Mary Ladd

Nine Dollar Asparagus

This past Saturday morning, I was hoping to score some asparagus at the Noe Valley Farmer's Market. My brother gave me tips on a new cooking technique that I was aching to try. As soon as people start talking about spring and/or Easter menus and I see hot cross buns at Dianda's, my thoughts inevitably turn to asparagus. A favorite brunchy type menu for this time of year is quiche or frittata, asparagus, ham with all the fixings, and hot cross buns.

At the market, I already had chili lemon pistachios, apples, oranges, and some jalapeno cheddar bread. Most of the stalls were closing up, because it was 12:59 p.m. I hurried over to a table with asparagus. "I'll take this one," I said, and started to dig through my pocket for money.

"Nine dollars," I was told. I thought I had misheard the guy working the stall.

"I'm sorry? Did you say nine dollars?" I asked.

He looked bored and said flatly, "Yes. It's six a pound. This is a pound and a half. Nine dollars."

I just couldn't do it. "I'm sorry. Never mind," I said. I kept saying to myself, "Nine dollars?" in my head. His prices were in line with one of my favorite organic markets, which listed asparagus at $5.95. I'm waiting for the prices to drop, and hope they do in time for Easter.

Meeting Martha Stewart

She's always made me a little suspicious and scared, but I still wouldn't turn down a chance to meet Martha Stewart. Let's blame my Mom, since she's a longtime Martha Stewart magazine subscriber and fan.

Meeting Martha Stewart in the early 1990s was fascinating. My chance to see her  came via my slave work as a KPIX-5 CBS intern, in San Francisco. A producer told me she would be in studio, and that I should stop by and take any leftover props for the community affairs program (remember Bay Sunday, anyone?) I worked for. The chance to spy on Martha sounded great.

The only other folks in the studio during her taping were two male super gay assistants. I quickly introduced myself to one, and found out he was also local. "My God," he stage whispered, "Her budget for greens alone is over seven hundred dollars! After we finish, it's bye-bye, don't need the greens anymore," he promised. Yes, Martha's bounty would be mine! There was a huge and beautiful wreath, and piles of flowers and green vines. Martha was friendly yet precise when the cameras rolled. The segment was less than seven minutes. Her greens budget was probably more than Bay Sunday's entire budget.

Now it was my turn to be cheesy. I usually never bug celebrities for anything, because it seems silly. Martha was the one exception, because I knew my Mom would be so excited to have an autograph from her. When I met Martha, I lied and smiled as I said, "I'm a big fan." Martha smiled and preened a little and kept messing with her bangs. (She'd been playing with them whenever the camera wasn't on. Maybe it was time for a trim?) I held up a pen and paper and asked, "I was wondering if you would sign this. It's for my Mom. She's a huge fan. She gets your magazine, and loves all your stuff."

"Oh?" Martha said, pulling the bangs a little more. "Yes, dear. What's her name?"

"Mary Ann," I said, timidly (what the hell was wrong with me? I'm NOT a fan, my Mom is!) .

She wrote out a note to my Mom that read, "Dear Mary Ann, Here's to enjoying wonderful and beautiful things in life. Best wishes, Martha Stewart." I thanked Martha (more fidgety bang play from her) and she offered her hand. Her assistants were right there, to whisk her away to the next stop on her SF tour.

Later, my Mom and I compared the note to the signature and writing in her magazine. She is a total chicken scratcher when it comes to writing! It is not clean and dainty, the way it looks in the mag. Her cursive was compact and a little smashed together, not flowing and beautiful. Well, everyone has their quirks.

Food Bloggers vs. Bauer et al: fair game?

The top story in today's SF Chronicle is a piece on restaurant owners bemoaning bloggers who review their restaurants online. Is it a free-for-all for online amateurs on blogs and site such as Yelp? Do you still turn to noted restaurant critics such as Michael Bauer or Frank Bruni when deciding where to eat? Or is it a blend of information from old school reviewers, newer sites and/or blogs, with sidebar notes from friends and family that factors into your decisions?

I look at Yelp occsasionally, and have written a few posts there. But I began to feel that I'd rather write about restaurants for my own blog as well as SFist. Maybe I should pay more attention to Yelp, because they are reported to have over 2 million users per month. The other site I like is the craigslist food section, because there are no ads (like on Yelp) and I've been posting for almost three years and tend to have a sense of which posters have, you guessed it, good taste.

Blueberry Mystery

These aren't the best looking blueberry pancakes I've ever made, but they did taste pretty good. I would definitely not send them out to a paying customer. Making the pancakes with frozen rather than fresh, room temp berries presented an interesting mystery. I defrosted the blueberries in the microwave for twenty seconds. They were smaller and seemed to ooze a lot more water than fresh berries.  If think if I let them defrost in the skillet, the watery mess would still happen. Perhaps I should let them thaw to room temp and then use.  More (tasty) experiments are in order.

Bonny Doon at Incanto

Mark your calendars for this one! Randall Grahm is one of 
the most interesting folks in the wine industry, and always 
entertaining. The great thing about having rules is breaking 
them. On April 9, 2007, Incanto's shattering one of its most 
cherished rules (a rule about serving only Italian wines) 
to pour not one, but four California-made wines paired with 
a special tasting menu to celebrate the return of the Ca' del 
Solo line of Italian-inspired wines the forefront of the 
Bonny Doon Vineyard universe. These wines are terroir-
driven, inspired by Dante, and sealed by screwcap.

Iconoclastic winemaker Randall Grahm will be on hand to 
mark this occasion. We might even convince him to recite a 
bit of his "Vinferno" if we're lucky. It will be a night to 
remember!

As always, you can find more details about this dinner, 
including wine pairings and sample menu at:

http://www.incanto.biz/

 

Complaining will get you everywhere

Recently in a San Jose hotel room, I sweetly sighed into the phone, "I think I ordered my food over an hour ago... is it on it's way yet?"

"Let me check," the woman said.

She came back to the phone three minutes later and promised my food would be leaving soon. When the salad and sparkling water arrived, the server asked if she could take the salad off the bill, since I waited for so long. I perked up. That's what I wanted to hear. This was a mid-afternoon order, and waiting an hour and ten minutes made no sense. I knew the late salad probably wasn't the servers fault, so I still tipped her a few dollars.

I got another free meal item in the Fairmont lobby the next day. I ordered miso soup with sushi. The soup showed up within ten minutes, which is maybe how long it took me to sip it. With that finished, I started to people watch and sip my drink. Oscar wasn't hungry, and seemed intent on getting ahead in the book he was reading. I started to scan the room and couldn't find my server anywhere. I looked at the order bill, which was delivered with the soup. I had ordered over forty minutes ago. The lobby wasn't packed, and only two tables were nibbling on some bar snacks.

I decided to use the tried and true sweet approach. I found the Floor Manager, and asked him if my server was on break "or maybe filleting the fish for my sushi?" He gave me a confused look, then smiled. I continued, "Yeah, I ordered miso soup, and sushi. The soup arrived a long time ago, but I don't know where the sushi is."

"I remember that. I saw her bring you the soup," he said.

 

"Ah, yes. Let me check for you," he said. The sushi arrived in a few minutes, and he nodded and smiled. I don't feel bad that he took the sushi off the bill this time, either. A sweetly worded complaint over service can yield satisfying results. It just felt uber Twilight Zone to have missing food incidents happen back to back.

Say my name, say my name

It was a pleasant surprise when the maitre'd said my name. This was after waiting a few minutes during the dinner rush for a table at Original Joe's in San Jose (no, I didn't want to sit at the counter. I was coveting a cozy, sexy booth.) I'd again realize how great it is for customers to hear their name spoken in a friendly way.

Sure, my cheese burger -- juicy, drippy, tasty, Angus beef, medium rare -- and crisp steak cut french fries were immensely satisfying. The waiter kept my drink full and things moved along at a nice clip. I wanted to cuddle myself into a ball after nearly finishing the burger, because I felt sated and sleepy.

But the real shock came after I paid, and was heading out the door. The hostess smiled at me and said good night. Fine. Been there, done that. Next to her was the maitre'd, who called my name out, and followed with a "Thank you, Mary. Have a good night." I was startled at how nice I felt when he did that. It took me back to dealings with successful restauranteurs. The smart ones find out and use their customers names as often as possible. It's interesting that such a small action, used on a consistent basis, can have a positive & perhaps lasting effect.