Sir Francis Drake from Cowgirl Creamery

We went to a lovely dinner at Ms. Five-and-a-Half and Mr. Thirteen's house on Sunday. I had offered to reprise our dessert/cheese course of Tarte Tatin paired with Cheddar and a triple creme.

We needed to get some cheese though and at 5:45 pm, fifteen minutes before they closed on Saturday night, we raced over to Cowgirl Creamery in the Embarcadero's Ferry Building, figuring this would be an easy trip -- we were being focussed after all: two cheeses, we knew which kinds.

Never shop when you're hungry.

We returned home with all that you see above (Except the Linne Calado "Problem Child" wine-- that just somehow snuck into the picture.) We nailed down the cheddar (Keen's from Neal's Yard), and the triple creme (Mt. Tam-- one of my faves) but I kept spotting new things.

"What's the Serenita?"

Our obliging counter person shaved off some samples for us -- but almost before she could finish, I was dancing around waving at Eric with a Cowgirl Creamery "Sir Francis Drake" in my hand. Wordlessly, maniacally, I pointed at it, and it joined out stash in the basket. But then a flash of brick red caught my eye. Fra'Mani salamettos! And chorizo! Into the basket!

Never shop when you're hungry.

The Sir Francis Drake only comes out when "the bacteria is good," says our cheesepusher. Oh it's good. Whenever we spot it, we HAVE to buy a round.

"Smells like wet seashells and dirty feet," I observe with a sigh as we unwrap it. But don't let that put you off. I like to think of it as a cheese not unlike the man himself -- a salty old seafarer that nevertheless hasn't quite lost the refinements of the Old World. It tastes distinctly of briny, sandy air and the Pacific Ocean. For real -- I'm not kidding!

Kitty agrees.

Under the Sea: Dinner at Farallon

So, I know it's hard to believe, but there are many fine restaurants in San Francisco that we have never patronised, and Farallon was one of them... til now.

Eric's mom was in town last week, so for her birthday, we went to Farallon for a spectabulous dinner with mom and Ms. and Mr. Art Attack at Pat Kuleto's undersea fantasy-land. Seriously, this place is like an amusement parks for adults. And the best part is that with five people at the table -- we could try LOADS of dishes!

Guess what? The menu is in large measure seafood. I got there a little late and by the time I had arrived, Eric and Mr. Art Attack had already ordered oysters and drinks.

Leave room for dessert, guys...

We sat in the pool room of this 1925 Elks Club building, which we learned had been renovated in 1997 by Kuleto. In this room, you can see the elaborate ceiling of the old pool, which lies under the floor of Farallon and is still in use apparently.

Wine, wine, wine... what to have? Eric consulted with sommelier Jennifer Knowles, who was extraordinarily helpful and after hearing our variegated menu plans, suggested a Les Chaumiennes Pouilly-Fume. Pleasant, not overwhelming -- wait, why am I writing about the wine -- I have no palate! Ask my Omnivore about the wine....

Our amuse was um... something, something in a blood orange sauce. Some food critic I'd make, eh?

"For madam we have the pan-seared foie gras with a quenelle of Sauternes sorbet and a ----"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, pass it over here." *ouwmph* munch, munch, munch...

But seriously now... for real, here's my app, a terrine of Champagne poached scallops with cucumber and creme fraiche and caviar. Not bad, and the terrine had a lovely infusion of the taste of springtime to it, with all that greenery. The scallop flavor was a bit lost amid all that, but the creme fraiche and caviar was wonderful.

Eric's app, however, a Dungeness Crab gnocchi with Tarragon and champagne and yes, a crispy Maiitake mushroom atop was fabulous. Unlike the scallop dish, the crab flavor came across with great delicacy and there was a satisfying umami warmth to the whole thing.

The real winner in this bunch though, was Mr. Art Attack's seared foie gras with almond mille feuille and orange blossom honey. Ms. Art Attack, the only vegetarian at the table, took great relish in explaining the gorging process, while my Omnivore tried to argue that it was all a natural process.

Natural process my foot, but damn... it does taste heavenly.

Ms. AA's asparagus soup -- which was lovely, and light, almost like a consomme, but with the essence of green again infusing the nose of the dish along with more -- yum!!-- crispy mushrooms.



The main course had to be fish of course. Mine was branzino, on top of black truffle polenta -- which I would like for breakfast every day, thank you-- and a very tangy, vinegary -- but in a good way -- spring onion vinaigrette. The whole dish was lovely contrasts, the perfect crispy skin, warm soft polenta, with the richness cut by the bite of the vinaigrette. Loved it.

We were drinking a Graves with this course, and even though the Pouilly Fume had been pleasant, especially with the lighter dishes, the Graves was declared the definite winner. A bit fuller and rounder in tones, and with a lovely color.


I love that in sf, even the vegetarian can get a lovely plate. Here's what the kitchen worked up for Ms. AA, including a wild mushroom risotto in the most adorable little Staub mini-cocotte -- you know you (meaning I) want a set... Also, please note the whole porcini mushroom lurking in the dark in the foreground.

Again, though, Mr. AA was the winner in the menu sweepstakes, with a Roasted Alaskan Halibut with Garlic Soubise, Hearts of Palm, and baby artichokes. What is "soubise?" I have no idea, but I'll take five gallons, please.

Again with the perfect crust. How do you learn to do this? Our Crispy skin halibut was good, but this was at a whole new level.

Cheese course? Of course!

I consider any cheese board to be excellent if they have at least two cheeses I know nothing about. In this case it was the Coupole (at top) and the Tome des Recollets, affined by Jean d'Alos.

Coupole is made by the Vermont Butter and Cheese Company and turned out to be a very pleasant, tangy goat cheese. I didn't get much of the ash that's sprinkled on this aged round, but it seemed like it was a young example. It all worked fine with the pear marmalade they offered on the plate.

The Tome des Recollets, I figure, came from Cowgirl Creamery since they work with Jean d'Alos. It's Loire Valley cheese made of cow and goat cheese and the rind is washed in Sauternes then sprinkled with the most fantastic spice mix -- it seemed like a smoked paprika to me, but according to Cowgirl, it is cayenne, savory, juniper and black and white peppercorns -- and it was fantastic with the salted, roasted almonds -- fantastic.

The last cheese on the bottom is a Bayley Hazen Blue from Jasper Hill. Lovely, but I've talked about it here.

Confident that he would be getting some tastes of my cheese (!!) my Omnivore ordered the warm El Rey chocolate pudding, with a peanut brittle. Okay, yeah, it was also spectacular.



Ms. AA went with cheese also, opting for Mt. Tam, Berkswell and Pleasant Ridge Reserve.

And to wash it all down? An unusual dessert wine -- well, at least unusual to me, from Jurancon -- exotic fruits and honey...indeed.

P.S. Some of us are spoiled...

So we're making dinner -- broiling a few vanilla-brined pork chops. But what should we have with it?

"I can make pasta with a tomato sauce," say I helpfully.

"Yeah, that works," says my Omnivore.

Okay, must motivate... I push myself off the couch and shuffle to the kitchen, casting about for a pot to put on the stove.

"So," my Omnivore says helpfully, "We'll need eggs and flour?"

I look at him, thoroughly confused. "Pardon?"

"For the pasta?" he adds.

"Excuse me?" I say, mentally trying to add eggs and flour into tomato sauce.

"How are we going to make the pasta?"

"Uh...I was going to take the pasta out of the box in the cabinet and put it in water...?"

"Oh. Right."

"Yeah... um...I know you're all used to getting everything in this house made from scratch, but... dang...."

Bocconcino di pura capra

Little yummy cheese treats...mmmm, nothin' like 'em.

Every time we go to the cheese case there's intense negotiation, especially when there's goat cheese involved.

"Andante's Nocturnes are in..."

"But look at the San Marcellin. It's squishy!!"

"Well, how about this Bocconcino? We've never had it before and it feels nice and runny."

"But the San Marcellin. Look at it!"

"Well, feel this, it's squishy too."

"But you wanted another little dish."

"But feel this... It's SQUISHY!"

It goes around and around as we squeeze all the cheeses as if they were Charmin bathroom tissue.

The Bocconcino is an Italian cheese, as it turns out, from the Piedmont region from the Caseificio Alta Langhe. It was only $5, so how could you refuse a little treat? Milky pale and runny on the inside, it has a milder rind than San Marcellin, but a beautiful gentle flavor, so if you find San Marcellin too strong, this could be the cheese for you.

We also tried a little local salametto from Fra'Mani in Berkeley-- SOOO good. Really succulent, perfectly balanced, we had to forcibly stop our selves from eating the whole thing.

Fra'Mani is the brainchild of Paul Bertolli (of Chez Panisse and Oliveto fame) and you can actually order online. Well worth it!!

Birthday for the Zin Buddhist

A sextet of Zinfandels sang a choir for our Zin Buddhist at a somewhat belated birthday celebration.

It's been a tough winter, what with all the colds and the stress and the general tension that seems to be running rampant, but with all that Zin in our wine closet, there surely was zero chance that this party would get cancelled altogether.

As usual, we hauled out cooking equipment and headed on over to Oakland, and the home of the Pajama Queen and Mr. Tarte Tatin.

Since our primary goal was to be tasting Zinfandels, we thought we'd make it easy on ourselves and just have a pizza party, in which everyone made their own little mini pizzas, which we could then toss on the grill. Yes, four boxes of stuff and a bulletin board constitutes "easy" for us.

I'll let you read all about the Zin Mania on Eric's blog, but suffice it to say, I'm glad I did a lot of pre-prepping, because by the time I was tasting the fifth Zin, my knife skills were flailing a bit. We picked up these groovy little one-ounce pourers at BevMo! (Shh! Don't tell anyone we went in there!). Given our crowd of Zin-lovers--we thought these might be a necessary speed bump.


The Pajama Queen overseeing the grill work.

Since the tasting started around tea-time, and I figured most of us would be a tad hungry, I also made some gougeres as a little snack. These lovely little cheesy puffs somehow magically vanished. I put them out in two bowls, went back into the kitchen to slice some tomatoes, and suddenly the bowls were coming back in. Empty.

"What happened to the gougeres?"

"Oh... SO gone."

They're actually fairly simple to make -- my standard operating procedure is to make pate a choux and dump in a bunch of grated Gruyere cheese. (How much? I don't think I've ever measured it exactly.) Then, I spoon the batter into a pastry bag fitted with a big tip, plonk it into a tupperware and take it with me wherever we're going. When we get there, I pipe the gougeres out onto a baking sheet and make them on the spot, because they are MUCH, MUCH better when straight out of the oven.

This recipe is adapted from the French Laundry cookbook, and I think they get a nice extra pouffe. I adapted it for hand mixing, since (tsk, tsk) Thomas Keller actually suggests you use a stand mixer, which we, of course, do not have.

Gougeres

1 cup water
7/8 stick butter (7 tablespoons)
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 pinch sugar
1.25 cup AP flour
4 -6 large eggs (They'll need to be beaten, but added only one by one, so beat each one as you need it)
1-1 1/2 cups grated Gruyere
freshly ground white pepper

In a saucepan, bring the water, butter, and salt and sugar to a boil. Remove from the heat and allow it to cool for a few minutes.

Add the flour all at once, stirring to combine. Return to a low heat and continue working the mixture for two minutes--until all the flour is incorporated and dough dries out a little and forms into a ball. There will be a slight film that develops on the pan.

Let the mixture stand for ten minutes to cool, and in the mean time, beat one egg in a small bowl. Using a wooden spoon, add in the egg and stir to incorporate into the dough. This is the tricky/frustrating part. It's going to look like the egg won't want to combine with the dough, and you'll feel like you just have a lot of slippery little blobs, but keep working it.

Once the egg is pretty much combined, beat another egg and do the same thing. Frustrating, I know, but keep at it. Continue adding eggs until the batter has thinned enough so that when you lift the spoon sideways out of the batter, a soft "V" of batter hangs down from the edge of the spoon. Not a ragged "V" shape, but a nicely pointy one. You'll need at least 4 eggs. Some days it takes 5, some days it takes 6. Why? I have no idea. But the "V" test should be your guide as to when you've incorporated enough egg.

Once all eggs have been added and the mixture is smooth put dough into piping bag fitted with a 3/4" round tip.

Here you can either continue on, or store in the refrigerator for up to several hours.

Preheat the oven to 450F. Pipe the batter into golfball-sized shapes, 2 inches apart onto parchment or Silpat lined baking sheets. Make sure your oven is hot enough or the puffs won't get their first pouffy rise! Bake for 7-8 minutes, then turn the oven down to 350F and bake for 20-25 more minutes or until golden brown. Serve instantly.

Anyway. SO gone.

Good thing we had the pizza stuff ready to go. I made a batch of the Wolfgang Puck pizza dough, which is my current favorite. Actually I made it about two weeks ago, when we first thought we'd have this party. Then it sat in the fridge for about a week, until Eric asked, "Um, what's the thing in the tupperware that's exploding?"

Whoops.

Well, I thought, you can leave sourdough starter in the fridge indefinitely as long as you keep turning it out and feeding the beast. So I fed it, figuring we'd make the pizzas the next week. Which we didn't.

So I fed it again.

When I pulled out the bowl on Sunday, I thought, hmmm... I think I've rediscovered beer.

We test baked a little of it, and --ah, the wonders of food science -- it tasted like San Francisco sourdough. Good enough for me. We made up some more dough using that as our base, and turned out the pizza crusts for grilling, along with a selection of roasted garlic, caramelized onions, tomatoes, anchovies, sausage, salmon, goat cheese and Meyer lemons fresh off Bill and Mo's tree.

I had been a little stymied as to what sort of dessert to serve that would be Zin appropriate. Eric said he didn't want a cake. However, I did happen to know he loves madeleines, so I made the Strawberries and Blackberries in Balsamic with Pepper again (Whoops! Easy on that pepper, M.E.... HOW many one-ounce pours of Zin did you have?)

And then I made a couple of trays of lemony madeleines so that they could come fresh out of the oven and onto the plate. Madeleines...*sigh of bliss.*

There are about a zillion recipes out there for the perfect madeleine, (check out Amanda Hesser's evocative article on the topic) and I have sampled far too few to be able to lay any sort of claim on the title. However, this classic take did not receive any complaints.

Madeleines

4 eggs
1 cup (200 g) sugar
Zest of two lemons
1/8 tsp salt
1-3/4 cup AP flour
3/4 cup (185 g) butter, melted and cooled slightly


In a medium mixing bowl, combine the eggs and sugar with a hand mixer, blending until the color is light and lemony. Remove the mixer, and with a rubber spatula, gently fold in the salt and flour until the batter is just combined. Fold in the melted butter and lemon zest.

Refrigerate the batter, covered, for one hour.

Preheat oven to 375F. Generously butter a madeleine mold (really get a nice bit of butter into those divets.) Spoon batter into each mold until each is about 3/4 of the way full. DO NOT OVERFILL!

Bake 12-15 minutes at 375F. When the madeleines are done, you'll see a distinctive little hump in each one, and the edges will be faintly browned -- love that crispy browned edge. remove them from the pan immediately and serve right away. Probably there already is a horde of people sniffing around the oven, fully prepared to burn their fingers on a hot madeleine.

Fish with Crispy Skin, plus more Gabietou and Fontina Val d'Aosta

Ever since we went to bushi-tei, the elegant little Michelin-starred joint around the corner from us, I've been thinking about fish with crispy skin. They served us a piece of white fish that had the most spectacular, perfectly crusted skin -- it was utterly unlike anything I'd had before. But surely, we thought, there must be a way to do this on our humble stove.

So this weekend, we netflixed Babette's Feast and decided to work on our skin-crisping skills. You can find instructions easily on the net, but here's what we did.

Fish with Crispy Skin

First, the fish.

I'm not so good in front of the meat counter of the fish counter. Put me before the cheese counter and look out, but I often feel that I know nothing about the ways of other critters. Unfortunately, my Omnivore was thoroughly distracted by the task of selecting wines for us to play with and I soon realized that I was on my own at the fish counter. I knew we were looking for white fish with a not-too-thick skin. Not trout, and not catfish, I read, but rather a saltwater fish. Confronted with the many lovely fillets, however, I was chagrined to discover that most of the fishy candidates had been skinned. I had two choices, mahi-mahi and halibut. So halibut it was.

We've had halibut before. Ms. Food Snoot's brother snagged a six-foot halibut off the coast of Alaska and sent her several frozen tons of fish. This is the same guy who once shot a moose and then had to drag it back to his car while nursing a broken ankle. I must admit I hadn't thought much of the flavor of halibut-- I have had it since, and it always seems somewhat tough and characterless. But this, THIS is the way to make it.

I got a deboned, two-pound piece which I cut into smaller squares, because according to the instructions, smaller pieces work better, plus they're cuter.

After making sure the scales were all cleaned off, we dabbed off the pieces with paper towels, and then laid a bed of kosher salt down on a plate. The instructions advise gently scraping the edge of a knife across the skin, to scrape any more moisture away. We then pressed the fish, skin side down, onto the salt bed and left it there for an hour. We were advised to salt and pepper the tops while they rested in the bed, but to be honest, I'd wait to do that until just before cooking.

After an hour, the salt will have drawn out a lot more moisture, so lift it off the salt bed, scrape off the salt from the skin, and paper towel dry them again. Now season with salt and pepper.

In a skillet that holds heat well, like a cast iron pan, heat a thin layer of high smoke point oil such as safflower or grapeseed or peanut oil over a medium heat. I like peanut oil because it imparts a lovely flavor. Try not to use too much oil.

Lay each piece of fish, skin side down in the pan and then place a plate or some other object over the fillets to help weigh them down for one minute. After a minute, remove the weight and let the fish cook about two more minutes.

Carefully flip them over, trying not to tear the skin, and then turn off the heat, allowing the residual heat to finish the fish for about 30 to 60 seconds.

Serve! Now!!

The fish was so yummy we both went back for more. The final result was a a shade too salty, but probably because I overseasoned initially and then couldn't do anything about it later. Overall, though, this has become the preferred method for dealing with white fish.

It was an experimental sort of night, so I bought some of those enticing little rainbow carrots at Golden Produce, and sauteed them briefly with green beans -- a fairly nice match with the fish. We also roasted some golden beets, which are delicious, but didn't really match well with the fish. What they did go beautifully with was the rehydrated black cherries. Who knew? My next adventure may be a cherry compote and toasted macadamias to go over the sliced beets.

But what of the cheese? You may well ask. As it happened, I did venture over to the cheese counter, where I felt much more confident in demanding samples of the Fontina Val d'Aosta, a nutty cow's milk cheese that my Omnivore hadn't had before. We had some San Marcellin quietly oozing away in our fridge as well, but on trying a sample of the Gabietou, a mix of cow and sheep's milk cheese from the French Pyrenees, and affined here by Herve Mons, we realized that we needed a goodly chunk of that one to be really happy.

I had smuggled back some Gabietou before from London, but it wasn't a big deal because it's an aged cheese. nevertheless, it also a fabulous cheese that took on a pretty pungent creaminess as it warmed up. Eric liked it so much that we had to strike a deal, in which he got most of the Gabietou, while I got most of the San Marcellin.

I ask you, who really won in that scenario?