Mary Ladd

Closing Time

One of the two remaining guests said to the host, "Well... we're the first to come and last to go!" in a giddy, slightly slurred voice. They smiled as they stood near the host, waiting for a response. Everyone else had left at least twenty minutes before. The host smiled and said to the guests, "Oh, you're still here?" Um, yeah. I know I don't want to ever be that guest.

Event guests usually stay beyond their invited time for any of the following reasons:

• way too drunk and/or "medicated"
• enjoying the party and feeling relaxed/happy/exuberant
• like how it feels to be in a new/different/exotic/beautiful place
• lost track of time
• want to continue eating and drinking free booze
• all of the above: clueless, clueless, clueless

Guests, if you happen to notice food stations shutting down and the staff starts blowing out candles and removing table lines, it's time to pack up and go, stat. Ditto for if the band or entertainment has disappeared or started putting away their things. At this point, if you hunt us down and ask for another drink or plate of food after we've put everything away, well... that may mean you have become a pain in the ass. If we can, we will comply with your request in a somewhat faux cheery way. It is called hospitality for a reason, right?

SF's Top Women Chefs cook up a storm for James Beard Foundation events

Food is our common ground, a universal experience.” -James Beard

We would like to invite you to save a space on your calendar for the gastronomic event of the season on September 28^th featuring “Women Chefs of San Francisco Celebrating 20 Years of James Beard.”

The culinary extravaganza is crowned by a gala dinner featuring Beard Award winners including special guest chef extraordinaire Gale Gand, Executive Pastry Chef of Tru in Chicago; Traci des Jardins of Jardiniere, the 2007 California winner; and Nancy Oakes of Boulevard. Fellow Award winners author-chef Joanne Weir and Cindy Pawlcyn of Cindy's Backstreet Kitchen will also headline the benefit on Friday, September 28^th at St. Regis San Francisco.

The evening will be presided over by Joey Altman, local food luminary and host of KRON's Bay Cafe. Highlights will include special guest Susan Ungaro, the president of the James Beard Foundation toasting the chefs and dinner guests during a dessert reception featuring mouth-watering confections, wine pairings by women winemakers, and followed by a silent auction benefiting the James Beard Foundation.

The celebration will continue on Saturday, September 29^th with an in-store Williams Sonoma Festival Day saluting founder Chuck Williams, at the Union Square flagship store. The Festival will include cooking demonstrations, cookbook signings, artisanal tastings and children’s activities.

In addition to benefiting the James Beard Foundation, a portion of the proceeds from the dinner will also be donated to the San Francisco Food Bank.

St. Regis Hotel, On the Terrace
125 Third Street, San Francisco

Reception at 6:30pm
Dinner at 7:30pm
Dessert Buffet at 9:30pm
Silent auction at 10:00pm

Tickets: $250

Phone: Andrew Freeman & Co. 415-781-5701
Email: [email protected]
Online: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/19128

We hope to see you there!

Andrew Freeman and Kimberly Charles

Event Co-Chairs

Event Committee

Carolynn Atherton
Laiko Bahrs
Celia Barbaccia
Vanessa Bortnick
Kelly Chamberlin
Sara Deseran
Kayu Lam
Susie McCormick
Kait Muhlfelder
Joel Riddell
Rick Riess
Jared Rivera
Scott Rodrick
Leslie Sbrocco
Julie Tucker
Nancy Uber
Amelia Weir
 

For more details on “The James Beard Foundation’s Taste America™” please visit http://www.jbftasteamerica.com

Santa Barbara: Lettuce B. Frank's Hot Dogs & More

Years ago, one of the perks of working in financial printing was the free employee meal. Although I hate eating at my desk and avoid doing it now, back then it was an unavoidable daily routine. One of my favorite free meals at the time was romaine salad topped with chili, and sides of pickled jalapenos, sour cream, cheddar cheese, and onions. This is hearty comfort food at its best, and I always love the interplay of textures and flavors.

I was reminded of how good this meal is on a recent visit to Lettuce B. Frank (LBF) on State Street, in Santa Barbara. We read a review that said something along the lines of "don't let the cute name fool you, it's good." None of us were in the mood for a long, complicated meal after a day of spending "quality" family time together on the road. LBF seemed to have something for everyone in our party (gender stereotype alert!): draft beer and massively loaded hot dogs for the menfolk; chili, salad, fries, and fresh aguas frescas and fountain drinks for the ladies. Another potential bonus: LBF tries to be fresh, organic, and local with its ingredients. 

LBF's chili ($4.95) is a Texas red version that comes with cheese and onions. While I usually prefer chili with beans, this beefy version tasted good mixed with the Caesar salad ($6.95) I shared with my Mom.  The cheese and salad offered pleasing contrasts. I stole occasional nibbles of hand-cut russet potato fries from Oscar and they pass muster. Dad and I tried the 2 house made hot sauces, which are both cayenne based. The milder hot sauce seemed to be fruitier. 

We sat at the counter, and the friendly crew took good care of us. Watching Dad and Oscar chow down on their Dog Pounder ($7.50) and chili cheese, (pictured above, $5.50) dogs made me queasy yet a little envious. I miss me a good dawg. At a 1/2 pound, Dad's 100% all beef NY style Sabrette hot dog, looked massive and tasty. LBF has only been open a few months, and they seem to be working hard.

Other interesting menu items include more salads, rotisserie chicken, beef or pulled pork sliders, fish and chips, mini corn dogs ("corn pups" as pictured above), cheese steaks, dogs (turkey, veggie, or all beef) and sausages with every kind of topping and sauce (hmmm items: creamy horseradish, maple, and pesto aioli).

Lettuce B. Frank
413 State Street
Santa Barbara, CA
T: 805-965-7948   

The Bubble Lounge's Small Plates

Menu Pages readers, welcome.

Earlier tonight, I tucked in to some good grub at The Bubble Lounge. The Chef's name is Brian Konopka ("Little Sandwich" in Polish) and he hails from NYC.

Le Menu
Filo crusted Hearts of Palm with Prosciutto and Parmesan

Duo of Hamachi tartare with caviar and smoked salmon with crispy vegetables

Grilled Brie and smoked duck breast with fig jam-my fave

Caramelized banana and Tahitian vanilla creme brulee

Dark chocolate mousse with white chocolate whipped cream

Warm apple and walnut Napolean with caramel ice cream

Champagne chocolate truffles with Champagne and Grand Marnier-wonderful cinnamon notes here!

Champagnes by Gardet
Premier Cru Rose, 2001
Vintage Brut, 1999
Millesime Rose, 2000
Brut, NV

I'm off to Lake Tahoe to cater tomorrow. Hope no bears attack while I'm there! 

The Kitchen Giveth & Taketh Away

There can be some heartwarming moments in catering prep at the large kitchen I've been working in. The space is the home to scores of catering outfits, and is a buzzing hub of activity seven days a week. All that time spent sharing space means folks are forced to get to know one another. Sharing by way of "do you have a grill pan I can use," or "Help! I need half a cup of rum," happens often, if not daily.

Although I always bring a bag of nuts and a water bottle for emergencies, there's little need for snacks. (The water is a different story. It comes out of the tap with a brownish tint, and is rumored to taste terrible). My client/boss, Chef C, usually whips something up for us to eat -- both breakfast and lunch sometimes. I dig her ham and cheese melts early in the morning, cooked in rich butter. She'll share with folks that are for that day employed by other outfits. Many times, these are people she has hired or worked with over the years.

Good to keep the troops happy. It's not just a one way giving street. One day, Chef C's group was treated by a neighboring group to roast beef, carmelized onions, roasted veggies, and noodles. Flavorful goodness that hit the spot. We sat around the prep station and sighed softly as we dug in. The one advantage for the chefs to feeding everyone is there's little or no leftovers to pull from the walk-in or clean up days later.

Just when I start to feel like it's all love all the time there, I read notices posted on the walk in fridge along the lines of, "You will be fired immediately for taking anything from this walk in without express permission. We won't put up with it. Taking without asking is theft, that is STEALING. There have been numerous incidents of items disappearing. This is NOT acceptable and will NOT be taken lightly." Chef C notices when things disappear. A bottle of water or soda is one thing, but when pricier big ticket items go missing, she gets pissed. Beef, dairy, and shrimp cost serious bucks, and usually require advance ordering. It's also irritating as hell to go looking for something you need to use right away, like olive oil. You may at first feel like senility is kicking in when you can't find the item in it's usual home, or where you last left it.

Chef C caught a culprit using her aluminum foil last week. The entire ream had disappeared. However, her foil cutter leaves a distinct pattern on the ends of the foil. In a face to face discussion, Chef C asked the potential thief if he was sure he knew where the foil came from. He denied it three times until she grabbed the cutter and showed Mr. Culprit the exact same imprint on the foil he had used. "Oh yeah," he back pedaled. "I couldn't find you...." he said, mumbling. Mr. Culprit sometimes works for Chef C, and perhaps thinks her stuff is open season. Even though there are locked and covered areas for storage, it seems like it is a frustrating, constant cycle of items big and small disappearing. I would probably be and act much bitchier and pissed. Perhaps not healthy, but that's my natural reaction to territorial threats. 

 

Catered Summer Dinner Menu for 30 guests

Here's a recent menu used for an event I worked on, along with miscellaneous notes:

Roasted Yukon gold potatoes filled with creamy asiago cheese & basil aioli-I keep meaning to ask the Chef, let's call him Chef Handsome, at what point in the prep does he sprinkle crack cocaine on the potatoes. They are so addictive, guilty staff members have been spotted popping them in their mouths as soon as they come out of the oven. The creamy garlicky goodness is worth any and all burns.

Grilled shrimp brochettes with tarragon, saffron and orange-No skewer soaking, which surprised me. There weren't any splinter complaints or sightings, though. Chef Handsome had me blanch then chop the orange zest, to make it more palatable and tasty. My fingers and nails became dirty from cleaning and pulling the tarragon, but the kitchen smelled wonderful and aromatic. While I enjoyed the layered flavors, another staff member poo-pooed it because of the saffron. Silly her.

Seared beef tenderloin brochettes with a red wine glaze-Tender, succulent, medium rare beef was a particular favorite of the male guests.

Summer veggie soup topped with a Parmesan crouton-NEVER put purple cabbage in a soup. It will quickly erase any and all evidence of golden, beautiful stock, and perfectly diced vegetables. Instead, you'll have a grayish-purple goopy looking mess that is impossible to fix or cover up. A crouton is only so big, you know. Put that purple cabbage to better use in slaws and garnishes.

Ceasar Salad-Although this was a zesty, fresh looking dish, many folks only nibbled on it. Chef Handsome was concerned, but I think the problem wasn't the salad. Maybe a serving of that purplish vegetable soup left them feeling like they'd already had enough veggies and good stuff? Tough to say.

Grilled New York steak with grilled asparagus and red onion, and mashed potatoes. Chef Handsome used white and green asparagus spears, and each guest received five total. Then came a pinch of the carmelized onions, and a pretty scoop of perfect mashers. Chef Handsome shared his trick for light, fluffy, perfect mashed potatoes, "Save some of the potato cooking water. Use that instead of stock. You won't need as much butter, and the water will provide saltiness." Mmmmmm.

I asked, "Do you let the potatoes sit for fifteen minutes, to cool before mashing?" Another Chef I know is adamant that that is one crucial step for texture and flavor alike.

"Yes," he said. I will repeat his potato water trick soon.

The steak was such a hit, that one female guest wandered into the kitchen, looking around. With a somewhat regal air, she asked Chef Handsome, "Where are the rest of the steaks? I'm looking for food for my dog. He's sick. Poor thing. Is there a steak I can take home for him, on a plate? Or in a doggie bag?" I thought to myself, "Lady, you've totally got priority issues. WTF?" Even though we had a handful of leftover steaks cooling and hidden under foil, Chef Handsome mumbled some sort of apology and shrugged. I was so glad he was saving those steaks for the clients. They needed to go to humans, not sick dogs. The regal woman shifted her weight and looked around some more and said, "Oh. Well. It was really good steak. He would've loved some." No doubt.

Chocolate cake with summer raspberries. Caffe Trieste Coffee & assorted teas. Steak, mashed potatoes, and this chocolate cake could easily pass as my last meal on Earth. While I'd go with a huge smile on my face, I am so over raspberries or mint as a garnish. However, there may be a dearth of options. Aside from tuiles and mini cookies, it's tough to come up with other dessert garnish options, eh?

Bar Menu: Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Merlot, and Pinot Noir. Sammuel Smith's and Corona. Crystal Geyser and Pellegrino. Coke, Diet Coke, and 7-Up. Sorry I didn't note the producers and vintages on the vino.

Book Review: Living in a Foreign Language

If you found this via The Menu Pages, welcome!

Have you ever wondered what it'd be like to pack everything up and move to Italy? A nice dreamy fantasy, but what would that new life really be like? It helps to have a Marin home to sell to make this a reality, sure. Still, I enjoyed reading actor Michael Tucker's chronicle of buying a cottage in the Umbrian countryside because he is obsessed with food and cooking. His passion is evident in every word, and his memory of each meal--with ever present vino, of course-- is fun and enjoyable. He has a constant internal debate about what to find or eat for his next meal, and admits to having a "greedy, gluttonous beast" that lies within. Reviewing the eating possibilities is always part of the fun. The reader gets to know Tucker and his wife Jill Eikenberry, who seem to be filled with love and joy even after decades of living and acting together. They've got the acting chops but are thankfully down to earth, fun folks, who lack snobbery or pretension.

Many readers who swoon over food may easily relate to Tucker's food and wine chronicles on all counts. His main priority while traveling and visiting new places matches those of "foodies": to find the best food spots. Sightseeing isn't necessarily as important as sourcing one's next meal, and sometimes the fun is in the journey of discovery. As Tucker puts it while describing one Italian outing, "Our itinerary skirted churches, castles, museums and such, and focused in a very direct way on food and wine." Having a new town and home in the Italian countryside gives him the luxury of time to meet and get to know local butchers, wine makers, restaurateurs, and the like. He also makes friends with a "merry throng" of fun and food loving ex-pats who are down for the best pizza, pasta or other native dish. It's an enjoyable trip to learn about, and Tucker rightfully knows he's lucky.

During his travels and life in the country side, he learns about truffle dogs, prosciutto, olive oil, strongozzi (a round noodle), cheese making, the rules of eating great gelato, and how to negotiate and speak in somewhat rough Italian. Risotto is still "the most magical cooking process," and one of the many tasty things he explores. Life is great, but hurdles do exist. There are permits and waits for their dream cottage to become a reality, but the anticipation seems to be par for the course, and a dose of reality. Their rustico inevitably becomes a haven for relaxation and enjoyment (yes, Tucker and Eikenberry still have an active sex life that he is not coy about), and seems like an ideal way to live and learn in a new country. How nice to have "time pass(es) gently; there's no sense of hurry or direction."

L.A. Law fans will enjoy learning Hollywood tidbits. The couple's shared history includes time in Marin and NYC, which is fun to hear about, too. Tucker and Eikenberry have participated in hippy dippy counseling sessions that may amuse and tickle. As they settle in for more simple adventures, it's easy to be lulled into appreciating their shared goals and way of life. The only burning question that may remain is, "How can I end up where they are?"

Find out more in person when Tucker and Eikenberry are featured at the Commonwealth Club on Wednesday July 25. Tickets are $8-$15, and check in begins at 11:30 a.m. If I didn't have to cater, I'd be all over this one.

Ew. These table numbers look filthy.

There's always time for cleaning in catering and restaurant work. Or rather, there should be. As a front of the house (FOH) Manager, it was routine for me to have servers and bussers clean and polish stuff. It's called side work, and takes place daily. Side work and keeping things tidy helps pass time when business is slow and there are no or few customers. Everything from silverware to glassware and condiment dispensers got the nod. Side work is the prep that keeps a restaurant running smoothly. Pros know this.

It's not like that everywhere, obviously. While I'm game for dives and their at times cheap and hopefully delectable adventures, I'm not interested in facing a filthy table number (the above photo is an example of what it SHOULD look like), grime encrusted ketchup bottle, and worse. Maybe I loathe laziness and filth too much.

I was sitting at a cafe in the Upper Haight yesterday, and noticed most of the table numbers had brown, dark red, and even green blotches of crusty food and sauce on them. The restaurant wasn't busy, and it was mid-day. During slammed service, things can get a little messy, and there may be splotches of freshly spilled stuff. Let's be realistic, shit happens. But these dirty table numbers were the sign of longer term neglect, and some of the crusty stuff looked way old.

While I wish I had taken some pics so you too can cringe and maybe even gag, I didn't want to bring attention to myself. There's also that risk that someone may spit in my food in retaliation, as one of my relatives always fears. Grimy numbers and dirty stuff may be a sign that an owner/manager is either not around, lazy, and/or has low expectations. Employees of course follow by example, and such a low work standard may spill over into other areas of restaurant operations: from food prep and service to improper food storage. There are certainly exceptions but generally the signs of neglect can point to bigger problems that should be red flags to customers. The lazy asses are the ones I've seen leaning over their work, with sweat dripping haphazardly down their faces and presumably into the food. Or they pick their nose, or wipe their face, before continuing working with food. I am not making any example up. Noticing all the grime on a sugar caddy, the clear message was, "Who cares?" Business owner, you should.

Smoke Signals

I asked my client/boss, C, "What's up with the mellow yellow in the bathroom? And the cigar smoke....?"

She responded, "Ugh, I know. Those guys are gross." She was referring to the 2 managers of the building, whose office was connected to said bathroom. "They think they're 'saving the Earth' by not flushing their pee down. Who wants to look at that frothy mess?" She paused. "The cigar smoke? That's just what they do. It's been going on forever."

I looked down at the floor and got back to work. I figured finding a toilet bowl full of dark yellow bubbly pee every time I went to the bathroom was definitely less disturbing than the cigar smoke. The thick smoke filled their office and my lungs and nostrils every time I walked by or through. Headache alert! A few angry questions sprung up in my mind: how are they able to smoke smelly cancer causing cigars in a work place? Isn't this California? Don't we have a law against that?

Another female Catering Ho guffawed when I mentioned the cigar smoke. S said, "You think they give a shit that it bothers you? Oh please." No nonsense all the way. Guess any hopes of sisterhood banding together for the sake of our health wasn't gonna happen anytime soon. These gals weren't aware of my bun in the oven just yet, either.

In bed that night, I asked Oscar what to do. He sighed, "I'm not sure, hon. It sounds like you're stuck."

"I really like working there. It's fun. But the cigar smoke? It gives me such a headache. And the baby...." I added, "I just can't believe this is happening in 2007. I don't know if I can stay there."

"Well," he said in a resigned tone.

I had to try just once to beg and cajole my case. Bank on charm and flirting. I knocked and peeked into the office of Big Cigar Smoker #1 the next morning. I cringed while wondering what was behind the wooden door.

"Yes?" he said. "Come in." I sighed before entering. Thankfully, he hadn't fired up the cigar just yet.

I said in my brightest and most friendly voice, "Hello." Pause. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Help me out. I'm allergic to cigar smoke." I avoided looking at his filthy ash tray, "And it's really, really hard for me when there's smoke around. Can you help me by... not smoking when I'm here?"

He looked at me. There was a long pause. I hoped he wasn't about to erupt in anger over my request. I kept a smile glued on my face, eyes pleading. He said in a dull voice, "Okay, yeah," and avoided eye contact.

"I can bring a doctor's note or something," I added. What the fuck was I saying?

He answered, "No, that's fine," and gave a meek smile. I thanked him and gave one last smile back. I was THRILLED. What a relief. I was also somewhat shocked that the exchange was pretty easy and straightforward.

An hour and a half later, his boss called me aside. "Mary, right? You work for C?"

"Yes," I responded, puffing my more-ample-than-usual chest out a bit.

"I'm told the smoke makes you sick?" he said, in a gruff but friendly voice.

I shrugged a little (again, what is wrong with me? Why was I making it so tough to ask for no smoke?), and said, "Yes, it gives me bad headaches."

"OK, well. I'll tell the guys, everyone, that they have to smoke outside."

"Thank you so much," I said. "I really appreciate it."

The only reminder of the smoke is the empty and dusty ash tray I spot on my way to the bathroom, where the mellow yellow frothy pee inevitably waits. I hold my nose, stand back and flush the toilet with my foot (shoe on!) before sitting. I'll take your pee over cigar smoke anytime! Better to count my blessings and not rock the boat too much.

Share Our Strength's Taste of the Nation SF

More Flickr pics here.

Last night's Share Our Strength Taste of the Nation event at San Francisco Acme Chophouse reportedly raised nearly 78K (final reports pending). Stars in attendance, and in the kitchen, included Chuck Williams, emcee Tyler Florence,  Tracy Chapman, Traci Des Jardins, Elizabeth Falkner, Thom Fox, April Bloomfield, Chris Cosentino, Jason Tallent, Stafford Mather, James Syhabout, Paul Arenstam, Scott Youklis, Stuart Bioza, Loretta Keller, Joseph Manzare, the Backburner Blues Band & Mr. Bud E. Luv, the tablehopper, Bob Helmstrom, Staffan Tarje, and Chris Cosentino.

 

There was a lively cocktail hour with music courtesy of the Back Burner Blues band. Folks mulled silent auction items (kitchen mixer, toaster, cookbooks, caviar, vino & champagne, anyone?), nibbled caviar and passed apps. Once everyone was seated, Florence kicked off the festivities. SOS was explained, Chuck Williams was honored, and five big ticket items were auctioned live. The biggest sell at 25K was dinner for fifteen guests, prepared in home by Keller, Des Jardins, and Falkner. After the auction, guests made their way home while many of the chefs and staff headed to the beautiful wooden bar, to celebrate a job well done.

MENU

Sweet corn pudding with anchovies & basil salad
Chef April Bloomfield - The Spotted PIg
2006 Sauvignon Blanc, Hall, Napa Valley

Bellwether Ricotta stuffed squash blossoms, wild mushrooms & herbs
Chef Loretta Keller - Coco500
2004 Pinot Noir, Mahoney, Carneros

Rotisserie Tronchetto & fennel with aioli & salsa verde
Chef Chris Cosentino - Incanto
2003 Sangiovese, Monte Antico, Tuscano

A Selection of American cheeses
Sweet grass dairy "Green Hill" Farmstead cow's milk, California
Bellwether Farms "Pepato" raw farmstead aged sheep's milk with peppercorns, California
Cypress Grove "Humboldt Fog" goat's milk, California
Roth Kase "Gran Queso Riserva" cow's milk, Washington
2003 Girard Artistry, Napa Valley
Chef Thom Fox & Chef Traci Des Jardins - ACME Chophouse & Jardiniere

Citizen Shortcake
Chef Elizabeth Falkner - Citizen Cake
2006 Moscato D'Asti, Luigi Coppo, Piedmonte, Italy.

Last gossipy items: look for cookbooks from Altman and Falkner, with photography by Frankie Faheny.

Considering attending the California Culinary Academy?

Then you must read this scathing critique from the SF Weekly. Cooking school via the California Culinary Academy can lead to massive student loan debt that leaves many would-be cooks (they can't call themselves chefs just yet!) left scrambling to make ends meet. Many entry level cooking positions are minimum wage or only a few dollars more.

There are other problems with the CCA's pay-to-play strategy. When I was at the CCA (and paying 35K), students were allowed to stay at the school if they paid their tuition and/or had student loans. No matter if someone exhibited behavior that would easily get them booted from any job or other school: showing up drunk and/or seriously wasted on drugs, making menacing threats, using racist language, acting verbally and physically abusive, etc. One of my trustafarian classmates had a history of badgering and threatening women, and in one disturbing incident, used his knife to repeatedly stab a table in the butchery class to make his point. When I questioned the head Chef about why Mr. Disturbed could possibly stay in school given his history of borderline deeds, I was told to basically put up and get along with him, as if such potentially dangerous behavior was amusing rather than problematic or dangerous. The Head Chef even joked that Mr. Disturbed was in love with me, which is why I was sometimes the recipient of his odd threats. Later, another Chef took me aside and asked what I had been complaining about. When I told him, he sighed, and said, "Mary, that's one of the things that really bothers me about this place. We see that sort of stuff a lot, but there's not much we are ever allowed to do to stop it. It's about money, money, money."

If you want to attend cooking school in the Bay Area, weigh all your options. Community college programs at City College in SF, and Diablo Valley College offer other, less pricey alternatives. Another way to get in a kitchen is start from the bottom and work your way up. If you consistently show you are able to work hard, learn quickly, and handle the pressure, there will eventually be better jobs for you to do.

No Lunch or Gas Money? You May Be Fucked.

Just when I thought I had the catering routine down, something happened to jack me up. My catering routine usually goes like this: before leaving the house, I wear chef (black or checkered) pants and a white t-shirt. I carry a chef's jacket if required, along with sharp knives and my everything-you-need-tool kit. Add ons like a snack or sandwich and a side towel and apron are usually with me, too. Sunglasses are also a great idea, since a lot of times, moving of food and equipment takes me outdoors.

I was more than twenty five minutes into my drive yesterday when I touched both of my pockets. I realized I had left my cash, ATM card, driver's license, and lip balm at home. Shit! I could see them in my mind, sitting on an end table at the top of our stairts. My plan to eat lunch and fill the ever decreasing gas tank would not be happening as planned. Since I gave myself ample time before the gig for these errands, along with a Share Our Strength event conference call, I had time to weigh my options.

Scenario 1: I'd find maybe ten dollars in my car's storage area.

Scenario 2: I could visit the site early, and beg my gruff supervisor to loan me some dough. I really didn't want to do that if I could help it because it seemed like I'd look like an unprofessional ditz. But maybe a "I'm only human" joke could smooth that out?

Scenario 3: One of my Peninsula gal pals would magically be in the Los Altos area and able to meet me.

Scenario 4: Borrow $ from a co-worker. I had one guy in mind who I knew would be working with me. Problem with this is if I waited til the event started, I would not be able to sneak away. There is NEVER a guarantee of a staff meal while catering. Even if there is a staff meal, it can be gross: nasty ass grey chicken and leftover rice or other unappealing castoffs. Grabbing bites that are meant for clients is easy to do but don't let anyone see you, and you may not fill up.

(I'm Totally Dreaming) Scenario 5: A ten or twenty would magically appear on the road or sidewalk. I've found cash on the street and BART before but only as a complete surprise. Never in a potential crisis like this.

While I sat on my conference call, I dug around for cash, which added up to $3.80. There was hope. Still, I couldn't bring myself to go to the nearby Taco Bell or McDonald's. I got out of the car and rooted around under the seats. Checked the pockets of my jackets in the trunk. All this searching reminded me of fruitlessly rummaging for change with my Dad when I was a little girl. He didn't have bridge money, and we had to pull over and go into a transpo office to get a voucher.

I went to the work site and looked around for my boss. There was no catering van in sight. Two friendly posh lady volunteers greeted me inside. "Have you seen any of the caterers by chance? They may not be here til three," I asked.

They grinned at me and said, "Oh, you mean for tonight? Well, no. There isn't anyone here yet."

While they grinned and looked me up and down (I know the chef pants with the elastic waist are SEXY!!) I was staring at their donation bin. It was a clear box stuffed with dollar bills and change. I fantasized about breaking the box or asking either lady for a loan. They were dripping with dough in their designer duds and salon 'dos.

One lady asked, "Would you like us to give them a message or something?"

I shrugged and kept eyeing the donations. "No, thanks. I'll be back at three."

"We're open and here til four, if you need anything," she responded.

"Okay, thanks," I said as I turned and headed out. I was checking out the floor and even corners for dropped change or cash. So this is what it feels like to be desperate for money?

Next I headed out to downtown Los Altos. Lots of mid to pricey restaurants with a Togo's and Posh Bagel thrown in. I was bageled out from our NYC trip and knew my $3.80 wouldn't buy more than a bag of chips at Togo's. A stroll into a pizza place yielded zilch. "Our personal pizzas are $6.50, with a soda," the bored worker told me.

"You don't do slices? All I've got is $3.80," I told her.

"No. No slices," she said.

Safeway, here I come. I walked slowly around the parking lot, and checked under cars for money. I even took my time walking the aisles in search of grub. I couldn't make my own sandwich because pita or bread was a good $2.50 a pop. An individual baguette was almost $2. I was getting more and more depressed about missing a sit down lunch opportunity. At the deli counter, I bought half a roast beef sandwich for $3.29. I was so glad I brought a huge bag of almonds and water bottle, to round out the sad looking meal.

One of my on-site pals was going to loan me money until I started talking about my husband, who offered to Cal Train down and meet me with cash. "Oh, you're married? Forget it, then," he said in a dorky jokey voice.

"Whatever!" I responded.

A female chef witnessed this exchange and took pity on me. She let me eat some samosas with cilantro spicy dipping sauce, and kept trying to give me flatbread with pears, goat cheese and candied walnuts. She was pleasingly plump and told me, "You get the whole samosas since you ate almonds for lunch. Sad. I'll totally give you twenty bucks."

"I'll drop a check in the mail tomrrow morning. I'm good for it," I promised.

Much later, those twenty bones got me almost a half tank of gas. The first thing I did when I got home was write out a check to the Friendly Female Caterer, along with a card singing her praises. She has to know she saved my ass! It was a total bonus that she didn't expect to date or screw me for the loan.

Late Night Food Reading

I can rarely read food related material at night. That's problematic because night time is when I usually have the time and energy to tackle reading. If you've ever expereienced the following symptoms, you may relate.

Symptoms of a late night reader tackling the subject of food:
-Growling stomach

-Mental inventory of fridge and pantry, with the frequency increased as more it gets later in the night.

-Visions of endless meals and dishes, combined with serious hunger pangs.

-Debates with self or companion(s) on how long it would take to cook up Dish X.

One late night, I was reading the James Beard book on Pasta, and making mental notes. A pile of  dog eared Gourmet, Saveur, Chile Pepper, and Organic Living magazines sat in a pile on the floor. We were planning on making lasagna inspired by the book the next day, for dinner. My brain and belly had other ideas. I asked Oscar if he would eat some with me now.

"Hon, it's almost eleven," he said, eyes buried in a book.

"I know. But... I'm hungry," I said, with a barely perceptible hint of whining thrown in for drama's sake. I had to change course. "It will only take two hours to cook!" I enthused. I couldn't wait to cook some Niman Ranch ground beef, chop onions, peel garlic, and make some thick and herby tomato sauce. We don't usually eat that late, and perhaps Oscar was wondering how enthusiastic I would be about cleaning up after all that cooking and gorging.

Guess who won? By 1:30 a.m., we were taking the lasagna out of the oven. "Wait 'til it cools," Oscar warned. He pointed to the recipe. "It even says to let it cool, right here." I shrugged. The cheesy-tomatoey combo looked and smelled amazing. How could I resist? I sunk my spoon into the steaming lasagna and barely blew on it before tasting. I made some awkward, "Ah, ummmm," noises, and tried to hide the fact that my mouth was burning a bit.

"See? I told you," he said.

"I can't wait a full half hour for it to cool!" I muttered.

"Okay, let's drink some wine and let it sit for awhile."

We feasted and drank ourselves silly that night. I have made other late night impromptu dishes for us, but that one stands out because it was a first. If I could figure out how to avoid or ignore my late night hunger and still tackle my food reading, that'd be another first.

SFist: Patricia Wells Cooks

I learned more about Patricia Wells this week, on a visit to Purcell Murray. She's charming, smart, and knows her cooking! More dets at SFist.

Leave Canned Goods for Your Mail Carrier Tomorrow

Easy, peasy. Do a good deed tomorrow. Leave some canned goods for your mail carrier. They'll go to Second Harvest, which is a hunger relief organization that helps kids, seniors and low income folks in need. I'm thinking some soups, peaches, and other goodies will do the trick.

The Devil in the Kitchen

My SFist write up of an Incanto dinner honoring Marco Pierre White is here. Flickr stream here. Menu Pages blurb here.
 

Uber chef Marco Pierre White's book, The Devil in the Kitchen is the food intense story of his life in restaurants. There aren't the usual tales of drugs and booze, but it is fascinating nonetheless. That is one difference from some other modern chef tales & depictions that are popular today. It's clear that White remained devoted to work and practicing his craft above all else: family and relationships were lower priorities. Don't worry, though. He did eventually allow himself to have fun & lovin' with all sorts of ladies. Even better for celebrity chef-philes, there is stellar gossip since he has worked with-and dishes some dirt on-the Roux brothers, Mario Batali, Heston Blumenthal and Gordon Ramsay.  There's even a dash of celeb gossip by way of appearances from Madonna, Michael Caine, and Damien Hirst.

White's happiness in the kitchen continued to grow after his first experience at getting paid for providing pleasure as a fish seller. Yes, he's happy, but he eventually became a boss who would regularly throw tantrums. With reason. The anger and fits stemmed from a commitment to high quality, which seems to make sense when you consider how much effort White always applied to his food and restaurants. He now has an empire to show for it all. As a boss and business owner, he sought respect and loyalty from those working for and with him. 

This consistent hard work earned him three Michelin stars, which set a historical precedent because he was the youngest to do so. It shocked some when he gave his stars up when he retired. That's something many chefs wouldn't think to do, because with the stars go notoriety, glory, and ample profits. But it shows White's integrity: why keep stars if he won't be in the kitchen, preparing the food? For chefs like Anthony Bourdain, White was the "original rock star chef" because he was so obsessed and brilliant in his craft. When they see each other, White told me he and Bourdain swap tales over "fags," their beloved cigarettes.

White's food lessons are enjoyable and pop up throughout the book. He uses simple and stark language to explain things like the texture and flavor differences in a raw versus grilled tomato. Cooks of all stripes will benefit from his lessons on food, ingredients, cooking and the role of nature. It's not surprising that he has always respected nature, and is a fan of hunting (in person, he calls hunting, "stalking"). His full story is worth checking out.

For another review of White's book, read Incanto Chef Chris Cosentino's tribute from this Sunday's San Francisco Chronicle book section. His Editor--okay, it's my husband, Oscar Villalon--told me there was little editing needed. Chef Chris's take on the night can be read here.

Ukiah Brewing Company's Beer Ice Cream

Beer ice cream? Intriguing, odd, and interesting. Our waitress at the Ukiah Brewing Company--which is touted as the first organic brewPub in the nation-- recommended it, so we decided to give it a go. There were two beer ice creams, stout and porter. All flavors are handmade by the chef. As a dessert, beer ice cream tasted surprisingly good. I tasted a nice melange of flavors: nutty, sweet, vanilla, and of course, stout beer. The beer taste came through at the end, but it wasn't overly strong, bitter or off. It may be that using beer in ice cream effects the texture, which was a bit too icy. Once we stirred it up, it became creamier and more like what one can expect from ice cream.

Not to worry if beer ice cream is not your thing. They also have mainstream sorbet and ice cream flavors. Or try what I found to be tasty cheesecake from Cheesecake Momma. Peanut butter fans may rightfully freak over the restaurants version of peanut butter pie.

The Ukiah Brewing Company & Restaurant has turned into a hang out for the Pig Hunt crew. The brewpub has good, sustainable food and a mellow vibe. There are tables on a pleasant patio in back. On a grooming/fashion note, a majority of the men working and hanging out on one visit had ponytails or shoulder length hair. 

Ukiah Brewing Company & Restaurant
102 South State Street
Ukiah, CA 95482
T: 707-468-5898

Shake It Off

It was dumb of me, really. Letting pickiness get in the way of eating. I went over four hours without eating. That was after having a large coffee, with a sugary pastry, and over two hours of driving on windy roads. Add hot weather, pregnancy, and the search for my Dad at a dusty car show, and the chances of me being grumpy are almost guaranteed. What surprised me was how shaky I was, in addition to being ravenous.

Oscar agreed that we should park (add fifteen minutes: who are you people that crowd car shows, anyways?), find food, and then track my Dad down. Oscar teased me, "You won't like the food at the show. It's going to be greasy," he said in a sing song voice. Ah, love. I kept changing my mind on what I wanted as we approached the show. Chinese food would be good, but who wanted to sit in a dark restaurant when it was so nice out? A hot dog with chili would hit the spot, but wasn't I supposed to be not eating sulfites? I am embarassed at how much I was whining to Oscar when we got into the show.

"No, I don't want a potato. Uhhhhh. Look at the line," I complained. I kept looking down the row of food booths. Shaved ice? Later. Fudge? Ditto. BBQ? Since my Dad is the BBQ master, it was a good guess that we'd have platters of meat for dinner, later. My shakes got worse. I sat down. I finally spotted a booth that didn't have a zillion people waited, and sounded appealing. "Can I have a carnitas burrito?" I said weakly to Oscar as I covered my face from the sun. "No rice. Thank you," I said as he dutifully walked over to get my lunch.

My being picky made us both miserable, sure. In my (weak) defense, I do have that baby thing going. As I gobbled, I barely cared that the burrito was far too mild. It was drippy and tasted good, overall. The shakes continued, so I kept eating. Of course, I was grateful to Oscar, and told him thanks again throughout the day. At least we seem to share a sense of humor. He made fun of my "I'm shaky," refrain later. He had good reason.

Ukiah's Chavez Market Taqueria

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It's likely to be good if a taqueria or market makes their tortillas on a hot griddle by hand. Thick corn beauties, warm and toasty. I was told by reliable sources--Robert Mailer Anderson and Zack Anderson--that the Chavez Market Taqueria has "the best" tacos and Mexican food in Ukiah, so I decided to grab a to go lunch there today. Since they have a full menu and I was more in the mood for a torta, I admired the tortilla making and decided another visit must, and will happen, soon.

How was the torta? The al pastor meat was well spiced, and the sour cream, avocado, pickled jalapenos, lettuce, and tomato were gooey, messy, and delish.

I'd like to try tinga, which is advertised as spicy shredded chicken. There's also menudo for adventurous eaters who may or may not be hungover. The market sells bottled hot sauces, and I decided to go for salsa habanera, "from the hottest chiles in the world," made by Castillo. My torta was hot enough, and I was starting to sweat a little, so I will crack open the sauce another time.

Chavez Market Taqueria
1424 South State Street
Ukiah, CA
T: 707-462-4697

Timing Is Everything

News flash to Ukiah waitresses: just because my dinner cost ten ninety-five doesn't mean I expect you to rush me. Readers, perhaps you've fallen victim as I have? I hope not. On two separate nights, I ordered a dinner that included a choice of soup or salad with a meal. Each time, I thought, let's go with salad, since it's warm out.

I was surprised on the first outing, when the waitress brought both my Ceasar salad and veggie lasagna at the same time. "Oh, can you just keep the lasagna warm for me, please?" I asked politely. "I can't get to both of them at the same time..."

She said sure and took it away. I suspect she hid the plate (I hope it was covered) in an alcove directly around the corner rather than put it under a warmer. It was lukewarm when she brought it a few minutes later.

Rush incident Number Two happened last night, at a "family restaurant" that I had heard good things about from fellow crew members. At least I was almost finished with my salad when the waitress brought my plate of pasta out.

In both cases, I wondered what the rush was all about. The restaurants were far from crowded, and it didn't seem like the kitchen or staff were overwhelmed. It's okay to have a casual feel to service, especially when prices are relatively low. But I'd been on the clock all day, and was hoping my dinners would be a chance to unwind and relax, maybe get in a little people watching. The old adage is true: timing is everything.