I’ve been wanting to try my hand at some new rolling techniques for the lunches. I snagged this tutorial from a link off The Delicious Life (Thanks, Sarah!).  Not bad for a first try, though I need to get in some practice.  the square ‘roll’ is unwieldy.  It’s also the Return of the Edamame.  Simple Friday lunchage.  Click through for details.

WordPress dangled a new blog theme in front of me that proved a little too pretty to resist.  Clever folk that they are, they decided to construct a photoblog theme that would do what other themes simple couldn’t.  The blog would expand and contract to fit the photo size, it would display a bit like a slide show - both in archives and in posts, and - this is the kicker - it would change the blog color to match with the colors in the photo.

The result is a really clean design that displays the picture in a strikingly attractive way.  It has a few bugs to work out still.  It’s not compatible with flickr.  But it’s darned pretty.

So of course I started a photoblog using it.

I’m not sure how the photoblog will fit in with this blog as I don’t intend to give up posting - I just enjoy that too much.  But I think I’ll use the photoblog to try and highlight some of my favorite shots - a sort of food porn magnifying glass.  The theme doesn’t suit this blog well in format since I usually post multiple shots in some posts.  It seems to be more of a window.

Right now, it has no real drive behind it other than to be pretty.  I might make it more of a food tutorial/encyclopedia at some point (shot of lime beans + info + recipe).  But right now she’s just a whole lotta face.

My wife and I, we have an affinity for the beef.  So as the seventh day of our trip drew to a close, we sought out the Dolphin Resort wherein lies Shula’s.

We arrived at dusk, a bit early for our reservation, which gave us the time for a sunset walk around the lagoon.

As night fell, it was time to head back to the hotel.  Our table awaited.

There is a casual elegance about the Dolphin.  The canopied lobby was aglow primarily from its large central fountain.

From there, you enter the restaurant proper, a wood-wrapped, amber lit enclave of all things football and meat.

Yes, Shula is Don Shula of Miami Dolphins fame, the team he led to a pair of Super Bowl victories.  Hey!  Waaaaait a minute.  Dolphin resort?  I just got that…

As you might expect, Shula’s makes no bones (except maybe T-bones) about its status as a red-blooded American steak house.  And if you didn’t expect it, the cart full of Saran-wrapped slabs of supper they wheel up tableside will definitely set things straight.

I had an inkling this might be a worthy feed, so I thought I would go light with a house chopped salad.  What I got was more than just the tip of the iceberg lettuce.

My leafy Matterhorn came snow-capped with tangy, crumbling Bleu cheese.  Above the timberline it was diced red onion and leaning heavily on the side were two mammoth planks of Beefsteak tomato so fresh and rich they were sweet.  A light rain of balsamic and fresh-cracked pepper was all that was needed to bring life to the mountain.

My wife fared no better in her pursuit of temperance than I.

Her French onion soup arrived hermetically sealed beneath a caramelized cap of Gruyère.  Carving her way inside, she found a broth so thick as to be more aptly described “onion stew.”

With those starters cleared from the table, our waiter presented us both with gleaming serrated weapons whose purpose was clear.  We steeled ourselves to make war on the bovine species.

For me, rare is the only way to go with steak.  The better the cut and the more I trust the chef, the rarer I like to go.  When the waiter asked me how I wanted my filet done, I held up my hand and swept my fingers outward dismissively.  “Just have him walk it by the fire.”

What I got was pure meat fantasy in every butter-braised bite.  I hardly touched the dish of herbed Bernaise, though the side of sautéed onions and forest mushrooms was just the accompaniment.

To wash down the quintessential American bloodfest, you need a Napa cab.  I ordered a 2004 half-bottle of Darioush.  It was thick with dark berries and the firm tannins cut cleanly through all the fat.  A perfect match.

Khaledi Darioush is an Iranian immigrant who grew up in Shiraz, the place that lent its name to the grape and a wine growing region of Iran until the Islamic revolution.  Now Californians receive the gift of his passion for wine.

No good steak house dinner is complete without dessert, and cake follows meat like, well…meatcake.

I couldn’t fumble the camera out of my pocket fast enough to capture it in its pristine state.  My wife was all over this classic rendition of a chocolate lava cake like a bulldog on a meat truck.  Gutted and bleeding its molten chocolate innards, she dressed the carcass in vanilla buttercream sauce and had at it.

I think the only thing missing was a pair of wheelchairs to get us out of there after it all.

Thank you, Don.  It was both touchdown and extra point.

-inspector vino

Lots fruit in this lunch today. Tangerines hearken back to the peak citrus season while the apricots herald the new season.

Gifted my friend A a new bento box of the ‘Leaflet Tight’ variety. She got uber excited and went to town, emailing me a picture of her first ever bento.

My favorite quote from her:

“And you know what? It was easy. It was not time consuming. If it weren’t for the fact that I decided to make a pie, I would have been out of the kitchen in no time. And everything is ready for me put in my lunch or use for dinner.”

Which is what I try to tell everyone who says, “GOSHURGENIUS!!!”  Seriously.  Not genius.  So easy.  Just takes time.  Not even a lot of it.  I gave her a box and she took it from there.

Went to the NDA Bookshop/Cafe on Raymond in Old Town this weekend to enjoy the company of some very amiable bloggy folk. I thought it was cute that they put my iced chai into a regular mug, but it actually was quite practical - it stayed cold the whole time and the ice didn’t melt as fast, thus diluting the brew. The macaron was a sea salt caramel flavor - delicious but too big for my appetite. Cozy atmosphere. Wretched parking. It’s next door to the Vertical Wine Bistro - which I longed to enjoy since I was right there…another time perhaps.  Thanks, ladies!  We must do this again!

I’ve never been one for the latest and greatest of the cookbook world. I don’t breathe heavily at the thought of a new Mark Bittman book, good as he is. I don’t salivate when Tony Bourdain announces he’s got new pages in the works. I like what they do, but I wait it out. See if their rep is solid or just another piece of marketing fluff.

Plus, it’s the tried and true tomes that hold me rapt. Or even woefully out of date cookbooks that serve as a meaningful bit of insight into our culinary evolution. I scour antique stores and second hand shops looking for them, often sitting on the floor, flipping and scanning, adding to and subtracting from a pile of potentials.

The culinary sections of three major area used book stores have been haunted by me at least once this past month. In previous visits, I have picked up gems from James Beard, Julia Child, and MFK Fisher for pennies on the dollar. I’ve also landed some amazing promotional booklets from the early 1900’s. I have signed copies of restaurant books and vintage home economics texts. If I had to pick a favorite, it would be a toss up between the 1932 copy of the Meat Association’s recipe guide for the L.A. County Fair of the same year, the 1940 Louisiana Molasses Primer, and the collected recipes of the women of St. Antony’s Greek Orthodox Church circa 1966.

My buying criteria for cookbook purchases are based on the attraction of the content, the time period from which it came, sometimes the author or authors, and the price. I am rarely willing to pay more than $10 for a vintage or second hand recently published cookbook, unless it’s something I’ve been looking for and can’t find through my casual browsing. Also, the condition of the book is a fun bargaining point. I don’t collect these to ‘keep’ them. I use and enjoy them. Dog-eared pages, note written in the margins, broken spines - all of these add to the character of a cookbook for me. If it means I can shave a dollar or two off the price with a little haggling? So be it.

This past week I hit two of my favorite stores for used culinary gold. The stack you see above was purchased for the price of one, new, hardcover cookbook - a rather successful safari. Very satisfying.

The first one on top is the 1952 edition of the Luchow’s German Cookbook, signed by L. Jan Mitchell, then owner of the storied New York establishment. Four dollars. A criminal steal - even beat up, unsigned copies tend to sell for $30 or more. JJ is half German and I have absolutely no German tomes in the house. So this book will definitely get some use. This will possibly make some book collectors out there cringe, but I feel cookbooks are for using, not hiding away in a plastic bag for posterity. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be really careful and keep it away from the actual food prep zone.

Second is a generic culinary crafting book that focuses on crudités and various fancy cutting and sculpting techniques for vegetables and fruits and covers everything from appetizers to desserts. Very informative. Lots of instruction drawings and diagrams.

The Hawaiian and Pacific Foods book is a culinary and cultural tour of the islands circa 1947 from a former dean of the home economics department at University of Hawaii. She covers everything from the native Hawaiian diet to the Portuguese to the entire Asian diaspora who have made Hawaii their oasis. Her perspective is a bit dated, but her footnotes and bibliography are impressively detailed.

The Village Baker I bought because it had good looking recipes inside. I’ll need to do a little research on it some more, but for three dollars I couldn’t pass it up. (EDIT: TOTAL score! Not only is the author (and his wife) a California baker, but it’s essentially a bread primer from beginner to advanced. Another squee - the book is in mint condition - barely touched. This one will last me a while.)

Madhur Jaffrey’s Indian Cooking is a no brainer. I didn’t have it. I wanted it. It was also three dollars.

Alice’s Restaurant Cookbook was a surprising find. Yes, that Alice - Alice Brock of the famed Guthrie tune Alice’s Restaurant. Apparently you really could get anything you wanted there…and some stuff you probably didn’t. It’s a bit o’history that I snapped up more for entertainment purposes – all of her recipes are mostly ‘suggestions’ peppered with her personal philosophy on food, art, and what goes good with the munchies. From a 1969 TIME magazine article (linked above if you want to read the whole thing) on the book:

Short on recipes (fewer than 100 in all), long on pictures (Alice in low-cut dress, shot from above; Alice in tight-fitting pants suit, shot from below), the cookbook is hardly aimed at self-styled Escoffiers or even Julia Children. “Recipes aren’t as important as the philosophy behind them,” says the author. “Good food is food you eat with your friends, when everybody is having a good time. So making sure that everyone is having a good time is the key to a successful meal.”

The Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking was very surprising to find in mint condition, nay pretty much untouched, and for three dollars. This is an incredible book. I’ve barely combed the first chapter and already, I know my Italian-Fu has grown strong. It’s the combined and updated reproduction of Hazan’s two other Italian cookbooks – each a classic in their own right. This was a major squee-score.

I have been looking for a copy of Uncommon Fruits and Vegetables for a while. Very handy and well written reference. Very happy to have this in my library now.

And last but not least, a true classic by Julie Sahni. Sure, I could buy it new. But this copy was well loved with notes inside. I love that.

I had our annual family reunion to attend to yesterday, so my market visit was like a quick sprint. The fun part was getting to known all the new babies. It also amazed me that no matter who the married partner is, they all look like papagrande. Them some strong genetics! But that’s not why you’re here today. I promised signs of summer. As if the weather itself wasn’t a clue…

Behold, the noble apricot. Joe at Walker Farms had the first of the stone fruits out today and as per usual, he offered a sample. So. Good. Other things have apricot overtones, but when you try to describe the flavor of an apricot, you get lost. It’s one of the base elements that can’t be properly broken apart. It tasted like…an apricot. A good apricot. I could get all flowery and say I tasted the potential of the coming summer harvest in on velvety smooth bite. But no. It was just a really good apricot. So I bought some.

There were also nectarines and peaches, neither of which I tried but plenty of other people did. I usually wait for the freestones later in the season. I like to cut my stone fruit rather than eat it out of hand. Most of them are just too juicy for manageable eating. Great for prepped meals - I entertained the thought of roasting a few at home with honey over pancakes. They roast so well, bringing out the warm, honey flavors of the fruit. So well shall see!

And then the cherries. Keep in mind this isn’t peak season yet. But these firsts generally held their own. Not as complex as their more seasoned brethren. But if you love cherries, you just don’t care. The only real deal killer for me is if they are bruised up. They tasted, again, like cherries. Mild cherries. Cherries without the late May zip and tang. Good. But not stellar. So close….

There was a visit to Euro Pane and Taylor’s afterwards. I’ll focus now only on the Taylor’s visit.

Danny gave me some sad news. Jimmy, my usual friendly butcher and all around great guy, fell ill a couple of weeks ago. It started with numbness. First his left leg, then his entire left side. They thought it was a stroke (he’s in his 40’s! a stroke?!) But the scans all turned up negative. The local hospital did every test they could. Nothing came up that pinpointed a diagnosis. His speech slurred. His beautiful penmanship crackled into a series of sticks and scribbles. Danny sadly stated, “Remember his guitar playing? His passion? He can’t do it anymore…it’s just…gone.” I was stunned and completely crushed. Oh, Jimmy.

They sent him home, unable to provide him with anything other than, “You better get into USC Medical Center because we can’t help you.” But there a hugely long waiting list.

Jimmy taught me just about everything I know about meat. But beyond being a great butcher, he was also a good friend. He made my Mom feel at home when she came with me for some bacon. He would ask about her at every visit. He automatically double-wrapped my ground beef because he knew some of it was going into the freezer. I never had to ask him for anything twice. He memorized how I ordered and then used the time he saved to chat and talk about family, his guitar playing, and everything else. We invented something called “Jimmy’s Choice” where he would pick a cut of meat for me and then educate me on it, and then I’d go home a prepare it and report back.

Jimmy still tries to come into work. But he can’t even wield a knife. And right now it’s just a waiting game to see when he’ll get a call from USC. No one knows when, and as time slips by, I get scared for him and that the Jimmy we all knew and loved will slip away even more, his disease unchallenged by the stops that good medicine might be able to provide.

Is this a plea? Yes. It is. But it’s not just for the butcher. It’s for the man. In my world, he’s been a beacon of friendliness and education. He’s a good soul. And that has to be worth something in this life. I hope it’s worth a connection that gets him closer to the medical care he needs.

Hang on, Jimmy.

…and the obvious rejoinder is, who doesn’t?  A lot of folk actually.  Especially the vegetarians and vegans among my readership.  Though maybe at a point in their distant, meat eating pasts, they too might recall their instant salivary reaction to the mere scent of fresh bacon, snapping away on a hot pan.  Or maybe not.  I’ll let you mull it over.  Bacon has an interesting place in our society right now.  It’s band-aids. We imagine it as perfume. It’s a bra.  It’s art. It’s of the month.

I think, for me, it’s summed up best in today’s xkcd comic.

The bacon of choice for me is Taylor’s Amish-style thick cut.  I’ve since avoided buying it unless I know for sure I have a recipe for it and will not just eat it straight from the pan.  Sure, I adore veggies.  I eat them with abandon.  I love them.  I take pretty pictures of them.  But when I started cooking on my own?  Oh yes, there was bacon.  And it was good.  I won’t wear it as a perfume.  But it sure is good eatin’.

Theme Park means park food.  Disney World is just for kids.  And Disney sommelier?  Well, that’s just an oxymoron, right?  You wouldn’t be alone if you thought so, but you’d better think again.

Last October my wife and I attended Walt Disney World’s 12th Annual International Food & Wine Festival at the Epcot World Showcase.  By day we visited attractions and attended the festival.  By night we feasted in as many of the Signature Dining establishments as we could get reservations in.  We had an absolutely amazing time, and I’ve been blogging about it ever since.

Please join me now for a series already in progress that began here.

—————————————————————————————————————

I’d done North America from Canada to Mexico.  I’d been through South America by way of Chile, Argentina and Peru.  My tour of the southern hemisphere was rounded out by visits to Australia, New Zealand and South Africa.  On Day #7 of our trip, I woke up with dreams of the Far East.

Across distant oceans lies the world’s most populous nation and what Anthony Bourdain has called the mother of all cuisine, China.  In Epcot, it’s also home to a permanent pavillion in the World Showcase.

Chinese culture has affected western ways far more than the reverse.  Architecture or noodles?  Take your pick.

But one thing China hasn’t been traditionally is a wine culture.  The presence of its booth at the festival intrigued me.

I’d experienced South Africa’s chicken skewer and Chardonnay combination, so when I saw the same pairing here I decided to give it a try.  In this case, an authentically Chinese Chardonnay from the He Lan Mountain appellation was offered.

My Chicken Sha Cha came in a peanut sauce, and it was done just right with chewy edges and a juicy center.

After a bite, however, the wine seemed…undersaturated.  That’s polite, euphemistic winespeak for watery.  Onward, then, to my next stop: the island neighbor of my last.

Home of another permanent pavillion, your arrival in Japan is definitively marked by a 5-story pagoda with shingled eves as blue as the sky.  Here, you enter the serenity of gardens alive with the watery chatter of small falls emptying into shallow, rock-lined pools, and the occasional splash of a playful koi.

For the festival Japan, too, had a booth.

They may call sake “rice wine”, but to me its just grain alcohol by another name.  Show me the fruit!

Introducing: Takara Plum Wine.  It was dessert wine sweet, but not heavy.  Like plum nectar with a kick, it was elegant and balanced without any of that wineyness you might be inclined to associate with fermented fruit.  It came paired with a classic spicy tuna roll.

As I’d come to learn, what each booth really offered the interested visitor was a chance to experience a professionally arranged pairing.  Some bite matched with some sip in a way that was intended to better the both.  The secret for wine with spicy food is a bit of sweetness.  As incongruous as it may seem, one the best partners for a sizzling plate of Thai is a chilled, off-dry Riesling from Germany.

Rounding out my tour of the East was the nearest of the Far.  India’s booth burst from the bushes like a bull elephant.  There’s more to Asians than Orientals.

Here again I was on unfamiliar territory.  Indian wine?  Remembering Ms. Vivante’s affinity for France’s white lady of the Loire, I knew what to chose: the Chenin Blanc.

In this case, it was a Sula Vineyards Chenin Blanc estate bottled in Nashik, India.  I found it to be rich with fruitiness.  It was one of the more memorable wines I encountered at the festival, one worth looking up back home.  Though you’re not likely to find it in the grocery store or even a wine shop, you can get it on eBay.  From the winery: “Semi-dry, refreshingly light wine bursting with fresh, fruity characters which make for a delightful aperitif.  Pair with food that has a hint of sugar and spice, such as Southeast Asian or Gujarati dishes.  Serve well chilled.”

For the festival, Sula’s dance card was marked with a deep-fried Samosa (spicy pea and potato pastry) and Tamarind Sauce (just the “sugar and spice” called for).  Quite nice.

Another successful day at the festival, with a blog-worthy dinner yet to come!

-inspector vino

What a week. Here’s yesterday’s lunch. Kind of just threw it together. I was in no mood to be all that crafty with it. I’m going to start changing stuff up a bit soon.

Today, I wandered over to the local burrito stand in honor of a little si se puedeness. My coworkers were shocked. “Where are your sugar snap peas?!” What can I say? I like me some ‘rito. No taco trucks near by so I couldn’t support our local mobile taco vendors. Remember, carne asada is not a sin. Ms. Molina, what were you thinking?

On Monday, I went out to Los Feliz and had lunch with my brother at Niko Niko on Vermont.

The lighting was a bit infuriating, but no doubt about it, the seaweed was delish. Thank goodness for Photoshop.

And going even further back in time…

I went out for Fosselman’s with some friends on Sunday night. I had an olde tyme soda and ’scream. A had the choc. dipped strawberry. And T, bless him, tore through the monster pictured above. Hot fudgey boat of happiness.