Greetings, etc.

Life…is one harsh ride sometimes.  I’m not talking about the whole, “oh I’m busy” thing.  It’s true on some levels, but hardly adequate in describing the past few weeks.

When JJ and I got engaged, my godmother and tia immediately scheduled an engagement party for us at her house.  The whole family came, too, which meant grub for a crowd of approximately 100 people.  All my favorite Mexican foods were out – fresh guac, fluffy baked rice, beans (pinto, of course), tortillas, and big vats of chicken en mole.  The mole was done up how I like it – heavy on the chocolate and not too spicey.  It was one of the last events my grandmother was brought to.  JJ’s dad and his partner got to meet the rest of the family for the first time.  And everyone had a great time.  A really great time.  My tia’s been throwing down our family functions for years with a sort of effortlessness that we all took for granted.  But that’s how she rolled.

About three weeks ago, mi tia was diagnosed with a grade four gliobastoma multiforme tumor in her brain.  They went in, pulled it out, and sent her home with the expectation that treatment would begin in the coming weeks.  She was coherent and clear thanks to the lack of pressure on her brain.  Numbers gave her a bit of trouble though and she couldn’t dial the phone as a result.  I spent one Friday with her while her husband went to work and we chatted and gabbed (she couldn’t dial 911, so someone had to be around in case something went wrong).  I dialed the phone for her when she asked.  We talked about the treatment options her sons were investigating.  It was pleasant but also troubling.  One of the things that told them there was a problem in the first place was that she couldn’t read or speak clearly one morning.  As the afternoon went on, it was clear that some of that damage wasn’t really resolving itself.  In fact after her nap, it seemed a little worse.  I went home, happy to have been able to help, but worried.  Who wouldn’t be?

The worry wasn’t unfounded.  She was readmitted to the hospital the following week after she relapsed into the pre-surgery speech problems.  The tumor was back, and scarily bigger than the one they removed.  They called it ‘aggressive’.  I thought that was an understatement.  It was an angry mob of cells, carrying all manner of deadly weaponry.

Treatment?  Sure, you could try to treat it with chemo and radiation, but this was the kind of tumor that poured chemo on its cereal every morning.  Reality set in this past weekend and my cousins and uncle made a decision that I think no one should ever have to make about their wife or mother.  I wept for them more than my aunt that day.

When we talk about ‘quality of life’ in terms of the healthy, it’s mostly the difference between living in a good neighborhood with decent schools and some open space with a weekend market and, well, not.  It’s being able to make more choices.  It’s breathing cleaner air and using your time both productively and to rest and play.

With the sick, it’s trying to make sure the cure isn’t worse than the disease.  With the terminal, it’s weighing the difference between the amount of time you think you could have left and how much you’ll be able to do with that time while facing down any number of soul crushing limitations – pain, paralysis, deformity, neural breakdowns, etc.

My tia ate yesterday.  She hadn’t since last Thursday.  Eating is now a benchmark.

They’re bringing her home this week and setting up hospice care.  The chemo they are giving her now isn’t to get her to remission, it’s to keep her aware and cognitive for as long as possible while people come to the house to pay respects and talk to her while they still can.  Her prognosis is being measured in days and weeks, with months being used as a sort of long shot hope.

The thing that stuns me is that she’s still making it all look easy.  She’s ticked that she can’t talk.  Frustrated at her body’s betrayal.  But she’s solid, hopeful, and as in control of everything as she can be.  She knows, perhaps now more than ever, how truly loved she is.  The only real difference is that she’s leeting other people take over the things that were once hers.

In my case, it means I’m taking over some of the tasks she fulfilled in taking care of my grandmother (her mother) who lives in a nursing home nearby.  She and I are among just a few family members who still live close enough to handle doing a few mundane but necessary tasks, plus a few fun ones.  I play memory games with her using pictures of our family members.  Mama has always been a UCLA fan so when I come in, I turn over the USC pillow that my aunt put on her chair.  And sometimes if I come in time for her dinner, I’ll feed her the Ensure-laced goop and pretend it’s a fragrant, sugary flan.  Mama actually smiled at that once.  Next time I may try to turn it into ice cream.

So the focus of my life has narrowed and expanded at the same time.  I haven’t been to the market in two weeks and miss it exceedingly.  I’m having a hard time fighting the urge to order out because I don’t have the energy or desire to cook (I did last night and it was rather restorative).  But I’m also very happy that I’m in a position to be of use to my whole family in concrete ways.  Yes, we want everything fixed and happy again.  But things go wrong.  That’s life.  And when they do, you hope you have the fortitude to go on, and when you don’t, you hope you have the help to lift you up.

We’re a big loving family with a really diverse make up.  We have lives lived all over the world.  But when the tremors hit, we’re here.  The next few weeks will be occupied with family.  Some of us will do our best to celebrate life, but sorrow and a deep sense of loss will dominate.

Eventually, things will get back to ‘normal’ and posts will be more regular, but that’s a ways off yet.  Inspector Vino has a few lovely post ideas percolating (also the lucky bastard just told me he has reservations for The French Laundry coming up…insert seething envy here), so it won’t be totally dead.

When I come back to this, it will be with newness in mind – there are some lovely changes in the works and not a few special highlights of local note being planned and plotted.

The most common question people have asked us is, “What can I do to help?”  My cousin’s response so far has been the most honest and telling.

“Call someone who means the world to you and tell them that you love them. That is the best way to make today and everyday count.”

See you later.

I know there are a few of you out there.

WAY back in the day, when this blog was on Livejournal (seems so long ago now…time flies) an up and coming caterer named Rachel Hailey approached me and asked for permission to use some of my photos for her new business website.  Well, she’s in business now, doing all manner of impressive things, and my only gripe is that I can’t hire her myself.  So you hire her.  She’ll make you tasty seasonal foods.  The whole ‘personal chef’ thing?  I love to cook, but there are times…oh man.

Little side note: other places my images have been used?  A K-12 teacher’s guide on educating about agriculture in California, a farmer’s marketing materials, and a greeting card.  This is a fun life.  Funny how it took a camera to help me see it.

Congratulations, Rachel!  Salud!

My schedule goes through these hills and valleys of time and no-time.  I had told a friend recently that I take tons of photos every week – usually of food – but that I haven’t really had the time to write up a decent post.  I’m under the impression that a blog, or any website for that matter, should be content driven and be able to add a little ‘aha’ or ‘huh’ to one’s brainmeats.

“So? Don’t the pictures speak for themselves?”
“Well, yeah, but I’d like to provide some content.  I’d like to think it’s not all about the pretty pretty pictures.”
“Photos are content, which is better than no content, right?”
“…yes…”
“And you say you’re not a writer. Just post.”

So, the point was made. I’m posting the shots from my Sunday trip to the Hollywood Market, working on the premise that some > none. On with the eye candy.  Mangia.

Did I mention I like eggs? There is only one caveat to that – they should be cooked right. By this I mean no overcooked, dark rimmed yolks. They should have cohesion without being chalky. I give them just under five minutes in a boil and then they get a quick ice bath. Voila, tender albumen surrounding a custardy yolk.

I try hard not to fall in love with Trader Joe’s products. If they can’t keep a supplier, they toss it. Their frozen caneles come to mind – I haven’t seen them since early August at either of my local branches.  Such teases! Though imagine my happiness when I finally – FINALLY – spied Trader Joe’s frozen puff pastry sheets.  Hoping they keep the latest make of their vegetable shumai – que yummy and do not require the accompanying ponzu sauce to be so. Also? A perfect fit in the bento. Two by two…

Worth a three week wait? Oh yes. Oh hell yes.

We taste-tested them at two weeks and were a bit overwhelmed – the salt/sour was pucker inducing. Third week’s the charm apparently. The sour mellowed its sharp tang to a dull roar. The garlic and spice warm them ever so slightly.  I’m listening to the sweet music of jars sealing right now. I have four quart jars and three pint jars. Allegedly they will mellow a bit more over the next week. JJ wanted spears, so spears he got. Made packing the jars easier.

My hands smell like pickle juice now. But these are the sacrifices we must make for good food. Darn.

Dinner #10 brought us back to the Grand Floridian, our home base for this gastronomically epic adventure.  It is the very essence of Victorian luxury situated right on the beach of Seven Seas Lagoon.

The resort claims the honor of having an unprecedented three of Walt Disney World’s Signature Dining establishments.  Our first night in, my wife and I dined at Narcoosee’s.  I knew right then we were bound for a good time.  The third night was our anniversary, an unforgettable evening at the incomparable Victoria & Albert’s.

To round out our exploration of the Floridian’s grand eateries, we returned this tenth day to the second floor of the main cottage.  Appropriate to the aquatic locale, Citrico’s is about seafood.

At night, the normally bright dining room became cozy while remaining elegant.  An open kitchen ran nearly its entire length, connecting diners to the sythesis of their meals.

The sizzle of butter in a pan and the smell of charred meat on a grill is an adequate way to get me ready for dinner.  Hell, it’d probably still work on me right after I’d eaten.

I chose to start with the Mediterranean Tastes assortment.  I’m an avid devotee of cured pork.  If it’s got prosciutto in it, I’ll probably order it.  This plate was Prosciutto di Parma plus.  It also came with a cube of creamy, soft Buffalo Mozarella, Picholene Olive Tapenade, White Bean Puree, and Grilled Crostinis.

The menu recommended a red wine pairing, a 2003 Chateau de Cruzeau Pessac-Leognan.  Pessac-Leognan is a lesser known and under-rated region of Bordeaux.  It’s fast become an up-and-comer of late.  Look for this appellation in your local wine shop.  Bargains are to be had.

This particular vintage was a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon (55%), Merlot (43%) and Cabernet Franc (2%).  It sat for 12 months in French oak barrels and three more years in the bottle after that before landing on my table that evening.  Like most Bordeaux, there was an air of earthiness about it, but 2003 was the year of the French heatwaves.  There was definitely plenty of ripe fruit.

My wife’s entree was the Rotisserie Pork Tenderloin with just the right touch of pink in the center.  It came on a bed of Creamy Goat Cheese Polenta and was topped by a Warm Mushroom Salad with Truffle Vinaigrette.  I got a taste and it was as good as it sounds.

Holding truer to the seafood nature of the place, I went for the Grilled Swordfish Provencal.  Like two dishes in one, it came sided by a bowl of Orzo Pasta, Grape Tomatoes, Saffron-Tomato Broth, and Clams.  Flavor extraordinaire!  The menu stayed French with the pairing, as well.

Another warm weather wine came to the table, a 2003 Jean-Luc Colombo Viognier La Violette.  Viognier (vee-oh-nyay) is a southern white varietal sometimes creamy with oak and often tropical in fruit nature.  Think yellow pears, pineapple or mango.  It’s something to delight the ABC (Anything But Chardonnay) crowd.  A lot of central Californian vintners have been experimenting with Viognier.  It’s becoming available, and is still much cheaper than Chard.

This trip marked my first few experiments with dessert wine, so after dinner I tried a new thing.  Behold, the caramel peach-colored Royal Tokai Aszu 5 Puttonyos.  It’s sweet Hungarian Muscat blended with two other grapes you’ve never heard of.  It drips down your throat in small sips like honeyed apricot and orange peel nectar.

It wasn’t the menu pairing for the desserts we got (they were out of the Meeker FRO-ZIN zinfadel) so I drank it first.  Heavy, but good.  Sweet, but not cloying.

If any of you have been with me that long, you may recall the Warm Chocolate-Banana Torte from the dessert we had after sushi, which was dinner number I-don’t-remember.  That level of decadence might be something you shouldn’t ever experience twice…..nyah.  Give us two more.

Chocolate drizzels, a chocolate free-standing trellis, caramelized bananas and some vanilla ice cream around a warm pattycake of chocolatey banana goodness.  Let’s see, there’s misdeed, indulgence…what comes after sin?

One day left at the festival and one dinner left to go. 

-inspector vino

The first time I had udon noodles, I was in my apartment kitchen in Baltimore. I had been making a habit of going to the Korean grocer down the street from my apartment rather than hop in the car and drive uptown to the supermarket – the best green veggies were there…I so miss having that within walking distance of my front door.

But I digress. I’m the girl who buys Double Noodle Chicken Soup and then fills the bowl with noodles and maybe a few tablespoons of broth. I love noodles – the texture, the flavors of different kinds, the way they fill me up without feeling like a brick in my gut. So when I saw neatly stacked packages of thick and meaty udon noodles for the first time, there was no question about bringing them home. They became my default dinner most weeks – easy to prepare and adulterate and highly satisfying.

Then the cafe up the street started serving udon stir-fried in black bean sauce with veggies. Between that and my trips to the grocer, it quickly became the Year of Udon.

The udon in my lunch today echoes those now out-of-reach flavors, reminding me of a time when life was lived richly on the cheap. Kind of sums up bentoing for me, too. Click through for the details.

I really do like eggs. Sometimes too much. But for lunch, they make a quick and easy protein. The dill helps keep them from filling up the box with its sulphury aroma, but if you’re really picky about it, wrap them in plastic. Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t – depends on how much of a hurry I’m in. Click through for the content details. I’m going to go eat this thing now.

The locals were abuzz recently when they learned that Thomas Keller was coming to L.A. (Beverly Hills specifically) to open a Bouchon on Canon Drive.  He’s in the local news again this morning, but as a writer in this week’s LA Times Food section.  Dipping his toes into the LA media pool?  Not a bad way to make nice with his upcoming market – though frankly, the world is that man’s market.  What foodie doesn’t have dinner at The French Laundry on their ‘must do’ food list?  The end of the article mentions it’s based off a speech he gave previously to the California Restaurant Association, but even his seconds are pretty first rate.

I started in on (again) making both my and JJ’s lunches a few weeks ago. This was the bento that never was. Sadly, it was forgotten on the counter as we made our mad morning rush out the door so he could catch his train. Ah well.

On the left, a halved ‘potato boat’ on top and bottom, Sangre de Toro peach slices, and a gently cooked egg with dill. On the right, red bell pepper slices, Autumn Royal grapes, and leftover corn on the cob.

A potato boat is just a baked russet, cut in half, and restuffed with a mix of potato innards, celery, carrots, peppers, dill, salt, and a touch of mayo to help bind it, then rebaked. It’s a childhood memory food that I make when I’m feeling nostalgic.