The Accidental Wino

The Smoked Pork Nachos @ Lagunitas Taproom, Petaluma

The Accidental Wino — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 05:29:27 +0000

One massive nacho plate.

I was driving back from San Francisco last weekend, when I decided to take a short detour up to Petaluma to check out the Lagunitas Taproom, which opened in 2009 (admittedly, Petaluma has been mostly off my radar). To describe the scene at the Lagunitas Taproom as anything less than raucous would be a gross understatement; the brewery’s sprawling outdoor patio, which was tented for the rain, was teeming with folks on this early Saturday afternoon. I was practically in awe at the spectacle. The beer garden was impressively loud with jubilant conversations, the community-style picnic tables nearly packed to capacity, and the bartenders barely pouring the beer fast enough to meet demand. Obviously, this is the place to be in Petaluma. Aside from a tall glass of refreshing pilsner, I also had food on my mind, so I ordered the smoked pork nachos, pictured above. Dressed with an abundance of pork shoulder, melted cheese, and barbecue sauce, the Lagunitas nachos were vaguely reminiscent of chilaquiles, which should be taken as a compliment, if anything. It was only after I had placed my order that I noticed the weekly lunch specials inside the menu. Somehow, I had missed an opportunity to try their bacon-wrapped meatloaf sandwich. Damn. Maybe next time.

1961: “Gourmet’s Basic French Cookbook” by Louis Diat

The Accidental Wino — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 07:57:08 +0000

Truffled Capon.

Vintage food photography continues to fascinate me, especially the quaint-yet-complex aesthetics of 1960s-era French cookery. Within an historical context, the early 1960s proved to be a pivotal era for both French and American cuisine: In France, the death if Fernand Point in 1955 marked the passing of a legend, but at the same time, Point’s legacy and influence would become even more widespread, thanks to his impressive stable of proteges (among them, Alain Chapel, Georges Perrier, the Troisgros Brothers, and Paul Bocuse). Meanwhile, in the United States, Americans were slowly becoming aware of French cuisine in the early 1960s. Helping to foster this awakening, Craig Claiborne began his stint as the “New York Times” Food Editor in 1957, while Julia Child made her television debut in 1963.

As for “Gourmet” magazine, the now-defunct publication was just 20 years old when “Gourmet’s Basic French Cookbook” made its debut in 1961. I found a copy of this cookbook in Berkeley a few weeks ago, along with several other well-kept cookbooks from the same era (someone unloaded a pretty nice collection, apparently). It may seem difficult to believe that “Gourmet’s Basic French Cookbook” is already a half-century old today. Then again, the food styling is practically archaic (classic?) in its charm. Anyhow, please consider the following photos as your mental preparation for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving feast. Indulge!

Jambon Persillé an Gelée, or Parsleyed Ham in Aspic.

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Seafood mousse.

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Blanquette de Veau.

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Côtes de Veau Braisées à la Chartres, or Braised Veal Chops with Gravy.

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Homard Albert.

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Il Flottante, also known as the Floating Island.

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Baked Alaska.

The Pork Sandwich @ Gregoire, in North Berkeley’s Gourmet Ghetto

The Accidental Wino — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 23:27:57 +0000

The yolk is the sauce.

My regular readers may have been wondering why I haven’t been my prolific self this past month, and there’s a few reasons: (a) I’ve been golfing quite a bit lately, (b) cooking professionally has limited how much I dine out, and (c) I’ve been putting almost all of my mental energy into my new project, the Culinary Timeline (the site is still a definite work-in-progress, and not quite ready for prime time). Since returning to work in the kitchen earlier this year, I’ve not only expanded my culinary horizons in the present (étoile uses some really amazing and esoteric ingredients), but I’ve also become increasingly interested in the culinary past. I’ve been reading dozens of food history books, studying the evolution of fine dining, but also learning where it all went awry (America’s food industry is in disrepair at the moment, thanks to factory farms and rampant pre-processing). Anyhow, I went down to Berkeley the other day to load up on a few more books, and to have a quick bite to eat. I tried the pork sandwich, pictured above, at Gregoire. It was tasty, although the bun looks a little too big for the patty. Their fried chicken sandwich is still the smartest move for lunch. Equally smart, the potato puffs with aioli, pictured below.

Like duchess potatoes, but deep-fried.

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Pork sandwich, in progress.

Vintage Cajun: “The Justin Wilson Cook Book” by Justin Wilson

The Accidental Wino — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 06:44:27 +0000

Being in my 30s — and not being a native of Louisiana — my first exposure to Justin Wilson was from a Ruffles commercial in the mid-1980s. For better or worse, that was also the first time that I’d ever heard the Cajun dialect, a quirky easygoing patois that now has many associations for me, having lived and cooked in New Orleans since then. During the same few years that Wilson was landing these national ad campaigns, his Louisiana-based cooking series began to appear on California public television stations, and Wilson himself began doing cooking demos on several morning talk shows. At least that’s how I remember it, growing up in Northern California.

As a semi-serious collector of vinyl LPs, I would later discover Wilson’s comedy albums from the early 1960s, languishing in the dollar bins, alongside so many copies of “Staying Alive.” Although I never purchased any of Wilson’s albums (even for a buck), his ample discography was a strange revelation for me: I had grown up assuming that Wilson was simply a chef with a schtick, not an established humorist who had somehow branched out into cooking. I’m still not even sure how Wilson — as grassroots and as authentic he was — managed to make the jump to celebrity chef, although I’m glad he did (I should note, however, that Wilson actively continued to record comedy albums well into the 1990s, long after his popularity as a chef had peaked).

I stumbled across my reprinted edition of “The Justin Wilson Cookbook” on a rainy Napa Valley afternoon, and felt it was worth mentioning. Wilson originally published his first cookbook in 1965, though my copy is the eighth printing from 1986 (just about the same year that Wilson began shilling Cajun-spiced potato chips for Ruffles). The spiral-bound book is a rather slender volume — about 90 pages — with simple Cajun recipes and plenty of photos and anecdotes, written in his trademark dialect. I found my copy of “The Justin Wilson Cook Book” in a used bookstore for $3, and I’m pretty sure most copies turn up for $5 or less. At that price, it’s a wondermous piece of Americana, for true.

“Cooking for Kings: The Life of Antonin Carême” by Ian Kelly

The Accidental Wino — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 10:43:58 +0000

The full title of Ian Kelly’s Antonin Carême biography is “Cooking for Kings: The Life of Antonin Careme, the First Celebrity Chef.” Frankly, I’m a bit wary of the term “celebrity chef,” especially in the era of the Food Network and its streak of made-for-TV paper tigers. Placing the word “celebrity” in front of the word “chef” almost seems to diminish the latter; I don’t consider Thomas Keller or Ferran Adria to be “celebrity chefs,” even though they’re both reasonably famous. To me, they’re just chefs — albeit great chefs — plain and simple. I suppose that the word “celebrity” almost seems self-serving in some way, which is really the opposite of a true chef’s character. Although it’s certainly important to build one’s “brand” these days — even with television appearances — the world’s greatest chefs never entered the kitchen with television deals in mind. Professional cooking, with all of its various demands, just doesn’t work like that.

Certainly, Antonin Carême never imagined his own future success when he began his culinary career in 1793 at the tender age of 10. Born the youngest of 16 — and possibly even 24 — children, Carême was abandoned by his family during the midst of the French Revolution, and as the legend goes, his father confided in him, “Nowadays you need only the spirit to make your fortune, and you have the spirit.” On the heels of that succinct pep talk, Carême became a dishwasher, and eventually worked his way into a well-known Parisian pastry kitchen, where his talent blossomed. Despite his Dickensian beginnings, many details of Carême’s early life (as well as many of his recipes) have been lost to war and the general turmoil of French history. Even in adulthood, we know very little of Carême’s personal life, or why his daughter (an only child) destroyed almost all of his letters.

As culinary historians are left to speculate upon the mysteries of Carême’s personal life — his two marriages and an estranged father-daughter relationship — Kelly tackles this impossible biography in the best possible way, with well-researched historical data, and plenty of excerpts from Carême’s menus and cookbooks (although Carême lived just 48 years, his star certainly shined bright, and several of his publications remain, despite others being lost). As for his status as a celebrity, it may prove interesting to learn that an orphan of the French Revolution would eventually bake Napoleon’s wedding cake, but for me, Carême’s profound influence on French haute cuisine remains much more intriguing; to the credit of “Cooking for Kings,” the royal name-dropping represents only one part of the story.

Book Review: “Au Revoir to All That” by Michael Steinberger

The Accidental Wino — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 08:52:48 +0000

I suspect that in middle America — and perhaps anywhere else the Western world — most people would assume that the French have cemented their reputation as the world’s culinary avant garde. It’s certainly a fair assumption. Not only have the French enjoyed an enviable culinary tradition for the last two centuries, but Western pop culture has reinforced this idea again and again. The notion of sophisticated French cuisine has become an enduring cultural archetype both here and abroad, as seen recently in movies like 2007′s “Ratatouille,” or even going back 20 years prior, to the Danish film “Babette’s Feast.” Within the media, French cuisine has been portrayed as the Western standard for decades now, and pop culture has continued to reinforce this hierarchy. Even one of America’s earliest and greatest culinary icons, Julia Child, had deep roots in French cuisine.

But for those who have been following culinary trends for the last 10 years, the center of culinary relevance has slowly shifted outside of France. As author Michael Steinberger points out in his book “Au Revoir to All That,” several factors have contributed to France’s declining culinary influence, including the nation’s poor economy and its general complacency, the rise of chef Ferran Adriá and Spain’s nuevo cocina, the increased competition of fine wine from the New World, and the recent “franchising” of French chefs in overseas markets, such as Las Vegas and New York. Of course, based upon its long history of culinary contributions, France will still continue to enjoy a large stake in the game, but its chip count has steadily eroded over the years, and perhaps for good.

With each chapter, “Au Revior to All That” delivers an insightful analysis of the French malaise, supported with thoughtful and compelling research. Steinberger also provides many terrific first-hand anecdotes along the way, making the text both approachable and engaging. What surprised me the most, however, was a statistic in the book’s seventh chapter, titled “Fast-Food Nation,” in which Steinberger reveals that France has become the single-biggest market for McDonald’s outside of America. Talk about undermining some deep-seated stereotypes — the French have actually embraced the Golden Arches? While it may still be true that most Westerners might still give France the benefit of the doubt when it comes to gastronomy, in reality, globalization seems to have cost France far much more than it has gained.

October Contest: Can You Name the Winery Pictured Below?

The Accidental Wino — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 10:23:16 +0000

You say tomato, I say hot pepper.

I originally had an idea to run this photo as a contest: I wanted to give away a bottle of wine to the first person who could identify the winery represented on the serving tray above (someone fashioned this tray from the top of a wooden wine box, and now it’s in my possession). However, I have a feeling that giving away wine (even fine wine) might be illegal, not to mention the liability issues surrounding booze here in America. Too bad. In terms of cash value, this bottle of wine would’ve been a nice prize, but I just can’t do it. Instead, I’ll offer up a jar of honey that may be the best you’ve ever tasted. It’s from Katz Branches Honey, with whom I have no affiliation whatsoever. I’m just a fan of their wild blackberry flower honey (and I was on board way before Oprah’s endorsement, believe me). Folks who know me personally are absolutely ineligible to win (you know who you are). Vegans are also excluded, since they can’t even eat honey. For this contest, I’ll take the seventh correct response. Submit your answers in the comment section below, and I’ll reveal them all at the end of October, along with the winner.

Eating Well: Slow Food Napa Valley’s Potluck Brunch @ Ehlers Estate Winery, St. Helena

The Accidental Wino — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 07:40:35 +0000

The dining area outside Ehlers Estate.

Slow Food Napa Valley hosted a pig roast and potluck on Sunday, September 11th, in conjunction with Ehlers Estate in St. Helena. The following photos highlight the event, which provided a forum for SFNV members to discuss the future of SFNV, and how they can help to increase interest and awareness of the Slow Food movement. Naturally, the brunch was amazing. Please click on any photo for a full-screen view.

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Pig cracklins, up close.

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CIA instructor Patrick Clark carves the Mulefoot Hog, which was provided by Michael Fradelizio of the Silverado Brewing Company and Beer Belly Farms.

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Michael Fradelizio (left) and Patrick Clark (right) remove the pig from the Caja China roasting box. A hungry crowd gathers.

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A look at the just-finished pig inside the Caja China.

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The Mulefoot hog, just a couple hours into cooking.

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The Ehlers Estate line-up. Delicious.

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Ehlers winemaker Kevin Morrisey (far left) talks shop with SFNV members.

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The Ehlers Estate tasting room, built in 1886.

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Debbie Fradelizio (left) and Corrie Beezley (right) greet SFNV members as they arrive for the potluck with baskets in hand.

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One very impressive apple pie.

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A beautiful honeycomb and cheese platter from Marshall's Farm.

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Heirloom tomato platter.

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In Ehlers Estate's BioDynamic vineyard.

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Flowers outside the Ehlers Estate tasting room.

The Kobe Burger @ The Kitchen Door, Oxbow Market, Napa

The Accidental Wino — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 01:26:15 +0000

Oozing Flavor: The Kobe Burger @ The Kitchen Door, Napa.

Those who have lived in the Napa Valley for the last several years might recognize the Kitchen Door’s Kobe Burger as a vestige of the recently-departed Martini House, which shuttered almost one year ago (October 30th will mark the anniversary). Way back when I was cooking at the Martini House — more than four years ago now — the Kobe Burger was offered as a bar-only item, and was reason enough to drop by the restaurant’s eclectic downstairs lounge. As I had seen on so many nights back then, the Kobe Burger was served with an impressive tower of crispy onion rings, which were laced with just enough curry powder to make them addictive. The spice was completely subtle — I would’ve never even known that curry powder was part of the dry batter — except that a co-worker mentioned it one day.

I worked as a pastry cook while I was at the Martini House, so I never grilled a single Kobe Burger, nor did I ever fry a single onion ring; I dealt exclusively in sweets. However, since the ice creams and sorbets were under my sole jurisdiction most nights, the occasional half- or quarter-burger would appear at my station, typically after a misfire or a mix-up, as barter for a scoop. Yes, I knew the Kobe Burger quite well after a while — it’s the kind of burger that I could always pick out of a line-up, just by its condiments: wine-stewed onions, melted Swiss, secret sauce. For nostalgia’s sake, it’s terrific that chef Todd Humphries has brought his signature Kobe Burger to the Kitchen Door. I’ll continue to quietly petition for the beautiful side of onion rings, though.

Platanos con Dulce de Leche @ Tacos La Playita, Napa

The Accidental Wino — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 05:27:54 +0000

The definition of golden brown, and obviously not from a bag: Platanos con Dulce de Leche (Plantains with Sweetened Condensed Milk) @ Tacos La Playita, Napa.

Sometimes simplicity is the best, but only if the ingredients can stand alone. Based upon its ripeness, the humble plantain will usually fall into two distinct categories: Starchy and bland, or sweet and delicious. At Tacos La Playita in Napa, the platanos definitely fall into the latter category, especially when dressed with dulce de leche. These plantains, pictured above, are actually a recent discovery to me, even though Tacos La Playita had ranked as my favorite for Mexican food when I first moved to the Napa Valley six years ago. I’ve since switched allegiances, although I do return to TLP every now and then with certain friends, or just for the familiar taste of their enchilada plate. The thing that began to bother me about TLP — the reason why it’s fallen lower on my list over the years — is that they stopped frying their tortilla chips in-house. It’s just a bit disappointing. Even though the chips and salsa at TLP are free, I still view store-bought chips as culinary sacrilege, at least within a restaurant setting. Frying chips is incredibly simple, and yet the character difference between a fresh chip and a bagged chip is enormous (in theory, I ‘d probably prefer a fresh chip and a jar of salsa, over a bagged chip and a house-made salsa). Even when I worked as a short order cook in a low-rent Los Angeles dive bar, we still fried our own chips for the nachos. Plenty of other Mexican restaurants in Napa also fry their own chips. And they also serve them for free. More than anything, the extra effort of frying chips demonstrates a level of craftsmanship and concern that, as a cook, I feel is important. So much so, that whenever I make guacamole, I always buy the freshly-fried tortilla chips from Rutherford’s La Luna Market as the accompaniment. I’m sure as hell not serving my guacamole with a damned Tostito. Maybe that’s just me.