Double the Fun: Corn Soup, Corn Fritters

Corn fritters may not sound like the most exciting thing on earth, but they were delicious and they were twice as exciting because they were made from what otherwise would have been thrown in the trash.

Backing up, I had five beautiful ears of corn. Gorgeous specimens, the epitome of late summer embodied in tiny, yellow toothed fabulosity. Yet, somehow, in the week I had had them, I had yet to use them in anything! It was a crime against fresh produce, an evil act upon the tasty treats. Teetering on the edge of no longer being good, I lunged to save them from the oncoming grasp of the twin terrors, mold and shriveling. Just in time, I put together a great corn soup. When I finished the soup, I did something I rarely do, partially because I’m lazy and partially because I like to leave my soups rustic, with something to bite into: I strained it. This created the effect of a beautiful, creamy, silken soup. It also left me with a mash of ingredients that hadn’t made it through the straining. Everything was edible, and I knew there was a way to use it, I just hadn’t figured it out yet.

When I have this kind of cooker’s block, I open the fridge, I contemplate it and I probably snack on some olives while I think, but I didn’t even get that far. Adding in flour, baking soda and an egg, I rolled the mash/dough into little balls, squished them flat and pan fried them, gleefully giddy as I watched them puff up into hybrid biscuit/pancakes/fritters. Damn they were good.
Summer is fun, and the corn is plentiful, but it is just that much better when you get to double your fun and use it all twice!

Corn Soup
5 Ears of corn, cut off the cob
2 Cloves of Garlic, peeled
3 Tablespoons Olive Oil
1 Small Serrano Pepper
3 Cups Chicken Stock
Salt, to taste

When I began this soup, I planned to add more spices, but in the end, this turns out to be so simple and beautiful, that I left it alone. Heat the oil and fry the garlic, pepper and corn for a few minutes. When it smells good and delicious (about 5 minutes) add the chicken stock, bring to a boil, then lower to a simmer. Let simmer for about an hour–more if you’d like, then blend (I used an immersion blender). I strained mine through a small mesh strainer, though I think cheesecloth in a colander would work just as well. Be sure to really squeeze all the liquid out. The soup is then ready to go. Save that mash of corn, garlic and pepper bits though, for…

Corn Fritters
Mash from above
About 1.5 cups whole wheat flour
1.5 teaspoons baking powder
1 egg
Olive oil
Salt

Add the egg and the baking powder to the mash, then start adding flour. This is a bit of a judgment call on how much to add, just keep going until you have a thick dough–more like cookie dough than pancake batter. Roll the dough into individual balls–smaller than a golf ball. If you keep your hands moist, they won’t stick to you as much. Heat the olive oil, just enough to cover the bottom of the pan. Press each ball flat as you place it into the oil–doesn’t need to be completely flat, just one squish. When they begin to brown (about a minute or two), flip them. When they’re done, place on paper towels and salt.

Portland Food: It’s us versus the vegans

I would declare Portland a great food town, scream its praises from the rooftops, solely based on the culinary treats I enjoyed this weekend, if it weren’t for one thing: Vegans EVERYWHERE!

We hadn’t been there but 45 minutes before we had our first run in. When we arrived in Portland we went directly to the Pine State Biscuits stand at the farmer’s market for some delicious sustenance, unfortunately due to the lines it was nearly half an hour before we were fed. Sun-baked and hungry we found a nice patch of grass and nearly-literally inhaled our “Reggie”, a biscuit sandwich of fried chicken, cheese, bacon and gravy. As we ate, I noticed a tiny middle-aged man looking malnutritioned and eying us angrily as we grubbed down (truly no other word for it). With the bug eyes and pale cheeks of a person who shuns animal products, he spooned his “Yummy” (that’s the stand’s name, seriously) vegan curry into his mouth with out moving his evil glare. Now I might take the occasional moment to glare at a wayward vegan, but this was over the top and uncalled for. Luckily the glory of my biscuit was unaffected–it was perfectly crispy chicken, creamy, wonderful gravy and a warm fluffy biscuit, there was not much to complain about, other than the wait. As good as it was, I’m not sure it was worth the wait. I know, I wait for food all the time, but there was something unending about this line, uncomfortable about the location of it, it was simply unpleasant.

There was little else to complain about at the market though, as we danced from stall to stall picking up vegetables and meats that are harder to find at our markets: Padron peppers, venison pate, saucisson sec, buffalo shortribs, rockfish, all sorts of delights. We popped back to our hotel for a quick rest and it was back out.

You can tell a lot about a city by walking through it, and on our walk from the hotel to Ten-01, we found a lot of Vegan Organic delis, vegan pizza and even a vegan shoe store (one of two I spotted this weekend). Luckily Ten-01 was as far from vegan as possible, so we sidled up to the bar and picked our beverages. Following a recommendation, I had a delightful drink that was perfect for the afternoon–it was not on their happy hour menu, but the bright yellow of my Ile-de-France was a sunny way to make me happy. With champagne, cognac and yellow chartreuse, this was enough to cheer me back up after having been dragged, empty handed, kicking and screaming, from the food section of the Powell’s Books next door. Since it was happy hour, we ordered a few of the $1 oysters to go with. I often say an oyster is best undressed, but I had to admit that the jalapeno mignonette these were served with was perfectly nuanced to match and to never overwhelm the oyster. I asked where these were from. “Penn Cove” The server answered, “In B.C.” Oops. She shouldn’t have kept going. “Penn Cove’s in Washington” I answered, possibly before I could modify my voice tone. As the embarrassed server slunk away, B asked me “Is it hard knowing everything?” Yes, folks, it is!

After the rather large beverage at Ten01, we continued on to Higgins, a pleasant walk through the sunshine away. Here we had been told to order the charcuterie plate and cocktails, so we obliged. With a heavy wooden bar, mirrored behind and just a little dusky, even in the light of day, this place oozed old school charm. After being told there was no cocktail menu, I ordered a Martini. It was the only appropriate drink for this place. Okay, or a Manhattan, maybe. Places like this often serve stale food–menus that don’t seem to have changed with the ages, but that was not the case here. First sign things were going well was the bread brought to us with their house brand olive oil. While I behaved myself and did not drink this straight from the bottle, I cannot lie: I did debate it. But the real treat was when our housemade charcuterie plate arrived on its elegant marble slate, thinly sliced pieces of preserved meat here and there, the dark red of the salami, the bright white of the lardo, like a checkerboard painted by Picasso. Each piece was spectacular, totally unlike any other and incredibly flavored. There was no over-salting or under-flavoring. I was floored. Peeling that thin slice of lardo (cured pork fat), one side cool from the marble, and letting it melt softly onto my tongue, disappearing into a meaty memory, was so extraordinary that I am having trouble describing the feeling without making this blogpost very dirty.

Leaving Higgins and feeling decidedly sorry for the vegans at this point, for living life with out ever knowing the pleasure of eating lardo, we hopped in the car for a trip to Pok Pok. I had heard of Pok Pok for years and was especially interested in trying this authentic food since a recent journey in search of good Kao Soy in Seattle had left me, literally, with a bad taste in my mouth. While we waited in the sun by their outdoor to-go shack, I popped into the dining room to use the ladies room. I came back out. “It smells like Thailand in there” I tittered excitedly to B. Moments later, having poked his head in, he smiled in agreement. It is hard to say much about Pok Pok that hasn’t already been said, so I won’t dwell here, but suffice it to say, next time I get a Kao Soy and green papaya salad craving, I’m pointing the compass southward.

Finally it was time for the main meal of the night. Depositing the car back at the hotel, we walked over to B’s friends house, across the street from our next destination, a tiny Japanese/Korean restaurant called Tanuki. “No Sushi, No Kids” read the sign out front. I like a restaurateur who can declare their desires, much like the “We cannot accommodate vegetarians” note on David Chang’s Momofuku Ssam Bar menu. While they don’t take reservations, I had emailed with the chef and let her know we were coming in. They offer omakase (Chef’s choice) on the menu, you can just pick your price and they’ll serve it up. We asked what a good amount was and she seemed to feel at $25 a person we would be more than pleased and quite stuffed. Accompanied by an unpasteurized sake, we worked our way through courses of some of the best uni I’ve ever had, skewers of scallops and beef, an incredible blood sausage and more. Despite our repeated requests, the courses came quickly at first, which was overwhelming. When they finally slowed down, it became clear they were done with us–a noodle dish was followed by a rice dish, and then with the arrival of the second rice dish in a row we waved the white flag. As we lingered over our final courses, I listened to the interaction the girl at the next table was having with the waitress. “Do you have anything vegan?” she asked. The waitress ran back to check with the chef. “Just the edamame and the rice balls” she reported back. The vegan started to get indignant, as her friend clearly got more embarrassed. The friend ordered two meaty dishes. The vegan begged for special treatment, and upon realizing she wasn’t going to get any, decided to just not eat at all. The friend, I noted, didn’t seem to have a qualm in the world about digging in. Perhaps the sign out front should read “No Sushi, No kids, No vegans.”

We were no longer walking at this point in the night, but rather waddling, distended tummies leading the way. I sized up the Teardrop lounge, begging myself for the stomach space for just one fabulous cocktail. When it came time to place my order I asked the waitress for something “digestif-y” to cure what ailed me. She passed it onto the bartender and while she was too busy to tell me what was in it, this raspberry and blackberry garnished cocktail was a miracle worker. No longer feeling painfully full, as we finished our beverages, I turned to B, “You ready for Voodoo Donuts?”

Yes, we walked to the donut shop and stood in line for 15 minutes in the middle of the night for two fabulous donuts. Yes, they were pricey, and no the donut itself might not have been that much better than any other donut, but what can I say, the maple bacon donut was good. I’m a sucker for a maple bar in the first place, and adding bacon certainly didn’t hurt anything. Our other donut seemed to involve chocolate and peanut butter as well as its defining characteristic, the Rice Crispies on top. It was good. The crunch of the crispies on top of the soft donut, it was, in fact the perfect way to end a night, strolling through downtown Portland, crunching on doughnuts on the walk back to the hotel.

Bright and early the next morning, we were back at it again, this time at Beast for a four course, $28 brunch, set menu, no substitutions. As we sat, coffee, water and juice arrived promptly, helping to cure what ailed ya, just before you turn over your menu and see that for $22 more dollars you can add a wine pairing. They bring you up, then they knock you right back down. Yes, please, we said. As everyone arrived I noticed a girl being brought in to her group by her boyfriend who then left. “Maybe he’s vegan?” I said to B. We discussed the entertainment that a vegan trying to eat at Beast would offer, but we soon realized we should have kept it down: another woman in that group WAS a vegetarian, methodically picking the bacon off our brown butter crepes and the shortribs out of our hash. I rolled my eyes as I indulged in the tender meat, wrapped in flavors of the poached egg and hollaindaise sauce atop it. Course three was a brilliantly arranged cheese plate with perfectly dressed greens, followed by a sweet corn pannacotta with blackberry sauce that gave new meaning to seasonal food–as in that dish WAS summer, in all its glory.

With no rest for the weary, we had one final meal to go to before ducking out of town. Two years ago, on a previous trip I had attempted to go to Le Pigeon and had been turned away, as they would be closed by the time my 2.5 hour wait would be over. This time I smartened up and made a reservation for one of the seated tables. The fresh, creative flavors of our hamachi crudo with shrimp and shiitake salad brought to mind Anchovies and Olives, while the unabashed lack of subtlety of the steak over duck fat potatoes reminded me of Quinn’s. In truth, though, Le Pigeon exceed both of those in craft and in presentation. Each dish that was brought to us was surprising, it challenged flavors and the visuals were unlike any other. Our dish of peach and beef heart came with the beef inside the peach and the outside wrapped in what I’m guessing was caul fat, afloat in a delicate consomme. Remember earlier when I mentioned I didn’t think my Pine State Biscuit was worth the half hour wait? Well, I have to say that my Le Pigeon meal was worth every day of the two year wait.

As we drove out of Portland waving goodbye to the temples of carnivorism and the vegan delis alike, I thought about how I always joke with the guys that work where my day job does the catering. “If it weren’t for us having to do vegan menus every day, that much more money would go into your meat dishes” So Portland, perhaps if less thought was going into vegan food, you could aspire to even greater levels of culinary delights. In the meantime, I gotta say, I’m not complaining.

Food as Memories, Photos as Tokens

When my camera was stolen from my bag in Northern Peru, I remember consoling myself that I was a writer and that if I were worth my salt, I would be capable of describing scenes as well as if I had taken pictures. When I started food blogging, this came to the forefront as I dimly clicked away, armed with a C minus in high school photography and a camera I bought more for the relationship between its waterproofness and my klutziness than for the quality of the pictures. I began to write a food blog because of its perfect location at the intersection of culinary pleasure and the art of sharing experiences with others through the written word.

Two and a half years later, as I wander about, restaurant to restaurant, party to party enjoying my time amongst the Fooderati, I eat meal after meal where I try to dive in head first and am gently reminded to wait until the click, click, click has finished its logging of the meal. It doesn’t bother me–I’m not of the mind that my food will be any less good for the two extra minutes it has sat. And yet, I get defensive when people ask me why I don’t take pictures myself. My reasoning is simple, no picture will record the experience, the pleasure, to breathe in the smells, to admire each color, to trap that taste in the mouth for long enough to take that mental picture. Not a two dimensional one, but one that is three, four, even five dimensions as I describe the layers of flavor, the hint of spice on the tip of my tongue, how I feel about corn off the cob–and how that feeling changes as I put a second bite into my mouth.

Unfortunately over the course of this blog, I have faced the realities of food blogging and realized that my words alone are not keeping readers, and as I cook at home I have taken pictures. They have greatly improved (God help the sucker who looks at my early photos in the archives), as I learned about lighting and light boxes, angles, props and white balancing. I am not, though, and never will be, a photographer. I will continue to make the most vivid pictures of food in my readers brain through the words that I write, by bringing them on a trip through the brain as it eats, what makes that bite so good, this one so bad, an experience so transcendent. I may not be a photographer, but there is nothing I love more than creating a post that burns an image into the mind.

The single photograph that remains most vivid in my brain from that trip to Peru is not from the photos I had saved before the theft, nor from the camera I bought months later at a black market. Rather, it is the picture I most mourned the loss of with the loss of my camera: Jaimie, a juggling unicyclist who I had met in the hallways of my jail-like hostel. He told me of his dream to attend circus school in Arizona and told me I could take a picture if I promised to send it to him via e-mail. For ten minutes he struggled to stay atop the unicycle in that cold, gray hallway, finally, he did it, just long enough for me to snap the perfect picture, a triumphant smile on his face as his eyes followed the juggling balls into the air.

Kitfo Caprese: Cultures Combined

To understand how I dreamed up such a ridiculous thing as combining Kitfo, an Ethiopian raw steak dish and Caprese salad, the Italian classic, you must understand the level of sleep deprivation I had. A serious eating trip to Vancouver had been completed the previous day and was over 16 hours door to door, including many miles walked and more (delicious) meals than you could shake a stick at.

Are you there with me yet? In this tired, half-functional state I decided to go grocery shopping. And not just anywhere, but at the high-falutin Met Market. It wasn’t cheap, folks. But why would it be when I exited with multiple shapes of Mozzarella cheese–neither of them rectangular, which in fact would have matched the Himalayan Pink  salt brick I impulse bought. But enough with the zombie shopping trip, let me get to the Kitfo Caprese.

As I drove home (hi, mom, yes I know I probably shouldn’t have been driving in this sleep deprived state) I thought about how I possibly planned to make a meal out of the eclectic, to say the least, groceries rattling around in the back of my vehicle. I had purchased high quality eye of round beef with an eye toward making kitfo. As I worked through this, I thought that in place of the usual cheese, as I was too lazy for the two block walk to the Ethiopian mart, I could use one of my mozzarella shapes, chopped up. But the Mozzarella was intended for a Caprese salad with the beautiful, giant heirloom tomato I had bought. Oh, there it is, now you’re understanding the thought process, right? A little bit? Nope still quite crazy. So you’ll have to trust me when I claim deliciousness, okay?

Kitfo Caprese

Equal amounts
Kitfo
Mozzarella Cheese
Heirloom tomato

Chop the cheese and tomato to small pieces and lightly salt. When you’ve put the butter on the beef and mixed well, then mix all three. The spiced butter and berebere will dress the cheese and tomato as well.

The Meat and the Moose

It all added up to me having no desire to go there. I didn’t need another “Mexican” breakfast that involved American style egg dishes dressed up in sombrero and sarapi, or their edible equivalents. Sometimes I hear so much about restaurants that I begin to resent them, to make assumptions about them and the people who like them, so much that they cease to have any draw for me. Señor Moose in Ballard was one of those places. For a time it seemed like everyone wanted to know, had I been there? Did I know how wonderful their Huevos Ahogados were? Why hadn’t I been seen standing in the hour plus waits for the a seat in the tiny place.

The hubbub has died down now. Lines have shortened, its fallen off the radar a bit. Starving, coming from the Ballard farmer’s market on a sunny Sunday morning, all of a sudden, I saw it in a different light–that being it as the only reasonably good sit down, non-American brunch restaurant in my near vicinity. The wait was short–not even the 15 minutes we were told upon entering.

The heat of the day had crawled inside, even at this early hour, and despite being seated next to the only functional air conditioner, we spent the meal sweating onto the muy autentico oilcloth table cover.

Nothing to worry about, however, as our immediately ordered Mango Mimosas were quickly served to our tables in over-sized wine glasses. Just the right antidote to the stifling Seattle heat. For our brunch, I perused the menu, surprised by some of the options and by the great variety of regions represented, finally choosing two dishes I loved, but had not heard anyone rave about. Rebellion at every level, you know.

And yet, as hard as I seemed to be trying to keep myself from liking the place, the Moose turned out some of the most delicious, authentic, meaty amazingness that I’ve had in Seattle. As we ate I tried to remember why I had resisted for so long coming here. Drawing blanks, I stopped trying to think in this heat and went back to enjoying my food.

First up was Machaca con Huevos. I immediately discounted the factory made tortillas, but it wasn’t a good move, since once I had wrapped the silky black beans with cooling, salty cotija cheese and a bite of the light, fluffy eggs, studded with tiny pieces of shredded beef, I probably could have wrapped it in paper and it would be equally fantastic. I always wonder why certain Mexican dishes rose to the top and are everywhere and a flavorful, simple classic like machaca disappeared into the depths. This was perfectly prepared and the pairing within that tortilla was all that was needed to quell our impending starvation.

Having shoveled a serving of Machaca in, I moved on to our other dish. Pork rinds as we generally see them in America, in their snack food form, like tasty pig part potato chips are certainly nothing I would ever complain about. However, I also would never complain watching a little abuelita drench mine in a fabulous tomato salsa with just a hint of heat. The Chicharron en Salsa Roja at Moose fits that description perfectly. The steaming bowl, like a soup, almost, with rich, pork infused broth, tempting me to eat it far before it would cool to no longer mouth scortching temperatures. I fished a piece of the pork skin out from the sauce and let it cool on the side. With just a smidge of remaing crunch, it is like a sticky  and slightly al dente noodle, yet with the distinct texture, almost like tiny bubbles, that is unique to the great creation that is a deep fried pork rind. Both the pork and sauce it came in were delicious, rustic, simple and prepared like I would expect it to be if I ordered it in Oaxaca.

Portion sizes were far more reasonable than most Mexican places in this part of the world, but I was pleased to still have enough chicharron and sauce to take home and eat for breakfast the next day with a fried egg on top.

Chef in the Garden Wrap up: Elements of a Great Meal

Upon leaving the Chef in the Garden fundraiser (I talk about it here) I remembered one of the first things you learn when reviewing restaurants: just how many elements it takes to add up to a great meal. It was, I will tell you right here, a great meal. It helped that it was a grand early summer night, with the Interbay P-patch in full bloom and beauty as the day’s heat wore off and only the bight light of the sun still shone.

It was by no means a perfect meal–in fact f I were grumpy and picky, I would let you know about the one appetizer that was less than stellar or maybe the one that was on the menu that we never even saw. If I were unhappy at the end of the day, I might have spent this review talking about how they ran out of one of the three wine choices before we even sat.

But those were not the pieces that stuck with me. I had to rack my brain to remember the things that went wrong at this dinner (except the bad appetizer, that stuck in my head: “Did yours taste like grass?” B asked me). Meanwhile all this build up has been for me to tell you just how good it was.

Photo by Ron Williams

It was this good. It was lavender petals on a soft cooked egg good. It was steamed new potatoes good. It was fresh haricot vert good. And it was that huge chunk of salmon, perfectly dressed with tarragon vinaigrette good. I barely made it to eating this fabulous dish, though, because of the wonderful people I was sitting with. You can find out a lot about a restaurant or in this case, an organization, by the people you meet, and holy hell, if I am doing that, sign me up. Ron, one of our tablemates is a photographer. He has kindly donated his photos to this blog. He also gave me a ton of insight from his experience working with the Ballard Food Bank about food donations and the possibilities there. Another tablemate has me convinced I should spend my Tuesdays helping garden for the P-Patch. But more than what I learned about opportunities and activities, I learned about the enthusiasm of the people there.

Photo by Ron Williams

As the second course came out, we learned that nobody had more enthusiasm than Tom Douglas, who was the chef that night. He was behind the shed, grilling these delicious duck breasts for us, served with cherries from his own farm, alongside the Gnocchi and grilled zucchini. Before this came out, though, he popped out to the front to say a few words. The audience laughed at his many jokes, he nearly brought his own wife to tears, describing their personal involvement in the garden–his mother in law has a bench dedicated to her right there–and he appropriately credited and introduced his staff. It was about as impressive a schpiel I’ve ever seen by a chef, and friends, this ain’t my first rodeo.

Photo by Ron Williams

By the time my rose geranium and strawberry ice cream floated by, I already had my checkbook out to donate to the cause (plus a little extra, because I may have broken a wine glass), but it also inspired me, the whole evening, to think about ways I could be involved with this fabulous organization.

And I already know the first one: Where was all this publicity? For one of the best events I had been to in ages, there was not a whole lot of coverage, either before to sell the event or after. I only hope I can help them to make these events pop next time, for bigger bashes and more guests, since I dare not harbor the thought that it could be better!

The Summer of Scallops

I bought a package of scallops at the farmers market a few weeks ago and made them into a delicious dinner. For weeks, I’ve come home to my computer and admired the lovely pictures, remembered the soft crunch of the sea beans over the creamy tartare, and said to myself “I should really post these to the blog,”

Yet, it’s been busy at work and I’ve spent what time I’ve been home trying to remember what my name is and how it sounds with out “On Safari Foods, This is,” in front of it. Not to complain, because busy is far better than not, but then last night I was out at the incredible Guest Chef on the Waterfront event and had not one but two preparations of scallops, a reminder that I still had yet to post my pictures. Including not one, but two preparations of scallops.

Scallop Tartare (Top)

2 large scallops
3 leaves shiso
1 leaf mint
8 or so sea beans
Black Truffle Oil (a few drops, optional)
Salt (pinch)
Pepper (two or three grinds worth)
Olive oil (less then a teaspoon)

Hand chop the scallops so they are in small but slightly irregular chunks. Chop the leaves and sea beans until very small pieces, but still identifiable, mix with salt, pepper and olive oil and sprinkle in a single layer into a ramekin. Press the scallops on top of that layer of leaves etc., cover with plastic wrap and put it into the fridge for about half an hour. When you remove it, take off the plastic and in one fell swoop, turn it upside down onto a plate, hitting the ramekin on the plate. Sprinkle with truffle oil for extra deliciousness–truffles love scallops!

Quick Sauteed Scallops with Garlic Scape Pesto (Bottom)

1 bunch garlic scapes
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 handful seabeans
4 large scallops

Blend the scapes, the olive oil and the sea beans to a pesto like texture, then heat the sauce in a frying pan. When it is hot, take it off heat, toss scallops in the sauce and serve. The scallops are barely tinged by the heat, but it gives it a slightly cooked texture, which is nice.

The Seattle Chocolate Salon

Commercial candy bars are like Boone’s Farm wines–they’re what you buy when you’re young, naive or broke–and maybe every once in a while for nostalgic reasons. Like wine, the more you know about the intricacies and the wonders of chocolates, the more different types you’ve tried and tasted, the more that you’ll be able to discern what it is you do or don’t like. Lastly, much like a wine tasting, when you get to the end, you’ve got quite a bit of palate fatigue. This weekend I went from a 14 year old brown bagging Strawberry Boone’s to a real adult with real chocolate knowledge.

When I entered the surprisingly small room in which the Seattle Chocolate Salon was held, I walked around for a moment before starting to orient myself to the type of chocolates I wanted to try–and let me tell you, there was no way I was going to be able to try them all. I decided that I would sample flavored chocolates and salted caramels–the salted caramels being my favorite. This might be a little like sticking only to New World wines or perhaps something even more limiting in wine tasting, but I had to draw the line somewhere and while single origin and dark chocolate are not my areas of expertise, I’m a girl who knows my salt.

There was an incredible variety of chocolates, including “healthy” chocolates, complete with annoying preachy sales people to chocolate body products–slathering myself in tasty chocolate lotion was a highlight of the day. As I picked and chose through the room, I found a few favorites–and let me tell you, the tasteless “Choffy” chocolate coffee was not on that list.

Best in show, for me was handily the White Truffle Oil Caramel with Cyprus Flaked Sea Salt. Posh Chocolat overall had an excellent selection of salted caramels and were consistently good–with the exception of the bacon caramel, which just sort of made me roll my eyes. Enough already, unless your product is unbelievable, please stop helping bacon jump the shark. I still love bacon, I don’t want to have to hate it.

The most beautiful and adventurously flavored chocolates came from a Florida company called William Dean. Each chocolate was beautifully designed and intensely flavored, including a few of my favorites–Maytag bleu cheese, Passion Fruit, and one they didn’t have out for sampling, but sounded delicious–Wasabi!

Special mention has to go out to Chubby Chipmunk for their delightful little bites of ganache and buttercream or whatever it was. I picked up a “Hot Mama” and was blown away by the strong and discernible flavors of the various peppers in it. On discussing with them, one of the women said to me “Anyone who picks that one up clearly likes peppers, so we want to make sure they get that.” I smiled at the truth and thought about that–why half-ass a flavored chocolate?

Lucky for me, there was very little half assing going on here–Oh Chocolate, a local company, even had someone handmaking double chocolate truffles just as fast as you could eat them. While the event was a little crazy, I must admit, paying $20 to stuff yourself like a small child home from Halloween, seems like an extremely good deal.

Chef in the Garden Benefit for P-Patch Trust

The generosity of chefs is truly a phenomenal thing: From Mario Batali to your neighborhood restaurant, you will see them donating their time, product and fabulous skill to a variety of different causes–and it is up to us to show them how worthwhile it is by supporting their causes. Seattle’s Tom Douglas is no different, and this Thursday, July 9th, you can catch him making a freakin’ fabulous dinner for a cause close to my little food blogger heart. The P-Patch Trust is a group that helps to bring fresh, locally grown produce and the access to land on which to farm it, to people who otherwise couldn’t afford it. You can read more about what they do on their website. Given that one of the biggest gripes about local, sustainable growing is the cost and lack of access, I think the things P-Patch trust does are incredibly important.

To underline how awesome what they do is, the dinner itself will be in the Interbay P-Patch, so it is truly a dinner right where the work is being done. The price tag of $95 seems a little hefty–or at least it did at first to me, as I usually don’t attend that expensive of events–but keep in mind you’ll be getting a 4+ course Tom Douglas meal including crab, salmon and duck and all of it matched up with local wines. When was the last time you got out of one of his restaurants with that kind of deal?  You can find the entire menu as well as all the usual info at Ppatchtrust.org, so definitely cruise over there.

Having worked in the restaurant industry, I know that these dinners involve a lot of donated time and product, and everyone pulls for them to be as successful as possible. It is up to the dining public to speak with their dollars and say that we appreciate what the chef is doing and that we, too, believe that it is for a good cause. Everyone is being careful these days with their dining dollars, so why not make them count twice–once to get you an terrific meal and once to support the P-Patch Trust.

A few other details, in case you’re wondering–if it rains, it will be moved into Palace Ballroom, and yes, there are vegetarian meals available. As of right now there are still tickets available, so give it a try, it’s great food and supports a wonderful cause. And be sure to stop by and say hi! to me if you do come!

Tickets

Eating my way through San Francisco

Despite the many delicious and thought provoking meals I had in San Francisco, I feel like there are many more to be had. Despite that nagging feeling that I’ve missed something good, I can ease my mind by remembering that nary a wasted bite crossed my lips. Armed with a pile of suggestions from various San Fran natives, visitors and my wonderful hosts–who happen to be lovers of the dining world as well–I set out to the south for a few good meals.

Straight off the plane we were swooped up and deposited at the front door of the Alembic, where the hostess touted to us the new menu. Service was beyond stellar, with the very same hostess keeping us just updated enough about the status of our table during the hour long wait, stretching and straining to try to make us as comfortable as possible. Once we got our feet in the door, we began exploring the cocktail list, a combination of classics prepared with prowess and new inventions which certainly provided our palates with their own excellent adventures. I waited too long to write this post and now am unable to recall the exact names of each one, but nary a bad one in the bunch, and with four people ordering multiple drinks, we sampled quite the selection. But as a lover of the edibles more than the imbibables, it was the food that truly won me over. We started with the blackboard special, a salt and pepper grass shrimp appetizer. Like little tiny chips made of shrimp, these savory crustaceans had us inhaling them like fraternity brothers with midnight pizza delivery. High on the delight of a brand-new to us delicacy, we ventured forth into the menu. I would never allow any bone marrow or steak tartare to go unordered, so those were in. We tacked on a few pork belly sliders for good measure and ricotta fritters. While the bone marrow was delicious, I’m not sure there was anything particularly spectacular about it, in fact it might have been slightly underdone. That said, it still had all the wonderful features of bone marrow, the thick, rich, stickiness of meat, combined with the creamy, melty features of butter. The bread was crunchy and the perfect palate clearing foil. The steak tartare was another traditional preparation, this one perfectly executed. Even the picky eater in the group had to admit that the textures and tastes of this dish were nothing short of stupendous. The dessert was a bit of a let down, not because it wasn’t delicious (it was) but simply because we expected more of a breaded, fried ricotta fritter, while this was really more like a doughnut made with ricotta inside. As I said, delectable none-the-less.

The next morning we awoke and were escorted to the Ferry Plaza Farmer’s Market. I talk a little bit about everything I bought here, so I won’t say much except that I adored the wine bar. There isn’t much better than sitting down at the high tables at 9:30 am and sharing a bottle of sparkling rose wine with friends while people watching the crowds. Life is good.

Later that afternoon, sufficiently recovered from the morning to be able to eat real food, we ventured over to Richmond to stop in for a late lunch at Burma Superstar. Unprepared, I was unsure of what sort of stuff we would be getting. We started out with a pitcher of an actually rather lovely Sangria–a Burmese spin put on it with various unexpected fruits –always nice to find an average drink to have a surprise twist. For food we started with their apparently famous Tea Leaf Salad. I’d never had a tea leaf salad before, but once I stopped attempting to discern the flavor of the fermented tea leaves, gave up and embraced the salad as a whole entity, crunchy little tidbits and all, I found it to be curiously strong–though not at all like an Altoid–more that the flavor and the crunch really resounded and made a strong statement. “I am salad, hear me roar,” is what I imagine it saying, staking out salad’s rightful place at the center of the meal. The tableside mixing service was cute, though not exactly necessary. We moved through the menu, picking and choosing from a lamb curry, rice studded with raisins, and a tofu tower that tasted much better than the terrible name would imply. The flavors of Burmese food were not as unfamiliar, in general, as I would have thought. Having extensive experience in Chinese, Thai and Indian food, meant that it was not the flavors, but the individual dishes that struck me as original. For anyone who loves those cuisines, this is definitely a good way to go, as it is sort of a greatest hits mash up of them.

Later that night we headed to our big dinner at Nopa. This was chosen for the dinner spot after I had heard good things, my host had mentioned it was high on her list to try and a former local food critic called it the place to go if you could only pick one. I was sold. The menu, I will say, though, was not one that grabbed you, drew you in and forced you to come. It was more of a simple, oh that could be good, kind of menu.

Sitting at the bar, drinking cocktails, waiting for our reservation–wait back up, drinking more amazing SF cocktails, what is up with all of the amazing cocktails here?–We watched food coming out of the kitchen and I changed my tune a little from my original “meh” at the menu. One of those! I say, we will order that–it turned out to be a lovely flatbread. We ordered an array of appetizers, but I was sold after the first taste of the amuse bouche touched my lips. Diving into the menu, first up were the little fried fish, yes, actually called that on the menu, absolute treasures, making audible crunches as you broke through the outer layer of fried tastiness and releasing all the smelt flavor, a wonderful flavor to all the fish lovers out there. We split a few appetizers as our main and each small plain dish exceeded by so much the expectations set by the menu, that it was almost like ordering via random drawing. Think you know what a baked giant white bean will taste like? Think again. You call what you ate in the past cauliflower, no siree, this, my friends is cauliflower. Again and again, they showed us new ways to look at foods that I thought I knew. Was it transcendent? A meal I’ll never forget? No, I’ve already forgotten what that terrific amuse bouche even was–but it was a restaurant that made me re-evaluate presumptions I make about my food knowledge and what I order, and I appreciated that. Along with great service and delicious wines, it turned out to be quite a lovely dinner.

The next morning we woke up refreshed and ready–Okay, that’s a lie. After Nopa we hit up a bar and then a wine bar and we all woke up struggling to move most of our body parts–but I knew what the cure was. As soon as we were all capable of dressing ourselves (it did take a few hours) we headed out to dim sum. This whole trip came about because of the idea of going to dim sum. However, I did make the mistake of listening to the wrong person for the dim sum choice and while the dim sum was passable, it was not the dim sum I came to SF for. We hit up Ton Kiang, a favorite of my travel partner. As we sat, they put out the hot sauce. A tiny dish, with two parts, one filled with hot mustard and the other with an odd salsa like green sauce. I tried flagging for the kind I wanted and got a sriracha type sauce. No others. Dim sum without appropriate hot sauce. Hangover nightmare! The food was…well, it was anyways. They had some interesting looking stuff, but nothing really ever panned out well. Softshell crab? Yes please! But it was over breaded and underseasoned and just tasted like friedness with a lack of hot sauce. Other items were better, but the dumplings were clearly made without care in the pleats–nor in any aspect of creation. Soup dumplings lacked soup and in general it just fell flat. As we left, the purpose of our trip half failed and my travel companion feeling bad for making the recommendation, I told her, “Don’t worry, we had fun, we ate well, and now I have a wonderful excuse to come back soon!”