Matters of Taste

The Gastro-Adventure of 2012

Pairing an exciting physical adventure with a great meal is my idea of a good time. And, I didn’t have to go far to find my favorite gastro-adventure this year. No Swiss funiculars involved. No Andean peaks. No raging Canadian rivers.

                          

Instead, I simply hailed a cab in downtown San Francisco, hopped out 15 minutes later at the famous old Cliff House, and set out on the amazing California Coastal Trail. About ten miles in its entirety, the trail wends its way through forests and toney residential neighborhoods, along sheer cliffs, across sandy coves, and up and down steep dunes.

                           

It’s an extraordinary blend of natural landscapes and well-known man-made attractions such the Praesidio, Sutro baths, and Fort Point, a Civil War fort. Much of  this adventure can be called a “stroll,” but anyone looking for a workout won’t be disappointed by the steps running up and down the cliffs, and the 100-plus “stairs” carved into a sand-dune “wall” near Baker Beach. As an added attraction, the shimmering Golden Gate Bridge is almost never out of sight.

On a glorious, sunny autumn day, we walked from Cliff House, past Sutro Baths, darted in and out of the thick forest of Lincoln Park, strolled through the affluent enclave of Sea Cliff, peeking into gates to see the magical mansions set on the edge of the cliffs. We then dropped down to long, sandy China and Baker beaches and walked along the water’s edge, until we climbed back up again on those 100-plus sand “steps.”(Photo from EveryTrail.com which gives an excellent step-by-step guide to this hike.)

                                 

Continuing past the Praesidio, Golden Gate Bridge, Fort Point, Crissy Field, and the Marina Green Park, we finally turned into the residential streets of the Marina neighborhood and found our way to bustling Chestnut Street. Total walking time was about 2 ½ - 3 hours. It's hard to give an exact mileage, because there are many options along the way. Mapquest estimates six miles, several hiking guides say it's closer to 10 miles.

The “gastro” part of the adventure was equally exciting.

                      

Tacolicious was the pot of gold at the end of our ramble. This casual emporium of creative Mexican fare is wildly popular, with crowds clustered at the door and on the sidewalk pretty much any hour of the day. (There are also T-Lishes in the Mission district and Palo Alto.)  

Tacos are the main attraction – each consisting of two griddled tortillas, stuffed enthusiastically with unusual combos of super-fresh, (mostly) locally sourced ingredients.

I loved the fried local rock cod that’s paired with shredded cabbage and tangy cream sauce; the house-made chorizo sausage with succulent potato chunks; and the vegetarian butternut squash number that’s spiked with poblano peppers, red bell peppers, spicy pepitas, and slightly bitter greens. (The above photo, by Michael Macor for the San Francisco Chronicle, shows the asparagus, potato, mushroom and green garlic taco; traditional carnitas; beer-and-shot braised chicken; fried local rock cod.) 

Since we were feeling “fit” (and totally deserving!) after our rousing hike, we also ordered the zesty shot-and-a-beer braised chicken tacos which are miraculously tender, and the braised short rib tacos that can thank guakillo chiles for their spicy, tangy, slightly smoky flavor.  Each taco gets a “custom” dusting of onion, cilantro, cabbage, lettuce, tomato, cheese, or whatever other crunchy bit will add to the fun.

                                 

Though it bills itself as a “cocktail-driven restaurant,” with 120 tequilas begging to be sipped, Tacolicious also offers imaginative alcohol-free concoctions that are ideal lunch accompaniments. (The menu heading is “Drivers, Kids and Recovering Bartenders.”) I love the Mia (cranberry juice, sparkling lemonade and fruit salsa), the Moss (passion fruit, pineapple, and sparkling limeade), and the Silas (lemon, lime and mint). 

For folks not in the mood for tacos (really?), the menu also offers “snacks” that range from a creamy, dreamy guacamole and snappy ceviche with apple and orange bits, to the popular albacore tuna tostada with crispy leeks and chipotle mayo, and  the pork-beef meatballs done with roasted tomato-chipotle salsa and cotija cheese. Then there are the chips 'n salsa. Let's just say I feel sorry for all the people who haven’t burned up a bunch of calories before hitting Tacolicious. They must have to stop after just one basket of the warm, addicting tortilla chips (served with three sensational house-made sauces, hot, medium and mild).  I had to be dragged out of there before I could completely polish off our third basket.

 

                                        

Tacolicious in the Marina is a small place , one long, narrow room with a smattering of tables, an inviting copper-topped bar, and a constant cluster of happy people waiting for a place to sit. We were lucky enough to score one of the tiny tables in the sidewalk enclosure, giving us front-row-center seats to the exuberant party that is Chestnut Street.

 

 

A Whiskey Sour By Any Other Name

Will taste as good. Or better.

Especially if its name is "Provence," as in the southern France region, and it’s shaken up by the bartender at La Marmotte in Telluride, Colorado.

Last week on a particularly cold, blustery night, I arrived at La Marmotte craving a “warming” cocktail. No gin ‘n tonic night, this. Even my usual Campari & Soda seemed too summery and too “Mediterranean.” The last item on La Marmotte’s specialty cocktail menu got my attention real fast. The Provence: Maker’s Mark Bourbon, fresh lemonade, fresh lemon juice, ginger simple syrup. Served on the rocks in a low-ball glass, it was divine, lip-smacking divine.

                            


It never occurred to me that this was a from-yonder-year "whiskey sour" until one of my friends took a sip and proclaimed it such. Some thirty years ago I was a whiskey sour kinda girl. Loved ‘em. Have vivid, and, I might add, endearing memories of whiskey sours that I bought in the late ‘70s at Carl’s Pharmacy in Aspen Colorado. Canned whiskey sours. From a drugstore’s refrigerated case. How retro is that? How far away from today’s 20-buck Cosmos, celebrity mixologists, and Lagavulin snobbery?

But, alas, tastes evolve and I abandoned what the WSJ called “The Katherine Hepburn of Cocktails.” Now, after three decades and one "Provence" cocktail, I’m back on the whiskey sour train. I’ve searched out Ginger Simple Syrup – available on Amazon.com from Sonoma Syrup Company; and found a good recipe for homemade lemonade on AllRecipes.com.  Simply Lemonade works well too. I find this version of the classic more interesting, more refreshing, and less boozy than the original. (Photo from the Wall Street Journal.)

                               

Now, lest anyone think that I drank my dinner at La Marmotte, let me mention chef Mark Reggiannini’s sensational braised beef short ribs, fragrant from their winey bath, falling from the bone, and teamed with parmesan mashed potatoes and a snappy pistou of fresh basil and mint. And the savory Onion Goat Cheese Tart served with crispy bacon and carrot ginger sauce. And the heavenly gratin of heirloom tomatoes that was dotted with Roquefort cheese (and served with Hangar Steak au Poivre). For more about this Telluride eatery that’s been charming folks for more than 20 years, check out my earlier blog.

A Honey (Dew) of a Drink -- Best Cocktail of 2012

Actually there were two Best Cocktails last year, but since their success revolved around one rather unusual and very scrumptious ingredient I’m calling it a tie.

Who knew that honeydew melon could be a playa on the chic ‘n’ trendy cocktail circuit?

At Hop Sing Laundromat in Philly’s Chinatown, I fell in love with a simple but magical potion involving a top-shelf rye and freshly pressed honeydew melon juice. It was a wildly aromatic wonder, mingling the soft summery sweetness of honeydew with the warm, dry spice of rye whiskey. Served ice cold, straight up in an old-fashioned champagne coupe ( the shallow alternative to the flute), it was exciting, inspiring and delicious.

                   


Hop Sing Laundromat (above) is showing up on plenty of Best of 2012 lists. It’s a quirky, fantastical place that channels the days and drinks of pre-Prohibition and the Speakeasy era. Opened last summer by a dapper Asian gent who calls himself simply “Lee”, it became an instant sensation, thanks to creative, meticulously crafted cocktails, a supremely comfortable space, and a definite flair for the dramatic.

 

My early September adventure began when my son, Nicholas, and I arrived at an unmarked door in Chinatown a little after midnight on a Saturday evening and rang the buzzer. The street was dark and deserted. Nicholas assured me that he knew “the drill,” but I fretted nonetheless that either #1 I wouldn’t pass muster with the bouncer who’d open the door or  #2 I’d end up getting mugged in what seemed to me a rather sketchy part of town.

After several minutes the door peeped open and a “host” escorted a group of very happy guests out, wishing them a good evening. He told us someone would be with us shortly. That someone was “Lee” himself who opened the door after a few more minutes and asked what we wanted. Nicholas told him we’d come for cocktails -- seemed like a no-duh question and answer to me but apparently it's part of the schtick. Lee asked if we knew the rules. Nicholas assured him that he did, but Lee nevertheless ran down the list:

No cell phones, no cameras, no other recording devices, and cash only.  Apparently we both looked pretty good, because Lee skipped his usual spiel about “dress” requirements that ban flip-flops, sandals, sneakers of any kind, shorts and hats.  Oh yeah, patrons aren’t supposed to bug the bartenders with questions about what’s in each drink either, which is why my above description of my own personal honeydew heaven is short on specifics.

When the eccentric Lee ushered us inside, I was dumbfounded by the scene that unfolded --  a cavernous, dimly-lit space with high ceilings, exposed brick, church pews,  bookshelves lined with weighty tomes, a massive carved wood bar lighted by real candles, and a floor covered completely with shiny pennies. Elegant, well-spaced tables were tucked into every alcove, stools lined the nickel-plated bar.

                                            

All Hop Sing cocktails are unique and inspired, and made with fruit juices squeezed on the spot, homemade syrups and bitters, and an astonishing collection of top-shelf booze, said to number 1,000 bottles. (Photo of the Henry "Box" Brown cocktail by Robert Neroni.) Glasses are vintage style, ice is custom made, servers are polite and professional. Most drinks (each of which is said to have two-ounces of alcohol) cost $12, a bargain by any modern standard, a downright steal given the mesmerizing performance that is Hop Sing Laundromat.

 

                                  *********************************************************************

 

Honeydew also showed up in my glass at Franklin Mortgage and Investment Co. another Philadelphia lounge/bar seeking to recreate the days of Prohibition. (Am I the only one who doesn’t get this fascination with one of the nastier periods of American history?)

                                  

Named for the company that served as the front for what was once the largest illicit booze ring in the country, the subterranean Franklin Mortgage and Investment Co.-- A Drinking Establishment  (just off Rittenhouse Square) captures the flair of the pre-Prohibition era with its décor, music, and drinks.

We arrived early on a blustery October evening and managed to snag a cozy corner booth right away (I’m told patrons routinely wait an hour or more on the sidewalk in everything from snowstorms to sauna baths). Based on my experience, these classy, creative cocktails are well worth the wait.

My Starbuck Swizzle was a light and luscious concoction of Tanqueray gin, Bonal (a French aperitif), green Chartreuse, house-made honeydew syrup, fresh pineapple and lime juices and a few drops of orange bitters. Each fruit announced its presence loud and clear; the gin contributed the perfect herbal balance. I also love the Emma Frost, a glitzy production of Plymouth Gin, Cocchi Americano, fresh lemon juice, house-made grapefruit syrup and a few drops of crème de Violette. 

                                       


The rest of the ever-changing menu at Franklin Mortgage is equally enticing, with all the ingredients of the day – Rittenhouse Rye, Buffalo Trace Bourbon, Becherovka, Bitter Truth Bitters – shaken and stirred by a talented team that’s having a whale of a good time doing its job. Mixologist/bartender Al Sotak (pictured above) will be  honored next month as one of Philadelphia’s 2013 Rising Stars by StarChefs.com.

 

To Grind or Not To Grind

Not exactly a deep philosophical dilemma. But, as events played out at our house over the holidays, a serious question to ponder nonetheless.

It all started when son Nicholas arrived at our vacation home for Christmas, proudly bearing two sacks of Stumptown coffee. For those not yet in-the-know, Stumptown is a cherished Portland, Oregon operation, with five stores there, two in Seattle and one in New York City.

                                       

“I hope you brought ground coffee; I don’t have a grinder,” I said as he unpacked his bags and looked at me in total shock. No grinder? How can any self-respecting coffee aficionado not have a grinder? Of course, he brought beans, because anyone who stops by the Stumptown coffee wagon at Penn every morning, and grinds and brews his own coffee – French Press, if you please – at home wouldn’t dream of bringing anything but beans.

Yes, I am a coffee aficionado. I have catalogued in my brain the best cups of java I’ve drunk in my life, starting with the perfect-crema espresso at Hotel Greif in Bolzano, Italy; the heavenly latte at a dinky café in Val D’Elsa, Tuscany; and the ethereal cappuccino at Sant Ambroeus on Madison Avenue in New York. 

Yeah, I know all about Stumptown and Blue Bottle.  I know that the Major Dickson's Blend at Peet’s  Coffee is mighty fine. And I truly hate pretty much everything about Starbucks, other than the fact that you can get consistent lattes when you’re in godforsaken places that don’t know from consistent lattes (think Mesquite, NV). (Photo by Jim Wilson for The New York Times.)

                              


But I don’t grind. And I don’t do brewed coffee, only espresso. Haven’t crushed a bean for about 15 years when my restaurant-model Faema espresso machine with grinder bit the dust. That’s also when I discovered Illy Caffe. Ground. From Italy. In classic silver canisters. So, for two decades I’ve been smugly making lattes every morning with ground Illy and milk frothed to a fare-thee-well in my beloved Froth au Lait machine.

Until Christmas week 2012, that is.

“Well, OK, maybe I have a grinder around here somewhere,” I feebly answered Nicholas’s look of incredulity. And, indeed, I did have a functioning Braun grinder tucked away in a cabinet. And, I was totally blown away the first morning I ground Stumptown Ethiopia Mordecofe beans and brewed them in a Mr. Coffee that I also dug out of a cabinet.

This extraordinary cup of coffee had so many flavors swirling around it felt like a party. The little card that accompanied the bag suggested notes of mint chip ice cream, brown sugar, apple, fig and ginger, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t catch every one of those nuances in each complex, deeply satisfying sip. The aroma was intoxicating.

Nicholas wasn’t the only one leading the charge for grinding fresh beans that week. On January 2 the NYT Dining section ganged up on me with its cover story “Learning to Create the Perfect Cup of Coffee”  and persuasive sidebar “Better Coffee Depends on Good Grinding.” (Photo by Jim Wilson for NYT.)

                             

So, all right already. I’m convinced. Hooked. A convert. The NYT was persuasive, but it was the flavor and fragrance of freshly ground and brewed Stumptown Ethiopia Mordecofe and Hair Bender coffees (the latter promised notes of milk chocolate and caramel and it delivered) that really sealed the deal.

Unfortunately, the Mordecofe brew is not currently available at Stumptown, so I’ll sit and sip my Illy (freshly ground, of course) until it’s back.

Ringing in the New Year - With Justin Isosceles Reserve

About a year ago a friend gave us a bottle of Justin 2007 Isosceles Reserve. I’ve been waiting – and salivating – for just the right occasion to open it, and found that occasion last week on New Year’s Eve.

                                         

The wine, a Bordeaux-style blend from Central Coast California, the Paso Robles region, was one of the most delicious I’ve ever tasted. The intense aroma of cassis and black plums (and whiff of vanilla) met me more than halfway, that is, the minute I opened the bottle. The concentrated flavors of blackberries and currants were almost chew-able. Though extremely fruit-forward, the wine was balanced and refined.

Fans of French Bordeaux may scoff at my enthusiasm, preferring more reserved, austere wines as they do. But I’m not ashamed to say I flipped over this bold, extraordinarily rich, self-confident wine and can't wait to taste it again. (Justin Isosceles Reserve 2007 received 94 points from Wine Enthusiast. It sells for about $100. Though I've heard that it is only available to the winery’s Wine Society members, I did find a few bottles for sale on-line.)

Before planning the New Years Eve dinner, I read the tasting notes on the wine and wondered what the heck one eats with a wine that’s called “tremendous,” “impressive,” “powerful,” “brilliant” and “gorgeous?” We decided on our family’s traditional Christmas Day turkey dinner, which we didn’t have on Christmas Day this year, and readied an organic nine-pound bird, for the outdoor Ducane rotisserie. I was looking for pure, hearty flavors but nothing rich or fussy to compete with the wine. The crackly, well-burnished bird, with mashed potatoes and shaved Brussels sprouts sauteed with shallots, bacon and toasted hazelnuts, was a deliciously satisfying choice.

                                          

However, the logistics of the adventure proved a little dicey. Since the thermometer registered below zero that night, my husband had to pile on ski clothes each time he ventured out to baste the bird. As it happens, the Wall Street Journal picked the same day to do a feature on winter barbecuing. "The Life of the Party: Your Grill" offers tips, recipes and anecdotes about dinner parties in Fargo, ND.  

WOW WINES -- CONTINUED

I’m making a New Year’s Resolution to branch out into wines that I don’t know much about and/or have never tasted.  Yes, I will continue to bust out the Meiomi Pinot Noir when I don’t have time to match a wine perfectly with dinner, and on challenging days when I just want a wine that makes me smile. 

The rest of the time I’ll be hot on the trail of wines new and different and delicious. Like the Zaumau Garnatxa-Samso that I tasted recently at Jamonera in Philadelphia.  The menu called it “Bright fresh fruits, well-extracted flavors and soft tannins.” Our served called it “One of my favorites.” I was sold.

Made by Carles Escolar, a rising star winemaker in Spain’s Priorat region, this is a scrumptious, food-friendly wine that held its own throughout a tapas extravaganza that included spicy fried peppers, sweet fig jam, creamy squash croquettes, and crispy fried eggplant.

Garnatxa is better known to us as Grenache, one of the most widely planted varietals in the world, a grape with appealing spice and berry flavors, but lacking serious acid and tannins. (Hence, it is usually used in wine blends.)

Samso is another name for the Cariñena grape, also called Carignan in France where it’s blended with other varietals in the Languedoc region.

When I researched my new friend on-line, I discovered that this 2009 Zaumau blend is “an amazing value from a prestigious wine region.”

I also discovered what makes it so delicious:

Vinified and aged in stainless steel only (no oak), this knockout bottling grown on the region's famous licorella soils (huge chunks of slate that look like broken pieces of sidewalk) is incredibly sassy and light on its feet, showing stunning clarity and purity of fruit. With a very floral, violet-filled nose, and brambly black raspberry fruit, this is pure deliciousness in a glass and is priced in a way that you can indulge in it every day of the week. That's very hard to say about most Priorats.

The Priorat region is not exactly a household word in the U.S. Wine production from the region has always been, and continues to be, very small. Prices are notoriously high, though today some wineries are making wines in the $20-$25 range. I found my Zaumau Garnatxa-Samso on-line for $17.

I'll Drink to "Thymes Like These"

Last month I blogged about the inspired “Thymes Like These” cocktail that’s served at Restaurant Eve in Alexandria, VA. I was lucky enough to taste the herbal, citrus-spiked creation recently at a State Department event introducing the Diplomatic Culinary Partnership.

                                               

Bartender/Craftsman Todd Thrasher was shaking up this quirky quaff at the party. Not only did it taste great –- bright, bracing, aromatic -- but it expanded my drinking horizons. Until then I was only vaguely familiar with one of the ingredients, Cocchi Americano, but learned from Thrasher (and subsequent research) that it’s a fortified white wine aperitif, created in Italy in 1891 but widely introduced in the US only in 2010. The Moscato-style wine is infused with cinchona bark (the original source of quinine), citrus peel, spices and other botanicals.  The aperitif is crisp and citrusy with a pleasing hint of bitterness.

 

                                                      

I wasn’t familiar with Citadelle gin either, since I do most of my summertime G&Ts with Tanqueray or Hendricks. (Citadelle is a French gin, complex yet subtle, that’s aged in Cognac barrels. It’s a blend of about 18 botanicals and doesn’t have the in-your-face juniper flavor of many other gins.)

And, I had never contemplated tossing fresh thyme into a cocktail.  

But Thrasher, whose creations are dubbed “relentlessly innovative” by StarChefs.com, loves to incorporate seasonal ingredients into his creations and prides himself on the 14 varieties of house-made bitters at his bar.

He was kind enough to share his recipe, so there’s no need for us to be thirsty in “Thymes Like These.”

"Thymes Like These"

1oz Citadelle gin

1 oz Coccchi Americano

3 tablespoons Thyme-Lime Mixture

Drops of Kaffir-Lime Bitters, to taste

Place all ingredients in a shaker with ice. Shake and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

 

Thyme-Lime Mixture (adapted from Thrasher's recipe)

1 cup simple syrup

Large bunch of thyme, washed and patted dry

¼ cup freshly squeezed lime juice

Heat simple syrup until it comes to a gentle boil. Add thyme leaves. Reduce heat and let simmer for 10 minutes. Strain through a sieve or chinois. Add lime juice and cool before using.

Note: Kaffir-Lime Bitters can be purchased, on-line, as such emporiums as Cocktail Kingdom.   

Building a Better ..... Latte Spoon????

 

                                              


Really?

Really!

If anyone out there has an explanation for WHY the world needed this addition to the silverware drawer, I’d love to hear it.

This (delicious) latte was served to me at Gasthof Fürberg on Lake Wolfgang in Austria’s Salzkammergut region.

Hey Bartender, Another Round of Hugos!

Europeans have always loved the Holunder plant, using the fragile white blossoms to make tea, syrups and sodas, and to cure the common cold. (Holunder translates, in English, as elderflowers.)

But today the pretty shrub is a regular rock-star on the bar scene. The Hugo cocktail is everywhere -- a splash of elderflower syrup, Prosecco (Italian sparkling wine), a couple of crushed mint leaves, maybe a lime wedge, and a topper of sparkling water. It’s the rage in Italy, Austria, Germany, where it’s dubbed the “Szenegetränk” this summer, meaning the “scene drink.”  

No one could tell me why it’s called the Hugo, but the word on the Web is that it was created last summer in Südtirol, the idyllic northern Italian area that’s home to the Dolomite mountains and where the holunder plant blankets hillsides and meadows for a few weeks each June.

The low-alcohol cocktail is elegant, subtle, with just a hint of natural sweetness, a whisper of fruit. The flavor is tough to describe. I guess I’d say there’s a fleeting pear presence, a hovering of citrus.

                                     


I stumbled upon this delicious drink on the first night of a recent hut-to-hut trek in the Dolomites. Our merry band of hikers had rendezvoused in Teis, Italy (a hamlet of about 500 people) that afternoon. During dinner at a nearby hotel, our server recommended the Hugo to one of our group who asked for "something different.”  In the weeks that followed, we saw it promo’d on bar menus, in pastry shops, on billboards, in magazines and even at mountain-top huts where hikers clicked glasses to celebrate their successful climbs.

The Hugo is different from the elderflower cocktails that are popular in the U.S. today. Most of those use St. Germain, a liqueur made from elderflower blossoms. These trendy quaffs are delicious too, but they’re heavier and boozier than the Südtirol’s Hugo which uses syrup instead of liqueur.

As an aperitif, the Hugo piques the palate. In the middle of a warm afternoon, it’s a refreshing pick-me-up. One German Website I found said the Hugo “tastes like summer, sun, and vacation.”

Bartender, I’ll have another.

 

 

WOW WINES --- Continued

Here's one more for my running tally of wines that:

"…make my eyes open wide and my mouth break into a big smile. It’s usually a fruit-forward wine, a fragrant wine, a wine that goes well with food. It’s also usually a good value, often under $15, rarely over $30."

For a wine to stand out in the large, festive family dinner party I attended over the weekend in Nashville, TN it had to be damn good. Uncomplicated. Delicious.  Food-friendly. In-your-face fruity.

And that’s exactly what I found in the 2008 Tenuta Curezza Salento Rosso PRINE.

This Primitivo/NegroAmaro 50-50 blend (hence, PRINE) is from Puglia in Italy’s heel. Primitivo is the Italian Zinfandel; NegroAmara (“bitter black” ) is a local grape usually used for blending.

Because this wine spends no time in oak barrels, it’s all about the fruit – lush, aromatic, plummy, in-your-face fruit.  It was a fitting partner to our dinner at MafiaoZa's, a parade of elegant, thin-crust pizzas with creative toppings, including the yummy DeMartino with imported salami, sun-dried tomatoes, goat cheese, homemade mozzarella, arugula and basil chiffonade.

The Curezza PRINE is an inexpensive wine, we’re talking about 12 bucks a bottle. Happy to be gulped, not sipped. And delicious with pasta dishes and pizza, burgers, ribs and other backyard grill fare. Check it out.

MafiaoZa's, Nashville's most beloved pizzeria, is located at 2400 12th Avenue South.