GourmandeMom™

Josephine House

Those of us of a certain age remember Jeffrey's, and its sidekick Clarksville Cafe right next door (which was always my favorite one, with those stunning Malou Flato tile murals).  They were, for a time, the only good and/or interesting places to eat in Austin.  Except for the great parties my University of Texas grad school Latin American Studies crowd had at Melissa's house.  Fast forward two decades. Explosion.  Hard to keep up with what has opened - and what has closed. 

A business meeting was scheduled for today.  At Josephine House, just barely open for business (as of 4 weeks ago).  It is right around the corner from the hallowed ground of Jeffrey's/Clarksville Cafe.  (Clarksville long gone from this location; Jeffrey's is getting a much needed complete revamp and is closed for now).

Sure, I thought épicerie on my first visit was pretty awesome, thematically and architecturally, and even a little envy-inspiring.  But this, this Josephine House.  I just want to pick it all up, with its huge oversized white-washed rustic wood boards, its original windows and black venetian blinds, its outdoor fireplace, banquette seating, the chairs, the white marble bar and countertops, and take it all home with me as my own little party pavilion in the back yard.  Or on the banks of the Blanco River.  Or somewhere in the Vaucluse.  

I walked in and just repeated over and over.  To the cook in the back in the kitchen, to the hostess:  "It's just so darn cute.  I can't get over it.  It is just too cute."

Outside has seating, casually scattered interesting wicker chairs.  Off to the side: a deck, a vintage (looks like) wood picnic table with iron legs, a nice and warm (cold day when the wind kicked up) outdoor fireplace used for cooking the steak for the sliced sirloin sandwiches, cozy little alcoves of upholstered banquettes for outdoor, slightly covered dining.  Lights strung up across.

Inside:  Light filled.  White everywhere on those broad, rustic, white-washed wood boards on the horizontal.  A marble bar to the left in the big front window of the house.  Small.  Cozy. Gleaming with adult libations and espresso machine.

More inside:  Off to the right, the "main" dining room.  It is petite.  What is really charming is the left side of the room:  all across one side of one wall, and a half a wall:  all white marble countertops just spread out with an array of lovelies.  A leek tart, a white platter bursting with the colors of slices grapefruit and oranges. Pickled vegetables.  Crockery piled up.  Abundant bouquets of flowers in antique silver trophy vases. Dessert goodies!  Breads!  What is happening to Austin - and can it get any cuter with these restaurant architectural design overhauls.

Still more architectural cuteness.  The quasi-open kitchen.  Quasi in the sense that above the marble counters are grey-washed rustic barn doors, on that awesomely industrial steel barn door hardware, that slide wide open to allow a look into the petite kitchen.

And yes, to whomever designed this, duly noted that spectacular scent in the WCs -- the women's one at least.  Updated vintage in the WC as well.  Yes, all duly noted. Duly noted looks like Sarah Richardson was here.

Bathed in and delighted by such architectural charm, I caved and said yes to a pre-lunch glass of wine.  A Muscadet from the Loire Valley.

Oh, right.  The food.  Lovely roasted chicken "ragu" cooked on the bone then taken off for me (not me personally, but for the dish as served) over some tasty polenta. The portion was not overly large.  Good thing, as the appetizer chosen, because that leek tart set out on the expansive marble countertop for ogling had gotten to me, was quite abundant for a starter course. (In hindsight, I think one is supposed to share those plates.)

Josephine House is open only for lunch right now.  And cocktails in the afternoon. How lovely does that sound.   Only light snacks, i.e., almonds, olives, available to go with your adult beverage. Yes, that sounds pretty swell.   Also open for private parties.  Adorable, yes, that too, but even better if I could just pack it all up for a private party in my own backyard.  

 

2013 City Guide: French Restaurants/Foods

"French," as in French food, is a complex term to define these days.  Paris would be, one might assume, full of "French" restaurants just as a matter of fact of being located in France, that lovely and charming but complex Hexagone of gastronomic glory.  But when some of Paris's best restaurants these days are run by Americans (i.e., much beloved Verjus, as reported in Saveur and here), deciding what counts as "French"--especially in terms of dining in Austin, Texas--is tricky.  In the end it just requires getting ok with very subjective parameters, and so it is for this Guide.  All my baggage (the French major thing, the living/going to school-in-France thing, the 17 trips to France for food and other business reasons) informs what I considered "French enough" for this Guide.  Do I love Lenoir with all my heart? Absolutely. Does Lenoir remind me of Paris dining (i.e., Verjus) with its dynamic culinary duo owners and emphasis on community and exquisite nicely portioned food and service?   Absolutely.  But if I include it here, it's a slippery slope and possibly quite divisive and controversial for what else gets included -- like whom to invite to a wedding once you've invited so and so.  I may well have missed some very arguably "French" treasures. Feel free to debate any difference of opinion or offer a discerning critique.  That is, after all, very French.  

Justine's Brasserie   First there was Chez Nous (see entry below after this one), a much-loved Austin icon for truly "French" French food.  Then Justine's came along in 2009 and really kicked up the French vibe in Austin.  Though off the beaten track for some out on East Fifth towards the airport, Justine's has a passionate following for this little white house, surrounded by ample courtyard/patio seating.  

(credit for picture here, but the cute picture of just the house does not reflect the current all tricked-out outdoor area)

When I want a Paris fix, I head here and settle in to wait, at the bar, and sip as slowly as I can some of the cocktails, such as my favorite version of a French 75 or the Enfant Terrible. Nice and tart, not sweet. Then I order up either superlative escargots (buttery and hot and garlicky with good bread to soak up every last drop of the hot butter that has fresh garlic infusing it), or a hearty assiette de fromages.  All this gets enjoyed, no, relished, while the jazz or Motown albums are playing on the turntable back behind the bar amidst the record library. If you find it too loud inside, which it can be, opt for outside seating in a still charming setting, near the black and white canopy and the Pétanque court.

Inside or out, you get the same great food, such as really tasty soupe à l'oignon gratinée, more escargots, a great steak tartare, coquilles St. Jacques basquaises.  Or there is also, in addition to the usual yummy French fare, the daily "market" menu, which kicks up the gastronomy level here with such items as cassoulet, done right: "flageolet beans, duck confit, sausage, bacon, bread crumbs" ($22) and with starters such as "dandelion greens, fried egg vinaigrette, crispty potatoes, country ham" ($12).  Crème caramel here is standard-setting and impossible to stop eating once you've started.  Justine's is one of the very few (good) real restaurants in town for late-night eating, as well as star-sightings.  Justine's has seen its fair share of them: David Byrne, Patrick Stewart, Kat Von D, to name a few.  

Chez Nous   

Before Justine's, way before Justine's, there was Chez Nous, which opened its doors in 1982--when a gallon of gas was just $1.30 and the Dow Jones high for the year was 1,070.  Nestled on quiet Neches Street downtown, just off the hustle and bustle of a crazy part of Sixth Street, Chez Nous early on won over our hearts and stomachs.  It remains a mainstay and has a firm place in the heart of Austin's Francophile foodie population, despite the kitschy wall decor of painted scenes of Paris Metro stations.  The menu remains classically French and consistently excellent.  A house paté is offered daily, and a recent sampling of the duck liver one delivered big on flavor.  It gets scooped up on what for me is more like New Orleans-style French bread (from Phoenicia).  Favorite classics here are the Salade Lyonnaise (with lardons, $8.50, and, really, cannot see having it any other way), the egg poached just right and ready to be broken into at the right moment to run over and slightly warm the greens.

The salade de crudités (photo at left; with the addition of chickpeas in addition to the traditional beets and celery root) may be better than mine, hard to admit, but the Trout Meunière I could never even deign to try to re-create.  It exemplifies  tasty goodness in a clean, classic execution ($14.50). But if that sounds too high-end for a weekday lunch, the usual French fare for lunch is here too: the croque monsieur, the croque madame, and a sandwich du jour even--in addition to spinach crepes, chicken crepes, and a steak frites, of course ($19.50).  

The dinner menu loses the sandwiches and crepes and adds heartier French classics, at a higher price point--worth every penny for a big night out for guaranteed good food.  The dinner menu includes such main dishes as lamb chops crusted in herbes de provence and grilled ($33.50), an Entrecôte Béarnaise ($32.50) and a pepper-crusted prime beef tenderloin finished off with a brandy, stock and cream sauce ($37.50). All main courses are served with a side of vegetables (caramelized grilled carrots last time I was there) and highly decadent cream puff-like balls of potatoes, which are their pommes dauphines.  A bargain: the "Menu du Jour" option at dinner.  For $28.50 you get a three-course meal, with three choices in each category.   Parking can be a challenge, but public parking garages ease tremendously what used to be a mild impediment to getting here more often.

Blue Dahlia Bistro

In what is becoming a well-developed, and charming foodie and retail area in East Austin, Blue Dahlia bistro sits on East 11th, close to the 11th Street/Rosewood intersection.  Though the beautifully composed tartines (open-faced sandwiches with various toppings and sliced into wide slivers) are served on a thicker-sliced soft, but still delicious wheat bread, and not the Poilâne bread used for Paris "tartines," I love Blue Dahila Bistro for, well, anytime.  It is especially nice on a long weekend to soak up the feel of the place here: at the outdoor patio seating to be out and about feeling urban, or inside where there are nicely hewn wood tables, including an inviting community table right up front in the sunny front window, near overflowing shelves of breads and a giant basket of baguettes on the counter.  A back courtyard is available too for dining, under an ample pergola with leafy vines climbing up into it--and ceiling fans.  

Blue Dahlia offers breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but it really gets its French groove on at night, when it turns to such “Plats du Soir” (after 17h) as duck cassoulet; mushroom crêpes (with a yummy bleu cheese parmesan cream sauce); bouillabaisse with mussels, cod and shrimp ($15.95); and my two favorite classics of all the French classics: coq au vin (this one done with vin blanc and adding some prosciutto for good measure) and a boeuf bourgignon.  Though perhaps not so great a beverage for dinner (wine and beer available), but yes for breakfast or any cold afternoon: steamed milk with a side of Ghiradelli chocolate.  The bistro has gluten-free options available (both the original and Westlake locations), as well as local and organic produce, etc. as much as possible.  Check the calendar for happy hours, wine tastings, and music, at both the original East Austin and Westlake locations.  (East Austin location reviewed here.)

Artisan Bistro    A loyal following makes this their go-to destination out in Lakeway off Ranch Road 620.  With Austin getting smaller by the day it seems as it gets bigger, Lakeway is just not as far away as it seemingly used to be.  Do not be put off by the terra cotta stucco exterior of the small retail center where the bistro is located.  Get over it and just walk in.  (Well, they do really prefer that you make a reservation:  they run a lean, highly knowledgeable staff so they will adjust to make sure the loyal client base gets attentive service.) 

On entering you will see charming bistro tables, a black and white tile floor, and an open kitchen with shelves piled up high with brightly colored crockery, red, blue, the brown for the soupe à l’oignon gratinée, where you can watch Chef Cesidio d’Andrea do his thing. 

If you head for the long comptoir, or counter, as I do, you will get to enjoy your nice glass of wine while you order and watch Chef do his thing in the kitchen, by himself, with an efficiency and energy that makes one feel guilty for sitting there having a nice white Bordeaux.

But you may be distracted before you get seated by the area to your right as you enter the bistro. Here there are tables overflowing with pastries, breads, as well as gift items that would make perfect hostess gifts for a dinner party, such as a lovely bag of fleur de sel de gris, or basil infused olive oil.

Among the pains au chocolat, the croissants, the tarts, the macarons, there are also these little treasures you just do not see much at all around Austin.  A bell-shaped pastry that is the specialty of Bordeaux: cannelles.  But the real star in my book for the pastries here is a nod to French heritage and Chef's American surroundings: a breakfast bread/pastry that he calls French Toast.  It is crispy sugar on the outside, moist and custardy on the inside, reminding of the moist inside of a crispy-on-the-outside French Toast.  

 Artisan Bistro is open for both lunch and dinner (closed on Mondays (very French)), to star the French classics but with variations on the theme: a boeuf bourgignon, a Cassoulet Toulaisain, a Confit de Canard, and, for starters, some Duck Foie Gras “au torchon” roasted peaches ($14). Of course escargots are an option as well: by the half or full dozen ($9, $13).  For the lighter side, there is my favorite salad I order all the time in France (culinary rut): a hot goat cheese (chèvre chaud) salad, but this one adds sundried tomatoes and bacon.  (A not too widely known fact: Chef leads gastronomic tours.  A chateau in Normandy was mentioned upon inquiry into the details.)

Hopfields    Hopfields is styled as a gastropub, and may be more well known for its fine craft beers than its wine selection, but it’s very French.  Francophiles rejoice at seeing items not seen since the last trip to France, sandwiches such as the Jambon Beurre ($8), the Merguez Frites ($9), entrées (as in main course) such as a tarte du jour ($8; leek and manchego cheese being a favorite), moules frites ($16) and what is truly the superstar of this lean but high-quality menu:  a steak frites ($18). 

This is a superlative steak frites.  The cooks refuse to cook the steak anywhere above medium (or it used to be this way pretty much…Paris superstar artisanal butcher Hugo Desnoyer would so approve). The quality and cooking of this meat are superb. The steak arrives with a tart dijon mustard artfully swirled around the plate and a round of compound butter sliding off into meat juices and all of it blending into the fries sitting there alongside to sop it all up.   Dig in.  If the salade verte (with the charming departure from French tradition of adding of a wedge of camembert), leads to your thinking you are back in Paris at a café in the Marais, you are not off base here:  the house dijon vinaigrette is the recipe of owner Bay’s Parisian mother in law (Bay’s wife, co-owner Lindsay, is one-fourth French).  Along with the expertly selected craft beers and wine choices, you can also enjoy looking through the short but varied list of cocktails—such libations as the 75 Years in Provence or a Port of Havana run $8; some others, such as the Au Fait (Madeira, honey syrup, grapefruit, bitters) run $9.

To accommodate the growing number of Hopfields groupies, the back patio seating area is larger--and full food service out there.  In addition to the pub format in the original space, they’ve expanded out into the back portion of the building to add a “traditional” dining room, comprised of charming small nooks that house a few tables where you can have traditional table service (on the pub side you just place your order at the bar).  A calm yet simply-staged glamorous, way-in-the-back place is there for bringing your cocktails, beer flight, or bottle of wine back to chill in a quieter seating area.  I’m partial to the original pub side of the house.  Sit at the community table and make some new friends, or just enjoy sneaking some of those frites doused in butter and steak juice off the plates of your old (as in longtime) friends while you polish off the Cotes du Rhone.  

Péché    Péché is already well known for serving up Prohibition-era cocktails down on 4th Street, in Austin’s warehouse district, in an upscale ambiance that evokes the lore of absinthe.  Péché just feels luscious and decadent as one slips into one of those banquettes and sips on an absinthe cocktail amidst the exposed brick, wood-beamed ceilings, and chandeliers.

But it is also well worth a visit for the good, French-esque food to go along with those cocktails.  Owner Rob Pate tells me he has indulged his talented cooking team with an additional two burners to work the food magic back there: from four burners to six.  Yes, all this food on just that small amount of real estate (very French).

Péché in my book has the best frites in Austin.  They are served up with chipotle and salsa verde.  The "Bar Menu" is seriously mouth-watering (they change it up every four months or so), and the more French of those items they are serving up now include a Roasted Marrow and French Fries with Truffled Egg ($20), add escargots for $7; or a hearty Pot au Feu, done here with brisket, ideal for those occasional chilly evenings in Austin.  In addition to the extensive bar menu there is a daily menu that is tweeted daily. Examples of recent offerings: crispy duck breast with red wine braised cabbage ($28); boullabaisse ($32); and charcuterie and cheese boards that could easily make a meal.  Péché has some great happy hour deals, lasting all day Sundays and Mondays (after the late afternoon opening), and is definitely a food destination in addition to a preferred destination for beautifully crafted Old World cocktails.

épicerie    This new addition to the Rosedale neighborhood on Hancock Drive, near Fonda San Miguel, comprises a charming blue bungalow, with fig ivy-covered courtyard walls, and bright orange lettering reflecting the venue's name that immediately connotes France.  An épicerie is a little grocery store, not to be confused with a larger, more commercial "supermarché" or "magasin alimentaire" such as a FranPrix and its ilk.  Non, une épicerie oozes charm--such as the Epicérie Générale across the street from my last studio rental in Paris, on the rue de Verneuil.

This Austin version of an épicerie is light and bright.  White painted chairs, light wood tables, white subway tile behind the counters, great light fixtures; shiny chrome and lovely marble platters display piles of homemade brownies and salted chocolate chip cookies.  The white painted shelves comprising the "grocery" include shelves upon shelves of wine, including a Stump Jump Sticky Chardonnay dessert wine from Australia, and numerous other food items, such as orange blossom honey and Mast Brothers chocolate.  Once you’re done, for now, drooling over the food items in the “grocery,” it's time to think about food at the café part of épicerie.  

Here too favorite French things are featured: there is a grilled comté (cheese) sandwich with tomato soup; an oxtail stew (with anson mills grits, japanese turnips, oven-roasted tomato; $11.99); a comforting roasted chicken (roasted chicken leg, grilled Brussels sprouts, French lentils, mustard; $12.99); tri-tip steak (with frites, grilled green onion, aiilo; $14.99).  Salads include an arugula salad, rounded out with a great French bleu cheese (forme d'ambert), pears, marcona almonds, all finished off with a sherry vinaigrette ($8.99).  Seating can be outside in a nice courtyard or in the sunny bright interior.  Owner Sarah Macintosh has hit on on something special here with the café/grocery concept.  In fact, I wish I had done thought of this.  

Bakeries & Creperies & Etc.

Baguette et Chocolat   Chef Tyson Cole of Uchi and Uchiko fame says this is his go-to place for anything chocolate.  The line here on Saturday mornings attests to the quality that gets a superstar chef over there out on Bee Cave Road (a/k/a FM 2244).  Regulars know to get there on a weekend morning earlier than later in case a favorite sells out.  Enjoying a basket of buttery flaky croissants and a couple of hot chocolates in the Lavazza cups, with Chantilly whipped cream overflowing and dripping down the sides of the cup, is a good way to start a Saturday or Sunday.  

Baguette et Chocolat has a considerable array of menu items--definitely something for everyone here: salads, crêpes, paninis, sandwiches (and, of course, the two croques: croque monsieur and his better half the croque madame).  The crêpes range from classic flavors and combinations such as the Paysanne (Mornay sauce with chicken, mushrooms and swiss cheese), to a Texas twist: the Texane (chicken, red onions and BBQ sauce). My favorite combination: the Cabri, mixing up for its filling some prosciutto, goat cheese and tomato.  The pastry case is so full of classic French pastries, if you close your eyes and squint you would think you were doing some window shopping at a Patisserie somewhere in France.  No mistake that: the owner, Chi-Minh, is from Versailles, just outside of Paris, and is a graduate of l’Institut National Boulangerie Patisserie (INBP).

Pick up a baguette tradition on your way out – if there are any left – and enjoy the Baguette et Chocolat experience for a couple more days at home.  

Le Café Crepe  

Housed at ground level of the Hampton Inn downtown on San Jacinto near The Four Seasons, the owners of now closed Dreyfus Antiques (I still miss that giant Eiffel Tower structure every time I drive down North Lamar), thankfully opened up Le Café Crepe a few years ago to accommodate what was apparently a pent-up need for something different downtown. The Café quickly gained a following for offering a delicious option for the downtown lunch routine.  Downtown diners are lucky they can get here just about any time – crowds permitting – because they do not have to deal with parking.  With downtown construction eating into already limited parking, access is a little tricky on a weekday, but always worth it once you settle in.

With charming interior décor, those cheery yellow walls and French signage, the Cafe's crêpes here are on the classic side, but with a nod to the local vibe with The Hampton (turkey pastrami, blue cheese, spinach, tomatoes, green onion, and avocado ($8.75)) and the allure of all things French (for some of us), with The Eiffel (chicken, provolone cheese, tomatoes, asparagus ($8.25)). And though the sweet crepes have classics as well, I am partial to one of the fancier ones, La Fromagère, with brie, pear, walnuts and honey ($8.10); the classics (nutella, la canella (cinnamon)) will run from a modest $5.50 to around $7.

En plus, and très français as well for spending an afternoon, there is WiFi access at the café. So while away an afternoon sitting outside, at a café table under an umbrella, and enjoy those classics with a big bowl-like cup of café au lait, or an Orangina.  (Or with wine and beer options as well, and save the coffee for after.) Construction downtown as of March 1, 2013 has Le Café Crepe boxed in for a time, but it is still open and still the place for a crêpes fix in the heart of downtown.  

Flip Happy Crepes (trailer)   

Austin’s most relatively famous creperie, Flip Happy Crepes, is a refurbished silver trailer (some say it’s an avion; in video footage the owners call it an Airstream) is just off Barton Springs Road, behind the building at 400 Josephine Street. Here, surrounded by condos and a vibrant commercial area of new eateries, is a plot of nature with giant trees towering over bright red picnic tables and colorful café tables and chairs.  Here sits Flip Happy Crepes, which received national exposure in 2007 when Bobby Flay of Food Network fame came to town with his Throwdown series to take on the crepes of owners Nessa Higgins and Andrea Day Boykin (they have been friends since kindergarten).  

Weekend mornings bring out families or those taking a pause while walking the dog on the Lady Bird Lake trail to linger here for a break.  Line up at the window for placing your order for sweet and savory crepes:  the most popular sweet ones being cinnamon sugar (ground almonds, buttery hot and sugary with whipped cream) and the vanilla pastry cream with blueberries, strawberries, and blackberries (pictured below).  If you’ve really worked up an appetite, the Peanut Butter Delight usually is ample enough for two persons, or one person who just did the 5-mile loop.   

The flavors on the savory part of the menu include classic French creperie items: roasted chicken & mushroom & caramelized onion, or another one with tarragon, mushroom, goat cheese, spinach and caramelized onion and tomatoes.  Other show some funky Austin flair, such as in the shredded pork with carmelized onions and white cheddar ($6.95). 

Worried about the kiddos not liking a full-sized crepe at the full price? Check out the Kids Menu: a "Mini Crepe" option exists ($3.75), for cheese only or ham and cheese or chicken and cheese, and a Nutella Roll-Up for a modest $2.50.  

Prepare for a bit of a wait – but enjoy the sun, the trees, and the fact that you’re in Austin.   Pick up orders are available, call 512.552.9034, but time it just right. You want that buttery hot cinnamon crêpe (pictured at left) the minute it’s ready.  Limited hours, so check the website frequently. 

Crepesmille (trailer)

On a crowded corner on South Congress at Gibson Street, away from the heavier concentration of food trailers, is the shiny Airstream trailer for Crepes Mille.  Run by two (very) young and adorably energetic women, this spot gets crowded with folks vying for room to sit at the picnic tables plus line up and place an order for one of these super funky creations.  There are deliciously well done twists on the classic crepes.  You will not see Oreos or Marshmallows on the menu for a typical crêpe stand in Paris, but the combinations here are right on and gorgeous upon arrival.  Case in point, one of the most popular:  The Parisian, including brie, milk chocolate, strawberries and whipped cream.

If the combined effect of the busy corner and the line and the tables feels too claustrophobic, just be patient because heaven awaits:  grab the crepe (figure about a 5-7 minute wait most days) and take it to go.  Walk down esoterically scenic South Congress, with a big smile on your whipped cream- or powdered sugared-face once you take that first bite of crepe: a hint of a crispy outside, yet tender, with butter or chocolate or whatever you selected. Lots of lovely combinations are available in addition to The Parisian, such as The Caramelized Pear and French Toast, but make up your own crepe too for $5.  Pick from a line-up of fillings, such as almond butter, honey butter, or classic crepe ingredient nutella, then pick a topping from another list of toppings, such as bananas and bluebell Ice cream.   Do not worry that whipped cream is not on the list of options for a topping.  You will be asked when they call your name and you pick up with crepe.  Enjoy mixing it up with the South Congress crowds among other nearby hotspots, Perla’s and Hopdoddy, and maybe even work up an appetite for another one.  Check the web site for their current (limited) hours.

Etc.

Melvin's Deli * Comfort (trailer; 53rd/Duval)

Melvin's, this cute red trailer, makes this list because of one food item.  No, better to call this item an event.  It is the Melvin's Croque Monsieur.  It does not matter where you are in Austin between the hours of 11 and 2 on a weekday (the only hours Melvin's is open for business). You really owe it to yourself to have Melvin’s Croque Monsieur.  Sure, it’s a little out of the way for some, at 53rd and Duval, but you should really have this Croque Monsieur.  But have it only if you really like great (Gruyere) cheese, finely cured high-end meats and bread and béchamel sauce all mixed in together with a stout Dijon mustard.  If you don’t like cheesy messes, then you can skip this.  And if you're not into finely crafted and cured meats (such as the superlative ham on this food event), then you can skip this.  And if you’re being really French and not too keen on eating a café classic with your hands, this may not work for you.  But you’d be missing out.  Other sandwiches coming out of this humble trailer are also recognized around town by foodies because of the fine meats. But the croque monsieur is the show-stealer.  Eat it while it’s hot.  Right there in the parking lot where the trailer is parked. 

P.S.

Thanks, Austin Food Blogger Alliance City Guide, for giving me an excuse to go eat more and park illegally all over Austin getting the pictures.

 

Melvin's Deli Comfort's Croque Monsieur (a great hot mess)

In the mad dash to check out all the "French" food venues I could for the AFBA on line City Guide 2013, I had to quickly check out a tip I received for Melvin's.  I heard their Croque Monsieur had been written up as something spectacular.  As Melvin's is a happy bright red trailer located at 53rd and Duval, I figured leaving at 11h30 from my house would allow me get me there, score this croque monsieur, and get to French class for noon.  Time is of the essence now to visit these spots before my write-up is due. And Melvin's is only open from 11 to 2, Monday through Friday.

Let us consider for a moment the croque monsieur.  It is, at bottom, a ham and cheese sandwich.  It is omnipresent in France, a staple among basic cafe fare items. If one is hungry for quick but filling sustenance after walking along the Seine, up to the Quai Branly and down to l'Institut du Monde Arabe, back up the Right Bank to the Louvre, Place de la Concorde, sighing wistfully for hours, a croque monsieur hits the spot.  And it's hard to get it wrong.  Or so you would think.  

Having spent many hours working up an appetite in walking up and down the Seine over the last three decades, I have had a fair number of very mediocre croques monsieurs.  There are many things that can go wrong on it:  not broiling it enough to make it nice and hot; not having enough Bechamel sauce and cheese on top to make it bubbly and golden brown and crusty crispy; lackluster innards, i.e., bland cheese (rather than a great gruyere) and/or benign ham, like just a thin slice of ham, obviously pulled up out of a plastic package.  

The red trailer that is Melvin's is easy to spot on the corner, in a parking lot (parking is easy).  There are two picnic tables set up in the parking lot.  It is cold. I will not be sitting at a picnic table.

I order the Croque Monsieur.  The perky order-taker tells me: "Ok, now the croque monsieur takes a little longer, so just warning you."  Drats..."How much longer?  I need to get to French class?" 10 minutes she says.

I'm too far in.  I say ok.  And now I'm intrigued that they will be taking their time with this Croque Monsieur.  I wait:  I pace in the cold; I sit in the car; I get back out and pace in the cold.  "One more minute, Liz!," she tells me.  Adorable.   Others have lined up and already gotten their orders.  I realize I will have to hurriedly eat this in the car while driving to French class.

"Liz!"

She hands me a white box.  I open the white box in the car.  There it is.  The Croque Monsieur.  Along with the homemade potato chips.

I pick it up and balance the heavy, ooozing cheesy buttery thing.  It is heavy.  It is hot. It is a hot mess.

A bite, balancing it all precariously as I try to start the car as well (impossible).  Need two hands for this thing.  It is delicious. Like gasp, and say things like, well, I won't repeat what I said and dig in more as it is dripping with cheese, sauce, butter, ham, drippings of all of this mixed together...

David Lebovitz wrote up some tips about food writing a while back.  He said to refrain from just calling a food item "delicious" or "good."  That is no help for the reader. So I will say exactly what made this so delicious.  

Delicious is the hot tart cheese, hitting the tang of a unique non-commercial mustard, combined with the bubbly bechamel, and, the superstar: the sweet salty ham.  It is ham as one would cook up in the frying pan, with it just starting to crisp up on the edges and curl up some.  It it piled into and becomes one with the oozing cheese.  All is in proportion.  There is not a single mistake with this croque monsieur.  Maybe the bread could hold up a little better.  But it is a high quality meat, good strong cheese, and the tanginess of the mustard hitting the bechamel that make this an inspired croque monsieur.  

I drive and eat, the steering wheel getting smeared with all the drippings as I bite and steer, holding the sandwich up so I can get keep my head straight while driving and get the mouth up under the sandwich.  

By the time I get to French class, my hands are soaked with buttery salty goodness. I walk into class, proclaim I have just eaten the most magical croque monsieur ever, from a happy red trailer just blocks away, and go to wash my hands off.  I try to explain to my French teacher that first magical moment of biting into the hot mess, which was really just moments earlier.  And then I forget, again: she does not like cheese. 

No need for the potato chips.  They could be a little thicker for me in the homemade chip category.  But don't waste the calories.  The calories are well spent on the Croque Monsieur.   Do not wait and eat it at home.  Eat it immediately.  

Now if only Melvin's could get its hands on some Cotes du Rhone to serve alongside that hot mess.

 

Goat on the fire...and other surprises: LongHouse Food Revival

I got back from France on Tuesday, with what I have taken to calling "my Parisian cold," crammed in the work, and made it to the Food, the City, and Innovation Conference at UT (specifically, The Food Lab at UT) this past Friday/Saturday.  In fact, that trip to France was compelled for many reasons, but primarily for getting up-to-date intel on what the France start-up scene looks like in the food systems sector.  Not just so I can be a part of that dialogue as well and connect us with the innovations over there, but also to figure out which one of the many ill-fitting, half-made hats I am trying on these days -- putative food entrepreneur, food system critic/problem-solver to entrepreneurs -- suits me best.

Between the head cold, the work, the brain-smashingingly awesome new jargon I learned (e.g., "hyper-local" and "restorative ecosystems" and "food system resiliency" and "bio-economy") that infuses the debate about local, sustainable, urban agriculture, by the time Friday night's dinner rolled around I was doing good just to get myself there.  I had no idea what it was that I had purchased a ticket for months earlier.  But someone had come all the way from Delaware just to see her friend, Molly O'Neill, run this show.  I started to take it all a bit seriously. 

All I knew was the space was gorgeous.  We were there early, Melissa and I, to be almost first in line at the bar (tequila tasting, etc. and an actually pretty darn good Texas wine) and take in what this place, this thing was going to be.  

As in many, many things, I was starting to learn that I am a little late to the party on this food systems stuff.  Yet I come at it from such a different perspective - funding/legal challenges these folks face as they (we) seek to change the world (lawyers, we're such total buzzkillers) - but even though I am late, I am delighted to be seeing my city in a whole different light.  Much like I saw Paris for the first time in a very different way this time: the young, hipster, smart entrepreneur/challenge the system side.  (Young being an operative word.)  

I had just learned about Hope Farmers Market that day, and it so happens that this particular market, when it happens, is at this Pine Street Station where the LongHouse Food Revival Dinner was happening.  It is a complex of old barn buildings or lean-tos, with rafters, soaring ceilings, and metal siding and roofing, just east of I-35, which can be rented out for private events.  Exquisitely rustic.  I take pictures.  I look for snacks to accompany the really not bad at all, and really pretty good, Texas red wine.  Melissa finds Iliana de la Vega. They do their gorgeous Spanish thing.  I do not even try to keep up.

Soon we are herded from the now very energetic crowd of folks around the bar, under the lights, into a separate room, one that is not the dining room.  This concerns me, as I am very hungry.  And the dining room looked so adorable all set up improvised like in a farm to table dinner-at-the-field/farm dinner.

But as the music starts -- guitars, some percussion, some singing -- I am easily distracted from the crankiness of no food. (The tamales out for aperitif dining were great, but I stopped after a couple of halves....practicing moderation.)

I am handed a gorgeous program.  I am very critical of printed products.  This one is really well done: lovely font, lovel graphics, right size.  I sit on a back row with new friend, whom I figure out I must have partied with here in 1990 in the early post-grad school transition year to law school, and long-time friend Melissa from that same era (who also knew said new/re-met friend).

Now the magic begins.  LongHouse Food Revival is a multi-media performance art statements of sorts about food.  Our food stories.  Our communities and our food, our personas and our food.  Including recipe demonstrations -- Iliana de la Vega - poems, with powerful visual background of a daughter's recounting her memories or mother's soup juxtaposed against the loss of her mother to dementia; more music, interviews - with Gustavo Arellano of the Ask a Mexican column - with Melissa Guerra, a Nortena, whose husband, Kiko, we learn is the one out there cooking the cabrito. Ah, so there's a goat on the fire.  That's what that's all about out there.

We hear this other Melissa's back story, her 300+ year old cattle ranch around the border, the many hours of getting here, the many hours her awesome husband (her words) has been tending the cabrito - just for us to eat.   

It is cumulatively charming, inspiring.  Even with the flawed sound system. 

Molly has some serious verbal skills.  I was a little jealous, yea, but between my cold and the red wine, I just sat back and delighted in her prose in setting up the various stages of this event, in explaining what she does - to those of us who were clueless.

LongHouse Food Revival is this:

Based on the 19th century American Chautauqua movement, LongHouse Food Revivals are a series of annual gatherings of thought leaders across the United States. The Revivals are designed to stretch the boundaries of how food stories are told, raise the bar on the nation’s food news agenda and, most of all, foster the community between generations, regions, cultures and media platforms that support innovative work of the highest quality. Produced by CookNScribble, the online educational resource and virtual editorial office for food writers, bloggers and producers, LongHouse Food Revivals are intimate gatherings that are large in vision. No two Revivals are alike. All are serious fun 

After that, I lingered.  I loaded up on beads, set up in the bottom bin of a rustic wood display stand.  Molly applauds me for getting that I needed to get some beads. The NOLA thing in me I guess.  I see beads.  I grab.  Told Molly, genuinely, this was so well done.  I love it.  Needed it.  Have found my people.  

At the end of all that, and then the meeting of new friends--the Shrimp Boat Projects guys, a landscape architect professor specializing in urban agricultural designs and rhetoric (I felt very out-intellectualized)--there were small cups of Mexican hot chocolate.  Some ice cream.  I went for the chocolat chaud.

Said newfound old acquaintance of mine, who does a lot of cool things in Austin, echoed my own random thoughts at about that same time when she said:  This is the coolest thing I have ever done in Austin.   

  (Cabrito being distributed in the buffet line; which line of food also had the best tortillas I have ever had (good thick rustic corn tortillas))

Dear Austin: If a French chef from around the Loire Valley were visiting Austin...

Would you be interested in, for example:

• Going on a market visit/tour with him as he shops at local Austin markets for the dinners he will prep during SxSW?
• Learning about how French cooking and the French restaurant scene is evolving and comparing that journey to Austin's journey to becoming more of a foodie paradise?
• Attending casual, informative wine-tastings with him to learn about some of the fantastic regional wines that Austin's sister city Angers (i.e., the region around there) has to offer and that we would typically never see or taste in an Austin restaurant -- or any Texas restaurant or wine bar for that matter?
• Enjoy some small tastings and chat with him about why or how or whether the US (and Austin) (or their idealized mythical impressions) hold some sway in the French psyche and imagination (and vice versa)?

This could all happen - just brainstorming here.  Send me your thoughts about how this sounds - or what else you might be interested in - and we'll see about making it happen during SxSW and let you know about time, place, etc.

Le Chocolat - and a random taste test- all Antonelli's fault.

On a recent Saturday full of promise and me full of inner peace, with the house under control and work seemingly at bay for the moment, it seemed idyllic to pretend for a moment that I had not a care in the world and to head to Antonelli's and secure a fantastic loaf of bread.  As if I were hosting a party on the beachfront or something and needed to get going making the sandwiches (a la Ina Garten here).  At the time, I had in my mind to make French Onion Soup over the weekend, as winter would be descending again imminently here in Austin.  I was on a roll at home with the son. He loved the haricots verts with garlic and butter (okay loved maybe not the right word: he ate them; pretty strong endorsement there), the halibut another night, and then the wild salmon.  Things were on the up and up in foodie-training terms.

Indulging in the fantasy that the son would actually eat French Onion soup, I noted to myself that I would need (good) bread and an appropriate fromage: Gruyere or Comte.  Ergo the trip to Antonelli's.  I was in a Gruyere mood. Maybe because of the imminent winter weather.  Comte seems more like a fantastic favorite cheese for any time of year.  Gruyere makes me think of Switzerland, raclette, an ill-fated skiing adventure during my Junior Year in France for a short holiday spent in Sion, Switzerland with accomplished skiing friends, and cortisone shots for knee injury when back in Paris.  Ergo, gruyere makes me think of winter.

I was very restrained at Antonelli's.  I purchased only the one cheese.  And only the one bread.  And I almost left with just that.  But no.  They have there, as you linger there at the register over how to pay for the purchase, le chocolat.

Sure, there was sitting there the inappropriately deliciously amazing sea salt caramel chocolate.   $11.99 I think it was.  But non, I say to myself:  Going to France on Thursday for crying out loud.  Ridiculous purchase.  I see larger, other chocolate bars, for a couple of dollars less, and beautifully packaged.  Non, too big.  Sure, The Cleanse is long gone, and I am back to bad habits I am so sorry to say, but that is just too much high-end, single-origin chocolate for one person to justify purchasing.  

And then I saw it.

A tiny, narrow single bar of that same single-origin chocolate.  A way smaller size. Easier to justify psychologically.   I bought it.  The brown paper wrapping; the size; the font for "twenty-four blackbirds." I fell for it all.  For if I had a high-end artisanal chocolate company, I would want to package my chocolate this way too.  The font. That's what got to me.

With fine bread and cheese and chocolate in hand, I needed only ham, as I had justified the purchase of bread in the first place to make not only French Onion Soup but also nice paninis for the son.  

Central Market: Sure, I got the Black Forest ham.  But I had to pass by the chocolate kisok/aisle there at the end on the way to the express check-out lanes.   So I stopped.  I saw a theme coming on.  I had already one super specialty chocolate. Why not get more and compare and contrast?

I handily convinced myself, and so the taste test was born.

What other chocolate would make the cut of my first, in perhaps a series of, chocolate tastings ?  Something well-packaged, yes.  Something different.    I went for a ginger lime and another with dark chocolate and cherry granola mix.

A funny thing happened, as I will fast forward here a bit.  The chocolate I liked least the first day became a favorite some 3 days later, accompanied late at night with my favorite Cotes du Rhone.  Which reminds us of a good lesson: good chocolate is obviously an impulse buy.  Retail therapy.  Emotional purchase.  So the mood impacts the food experience: not many other people will have the same experience of the same food (chocolate).  

Anyway...the Results.

First, I taste the twenty-four blackbirds.  The 68% is pushing it for me, but under 70% I think I can handle.   Whoa.  This is like getting the Starbucks dark roast after 21 days of no caffeine.  It was stout.  I was, to my dismay, not digging it.  

Second, I taste the Willie's Cacao ginger lime.  Liked the packaging.  Nice shape. Unusual: good in terms of not too large but not too small.  Square, not rectangle.  The taste?  Surprisingly right and ok: not too much lime, but I got the taste of it.  And love ginger already with chocolate.  

I decide this chocolate tasting gig is really something I could get used to.

Third, I taste the Sanders "Cherry Almond Granola Dark Chocolate Bar."   Not the greatest packaging, but not trite either.  Not trying too hard to be cool and contemporary in this new marketplace of fancy chocolate.   I taste.  Oh. Yes. This, this is the winner.  Love it immediately.  And I do not like cherries.  In anything.  Except for Melissa's dried cherry and pistachio holiday biscotti.

A couple of days later - late at night, the twenty-four blackbirds is still hanging around - I give it a try (the cherry/granola/dark chocolate was long gone).  Wow.   Now this is good stuff.

I am sorry to say it is all gone now.  And I am sorry to say I could not interest the son in any of these fine chocolates.  I have only myself to blame for their relatively rapid disappearance over the course of 4 days.  It was dark chocolate though.  And we know that this, and red wine, in moderation, is all good for you.  

Still just having a little bit of a problem with that moderation part. 

 

 

Paris Prep at Lenoir ... and Service as Service Should Be

I had the illogical compulsion in this holiday party/holiday get-together season to get in a dinner at Lenoir before Christmas.  Maybe because the last (and first) time I went, I vowed I would go once or twice a month.  At least.  Or maybe it is because the Paris/France trip is looming, and my France longing is in full swing, and Lenoir reminds me of Verjus and Paris.  And now suddenly it is a few months later and no second time, much less a third or fourth time, for a return trip to Lenoir for that long-ago promise.  We know how these things go.  

So I made the reservation.  Couple of noteworthy points for that recent visit.

1.  Service here is as service should be.  (We had Clinton helping us out.) That is to say, it is more French than what we sort of think is ok and expected in the USA.  By that I mean there is no intrusive frequent slew of inquiries into how is everything. Instead, there is the just right amount of ensuring all is well and the just right amount of attentiveness and intuitiveness to know when something might be needed.  Compare with Freedmen's from the Thursday night mescal cocktail night (was a rough week), and the 3-4 persons who each made a round about every 5 minutes to interrupt and ask how things were for us, while I was busy solving the week's problems with a friend.   I like the place, really, but brilliant streams of consciousness over the great cocktail were interrupted far too often for my 47-year-old brain to get back to that stream after assuring everyone several times that everything was fine.  (Sort of cute in the over-eagerness.  Loved the smoked turkey though.)

2.  Back to Lenoir.  I liked everything we had.  But one item was exceptional. Fortunately Anne was there early enough to beat me for the 7:30 reservation and get seated at the bar to be there when someone else, who was eating dinner at the bar, exclaimed over whatever she was eating:  "Oh my God.  This is amazing."   Anne found out what it was.  We each ordered it.  It was this:

butternut mole tortelli / roasted brussel sprouts / amaretti crumble / lime butter

We asked for bread so we would not have to lick our plates to get the last of the crumble and the butter off. 

We asked how long this unearthly delight would be on the menu - forever?

Clinton told us:  yes, lots of good reviews on this one, yes we'll keep it on the menu----for a couple of weeks.

Oh.  This is sad news.  Just a couple of weeks.  The window of this happiness opportunity will be closing soon.   Run.  Go try it.  The tang of that lime with the crumble texture and the crispy Brussels sprouts (chopped up tiny and crunchy, as a garnish almost) with the smooth richness of the butternut mole - it's pretty darn awesome.  Served up in that nice (French-like again) small portion. Just enough to thoroughly enjoy it.  Not too much a serving so as to get too full and not fully appreciate the next course.  

Well done, and see you very soon, Lenoir, before 2013 rolls around here any day now.

 

 

 

Neighborhood Parties

(Dessert bar, chez moi, Ridgelea Parents' Party 2012)

The 21-Day Cleanse (including no alcohol, no caffeine) ended not with a bang but a whimper.  I stumbled to the finish line a little weak and dizzy, through my own fault of just not eating enough that day.  So instead of being OCD and waiting for midnight to break the fast/Cleanse, it was off to Justine's at 10:45 pm to celebrate these 21 days and all the interesting realizations about my food issues and seriously wacky mindsets in our society when it comes to our food culture.  

At Justine's, cheered by the sight of friend's daughter (flower girl at my way long ago wedding (who also brought us on-the-house salmon appetizer...uh, thanks!)), I order my usual escargots order and, of course, per usual, suggest we split a bottle of the house red, Cotes du Rhone.   But I am not what I used to be.  What was a walk-in-the-park, easy-to-drink half bottle for me usually, pre-Cleanse, absolutely knocked me out into wiped out exhaustion the next day.  Just as well.  It was good prep for the next few days of ... Neighborhood Parties!

Sure, the neighborhood parents' party was fun at my house.  Warm fuzzies live on in my heart and head at the sight of my friends, neighbors, new neighbors/friends singing around my piano and all the French doors open to the just-cold-enough December night.  Good stuff.  But all this was just prelude to The Mollie Party.

The Mollie Party started out nicely enough.   The white and silver of the living room reflecting the lights and sounds of a happy hum of happy people.  But the food - ah, yes, the food.  And the grown-up libations.  Not just one signature cocktail.  Two.  A "Partridge in a Pear Tree Martini" followed by "Candy Cane Shooters." 

I am 47.  Not sure how I still feel compelled at this advancing age to guzzle a shot when the hostess comes by and says: "OKAY - on the count of 3 : 1, 2....3!  Yep. Down it went. 

I knew my nemesis would be there at the party.  Mollie warned me.  I was prepared mentally.  I have a hate-love relationship with this nemesis:  The Dip Of Decadence: onion dip with parmesan cheese and cream cheese and....?  Only three dollops were had by me.  Spectacular willpower on my part.

Off to the kitchen.   I am waiting for the next round of the voluptuous Mac & Cheese Bar to be replenished.  

I spy a bowl of cashews, each nut glistening with olive oil and sprinkled with fresh rosemary.

The mac & cheese bar is replenished.  I had none.  It was just a lovely thing of beauty that I enjoyed gazing upon.

What is a holiday party without desserts.  Mollie went French:  Macarons, for sure, in custom flavors such as egg nog and candy cane, but also these adorable cream puffs, dipped in dark chocolate and rolled in crushed candy canes.

As I moved outside to the bar to wait patiently in line for my Patridge-in-a-Pear-Tree Martini, the bartender gal was busy making up Mollie's surprise second signature cocktail of the night.  Labor intensive those candy cane shooters - each shot glass rim dipped in something, simple syrup? - then, again with the candy canes, crushed candy cane on the rims of every single one of those glasses on the silver tray.

There might have been some Kool and the Gang playing at high volume as I left, reluctantly, to tend to parenting duties (it was a school night....finals).

And this is the great thing about Neighborhood Parties.  No need to fret about the Peppermint Schnapps and Godiva White Chocolate Liqueur Candy Cane Shooters, which followed the Pear Martini.  It's just a short walk home from the glowing happy house of food, wine, cocktails, music and light and shiny Christmas cheer.  And Kool and the Gang.

Back home, 2 minutes later after all that, I was folding laundry. And assisting with the finals studying by asking two, maybe four or five times, how the studying was going. I even finished up my own work.

Apparently I left just in time - or a tad too early.  The police were summoned. And the police showed up.  Jealous neighbor perhaps.  Too much holiday fun by others can be hard to handle by those not so filled with Yuletide glee (i.e., signature cocktails).  Mollie, being the quintessential hostes, I am sure offered them a Candy Cane Shooter.  Or at least some mac & cheese sprinkled with bacon - to go. 

 

 

"Pretentious Food Jerk" (a Craig Thornton term - way better than "foodie") and Food Life from afar (while cleansing/detoxing)

(seriously overlarge cauliflower purchased on veggie loading trip to Central Market)

I like food.  And wine.  And cocktails (like wine more).  And like enjoying those things with my friends and family.  And also like those things at the many solo "aperitif" times in my kitchen with TSF Jazz, Paris's 24-hour jazz station, keeping me company.

But sometimes enough is enough.  And so it is that I am on this 21-day cleanse thing.  "Purification," rather, under the supervision of my functional endrocrinologist.  How perfect to get back to basics and detox the system between that crazy time of Thanksgiving and Christmas.  How much weight do we gain in this time?  I am forestalling that.  But it means going to some parties and exercising such extreme will power that it surprises even me. 

Now into week 2, day 8, and now that I'm in the cleansing groove and feeling great after a couple of (typical) rough days at the beginning, a funny thing has happened. By withdrawing from the food world, at least in part, I can observe.  How I act with food, interact with it, use and abuse the tasting of this and that.   How I use and abuse it in social settings.  Some events I've almost not attended, for how on earth could one possibly enjoy an evening with the girlfriends at the W and not have a precious glass of red wine.  Or one of those gorgeous cocktails. It was awkward, but in the end it made no difference at all. I still reveled in the sultry coolness of the place and the company of friends.  No wine did nothing to diminish the evening. Shock.  It may have enhanced it.  

But all the more shocking now: how insidiously our popular culture has immersed itself in processed foods.  When you've had a protein drink, some supplements, and a nice sparse green salad at the only place at the airport such a thing could be found ("no nuts or seeds, no cheese - not even a sprinkle - and dressing on the side, please"), the airport food landscape of french fries, Coke, and Cinnabons looks grotesquely surreal.

(baking sheet of torn pieces of washed and dried fresh organic kale, drizzled with 1 tsp of extra virgin olive oil and sea salt and paprika to be baked for 15 minutes or so at 350 - careful to not burn them. And, well, I may have had just about the whole "serving" that baking sheet made...they shrink when they cook!)

In this intense state of mindfulness about food and food experience, I pick up the December 3 issue of The New Yorker at the airport: "The Food Issue."  I almost read it cover to cover - the food articles.  They are exquisitely written. 

Of note for now: "Annals of Gastronomy: Toques from Underground...the rise of the secret supper club," by Dana Goodyear, focusing on freak of nature wunderkind anti-chef, Craig Thornton and his Wolvesmouth dinners in L.A.   He's young.  Creative.  Sort of insane I think.  As every true artist probably is.  Example:

 "At a dinner last winter, when he learned that one of this regular guests was about to turn forty, he proposed cooking a forty-course meal to celebrate.  It was a typical Wolvesmouth dinner, miniaturized and quadrupled, and served in four hours. (Course No. 24: 'chicken liver mousse, pickled pear, watermelon radish, brioche, fleur de sel' No. 31: 'lobster, celery root remoulade, black sesame, cherry-white soy vinaigrette.')." 

He is very anti-bad food and anti-establishment and fame (for now), while catering to and relying on the "foodie" and the "foodie movement."  And here I and millions of others would agree with him.  

Hate the word "foodie."  (Page 52)

Of his two alternatives, "super food asshole" and "pretentious food jerk," I am leaning toward the latter.

The New Yorker article tells us: he is 30 and skinny.  Doesn't drink or smoke.  Rarely sleeps.  He once drove across the country, losing 15 pounds en route, because he could not stand to eat road food along the way.  (Page 46).

So I get it now.  This purification thing is a forced realization of the everyday toxins of the popular food culture.  It reminds that a pretentious food jerk is really, at bottom, nothing more than someone taking a stand against the Cinnabon as an accepted norm and insisting on quality over quantity.  

My mom recently asked me where this love of food--how it looks, tastes, is made and experienced--comes from.  Don't know.  I know I had this early on in that previous life of mine, where I vocally detested and abhorred chain restaurants. I did not have the "foodie" vocabulary back then (early 1990s), but I considered it a waste of a food experience - and calories.  (When I was treated to a birthday dinner at a chain restaurant I should have clued in that this relationship was not looking good for long-term possibilities.) 

If it is pretentious to demand that the calories I choose to expend be good ones, well-grown, seasoned and consumed with thoughts given to the food system that created it, so be it. I am a PFJ.

(part of the Thanksgiving photoscape...(one of many) platter(s) of bacon) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lessons in Swiss Chard / Onion Creek Kitchens at Juniper Hills Farm

(view from my Casita Roja, one of the cabins on site at Juniper HIlls Farm, over the fire pit and bocce court; the Casita Roja is the only one on a second floor and ergo these types of views)

As much as I love food -- food per se, and food as a family and friends event, and food as source of nostalgia and general warm fuzzies -- I am not all that super creative or gregarious when it comes to cooking at home.  It is just the son and I, and there are only so many hours in the day with work and momhood.  I have purchased so much kale, with the best of intentions but that I have never used, it only pushes me deeper into my child-rearing-related food guilt.

(view from my Casita Roja looking down on another nearby casita; yes there are "cabins" to rent on the property; really, really recommend this)

So along with the shocking food facts and revelations about me that I do not like olives or oysters, it may come as no surprise that I'm a little late to the party when it comes to greens.  And swiss chard in particular.  

At the Fall Menu cooking "class" this weekend at Onion Creek Kitchens at the oh-so-very charming rustically scenic Juniper Hills Farm out near Dripping Springs, the list of dishes looked daunting:  

But we should have known, from the last visit there, that Sibby the cook/owner runs a tight ship in terms of timing, resources, dish-washing, and keeping (some) increasingly tipsy guest cooks from falling behind on the job.  

Forgot to set that iPhone timer for toasting those almonds in the convection oven?  Not to worry - someone magically appeared just in time to take them out and leave them on one of many stainless steel prep areas for you.  Going a little slow on the making the sliver in the 2 dozen large dried figs to insert the gorgonzola/goat cheese mixture topped with pecan then wrapped in strips of prosciutto?  Sibby appears and diplomatically offers up some tips to show you a more, ahem, efficient way of getting that important appetizer dish done in time.

It's not really a "cooking class," but you will learn some great new recipes and great prepping and cooking tips from consummate hostess and cook Sibby.  This night we were divided into two "teams," with each team executing the same menu.  Then individuals on each team decide on what they want to make.

We are not ones to stand idly by while others pondered what to make.  Mollie grabbed fast and grabbed well.  Recipes I mean.  She scored the Rosemary Almond Crackers recipe (does not nearly describe how delicious these delicate "crackers" are, infused with rosemary-rubbed sugar and shortbread-esque texture for the finished product). She also scored the swiss chard recipe that I had been eyeing:  "Swiss Chard with Creme Fraiche."  What's not to love about eating a good-for-you vegetable with creme fraiche.  Easy to make. Gorgeous to look at. It screams Christmas.

Start with 1.5 pounds of swiss chard that someone has already washed for you. 

Start tearing the leafy part off of the stems and ribs.  I loved this part.  I was a little more meticulous than Mollie...ahem...did it matter in the end?  Of course not.  A rib with a little leaf (or a lot) does not matter at all.

Off they go to boiling water.  The chopped ribs and stems first (4 minutes).

Then the leaves (2 minutes).  Drain.   Cool.  Squeeze out water. 

Heat oil in pan.  Add the well-drained swiss chard, which won't look like much at all by now after squeezing as much liquid as possible out of them.  Add globs of creme fraiche.  Add salt.  Add pepper.

Done.

Set it to rest and/or keep warm until the rest of the meal is done and it is time to serve yourself up a plate.  

In the meantime, enjoy lovely red wine - thank goodness Mollie brought some La Crema Pinot Noir along - and enjoy meeting lots of great new people (can't wait to try the wine bar in Bulverde we learned about!) while others continue to slave away in the kitchen.

Eat.  Drink more.  Vow to wake up early and swim the next morning at the lovely pool on the property near the "cabins" (assuming you are staying overnight).  

Or just look at the pool while walking around the cabins the next morning while drinking coffee made in your Casita.  Which is what I did.

I am back in Austin now after this soul-satisfying getaway.  And I am thankful, again, for friends who get me out and about and out of work mode.  I brought my laptop there to work, but I never even glanced at it.  (Tip: Don't bring the laptop.)  

I get back to Austin only to learn a dear, dear friend will have a portion of her lung removed on Thursday.  Even if not cancer, the lung has to go.  She will be in the hospital for a week.

More deep breathing and more living - without the laptop - are definitely the life lessons from this weekend.  

My First Downtown Austin Halloween (by accident) and safe travels home...whew. Seriously.

We were so looking forward to seeing our Argentinean friends and colleagues again in Austin.  It just so happened that the only night to enjoy cocktails and fine dining with them during their visit was October 31.  So it was that I left my son with a (gourmet) pizza and I headed out for my first cocktail-tasting stint at Second and Bar Congress, followed by steak, lobster, and more steak over at Ruth's Chris.

Here is a good rule of thumb when dining with Argentineans, especially those from the wine-growing province of Mendoza.  

Do not think they get plenty of great Argentinean wine at home so they won't want to have it here.  Wrong.  They want it here too.  And so it was that although I was so very ready and very willing to order my second "Congress GT" at Bar Congress....whoa that's a good cocktail....

C O N G R E S S   G T
Amarillo Hopped Gin · House Tonic · Citrus + Hops Bitters · Seltzer 9 

...I ended up having what they were wanting to have.  White wines.   Our costumed server pulled us out of a bind -- they had no Argentinean white wines -- by selecting just the right wines to make them happy.  They were so happy I asked her to write down the names of the wines.  (How secretly delighted was I that one of them was French.)  

(that's my bad writing down below there)

Then it was time for a nice walk in the cool night up Congress and over to 6th to Ruth's Chris.   Knowing the wine issue already...they came through for us here at Ruth's Chris too, bringing out for review and debate every single wine they had of Argentinean origin.  After lively debate about every single option, in that lovely Italian-esque sounding Argentinean Spanish, and some not too kind words about a Chilean winemaker who had a place in Mendoza (which did NOT count as an Argentinean wine), we settled in with two good choices that made our esteemed guests very happy.  Whew.

Things just got even better.   I learned I can still manage, sort of, dinner party conversation in Spanish.  I learned a lot about the steak prep and presentation (double broiler used; 500 degree plates used for serving); I learned that in Argentina "salad" is never a first course; I learned that there is a special word in (Argentinean) Spanish for when one tastes wine;  and I learned quickly that our several orders of spicy lobster on my recommendation (based on that tasting back at the Austin Film Festival Food event thing), were a huge hit among the carnivores.  

Dinner was then over, but of course one must have les digestifs.  They wanted scotch mostly.  We would walk to The Driskill.   

I say "we" - but it was really they and I straggled in later to find them.  I would get lost and stranded en route. I was stranded and lost at first because I was walking around dumbfounded by the spectacle of downtown Austin, 6th and Congress in particular, and all up and down Congress, and what this looks like on Halloween.  Yes, I do need to get out more.  

I never in a million years would have chosen to go downtown on Halloween if I had any idea it was like this.

But because our Argentinean friends could only make it this one night, there we were.

And the Driskill was just the right touch to cap off the night for us.

Not appropriate to post here what I saw at the Driskill in terms of the costumes on those many persons milling about and sitting and standing all around us.  Especially cannot post what I saw in the Ladies Room....

But the walk back to the car at Second, where the nice valets had told me 5.5 hours earlier that I had until midnight to get the car (barely made it), did yield share-able G-rated scenery. 

Well, that was all really fun.  But how was I going to get home?

No question but that I was not going to drive.

I could not walk home either from Second - well, actually I probably could....if I had 1.5 hours or so and better shoes.    I could take a taxi, assuming I could find one, but then the car would be left there downtown.

So I got a ride, for me and my car.  My trainer Angie started a company - Sober Monkeys - that, like other services like this, provides a service for getting you AND your car home.  I was starting to realize this dilemma earlier in the evening so gave Angie advance warning to put me on her probably/almost certainly list.  

Angie drove me home in my car, while a second driver followed in her car to follow me/us home.  Sure there's some paperwork in advance involved.  Sure it's a tad more expensive than a cab ride.  Maybe not more expensive.  But getting you, your car, and keeping everyone safe on a crazy night?  Priceless.  Use it.  

Angie did not even berate me on the way home for wasting away in one night all the pending good efforts of healthy eating and good workouts to get back into shape.

So :

• Thank you Argentina for giving us the lovely wine-growing province of Mendoza
• Thank you Bar Congress for hustling up the just-right white wines for our guests
• Thank you Ruth's Chris for cooking up ribeyes to please several discerning Argentinean men
• And, most of all, thank you Sober Monkeys for a safe ride home.  

 

 

Outstanding in the Field Farm Dinner - A Day, and a Meal, in a Field in Brenham (and unexpected realizations)

I had been looking forward to this for months.  

A beautifully sited dinner table winding into a vast landscape of rocks, fields, cliffs or even coves for an Outstanding in the Field dinner out in the middle of nowhere.  

Outstanding in the Field is a series of "farm dinners" - getting people out into the land, the landscape, a farm ... the earth.  Then getting a great local chef onto that land - and a team of cooks, servers and organizers - to prepare a multi-course feast for well over 150 people.  Through this setting and the people and the food, you are reconnected with where your food comes from.  This was Jim's founding vision.  And it took years to catch on.

(Jim, the founder, talking about the tough beginnings, how a Range Rover commercial saved the concept (by providing a revenue stream for him)  and kept him in it to try one more time ;  years later, here we are)

Whatever.  What I was looking forward to was a beautiful meal, in a simple, beautiful, tranquil setting with friends.  And a lot of nice wine.

From Austin, we drive, and drive and drive.  Finally there, at Jolie Vue Farms, the site for the dinner - and in not Brenham actually - but Independence, Texas.   And our gracious hosts, who have developed this property into the organic farm and ranch it is today, are Glenn and Honey Ann Boudreaux.  

The land was a mess when they got it.  Torn up and dried out, worn down and out from decades of fertilizer, pesticides -- all the stuff of modern agri-business.  They didn't want any of that.  If God thought the sun and the earth were good enough to make food, why bother with all that extra stuff.  So Honey said, or something like that.

So they brought the earth back to life.  No more chemicals.  No more artificial fertilizers.  And the land rewarded them for the efforts.  So many natural grasses came back to fill the fields they had to summon folks from Texas A&M to make sense of it all. All told, 16 native grasses: all gone before, all brought back to life now.

(Honey talking in the field of natural grasses about the history of the farm, farm/ranching life, and telling us about heffers and steers and what not)

We learn where the pigs roll around, and how the animals get rotated to different pastures to let the earth rebound in one pasture over enough time; how this summer and last summer went for them and how they and the livestock survived (barely);how the new water tanks/troughs for the pigs save water and waste less of this precious resource; how smart the pigs are, how they rolled around in the summer with the rain shower waterheads and made giant pools of mud that you can still see dented into the earth; how the water hole is so low now - but it used to be so much more and used for the kids' fishing and swimming - and for helping to catch their own food.  Some weekends, the kids would be tasked with making do on their own: if you don't catch or find your own food, you don't eat.

Thus prepped with the idea of working for your food, we have to work to reach our food.  The table, the hallmark table of these Outstanding in the Field farm dinners, is way up high on another hill.  We would have to walk up there.  

Clearly this is part of Jim's founding vision.  

Jim surely wants us to walk up and honor the table as part of the earth we are walking on, earth that literally did produce some of the very food we would be eating. 

Another ritual, or tradition, is the bringing of your own plate.  You drop it off with the organizer upon entering the farm.  

You retrieve it later up the hill, as you get closer to the table.  There also was a pile of plates for those who had forgotten to bring a plate, a pile made up of plates forgotten at previous farm dinners.  And then, the table.

 

Just out there.  In a field.  Just as they say.    And then some food.

(the first course - including among other things scrapple, blue corn grits, a 63C egg, which I expertly, so proud of self, identified as sous-vide prepared and the 63C was the temperature, in celsius; on my blue Sasaki wedding gift plate (1 of 10) that I brought for the event)

And more food.   And then more food.  The bycatch fish - looking all prehistoric.  I loved that the best perhaps.

And by now, with wine at each course, and the sun setting ever so slightly, and the chill of these cooler days descending, we start to get a little feisty in our well-fed comfort zone pf this community of a long long table.  

We get up.  We walk out and around and out into the vast field.  The moon is starting to rise, just as the sun is setting.  

Dessert comes. 

Then it is over.  

On the ride home, we talk a lot to stay awake.  But back here, and even while there, I realize that what I expected was not what I got.  Not exactly at least.  

I expected a super high-end gorgeous meal, with exquisite wine, and maybe more than a little bit of food snobbery at the table, with carefree chatter of friends all around you.  It was sort of that, and there were glitches to be sure.  We almost got forgotten entirely, our group of 8, on that first course.   The wine was a little skimpy on the serving sizes I thought at first.  The courses came slowly. I almost had to whip out a protein bar. 

But all logistical glitches faded - soon.   And the most I got out of it was something entirely unexpected.  

As Honey Ann was talking, without judgment for our wasteful ways in the city at all, I realized, as if a cow patty had been thrown at my head to wake me up, was how much my life affects what I eat.  Duh.  

The water I use to water my lawn is water that is not going to help keep the animals alive that are being fed on thriving native grasses nourished in only the old-fashioned ways.  My choices to eat fruits and vegetables out of season only encourages the food system machine to spend more resources to produce an artificial food cycle that knows none of the ebb and flow of nature.  

  

In the heat of the moment, on that farm among the people helping to bring back a more natural and normal way of living and eating, I vowed I would stop watering my yard.  I hate doing it anyway - the cost, the waste.

I am back in Austin, and as it is fall I am not tested on the no watering rule.  I only watered one a week anyway when I did water.  But the farm dinner worked for me, and in this awakening way I never imagined.  

Outstanding in the Field takes its show on the road - in Asia and South America, for example. It was in Brazil recently.  But never France. Almost one time, but it did not work out. So I learned from Jim during the farm tour.

They wash all the plates by hand when everyone is done with the last meat course.   It is there for you to pick up as you leave the table for your walk back down the hill and through the farm.  

I chose to leave my blue Sasaki plate.  I like the idea of it being used by some other haggard single working mom who barely got her act together to get her ticket and get to the farm site for the dinner and so forgot she was supposed to bring a plate.  

I also like the idea of seeing my plate again someday at another Outstanding in the Field dinner...maybe in France.

(A bientot my blue Sasaki plate! ...Bon voyage, safe travels, and see you in France!)

Change is hard...especially menu changes...[but a new favorite dish at 34th Street Cafe]

(the hallmark bright green facade of 34th Street Cafe)

Just when I thought I'd matured and gotten more excited about change (change in career, family rituals, etc.) rather than sad or angry or annoyed, I had a setback last night at 34th Street Cafe.  

Ready to kick back for a relaxing time out and really good food at a close-to-home venue, Eddie Bernal's 34th Street Cafe was my pick. But I also picked it for a particular food reason: I studied the menu just that day and confirmed that what I had a hankering for--hanger steak, i.e., "flat iron steak"--was on the menu:  

FLAT IRON STEAK
Potatoes Gratin / Bacon Roasted Brussels Sprouts / Beef Jus

But upon being handed the menu, my food item is nowhere to be found.  There is instead some other fine steak cut that I do not recall.  I felt my pouty face coming on and some panic rising.  (Obviously, my supplements that are supposed to keep my hormonal rage overreactions at bay are not working at full strength.)  

"So, uh, I see no hanger steak?," I ask Grant, our waiter, with my sad desperation and dismay barely disguised.   I am hoping he will notice my sad face and offer to see if they can make it for me anyway.

"Oh, this _____ [insert what the new beef item is...sirloin something maybe?]," he says perkily, oblivious to my growing disappointment at this whole eating out experience.  "We rolled it out last night for the first time. Everyone loved it."

[Yea, WHATEVER, I am thinking.  I don't care what everyone else liked last night.  I just want the thing I came here for.  Never mind it's like pretty much the main reason we are here...]  

Me:  "So, there's, uh, no hanger steak...not tonight, not ever?"  

He:  "Oh, it's prepared the same way though."

Me:   [Heavy sigh. So not the point.  The point is the only steak I eat generally at all is a flat iron/hanger steak.]  

With annoyance that the evening out is ruined because I cannot get my nice hanger steak I came here for, and I could have gone to Gusto and gotten their hanger steak but I'm not a big fan of Gusto's decor as much as I like Eddie and his crew....I resume review of the menu for high protein dish.

I had never given the panko crusted chicken picatta a second glance on previous visits to the restaurant.  

PANKO CRUSTED CHICKEN PICATTA Mushrooms / Onions / Spinach / Saffron Rice / Capers / Beurre Blanc

Grant is telling my mom that people come from all over for it...that it's a food item that if they ever took it off the menu there would be a massive revolt.

["Oh, right, but it's ok to take my hanger steak off the menu," I say to myself.]

Fine.  I order the chicken picatta, just like mom did.

Then the wine came.  Just in time.

We had already had a little trouble here as well with ordering because Dad had stated out loud that he "hates" Bordeaux.  That was "Grant's Pick" on the wine list, a nice Bordeaux.  

Grant did a good job all around. I have to hand it to him.  He was oblivious to my pouting and graciously listened to my dad diss his pick on the wine list.  We debated the mineral-y nature of Bordeaux for about 5 seconds and settled on something pretty basic.  It was fine. It was a red wine, and that's about all that mattered at that point. Because now the son was overtly pouting.  He refuses to eat anything.  He stays on his new HTC phone playing games all through the meal except for a few minutes he does seem to show some sign of life in eating all the shoestring potatoes that would later come with Dad's gourmet ground chuck and briscuit burger.

THE BURGER
Ground Chuck and Brisket / Focaccia / Herbed Anchovy Butter / House Pickle / Shoestring Fries

But the chicken picatta.  I get what the big deal is. 

First, the panko bread crumbs, as well stated below and available here:

Panko flakes (or crumbs) are Japanese breadcrumbs; they're irregularly shaped and coarser than regular breadcrumbs. They´re dry, but at first glance they look llike fresh white breadcrumbs. When used for frying, they produce a lighter, crunchier coating that´s more tender and delicate. They seem to absorb less oil and stay crisp longer than regular crumbs. They also make a great topping for casseroles.

Exactly.  Those crumbs stayed crunchier, chewier, flakier while mixed in with the tang of lemon and butter.  Which gets us to the next part of what seems to make this so tasty:  The beurre blanc. Beurre blanc is not just melted butter with a squeeze of lemon.  I would trust Food Network Alton Brown's recipe, and here it is.  

• 1 to 2 shallots, chopped fine
• 8 ounces white wine
• 2 ounces lemon juice
• 1 tablespoon heavy cream
• 12 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cubed
• Salt and white pepper, to taste

Makes you want to drool just thinking about it, doesn't it? 

In the end, the evening was saved.  The son insisted he was not being passive aggressive and reactionary to my choice of restaurant - he just was not hungry.  The wine hit the spot.  I survived adjusting to a menu change.  

And now, frankly, if I saw the flat iron steak back on the menu, I hate to say it after the pouty pity party last night.  I'd probably order the chicken picatta.  

   (34th street, the street itself, is finally not under construction and completely blocked off to traffic as it has been for, like, years...)

 

 

Lots of The Other White Meat and Spicy Peppers ... at the Austin Film Festival Food Party

(out on the balcony - cheese!  from Whole Foods; great presentation and fun gals with whom I could discuss the whole French/raw milk deal and my indecision of which cow to adopt in Normandie to support local (in Normandie, France) Camembert producers)

Last night I finally attended, after years of ignoring the flier I get every year, the Austin Film & Food Dinner held as part of the Austin Film Festival's week or so of films.  It was a fairly economical opportunity I figured to sample food stuffs from all the restaurants I've been meaning to try (Swift's Attic), or already like (Foreign and Domestic), or had forgotten about (Sienna; Ranch 616; Ruth's Chris) or never really seriously considered even trying as a serious food destination (Trace, at the W Hotel), or had never even heard of (Jack Allen's Kitchen, in Oak Hill).  

I had to get over the realization soon upon arriving that this was not a sit-down dinner, duh, and did so with one of the Speciality Cocktails (unclear if the spelling was for real on that), involving local Tito's Vodka and St. Germain.  I was dressed all wrong for walking through the Driskill Hotel grand lobby and foyers, going room to room, sampling foods, while balancing iPhone notepad, camera, drink in plastic cup, and plastic plates of various foods.  And that fact that my poorly chosen attire of a clutch bag and a long scarf did some damage at the Carillon table and their gorgeously plated tiny little feta cheesecakes with basil puree, apple butter, juniper streusel & candied marcona almonds did not help matters.

We finally got into the groove of things and just started eating.  First stop was Foreign and Domestic: BBQ Pulled Pork on a Bacon Cheddar Biscuit with B&B Pickles.  And a pumpkin pie macaron.  Odd combo to offer, but a lot of places had a savory and a sweet item.  Good thing we tried the macaron then and there.  One hour later, when we were sated enough to go for dessert items, they were gone.

Right after the pulled pork biscuit was a table featuring Pork Cheek Hash Empanadas, with Jalapeno Sauce.  Out of the first two items I had tried, this was my favorite.

But what's with the pork?  It did not stop there.  Over at Trace, there was pork belly.  Over at Jack Allen's Kitchen, some pulled pork.  We were obviously in the pork room, a room dedicated to The Other White Meat.  I had two helpings of what Jack Allen's Kitchen was dishing up: roasted corn salad, served alongside that pulled pork in a nice stewy sauce, alongside giant rustic chip with spicy pimento cheese. Two, yes two helpings.   

(The Jack Allen's Kitchen Team...they would later offer me a third helping, but by then I really had nothing left...so sad...really fantastic combo and served up stylishly in that brown paper box bowl.)

Worst food mistake: opting for the Frito Pie over at Ranch 616's table too soon in the evening.  Not because it was not delicious - though spicy hot with some hot pico de gallo - but because like they told us, and they were unfortunately right, it was stick to your ribs type food.  But we loved the presentation - served up in the mini-bag of Fritos corn chips and all the ingredients all coming together in that little bag - the crunch of chips, warm with chili, cooled off with spicy pico de gallo and sour cream.

Good thing that right before that our palate enjoyed the spicy fried lobster of Ruth's Chris.   They fry up the lobster pieces, then roll them around in what I could have sworn she said was a serrachi pepper mayonaise.  Like I said, balancing plates, phone, purse, that darn scarf, and trying to write down things my autocorrect on the iPhone garbled into something concerning "lepers" - it was rough.  

Over here, at the table for the Driskill, in addition to the popcorn-esque snack in the clever red Burger King-meets-Chinese-take-out packaging, they would have some ginger ice cream floats, over which they were pouring a blackberry sorghum soda. Odd tasting, still not sure if I liked it, but the ginger ice cream was just the thing for calming the tummy.

We did a decent job on the food items, but really did not do much justice at all to one entire room.  I did enough to grade, however, before the palate was overloaded.   My incomplete, totally biased and subjective list of winners and losers:

Best savory food item:   That roasted corn salad, pulled pork, etc. from Jack Allen's Kitchen.

Best sweet food item:  Pumpkin Pie Macaron from Foreign and Domestic

Best convo with chef folks:  Swift's Attic.  I loved that he prepared a separate tasting of his dish for my friend with intolerance for spicy foods.  But then, alas, it just did not taste just right.  I also loved how he was so not judging of my over-40/hate to drive at night self and was helping me understand the parking situation for those guys.  So going there.  Soon.

Biggest surprise disappointment:  Olive & June.  Love that place; right near chez moi, but that pasta was way too salty.

Best French/France-related food:  Whole Foods.

The only Camembert I have ever liked has been in France, the nicely flavored raw milk kind.  But this, this Camembert with that bit of sweet in the confiture and that touch of Marcona almonds, well done.   I may even check out the cheese counter again at Whole Foods because of this (as I am generally always typically at Antonelli's for any cheese purchases).

Will I go next year to the 11th Annual Austin Film Festival Food & Film Dinner?  Maybe.  But going with friend(s) is key, as are good walking shoes and a healthy appetite.  And your favorite stomach-soothing holistic medicine item, in the event you have been on no carbs or sweets for a week when you start eating fried lobster, frito pie, and pork belly, also is highly recommended.

(one last look at the cheery team from the Driskill and perhaps the best display of their food items)

(His) Pioneer Woman Sour Cream Pancakes and (Hers/My) Salad, Again.

The son had to experience the ultimate humiliation for a 15-year-old boy.   He had to go out in public, at a public event, and be seen in public, with not just his mom, but also his gregarious and really funny Aunt/Godmother, her two kids, the Aunt's good friend visiting from out of town and her four-year-old "cowboy" - who apparently every day dresses himself in full cowboy regalia.  Hat and boots.  The works.  He is adorable.  Cowboy Boy was I think the only highlight for the son to make this event not the complete kiss of death he expected it to be.  

Knowing full well what his reaction would be, I waited until late in the day on Saturday to mention.  "Uh, yea, well, we're all going out to dinner and then we're all going out after to a play.  Like a musical."   (And there was a University of Texas football game on that night too.)

I will not tell him, but I did see him crack a smile a few times during the performance.  It's too bad the full gamut of Olivia Newton John schmaltzy 1980s stuff was lost on him (it was Xanadu at Zachary Scott Theatre).   But he's lucky my sister/his aunt  and her friend were not on their A game.  We neglected to wear any sort of costume at all.  Sequined headbands would have been just the right subtle thing.

As a thank you for him, for tolerating the event (He: "Did I have a choice?"), I said I would actually cook.  Something real.   I almost went for the Pioneer Woman Lasagna .... but then, because Sunday was an all-day rainy day, breakfast for dinner sounded right.  He nodded pretty enthusastically at that option.   Pioneer Woman has a Sour Cream Pancakes recipe that would accomplish two purposes for me (i) get the son to eat something he loves with an ingredient he generally hates (sour cream); and (ii) try another recipe out of this really great cookbook.

Ingredients: mostly sour cream;  2 eggs, some vanilla, just 7 T of flour.  Seriously very little.  The kicker though is to cook them on a griddle with sizzling melted butter.   Just like she says.

I set out on the son's white plate, these three beautiful pancakes, a light crust from the butter on the outside.  I said: "They look a little dark just from the sizzling around the edges in the butter."  He nodded.  As if to say, yea, right. 

On the hard core Garden of Eden salad eating regime these days, I could not help it. Right before he made his appearance, I had to have a bite.  Just a bite of the smallest of those 3 still remaining crispy-on-the-outside-slightly tart/tender/very fluffy-on-the-inside pancakes.  

The one bite was so good I had to grab the closest bottle of open red wine for a quick pour and gulp to erase forever the memory of how amazing that one bite of the sour cream pancake was.  I told the son I was pretty sure he was going to like these.

He dug in.  His eyes went wide open - like in shock - and he looked up and said to me, amazed, and loudly, while the pancakes were like still in transit in quick succession for bites two and three:  "These are REALLY GOOD."   And then he asked if there were more before he was even done.   I could only imagine how they tasted bathed lovingly in a coating of just warm enough (fake) maple syrup.

Me, I had a salad.

I added grilled chicken to it. 

The next day, at Whole Foods downtown at the intersection of death at 5th and Lamar, I had a salad that could have fed a family of 8.  If only I could have such an array of vegetables available at every meal: beets, shredded carrots and cabbage and zucchini, curried cauliflower, green beans, edamame, eggs, cheese, toasted chicken--protein of all kinds--and everything bright and shiny and shredded already.  A salad bar at home.  That's what I need.

As the Internet was out at the office, I went mobile office for the day.  So in the two hours I had to kill/work there at Whole Foods, after I had been at the Starbucks on the other corner for an hour previously, I slowly worked my way through this not petite salad.   It was not as great as it looks, I have to say.  A little too much curried cauliflower, my fault, but doing without dressing meant I needed something to save the day. 

I should get out more.  Though I guess leaving for France in a week counts.  But Whole Foods now has this Artisan Cookie Bar.  Right next to the Salad Bar(s). 

That is just wrong. 

 

 

Friday afternoon chill out at Weather Up, another Paris-Austin connection....

After a week of technology failures as a big deadline for Friday afternoon loomed, a coma-like fatigue descended once the project was done and done.  But after going and going for so long on so little sleep, and then with that grand finale being so very anti-climactic after the drama of years of litigation, all I could manage was a short nap.  

Sleep could come later - Saturday - but a Friday afternoon, with good friend Maureen in town (Maureen of Paris fame...recall her Ile St. Louis studio where I stayed for that Feburary trip to Paris, which trip ended with singing alongside Flavian (the piano player) at the piano lounge at the George V), and the work deal done, well, one should mark the occasion.

Flash of inspiration.  We would go to Weather Up.

True to the reviews, this place - at 1808 East Cesar Chavez - takes its cocktails seriously.  But not so much that it feels pretentious or unwelcoming.  Thanks to visits to Austin from serious New York City bartender Kathryn Weatherup, whom the New York Times calls the "Anti-Banter Bartender," Austin now has branch no. 3 for Weather Up, in addition to the locations in Brooklyn and Tribeca.

Some differences from Austin: the Tribeca location serves caviar.

On stepping inside, it feels and looks warm and casual yet well-styled, with all that sepia-toned leather seating balanced against white, such as the white subway tile ceiling.  Cocktail blogger/photographer Melody Fury has a lovely photographic display of all this  ambiance here.   My favorite touch - votives already, at just 6 p.m., on the small tables in the lounge-y banquettes, in cozy brown leather.  I so love a banquette.

Despite my banquette predilections, we sat at the bar.  The bar stools are architectural statements:  each one comprised of a loose s-shaped chunky thick piece of steel, curving up to the generous (brown leather) seat.  It felt like a saddle, Maureen commented.  The metal is affixed to the floor, so there is no adjusting, no moving around.  This makes for a lovely sculptural vignette, with the exquisite forms all lined up.  Always perfect in their immobility.  Lovely to look at.  Uncomfortable for actual seating. 

No matter.  For this place that "takes its cocktails seriously," and to see up close how these special drinks are made with that special ice from a Clinebell ice machine, the bar was the place to be to watch the show.  That show included noticing how the bartenders hand crack the ice cubes with one of those tall vintage-like cocktail stirrers, holding the cube gently in a hand and cracking away at it.   As mentioned above, these are not your usual bag-o-ice shards from the plastic bag of ice at a local Randall's.  The ice from the specialty Clinebell ice machine (used for ice sculptures) ensures a pure clarity of ice that will not cloud your drink.

The single-page menu of Summer Specials was on a lovely texture of paper, with a lovely font and typeface for the specials.   There also is a (brown leather) bound volume of the larger usual drink menu. but that was too overwhelming for that Friday afternoon.   I wondered out loud to the bartender:  "So hard to pick....absinthe versus tequila cocktail."   He suggested both!  But to stay on the sour rather than sweet side, I went with his recommendation for a Siesta.   How appropriate. 

Maureen ordered the Hotel Nacional.

The drinks arrived.

Maureen comments, based solely on taking in the glassware, the presentation, the way the libation looks in the glassware.   

"I love it. It's so French!"

She was spot on.  It is "so French" because it is perfectly proportioned.  Perfectly composed.  It is not upsized.  It is about quality, not quantity.  And that, yes, is totally French.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Left, Hotel Nacional...beautiful pale yellow with frothy white layer; right, Siesta, tart with grapefruit juice and lime juice, Campari, tequila)

Maureen was on to something with the observation on the Frenchness.

Turns out that Kathryn Weatherup had her cocktail start in Paris.  Per the New York Times article:

"Ms. Weatherup began her bartending career in Paris somewhat ignominiously, serving shots at Stolly’s Stone Bar, a sort of Les Deux Magots for hard-drinking Anglophone expatriates in the Fourth Arrondissement. 'Back in those days everybody wanted cranberry juice,' she said, with a hint of despair. 'I made a lot of tequila sunrises and sex on the beaches.'”

Then she moved on to another venue, non-cocktail related.  It was a waitressing gig at a French bistro, Les Enfants Terribles, on the Lower East Side.   And other stuff happened to her and, voila, long story short, we now in Austin have uncloudy ice for beautifully proportioned in a French way very American cocktails.

("Satan Cocktail"...be careful with this one...)

Santé!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Teen, unprompted, declares steak at Hopfields "really good."

It was a magic moment.

But to appreciate it, you need to understand the son's grading scale for food, which, as his mother, I have nailed down to interpret his level of "excitement" (albeit nonchalant) about a food item I am trying out on him.   The response always comes after I ask first:  "So, what do you think?"    Here's the guide to this food-rating system.

"Good." 

This is the response to such events as - oh, mom did a nice job on the new flavor of marinated chicken breasts from Central Market as paired with a new exotic side dish (e.g., curry couscous, or pine nut rice pilaf, or saffron jasmine rice (from a box)).  Or like when I set out some charcuterie on a large white platter with peppered (Central Market) crackers, to entice him into something exotic in the meat realm.  When he asked "what's this for" I said, "oh, it's something like pepperoni - you might like it - something to tide you over before dinner...."  (In fact was training him for aperitif rituals).

My prompting question followed:   "So, what do you think?"   "Good."   Satisfying response.  A new food experience.  Done.

"Pretty good."  

This is reserved for the misses, like he knows I'm trying to get him to eat something new, and hoping he'll like it, but he's just not digging it.  The "pretty good" is really not good at all.  He is trying to be nice.   I am pleased he has this quality as an American male, to prepare him for what to answer to questions from females in his life such as: "Does this dress make me look fat?"   [I just hope to that his answer is a little more positive than "pretty good."]

I got a "pretty good" for an answer to "so, what do you think?" when I casually set out for him those outrageously priced chocolate-dipped madeleines that I bought during "Passport to France" at Central Market.  I should have tasted them first. They were no bueno at all.  He did not know any better to say "pretty bad," which they were.  

"Really good."

I do not remember ever hearing this.  Maybe, probably, I got a "really good" that one year, Christmas Eve, for that outrageously complicated 10-hours-in-the-making and $75 worth of ingredients, multi-layer homemade chocolate cake with white chocolate filling and chocolate-peppermint glaze over chocolate ganache frosting.  But I just really don't hear this answer much in ordinary daily life (which is how about 99% of our lives is spent).

----------------------------

My mom had already promised the son a steak for dinner tonight - out somewhere.   I was about to head to Central Market for a paleo/"Garden of Eden" regime salad, but figured maybe I should stick around for family dinner.  I had a feeling the son might appreciate the steak at Hopfields (about which I have written kind of a lot), that sort of new French-themed gastropub so close to our house, on Guadalupe.   He actually said "ok" to going there, probably because mom was here.

I place our order at the bar.  I decide what to do about the iced tea order for mom (they have several selections in bottles).  A nice young man sitting at the bar helps the server figure out which tea is best for my mom.  I commend this nice young man on being so well-informed about the tea options.   He said, "well, I'm the owner." 

Which of course led to all sorts of "Oh My God" by me because I just love that place.  The French-vibe thing.  And he said he knew I loved it because he had read that first post I did about Hopfields about my being transported back to France upon tasting that vinaigrette dressing, with so many shallots, which I learn is the recipe of his Parisian mother-in-law, whom I had just missed as she had just left. Sigh. 

The two orders of steak frites, for mom and for the son, are brought to the table.  They are of course lovely to look at, that nice cut of steak, on that plate with that smear of mustard.

I was minding my own business with the very green and lovely Salade Nicoise.  All of a sudden, before I could even ask the son, "so, what do you think,"  I hear the son say:

"The steak is really good."

Mom let me have some of hers.  So I had some steak as well, and ran it through the son's smear of Dijon mustard remaining on his plate (and maybe some butter and a couple of frites made it into that bite[s]).

And it is.  Really good. 

And to add to the really good list:  Hopfields is expanding. 

They're doing great he says. 

That Justine's is always throbbing with people and noise and jazz, and now that Hopfields has been so warmly welcomed - thanks to great food and vibe/concept - I'm just glad that France is (finally) working its way into Austin's food soul. 

 

GourmandeMom: This Week's Food Failures and Successes

First, the Failure(s).

It has been a very busy week.  Like barely-time-for-a-meal busy.  This is tricky when there is a child involved (ok, he's 15) whose well-being, as in meal provision, is your responsibility.  Yesterday I rolled out of bed and went straight to the computer to finish draft to get to client who is one hour ahead of Texas time.  I was very distracted: I noticed child was out of bed at least and inquired (yelled from office) to make sure he had some breakfast.  Child leaves for school.  I finish work.  At dinner last night (from office, working to turn around another draft), I remind him (when he asks me what's for dinner) that there is leftover pizza for dinner to tide him over until I can get away from the office.

He tells me he had said pizza for breakfast.

Oh.

Today, same drill: another round of drafts to edit, revise, finalize before circulating by 9h30 Texas time.  I hear child get up, go downstairs, then return upstairs.  I assume breakfast is managed, and although I generally manage breakfast, ensuring there is proper set-up and placemat, beverage, cloth napkin ritual -- our usual - I'm just kind of not with the program with work product deadline being on East Coast timing.   I notice though, when I make appearance in kitchen later on, that his breakfast dishes consist of a blue bowl, typically used for cereal, and a juice glass, which has residual chocolate milk in there.  I am puzzled.  I know we are out of milk (again).  Dry cereal? 

Later this morning as child and I were in car driving to doctor appointment (after getting draft out to client), I ponder aloud with him:

"So, what did you have for breakfast this morning?"

"Leftover macaroni and cheese."  [and obviously chocolate milk].

He smiles.   I cannot help but laugh.  So that means, he says, obviously kind of pleased with himself and his resourcefulness in the kitchen: "I had pizza for breakfast yesterday and [Kraft] macaroni and cheese for today."  I am laughing because the idea of the mac and cheese, as much as we love that stuff, is really disgusting as a leftover food used as breakfast item.  I tell him this.   We debate which one is more disgusting/bad for you--as the macaroni and cheese (as much as we love it) is all carbs and no redeeming value I am pretty sure in the protein area. I think I won the debate with my final point that at least the pizza has protein and is sort of recognized in some circles and in popular culture as being a prime breakfast food.  

This is clearly a food failure on my part.  And part of the healing process is admitting that this happened in my household.  I will need to cook some bacon this weekend or something.

Second, the Success.

I had those GM Olympics a while back.  Yea, that was fun. While it lasted.   

I have been punished for that activity in two ways: first, I gained weight that my low-level pneumonia-recovery training regime was not intense enough to handle; second, I think the universe reacted in this bad way to me (the weight gain) because of my dissing Guy Fieri here of late.   Now, I have a greater appreciation for what he has to go through taking bites of all the specialty items at all those diners drive-ins and dives all across America.   Now, I really do appreciate that this is hard work, all that checking out restaurants, and it takes a toll on a person.  And I like Guy a lot more after seeing him being a groomsman at Chef Robert's wedding to the Asian wrestler gal.  They (Robert and Kim) are a pretty darn cute couple.  See the episode here. 

But the GM Olympics had one big success.  As prelude to that week I had tried Hopfields, and I was blown away by the vinaigrette on the lovely butter lettuce salade verte.  And then I went again soon thereafter, at which visit a friend had the steak frites.  It looked rather amazing: juices dripping into the frites, mustard splatter artistically on one side of the plate, was that of chunk of herb butter atop le steak, slowly melting into the meat and running onto the plate to mix in with the succulent meat juices and all of that getting into the fries?  

And so it was that when a bunch of girlfriends and I reunited for new-school-year-schedule musings post summer this past Tuesday night, it was up to me to pick a spot.

I picked Hopfields, for all the reasons I had come to love it pretty immediately:  It's close.  It's good. It's sort-of French.  It's not too expensive.  It's got some minimalist vintage decor vibe going on.  And it has a common table in the middle of the small room, similar to Lenoir.

The venue was a hit.  So much so that I was called the next day by friend to tell me she was going back there again, that very night, for dinner to have the exact same thing:  salade verte; steak frites.   Voilà!  Un succès!    Not sure it makes up for me falling down on the job on the mom/meal provider front, but un succès nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

 

Paleo Sliders, Chickens... and de-stressing with showtunes and a little soft shoe

(colorful array of (yummy) paleo sliders (I had two of them) garnished with feta cheese crumbles)

A few months ago I attended a workshop that Renee Trudeau did especially aimed at women entrepreneurs and those figuring it all out.  A big take-away was be kind to yourself/listen to your wise self--it knows you best/take care of yourself-figure out yourself before taking care of others.  It may sound hokey, but it's really a pretty accurate business model in human terms: how can you launch your business/yourself if you have no identity and don't know where you need/want to be?  A recent newsletter from Renee's outfit caught my eye:  "Are you making enough time for your friends?"   She had not.  And I knew I had not either.  It can actually take a toll on your health and well-being and outlook on life, all of which combines to being unproductive because you become, ultimately, highly unsatisfied with what you are trying to do in terms of being productive. 

Because of this week's quick travel to the East Coast, short-notice labor-intensive deadlines, and way too little sleep, by the time Friday night rolled around, as did a good friend's surprise birthday party, I questioned how I could manage to speak coherently in my exhausted state, much less be any type of pleasant company at said party.  I almost did not go.  But I remembered Renee's newsletter, and I went.  And, sure, I was not too articulate, and not too engaging, but I did laugh a lot, reconnect with friends, and get a little more peppy when our showtune pianist extraordinaire (Dustin) started in on "All That Jazz" and a little soft shoe routine and impromptu chorus line got going.

At first we questioned the wisdom of inviting the husbands to the party.  And we almost thought we had really erred in letting them come along when pianist extraordinaire broke out the super raunchy showtunes.  (And, yes, there are some.)  The women roared and howled with delight.  The men scattered.  But they (the men) came in handy after all.

1.  They did a beer run (to get out of being around for the rest of the raunchy showtune interlude).

2.  One of them fixed the chicken that was one of the more fabulous birthday gifts that the birthday girl received.  This darling little wind-up toy...you put it on the floor to turn around in circles and out pops a little egg-looking thing.  As this feat of engineering--getting it to work that is--occurred later in the evening (recall beer run was needed in care the open bar idea was not for everyone), this was absolutely hilarious to us at that particular moment. 

(metal wind-up toy chicken, with baby chick, just waiting to be the center of attention a few minutes later when it does its business of laying an egg while clucking around in curcile on the floor)

 (And here is the miracle moment, after much anticipation and frustrated attempts...the egg is laid. 

Unclear what this ovalesque white thing actually was, or whether this fantastic and perfect birthday gift for the birthday girl (she has a chicken coop....loves her chickens) came with the egg things.  

Toy chicken - for your next chicken-themed birthday party - available at Terra Toys I was told.)

 

3. Highlight:  Amy's husband offered to walk me through how to smoke a salmon, which was what they contributed to the party--a huge, gorgeous piece of well-seasoned lightly smoky smoked salmon. The outing will start with Central Market shopping and then I will be walked through what sounds like a tedious series of steps of rubs, rinsing, something - and then we will actually, eventually, smoke the fish.  I am told this will not be as tedious as it sounds...I am so game though.  If I can make a smoked salmon as fantastic as his was and impress my family, I may alleviate the moments of culinary shame that I have never ever yet cooked a turkey for a holiday meal.  A bomb diggity smoked salmon in my arsenal will totally make up for this.

Rest of menu: paleo sliders, some other stuff - my white-bean dip drizzled with olive oil infused with sage and lemon zest.  The paleo thing is big these days with the buff neighborhood mom crowd.  I'm lagging miserably now with triathlon training a long-ago distant and 5-7 pounds ago thing.  But these burgers...seriously, who needs a bun?  

(my almost pure paleo plate (went for the multi-grain Stacy's pita chips for the white bean dip)...and anything looks gorgeous on this lovely Spoke china plate that the hostess was not concerned about the rowdy crowd using)

The lesson:  Feeling low energy/crummy/tired/sad/fat/fretful?  Go to your friends' birthday parties.  Way cheaper -- and way more fun -- than therapy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Austin Forum - Technology and Sous Vide For The Maybe Almost Perfect Poached Egg

(Mount Bonnell steps - for 8 a.m. walk for the visiting out-of-town guest in town for Austin Forum, etc.)

I first had a sous vide-prepared protein (chicken) at Haven in Houston.  At least a couple of years ago. This timing means the sous vide craze was in its early days.  Sous vide is a French term though, so I had an immediate affinity for the whole idea of it.  And it did apparently begin in France, in the 1970s, as a new method of slow cooking. 

Austin Forum, a "monthly speaker series and networking event that hosts distinguished leaders who share their knowledge and experience about the confluence of science, technology and society in the 21st century," had food and technology on tap for this month:  i.e., sous vide and social networking as ways in which technology is changing the way we eat. 

Addie Broyles, food writer for the Austin American-Statesmen, among other things, told us many things that I was surprised enough to hear that I managed to write them down:

1. Austin currently has 350 food blogs.   

2.  The most visited/busiest website for food recipes?  Not Epicurious, as many guessed.  It is allrecipes.com. 

3.  Food app development has lagged but is picking up steam now.  There is an app out there/about to be out there, that will allow you to take a picture of your food and the app will estimate the calorie count.   And an app to take stock of what your have in the fridge and tell you what you can make with what you have.  Now THAT is a great idea.

4.  Her 70-year-old cousin/uncle/somebody did a simple YouTube video that got 7 million views: how to use the microwave to shuck corn.   The video is easy to find - it's the first one that pops up, and per my checking this out tonight, it has had 7,138,951 views.  And now I know why.

5.  Despite the apps and social media frenzy about food and one's food life and eating experiences, we still "crave a tangible relationship with our food."  Indeed.  

Michael Chu - of Cooking for Engineers - then took the stage.  Started slow.  A downer after techie energetic Addie.  And then his comedic self emerges, and his timing is brilliant.  His fascination, tedious but amusing attention to details, numbers, and his commitment to getting it just right (i.e., sous vide cooking at home) - endearing and hilarious.

His list of favorite foods for the sous vide process:

1.  The egg.

2.  A steak.

3.  Bread.

What is sous vide?   Cooking a protein (though he did mention vegetables) in a plastic bag, in water that is at a scientifically determined appropriate temperature (thus the need for that intense engineer mind), but a pretty low temperature, for an appropriate (long) amount of time.   We learned about evaporation problems, which affect water temperature, the trick for using ping pong balls on the surface to limit problems of uneven temperatures and evaporation, etc.  He uses a rice cooker at home to eliminate the evaporation problem.

And he had the kitchen in the back, somewhere in that lovely facility that is the AT&T Conference Center, cook for us, in the sous vide style, poached eggs.

He loves this type of egg on a spinach salad.  Paris/Houston friend Maureen, who was visiting for this, and I -- we both think of the delicious farm-type salad, like une Salade Lyonnaise, and I think of Chez Nous, and I start thinking where to go for dinner after this. 

And then the 200 eggs are done for anyone who wants to try a sous-vide prepared poached egg.  Of course we want to try it. 

First: the single egg, rolling around in the bowl.

Next: crack the egg gently on the little writing desk at your chair in the amphitheatre to open it up.

The whites are almost just right.  The egg is indeed poached.  You can discern in this picture below - the yolk covered by the whites.

And then - a great burst of color - the bright sunny yellow yolk.

The yolk was runnier than I expected.  Could not eat it all, but it was still beautifully done: the texture, the color.  I get it.

Michael said that if the yolks were that runny - they were not supposed to be that runny - the water temperature was probably closer to 63 degrees rather than the 65 he had planned for. 

And about the bread for sous vide...With Central Texas AC making it difficult for bread to rise in a nice warm place, placing the dough in a plastic bag and putting it a nice warm bath (100 degrees) apparently makes for a great rise.  And cooking potatoes this way is nice - but he warns you have to cook at a higher temperature for the pectin to break down.  One starts to get the idea of the science behind this. 

Nowhere more appropriate to take Paris/Houston friend Maureen than to Justine's.  I drive out there.  I realize it is closed on Tuesdays.  I have no app, no technology, obviously, to remind of when my favorite places are closed.  I use the old-fashioned cell phone for a lifeline call to figure out where to go. By chance we end up at Second on Congress, which is becoming a favorite place for one particular dish:  curry roasted cauliflower- red quinoa pilaf - apple salad - fresno ginger syrup.   The roasted nuts - can do without next time - too many pecans.  But do squeeze the lime onto the toasty warm roasted nuts.  Makes a difference. 

I'd like to say the going out ended there, but there was a short business meeting out at the Grove the next night, with friend/colleague who is handling trademark case for a Paris client.  I'd also like to say that we had no wine, but we did.  And glad again that we did: a 2010 Leira Albarino.  This was a big step up from the vinho verde and a good way to get me thinking better and happier thoughts about white wine.  If only they could move the Grove a little bit closer to me....