled into an alcove, contains 217 rooms, 23 kivas, and most likely housed 250 people.

While not complete look-alikes, Cliff and Matera appear to be distant cousins. Each a natural work of art. Orginally sculpted by an artist who listened carefully to her intuitive, it guided her in bringing form, exacting how much to stretch or soften the matter that would eventually become one of the world’s great sassis. In the locus of Matera, she gently shifted the material to allow the primordial to have its way in shaping the calcaneritic into the composite sassis that we have been exploring.

Finally, a documentation of my trek from our room to breakfast at the Hotel Sant’ Angelo.