Mary Ladd

Hangover Relief: Pho

SF's Vietnam II restaurant was where I learned to eat pho, a beef noodle soup. During cooking school, it quickly became routine to meet my classmate, Rebecca, to talk about food, gossip, and enjoy the fragrant meal. Eating there meant I could easily get through class and cooking without getting ravenous (all bets off if foie gras or charcuterie were introduced, though). The sides make pho, and add flavors and wonderful scents: Thai basil leaves, bean sprouts, jalapeno slices, and lime (or lemon) wedges. It gets saucy with drizzles of spicy and piquant Sriracha sauce; hoisin adds sweetness.

Today, I needed some hot pho broth to help me feel alive. Drinking at Tosca Cafe in North Beach (celeb sighting! Ed Harris rockin' some odd sideburns) til 1:30 last night was fun, but my head and body are aching today. Thank goodness Pho Saigon, my current pho source in San Mateo, opens at 10 a.m. Each spoonful of broth gave relief, and the pounding in my head seemed to mellow considerably. The thinly sliced rare beef was tender and easy to chew, and tasted like heaven. I loved getting pieces of basil, that gave off a wonderful smell as I tore them up. Take that, dreaded hangover!

Restaurant Las Americas Pupuseria & Taqueria

Watching the ladies make pupusas at San Mateo's Restaurant Las Americas (Salvadorean and Mexican food) made my mouth water. The smells of fat and frying made the hunger even stronger. A pupusa is made by hand, and contains masa. Seeing a tub of Country Crock near the prep area made me wonder: Where's the lard or oil? What is that stuff doing in here?

One pupusa is more of an appetizer rather than a full meal. (I laughed when the woman looked me over and asked if I wanted 2 pupusas. Did I look that hungry and gordita in my slightly too tight Pixies shirt?) The small cabbage based side salad that comes with a pupusa is called curtido, which is pickled and includes shredded carrots. It helps cut the fat from the pupusa's filling, which is usually cheese or a mix of pork, chicken, cheese, refried beans or loroco, an edible flower. The prices at Las Americas are $1.75 to $2 per pupusa.

My main course was a pork torta that included succulent, juicy shredded pork, avocado, sour cream, and a side of red sauce (too watery and definitely not spicy as the woman said it would be). It was on a soft white roll that absorbed the pork's juices. Definitely delicious and not too much food.

Restaurant Las Americas is a clean hole in the wall joint.The staff is friendly. Other menu items are: platanos (plantains) with crema, tamales, caldo, sopas, chile verde, baked potato (for that Country Crock, perhaps?) and nachos. Agua frescas and shakes in tropical flavors tempt.

Restaurant Las Americas Pupuseria & Taqueria, 254 South "B" Street, San Mateo, CA. T: 650-340-1327.

Draeger's Posh Palace of Food

Strolling around the Draeger's in San Mateo can be overwhelming. It's the Mother Ship, and there's a lot to take in. Produce, condiments, baked goods, flowers, meats, seafood ("45 Varieties!"), plates, knives, tea pots and even picnic kits are beautifully displayed on two stories. This can lead to sensory overload and questions of, "What is a gingerbread brick? Why would I spend ten dollars for one?" The clientele is well heeled, and fit, and perhaps think nothing of spending $12 and up per pound for "first class" cheeses. This is not a Trader Joe's.

The olive oil section is a good example of the variety of products Draeger's carries. It took up three shelves and was ten feet wide. This is near the saffron and truffle display case, which is kept under lock and key. Again, everything looked great, but the lock and key was something I hadn't seen before.

I'm most envious of the products in Draeger's Old Country Smokehouse and Sausage Kitchen. How tempting does a Hawaiian Teriyaki Sausage with pineapple sound? Finish it off with some short cakes or cupcakes, and it's oh la la.

Boba Crepes: Getting the Doctor to pay up

When I first finished cooking school, I often visited the California Culinary Academy chef's offices for job leads, encouragement, and laughs. The chefs are a fun and outgoing group, and I had an in with their leader, Chef Herve Le Biavant, from working gratis as his organizer/assistant. He told me about a doctor who was friends with a famous TV chef. The doctor had a restaurant at the SF Airport, and was opening a new one in Stonestown Galleria Shopping Center.

The Stonestown restaurant was going to serve crepes and bubble tea. Quick service. Did I want to visit the Doctor at one of his offices, and see if we could work together? I could charge $25 an hour. I was fooling everyone when gigs like this came up. I didn't know anything about crepes, but would do research and practice cooking them. Since I didn't have a car (it was towed in SF and then smashed up in an Oakland accident on my first day at the Chronicle-a bad omen), I borrowed one.

One thing the Doctor is great at is charming people. "Oh, I didn't know what you would look like!" he exclaimed. Hmmm. I laughed and told him I did know what he would look like because of his ads in a weekly publication. "Oh, that," he giggled. "That's from so long ago! Do you think I still look that young?" No, I don't, but I'll lie since you will be paying me. "Of course," I marveled, with a smile.

The Doctor wanted help with his sweet and savory/buckwheat crepe recipes. I told him I would test the recipes, and that it would likely take a few tries, to work out all the kinks. "With recipes," I told him, "It isn't like you can just take a recipe for five servings and times it by six to get thirty portions. Especially with baked goods, this will get you in trouble."

"I see, I see," the Doctor said. "Well, I am so glad we are working together," he said. I told him I would also look at the menu and offer more combinations for both sweet and savory. The California could have feta, spinach, and tomato, that sort of thing. "Wonderful," he said.

I went through over sixty eggs for each recipe run through. Herve snuck me into some CCA kitchen, where the students were curious and in awe that I was a recent alum, doing what seemed to be fun and interesting work. Testing recipes takes detective and guess work. The first five crepes were always thrown out, because they'd burn or bunch up. Once I got the hang of it, it was fun.

I emailed the Doctor recipes and reports. My next assignment was to visit the crepe place anonymously and report back what I thought. The staff was suspicious when I ordered three crepes (2 savory, 1 sweet). Only one of the crepes passed muster, and the herbs and spices were too strong on one of the crepes. Presentation was messy and needed work.

The Doctor was pleased with my work. I let him know I had emailed him an invoice. A few days later, it hadn't arrived. I was underemployed and in need of the funds, but didn't want to appear needy or pushy. Two weeks turned to three weeks, and I visited Herve to let him know it went well. "Has he paid you yet?" he asked.

"Not yet. I sent the invoice," I said.

"You may have to bug him," he said, mysteriously. Another chef overheard us talking, "Oh no," Chef Julie said. "You're working for the Doctor? Don't you know? He never pays. I did work for him when I was a student, for that stupid airport restaurant, and he never gave me one cent," she said as she rolled her eyes.

"Why would you send me to someone who has a habit of not paying," I screeched at Herve.

"You'll get your money. If anyone can, it's you," Herve said.

Soon after, I finally called the Doctor at his office. "He owes me nearly four hundred dollars, and is overdue," I told his receptionist. She sweetly clucked disapproval and promised to relay the message. Because the Doctor gave me his home and cell phone numbers, I called there. His teenage son took the message. Good, I was hoping to embarrass the Doctor. I got ahold of the Doctor and he said he would send the money.

Ten days later, no money. More calls to his various outposts. He called me back that day, in a huff. "Look, I said I would pay you! It's only a bit of money."

"To you, yes! You keep promising to pay, but haven't. I will keep calling your office and home until I see a check in my mailbox."

Wouldn't you know, the next day my check arrived? The Doctor normally had fine cursive writing, but his signature on this check was huge and messy, and the pen had pressed the paper something fierce. It probably made him furious to pay, but he probably figured out I wouldn't give up.

Pyramide Valencay Grilled Cheese Sandwich

I had spent the day fantasizing about making some brussel sprouts or fava beans. They're on my mind from a weekend of food related chat and produce ogling in Lake Tahoe.  Eating some tasty brussel sprouts at Chef Johnny Almamilla's Mar y Lago kept the veggie passion burning (more on the Mar y Lago meal soon).

Reality check. Bad news messes up menu ideas, pronto. Towards the end of my workday, I was told some upsetting information, which altered the night's meal plan dramatically. Eating a healthy green salad or artichokes with lentils didn't excite me one bit. No. I craved ooey, gooey, cheesy greatness in the form of a Pyramid Valencay grilled cheese sandwich ($16.50 for nearly 11 ounces).

According to the Le Village website, "this cheese from the region of 'Berry' was originally shaped like a perfect pyramid. On his return from the disastrous campaign of Egypt, Napoleon stopped at the castle of Valencay and seeing the cheese that reminded him of the Egyptian pyramids, drew his sword and chopped off the top. When making a Valencay, the drained curd is cast in a mold. When removed, it is covered with salted charcoal ashes, and ripened in a well-ventilated room at 80% humidity."

The cheese has been nestled in the fridge ever since I went to the Made in France Le Village warehouse sale and blew almost four hundred dollars. We are trying to work our way through all the duck, cheeses, and pate. Strong cheese and cured meat smells escape when the door is open. The Pyramid Valencay is the likely cheese culprit. When I pulled away the wax paper, I noticed white mold spots on the bottom. I sliced all the charcoal ash off, and tasted some. It was firm, tart, creamy, and had a mildly pungent aftertaste. This was going to be goooood.

I pulled a small cast iron skillet out of the oven. Turned on the flame. I like to use butter or extra virgin olive oil when making a grill cheese sandwich. There's something about the way the oil seeps into the bread that makes it taste wonderful. After a swirl of oil, I put a slice of wheat bread down. Then I layered thin sheets of cheese, on top of each other, and topped it with another slice of bread. As soon as I smelled the bread browning, I drizzled more oil on the top slice of bread, then flipped it. Depending on the cheese, I sometimes cover the skillet with another skillet or lid, so the cheese can melt. I didn't cover this time, and noticed the cheese wasn't fully melted. Into the microwave the sandwich went, for twenty seconds.

I savored the bubbly, scrumptious slice of heaven. Some cider or Sancerre would've tasted good, and complemented the cheese's tart pungency. Making and then eating the grilled cheese comforted me, and calmed me down. Nothing can be that bad, when your belly is full of good food, right?

Sopranos Saucy Sundays-Ribeye Steak with Berry Cobbler

This week's Sopranos meal isn't Italian focused. Due to Tahoe travel, we ate a mixed grill of Atomic Hot sausages (1/2 of a hot for me, mild for others), chicken and steak, baked beans and sourdough bread.  Chipotle BBQ sauce was Oscar's contribution. Dipping bread in the bbq sauce and meat juices was mellow and delish. We washed it all down with light and fruity Anchor Steam Summer brew, which tasted and felt like the lightest part of the meal. Green beans, brussel sprouts, or a simple salad would've been lovely, but sometimes that's not an option at Casa Super Carnivores (my parents).

Restraint was needed, to save room for some Ikeda Marionberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream. There has to be at least a stick or two of butter in the purple fruit cobbler. It turns out sweet, tart, with a sugary crunch that is delectable. Just like homemade, and from scratch.

Watching Artie cook rabbit was my favorite part of this week's show, since it was obvious he was getting inspiration and solace from cooking the way his grandfather did. It looked wonderful, and my mind turned to rabbit with mustard or vanilla sauce, which I learned how to make from Chef Herve LeBiavant at the California Culinary Academy. Rabbit usually tastes slightly sweet and rather delicate, hence the advantage of light sauce.

Habanero Hamburger-Swallowing & Surviving

A visit to the Prince of Wales Pub in San Mateo was long overdue. I wanted to see if I could handle another flaming hot Habanero Hamburger, which is supposed to be the "New Century's Hottest." I was smug and proud of my past accomplishment, but started to have doubts as I waited in line to order. We were going on a road trip to Tahoe the next day, and I didn't want to have stomach issues. Also, how romantic could it get in the bedroom, if I was groaning and running to the loo the whole time?

I pointed to the handwritten menu and said to my friends, "Ah, maybe I'll just get that one? It has jalapenos and pepper jack. That could be hot."

Erica had little patience, "What? We came all this way! We have cell phones to take pictures with."

Carrie and Kristine piped in with, "And that sandwich is chicken. No! You need the habanero burger."
OK then. The bartender asked if I knew how hot the burger was. "Oh yeah. I've had one before," I said.

"Good. Oh, so you know, then."

"Yup."

The bar bell rang. A call of "Habenero burger for Mary! Mary..." went out.

My eating strategy was to eat the onion rings first. I wouldn't be able to taste them about halfway through the burger, and it'd be good to have something to line my stomach. I took off the lettuce leaves, because they were limp and kept getting in my way.

Two of our group were guys, and they seemed in awe and curious about how hot the burger was. I offered a taste. Tasan went first. He is a big athletic guy. He took a bite and his face got red. He grabbed some onion rings to help. His wife Erica said, "She said yes to sharing the burger, not the rings."

And he sheepishly said, "Oh, sorry." A few minutes later, he was talking about the heat. His face was covered in sweat-especially his nose.

Channing was next. "Wow. It gets worse," he said. He had the sweats later, too, but T's were much worse.

The gals wondered, "How is it?" when I was half way through. My eyes were tearing and I kept drinking Blue Moon beer (which isn't the best idea-milk would be a better choice but it was a pub after all, not preschool!).

I said, "Hmm. I can't really taste it anymore. It's that hot."

Carrie made a good point about wanting to be able to taste the food. However, the Habanero Burger is in a class of its own. It's a full experience-the sweats, tears, and later stomach and butt disturbances. Swallowing down a habanero hamburger is like finishing a great adventure, proving a lack of wimpiness. I'd do it again.

Catering Tale-Here Comes the Groom

I was used to accepting any catering job that came along. No matter if it was in the wine country, or I had to get up at four a.m. Because I was freelancing and only had one steady part time gig, money was usually tight. Oscar got used to me asking/begging him to please pay my student loans each month. When an event popped up for a beautiful spring Saturday in the wine country, I jumped. The catering company was paying fifteen extra dollars for gas, and I was able to carpool with a fellow CCA alum named Lisa.

Lisa and I got lost, even though we left SF early. The directions weren't perfect, and we took a wrong turn. We arrived twenty minutes after our call time, which I hate to do. It looks bad, sets the wrong impression, and most importantly, means missing staff meal. We were sweaty in our shorts and t-shirts, and the idea of putting on a tuxedo in that weather filled me with dullness and dread. Off we marched to the restroom, where we scrambled to tidy up.

Our staffing captain told us it was a wedding, and that the ceremony was going on right now, in a beautiful deck space looking off into a lush, green valley. There were forty five guests. She told us the names of the bride and groom, but I was trying to dab the sweat off my face and not really paying attention.

"As soon as the ceremony ends, the bride and groom will go off to take pictures while the guests enjoy cocktails. We have frenched lamb to pass, as well as chicken skewers, and duck quesadillas. Who wants to pass food?" I raised my hand. Passing beverages is hardly easy, and I sometimes am tortured by visions of dropping a tray of champagne flutes that shatter into pieces.

I wanted to pass the lamb, so I picked up a tray from the chef's station, a large grill and two tables behind the winery. The chef was sassy molassey, sarcastic and faux cheery. "That lamb is killer. Kicks ass," he warned/told me. Mmm, okay, whatever, chef dude. He was howling and singing along to some Dinosaur Rock tunes.

As I walked onto the wooden deck, it was easy to get rid of the lamb. The deck was too crowded, and the bar wasn't working fast enough to get folks drinks. They didn't even have a water station, and people were thirsty. It was hot. I was halfway round the deck when my mouth dropped open. It was E, known as something of a knowitall from cooking school. Next to her was the babelicious J, who was mysterious and sexy with his tatted arms, lean body, and pretty brown eyes. "Mary!?" she exclaimed.

I wanted to choke and fall to the floor. Ughhhhhhh. "E___, hello!!" I fakely exclaimed. She started guffawing. "Do you know whose wedding this is?" as she laughed and looked at Mr. J. "It's Kevin's!"

"Oh really? Oh wow. Umm." I answered back, nervously. I had flirted and fawned over Kevin in cooking school and even given him a ride home from the Temple Bar one night. I thought he was smart, and interesting for bringing in rose petals to make rose ice cream. My friend Rebecca told me to tell him, "Girls makes passes at guys with glasses," but I never did. Nothing ever happened, and I later found out it was because he had a girlfriend the whole time. This would be the girlfriend he was marrying, today! Had married. Yikes. I had no escape.

I felt so lame in my tuxedo, and had to prove I wasn't a loser. Here's the gem I busted out next, "I'm getting married, too!" I said. Both E & J looked at my hand for an engagement ring but wouldn't you know I didn't wear it that day. Of course. I'd like to think I don't care about what people think, but that's so not true sometimes.

"Well, good to see you guys," I said, and continued to pass the lamb around. The caterers didn't think things through. People kept trying to give me their lamb bones, and one portly man even put a bone on the tray with the untouched lamb. Ewwww. As soon as I got rid of the lamb, I ran around trying to find a bowl or plate that I could collect the bones with. All I could find was a basket, which I lined with paper napkins from the bar.

"Bones, I can take your bones," I droned, as I walked around, collected meaty bones. There was no garbage set up, so I went to the bathroom and dumped the bones in the trash there. It's all about improvisation.

When the cocktail hour was through, I was supposed to help finish setting the tables in the winery's cave. It was cold and beautiful in the cave, but it made me a bit claustrophobic. I took the catering manager aside and explained, "During table service, could I NOT be the one to serve the bride and groom? See, I used to ummm know the groom. We never dated, but their was some interest. I'd rather not go near him, please."

What does she do a half hour later but say, "Okay folks, who's are best server? Mary? I'd love for you to serve the head table." I interrupted, "Remember? Keep me away from that groom!" We settled on me serving the opposite end of the table, at the front of the cave.

As the guests came into the cave, we were supposed to stand and collect their glasses and greet them. The groom spotted me and went pale. He put his hands around his brides waist ("Ha! At least I'm skinnier!" I thought) and pretended to do a dance behind her as they walked by. "Hi," he nervously said, not even looking me in the eye.

The awkwardness continued. I'd feel E & J staring at me every now and then. I couldn't wait to get out of there. Lisa and I giggled when the couple did their first dance to Al Green's "Let's Stay Together." Fitting song. We'll see how that one works out.

Bleachy Bathroom

Managing a restaurant requires knowing what's going on at all times. Doing this means problems can be addressed immediately-in theory, anyway.

One day, I came back from the daily bank drop, and was at the counter. It was mid afternoon, and I started checking reservation numbers, and stocking the bar. The chef and his staff were prepping in the other side of the restaurant, and he was figuring out what the daily specials would be. No one else was around because the lunch crew had left and the dinner servers would be in later.

I walked around the southern half of the dining room, to make sure the tables and cushions were clean. That's when I smelled it. Bleach. Strong bleach. I walked over  to the bathroom, to see if one of the busboys (they were all boys except one) was cleaning. I found a woman hunched over the toilet, cleaning with paper towels. Behind her, I saw a cloth bag that was full of clothes and a wooden sign.

Because I had only been working at this restaurant for a week, I was still getting to know who does what. I politely said, "Excuse me... hello?" The woman looked at me and told me in a high pitched voice that she was "cleaning real good, no need to worry." I wasn't sure who she was, so I said, "Okay, okay," and walked off to find Amanda, who had been around the restaurant for years.

"Amanda, there's a woman cleaning the bathroom. Does Danny hire people, homeless people, to clean?" Danny (the owner) didn't strike me as Mr. FeelGood when it came to hiring, but I was naive and stupid. "What?" Amanda said.

"Come look. Tell me if you know who this is." We walked over the bathroom and she grabbed my arm and started nodding her head no, to signal this woman wasn't welcome. Amanda whispered, "She's around a lot, and is crazy."

I coughed, and the woman was still shuffling her gear and looking around the bathroom, which was by now sparkling clean. "Yeah, you need to go," I told her. She started telling me she was allowed here and that we couldn't discriminate. I started to get angry, confident I could handle her since she was maybe five feet tall and I am close to six feet.

"You need to go," I kept repeating. Her ranting got louder, and angrier. "Now!" I said and pointed to the door. I circled behind her, to be sure she didn't take anything on her way out. Amanda was nodding and saying, "Yeah, go." The dining room smelled of bleach still, because the bathroom door was open.

Once the lady got outside, she banged her fists on the windows, screaming that we were racist and she wasn't doing anything wrong. She kept screaming as she walked down the street to the corner, pointing and yelling in the restaurants direction. Finally, she took off towards Sacramento Street.

I was hard on myself, and felt incredibly stupid. What was I thinking, assuming Danny would ever hire her to clean? Amanda and I rehashed the details. Turns out the woman is a constant presence in the 'hood, and is borderline homeless, a drug user, and definitely crazy. Amanda nodded her head and was laughing, "You are so sweet. 'Does Danny have homeless people working here?' C'mon, no way!" she teased.

When I talked to Danny on the phone about it, he said "with people like that, you have to tell them with definite force to leave now, and that they are not welcome. If they see weakness, that's it, your problems will only get worse."

Lesson learned.

Chorizo and Menudo in San Diego

I have overindulged. The seduction took place over the course of several days in San Diego, hence the lack of Easter related posts or a Sopranos Saucy Sundays menu. I learned where to get some good grub in San Diego, along with the ins and outs of making and eatingMenudo. For me, the best souvenirs are usually food memories that fill the belly and warm the heart.

San Diego/Carlsbad highlights include:

Longest Prep Time/Most Anticipated Meal: Homemade menudo.  My Suegro meticulously cleaned and chopped thirty pounds of tripe from Rodeo's Market. He knew his audience would have no problems digging in to the finished product. The resulting soup was hot, garlicky, aromatic, and tasty. Because the tripe cooked overnight, it was papery and soft-no rubbery nubs here. The broth was orange/red, and supposed to be a bit greasy. I wish it had hominy, as some recipes call for, but Suegro has been making it his way for decades, so I won't argue. We ate the menudo with lime slices, fresh, warm tortillas, minced onion, cilantro, vinegary peppers, and hot sauce.

Drippiest Meal: Oscar's Chorizo Breakfast Burrito. The chorizo hangs behind the counter at Oscar's, and the cooks select a link and cook everything up fresh. Although it was wrapped in paper, the red orange chorizo oil soaked through. Be warned-you need a bowl or plate beneath you and plenty of napkins on hand. Oscar's has several San Diego locations.

Most Delicious Mall Food Find: Nordstrom Cafe's Mocha Banana Drink. Who knew? (I gave up on malls long ago, having wasted my youth away at Concord's Sunvalley Mall). The drink was thick, creamy, and tasted of real banana rather than cloying overly sweet syrups or flavorings. It was a real treat, rich enough to share. My sister in law swears, "they put half a banana in each one," and well, it shows. The cafe's line moves fast and there are cute cupcakes and baked goods to ogle.

Best Place to catch a brew and the sunset: Harbor Fish Cafe. It's ultra casual at this seaside fish shack. Their small batch house beer (or pink lemonade), clam chowder, and buttered sourdough toast taste great in the salty air.  Staff can be distracted, but are friendly and sweet. Fish and chips are in huge portions, and taste fresh.

JalapenoGirl, where are these people from?

It's exciting to see a large jump in numbers from yesterday's shout out on sfist.com, where they said I win for the "Most Oddball Blog story this week." I'll take it! I like to check the blog stats occassionally (okay, it's a few times a day) to figure out where folks are coming from, and what they typed in the search engine.  These searches are fun and interesting to ponder. I do wonder what sort of lesson can be learned from jalapeno bagels, a big hmmm, below:

    -She have made me asslicking wimp
    -How to make kumquat vodka
    -Naked
    -Asparagus fishy smell
    -Spicy food get rid of hot food burning mouth
    -Mission brand guacamole dip
    -Jalapeno bagels lesson plans
    -Tamarind tree health violation

What do you type in to find a favorite food blog?

Sopranos Saucy Sundays-Orecchiette in a Chunky Tomato Garbanzo Sauce

"Orecchiette? They are shaped like little ears," I would say as I held my palms up near my own ears (not touching-that's gross!), to demonstrate. So it went on an almost nightly basis as I waited tables at A. Sabella's restaurant, a family run place on Fisherman's Wharf. Orecchiette are indeed shaped like little ears, and have a clingability that works great with chunky, meaty sauces. I wanted to re-try a garbanzo-tomato sauce, and had everything except fresh herbs.

Getting ready for the Sopranos, we wondered: how Tony's compadres would react to his recovery.. who would gun for the Number One position? Would the annoying dream sequences end? How would A.J. behave (or not)? Would Christopher's movie plan fly? Did Tony really want to invest in the film? Let the viewing begin.

Orecchiette in a Chunky Tomato Garbanzo Sauce
Heat olive oil in a pot. Add one finely chopped onion and cook til translucent. Add five minced garlic cloves. Cook and stir often for about two minutes. Add five large carrots cut into small dice, with one bay leaf. Cook for five minutes on medium high, until carrots begin to soften. Pour two 28 ounce cans of whole tomatoes (fire roasted add a nice smokiness), one 28 ounce drained can of garbanzo beans, and 1 1/2 Tablespoons balsamic vinegar. Stir, gently breaking up the tomatoes. Simmer uncovered for twenty minutes.

Cook one box orecchiette in boiling salted water for eleven minutes. The pasta clings, so it's important to stir every few minutes.

Add 1 large handful of roughly chopped basil. Fresh thyme adds a great peppery note, so add  some if you can find it. A dash of Tabasco will keep the heat lovers happy.

Drain the pasta. Toss with the sauce. Remove bay leaf. Serve in warmed bowls. Top with fresh shavings of Parmesan.

Friday Shopping: Village Imports / Made In France extravaganza

It's on like Donkey Kong! The question isn't what will I buy, it's how quick can I get myself to Brisbane, the land of a hundred warehouses. Today is the first day of the Made In France warehouse sale, and I've been given $100+ to spend. My mouth's been watering over the possibilities: duck legs, beautiful cured meats, runny French and Swiss cheeses, alcoholic cider, herbes du provence, pates, chocolate, risotto, honey, jam, and so much more.

I wore a warm wooly sweater and brought a scarf because the warehouse is chilly. It can be of little consequence because the sight of so much delicious stuff gets my blood going better than any porn. Here's to the French-they know how to live!

Email text below from Le Village:

Just a friendly reminder that Made in France / Village Imports
is holding a gourmet food and wine warehouse sales on:

- Friday April 7th from 02:00pm to 06:00pm

- Saturday April 8th from 08:30am to 01:30pm


Are you ready for your Easter celebtation?

Looking forward to seeing you.

Sincerely,

The Team at Made in France / Village Imports

                         

. ©2005  Village Imports, 211 South Hill Drive, Brisbane, CA 94005-1255.   All Rights Reserved.

Catering Tale of Woe-No Garlic! Look-A Naked Man!

Catering gigs almost guarantee surprises. The ever changing menus and locations, weather, traffic, guests, hosts, and varying personalities mean change can happen quickly, and often. Booze ups the change factor exponentially.

I was hired by a couple that runs a food related outpost in SF. They were hosting a champagne dinner for 12 at their home in Pacific Heights. My fellow cooking school alum, RF, agreed to help out. Mrs. EW (Euro Wife) didn't have a firm game plan, and was running behind when we arrived. I had tried to get her to map out the prep list and menu on the phone a few days before the event, but she rambled on about how she was thrilled to prepare sturgeon, one of her best dishes.

While RF ironed beautiful family linens in the dining room, I helped make blinis on a griddle. It was frustrating because the first few mini pancakes were gloppy. Once I got the hang of it and adjusted the heat, the blinis stacked up. It was wonderful to sample a blini with thick and creamy creme fraiche and California caviar. I could fill up on that, easily, but stuck to work.

The closer to guest arrival time it got, the more frantic Mrs. EW became. We talked her into going upstairs to get ready, so we could continue cooking. As RF and I began cooking minced garlic, we heard some yelling from Mr. EH (Euro Husband), coming from upstairs. Mrs. EW ran into the kitchen, all wide eyed and crazy looking.

"Oh, no!" she said. "You can't cook garlic, you can't... _________ can not stand the smell of garlic, absolutely can't take it. No, no, noooooooooooooh," _______ being her husband, who came in the kitchen and began yelling about the garlic, fanning his arms as he spoke. He was natty in a blue blazer and dress shirt, with expensive looking loafers. We turned off the burner and stopped cooking. He walked to the doors and allowed cold blasts of air to "Clean that smell out of here!" RF and I shrugged and looked at each other, shivering. I wondered but did not say to Mrs. EW, "OK, why did you have garlic for us to prep, if we can't cook it?"

The fun continued when the guests arrived and began drinking champagne. We were offered small tastes. There was a champagne producer, who explained the flavor profile of each bubbly course. He was a man of short stature, with glasses and a blue beret. A wee bit pompous, and always puffing his chest out as he spoke. His female companion was a good five inches taller, thin, with a hippie-lady vibe & matter of dress.

During one of the courses, an opera singer from Russia performed, with a piano player. That was surreal and beautiful to listen to. She came into the kitchen later, and asked if I knew where the toilet paper in the bathroom was. I didn't. She said there wasn't any in the bathroom. I went and whispered to Mrs. EW, who told me with a slight roll of the eyes that the extra rolls were under the toilet. I went into the bathroom after the Opera Singer had left, and there was blood blotches on the toilet and sink. Ewwwwww. I cleaned it up, shuddering and wishing for a Hazmat suit the whole time.

The topper of the sturgeon-caviar-champagne catering gig was finding a pic of Mr. EH, who always dresses conservatively. In the aged early 1980s era pic pasted to a kitchen cabinet, he has nothing on except a smile. He's standing in the same kitchen we were. RF and I kept giggling to each other and pointing at the picture. What do his two daughters think of that pic?

At the end of the night, Mr. EH brought one of the double magnums of bubbly in, and tilted it back, back, back to his mouth, guzzling the rest of it as we watched, mouths agape. We left before he could strip down and yell about "No Garlic!" After all that, Mrs. EW didn't even tip or offer leftover champagne to us.

Sopranos Saucy Sundays-Tagliatelle with Porcini, Bacon, & Peas in a Cream Sauce

It's been tomato overload lately-Pizza Chicago on Friday, a decadent slice of stuffed Patxi's pizza for lunch on Sunday. Eating all that red saucy stuff put the kibosh on plans for osso bucco (veal shanks in a tomato sauce) for this week's edition of Saucy Sundays at Casa VillaLadd. Carbonara sounded interesting, but we opted for a faux carbonara, without the egg.

Using porcini mushrooms was a treat, but any mushrooms will do if you're on a budget. Be sure to cook them in good butter or olive oil. The bacon was from Drewes Meats, and added warm smoky notes that played off the peas' sweetness. Tagliatelle came in a store packet, and cost almost $4, with promises of "like Momma used to make." I liked that I didn't have to chop and prep a lot of ingredients for this meal, since we were zombies from running around and adjusting to the springing forward of the clocks.

Homemade garlicky bread upped the pungent factor, causing pleasure inducing licks.

TAGLIATELLI COOKING INSTRUCTIONS:
Half an hour before cooking, place 2 ounces of dried porcinis in 1 cup water.

Cook 1 pound bacon in cast iron skillet, in batches. Dry cooked bacon on a plate with paper towels. When cool, cut into 1/2 inch pieces. Pour out some of the bacon fat, and use 1/8 cup (or more) to cook the porcinis.

While the bacon cooks, put the water on for pasta. Insider tip: the water warms up much quicker when a lid is on the pot.

Microwave one pound of peas with 1/2 cup water, covered, for 3-5 minutes, checking for doneness. Cover to keep warm.

Check mushrooms. If soft, squeeze gently and chop up. Reserve 1/3 cup of the mushroom water. Cook the mushrooms for three minutes in warm bacon fat.

In a small pan, pour one cup heavy cream, to cook at medium heat. Don't let it burn, overflow or bubble too rapidly. Grate 1/2 cup parmesan cheese. Chop finely 1/2 cup fresh Italian parsley. You can use less if you like, but it adds nice texture and flavor to the completed dish.

Egg noodles cook quickly, and become velvety and limp when done. Drain the pasta. Combine the bacon, mushrooms, reserved mushroom water, peas, parmesan, cream, and parsley. Stir. Serve immediately with garlic or other bread. You'll want bread to sop up the extra sauce.