Road trip

(Photo is of Trinidad beach)

It sounded romantic in a kind of cliched, middle-aged-woman-makes-a-voyage of self-discovery kind of way. But the romance wore off after about the first 30 minutes. My step-sister had decided to move to Portland, Oregon, and had asked if I could drive her car, a Ford SUV, up there while she and her sister, my other step-sister, drove the rental truck up.

I’d never been to San Francisco. I’d always been curious about Eureka and the Northern California coast, so I said yes and made reservations at bread and breakfasts along the way.

Did I discover myself? Yeah, sure, in the way we all discover ourselves when we see family after a really long time and we come face to face with the lives we’ve made and who we’ve all become. Did I need to drive 1,087 miles to do it? Probably not.

Day one

The trip started in the rain. It hasn’t rained in Southern California all year, but today – the day I’m leaving – it’s raining. Not just some silly drizzle. No, this is all deluges and windshield wipers furiously slapping the front window. I’m not all that fond of driving as a rule. I’m convinced every other vehicle is a potential agent of death and this type of high-strung paranoia gets exhausting to maintain after awhile.

The drive north on Hwy 101 starts off with a coastal drive for me as I head out of Ventura. The road winds through hills with dormant vineyards. Vineyards are really big in this area and there are tons of wine tasting places that I pass. But I don’t drink, so that voyage of discovery is docked.

I’ve decided that I’m going to try to discover little, local places as I travel. I’m booked at two bed and breakfasts, so two breakfasts are taken care of. I’m on my own for lunch and dinner. The rain is intermittent and breaks, making some incredible rainbows. I decide to get off the highway, finally, to take a picture and the rainbow disappears. Of course. The scenery is bucolic and hilly. I’m starting to realize that I’ve committed myself to a lot of driving. A whole lot of driving.

What am I? Nuts?

I’m also very, very hungry. I get off the highway at Atascadero. I start driving down a local street parallel to the highway. I’m prowling for local, homemade kinds of food. The Coffee House & Deli offers homemade sandwiches, looks promising and I stop there. It’s a create-your-own sandwich shop. I get my favorite: liverwurst with onions, mustard and mayonnaise on rye. Great sandwiches, like great breakfasts, are simple in concept and difficult in execution. This was a great sandwich, made just how I like it, with big slabs of liverwurst. I ate it with chips because I always have to have chips with my sandwiches, except for peanut butter and jelly. It was kind of hard to eat while driving and I dropped it, but that’s life on the road. I also got some quiche that looked like a big, crumb cake. I thought it would make a good snack for later. Unfortunately I never got around to eating it because I forgot to take it with me to my hotel room in San Francisco where it would have made a great dinner. Oh well.

Happy at such resounding success right out of the gate, I continued on to San Francisco. Here are some things I hate. Driving in the rain. Driving in the dark in an unfamiliar place. So driving in the dark in the rain really was no fun at all. I considered taking refuge in a motel, but my reservations in San Francisco were nonrefundable, so I pressed on. I stumbled into San Francisco, promptly getting lost. I drove around with the dome light on, map in lap, doors locked and finally got myself going in the right direction. I had passed really close to Haight and Ashbury – within a block. I also saw people all dressed up in sexual outlaw outfits – all leather and vinyl – just like those HBO specials. Note to self: Never, ever sit on a public toilet in this town.

I end up at the hotel, which doesn’t look too seedy. I have a nice, Victorian-y room with a big queen poster bed. You can see the people living in apartments right across the alley, Cool. I drop the shade and peek out but the people are boring. Just sitting around. Getting stuff out of the refrigerator. They close their blinds. There’s lots of city noise, traffic, sirens and it reminds me of New York City. I take of in search of the Zuni Café, which I’ve always wanted to visit. I go up and down Market Street – after I find Market Street – but I find nothing, at least it’s not well-marked. Driving is annoying. My step-sister’s car is a stick shift, which is as much of a pain in San Francisco as they’ve always said. The streets don’t allow for turning around. I’m tired. So I head back to the hotel, where I spend a restful night, or as restful as I can considering I never am able to relax in strange places.

Day two

I’m awakened at 6 a.m. to a ringing I never can figure out and at 8 I head down for breakfast, which consists of bagels, muffins and coffee. This is far short of bed and breakfast fare, considering that every po-dunk motel offers some kind of “continental” breakfast and they’re not billed as bed and breakfasts. I get a bagel and cream cheese and take it to my room, ignoring the “please don’t take your breakfast to your room sign.” After all I don’t really consider this a breakfast.

Yes, they really do have trolleys with Rice A Roni on them.

I head out to check out Union Square and look around. I have a strained ligament or something in my ankle, so I didn’t want to go too far, but I did want to take pictures. I saw real street cars. I would have ridden one, but I don’t know how and I’m a big chicken about doing things where I could look stupid and tourist-y and everyone looks at you with those annoyed how-stupid-are-you looks. I pass by a couple of breakfast places and although I’d like breakfast, I haven’t budgeted for it, considering that I was supposed to get breakfast at the hotel.


What's the deal with hanging laundry everywhere in Chinatown?

I took a small nap and headed out through Chinatown. I kept wanting to get out and explore, but parking looks impossible and I was too intimidated to even try. I passed by Fisherman’s Wharf. I did this so when we see it on TV or in movies, I can always tell my husband that I’ve been there and he hasn’t. I was really excited to pass over the Golden Gate Bridge and stopped and took pictures. I called my husband to tell him that I’d just crossed and he hadn’t and that I was a LOT cooler than he is. I headed north. I wanted to get to Eureka before dark so I could have a chance to look around.


Live, in person, the celebrated Golden Gate bridge!

The bagel breakfast, however, didn’t show any staying power and I really wanted something for lunch. In Cloverdale I found a restaurant in a mini-mall, Star Restaurant. I read menus like other people read novels. I scour them for the hidden meaning. What is the house speciality? What language promises something out of the ordinary. The hamburgers looks good. They were supposedly angus meat, freshly ground. I was asked how I wanted my burger cooked – a good sign because only restaurants sure of their meat sources can offer this any more. I was on the phone with my grandson when the burger arrived. My grandson is 10 months old and his favorite noise is Ba, said really explosively. He’ll say it back. So there I was going “Ba” in the phone right in the middle of the restaurant. I finally ended the conversation and turned to my burger.

I take my burgers very seriously. Ever since it became apparent that the ground meat supply is always potentially contaminated, hamburgers have become hockey pucks – nasty gray slabs of cardboard-like meat. To me, a great burger is cooked medium, with a little pink in the middle and plenty of juices running out. Paradise Café in Santa Barbara makes such a burger, which they grill over oak. It’s amazing and worth the trip every time. The Star Restaurant in Cloverdale makes another amazing ground meat masterpiece. The meat was as juicy and flavorful as any I’ve ever had. There was just the right hint of fat to really give the burger its buttery flavor.

I was delighted

I kept thinking of Warren Zevon’s last appearance on David Letterman’s show. Warren had been diagnosed with lung cancer and was dying. He apologized to the audience because the last time he’d been on the show, he’d said he had five months to live and here it was about 10 months (or something) later and he still wasn’t dead. But he assured his audience, he was going to die soon. Dave then asked Warren what, if anything, he was learning from dying. And Warren said that he was sitting one day having a sandwich. And it was a great sandwich -- really tasty. He realized that was what life was about – a great sandwich: It’s all about a great sandwich. This burger was that. It made the whole trip.

After Cloverdale the landscape becomes more rural. One thing I always do when I travel is fill the tank when it’s half empty. That way, it’s almost impossible to be stranded without gas. So full tank and belly, I headed out. I drove through redwoods. Somehow I expected more. Perhaps it’s because what I could see from the side of the road was regrowth. The road starts to get windy in Northern California, not my very favorite thing, because you can’t enjoy the scenery, what with trying to keep the car on the pavement. As I neared Eureka, I passed by a few logging towns. I was dismayed to see that even on a Sunday, the paper mills were spewing out smoke that settles in the valleys, making the air brown and hard to breathe.

Eureka is announced from the south 101 by Big Box stores and restaurant chains. I was concerned that this was the town, but as I followed directions to the B&B, the town became more residential. The downtown is quaint, but it is sandwiched between two stretches of highway retail detritus, which is too bad.

My bed and breakfast was the first experience with B&Bs. I’d read about them, but always felt weird about paying money to stay in someone’s home. I was intrigued because the couple at the Halcyon Inn had two rescued whippets, which visitors are assured, won’t disturb visitors. I was hoping they would disturb me because I love dogs. The house was 1920s era and furnished in a charming eclectic blend of kind-of period furniture. I was given the rose room, which had an attached bath. It was pretty and fun. The recommendation for dinner – I wanted seafood – was unavailable because the restaurant isn’t open on Sundays. So I went out driving and found the Waterfront Café and Oyster Bar.

It was in a nicely quaint building – I’d guess turn of the century – with tin-stamped ceilings – or at least they looked like tin-stamped. I ordered two specials from the list that was displayed on a portable chalkboard for customers.
The clam chowder was delicious – with a healthy hint of sherry – and the crab cakes were amazing. They were only crab meat with no discernable breading and the crab tasted fresh. The accompanying aeoli was rather drab considering how good the crab cakes were. The main course was scallops – supposedly scampi. As usual, I’d ordered too much and could barely eat a bite. It was a good thing because the scallops were way overcooked and rubbery, which was too bad.

I wandered around Eureka, checking out a coffee shop that appeared to cater to locals. It seemed Bill Cosby was appearing that night at nearby Humboldt State – so THAT’S were he is these days. I headed back to my room with lots of time to spare. There’s something to be said for wintertime driving. There are a whole lot of hours left in the day if you drive during daylight hours. But this was a great room for curling up with a book. Some were provided with the room, but I had my own and I found nestling down to be a great break in my travels.


This was a really comfortable place to nestle in for the night.

The breakfast was a beautiful presentation

Day three
The next morning I had the first official breakfast of my B&B experience – the San Francisco breakfast didn’t count. Mary – of Ike and Mary, proprieters, had poached a pear and was serving it with a fruit compote. It was an amazing presentation. But the pear itself wasn’t ripe – or even close, which made it less than appealing. The French toast was a bit dry for my taste. I don’t like over-soaking the bread in the egg-milk mixture, but you do need to take up some of it. I couldn’t help but miss the vanilla I put in mine. It wasn’t bad, but French toast is one of my signature dishes so I tend to be more picky. There was a lovely couple from Orange County who were also at the inn. They made some recommendations for me to visit.

After my morning nap, I was off again. I stopped by Trinidad beach, where the OC couple had had some fun. It was OK, but I wasn’t at the same spot they had been and I was getting worried about time, because I don’t like to be on dark roads in the Oregon backwoods after nightfall. I had even packed three big packages of trail mix and extra water in case I got lost or stranded. I wasn’t going to become the latest person lost on the back roads in Oregon. I read the news.

I passed the redwoods and went to a really cool rest area, where they were big. They’re also really dark, so I didn’t take a picture, although I regret that now. The 101 gets really windy and hard to travel north of Eureka. From there up north, the road is a treacherous two-lane nightmare of switchbacks and climbs and descents. Driving is not fun on these roads. There is no contemplating the scenery as you struggle to stay on the road. Breathtakingly beautiful? Yeah. Fun? No.


I really wanted some seafood and this place looked great.

I hit Crescent City with a serious hankering for fried seafood. I love fried seafood when I’m by the ocean. It’s leftover from the fried Ipswich clams of my youth, which I would kill for today. I was really excited when the first restaurant in the city was a seafood restaurant. I ordered the fried seafood combo, which was kind of disappointing. The cod was really good, but the shrimp and clams were generic and didn’t taste fresh. The clam chowder fell apart when it cooled, a sign of using cornstarch as a thickener, rather than the more traditional flour. But I was happy, nonetheless because I’d had my fried seafood. I only wished they’d had fried oysters, which are really good along the West Coast – at least they were in Newport, Oregon, the last time I visited. But maybe they weren't in season. Something about months with an R? Who knows.

After Crescent City, my path turned inland so I could get to Eugene and visit my brother, who I hadn’t seen in over 10 years. The road is two-lane for the most part and meanders by a river through the woods. While the online map people had alloted time that would have averaged 60 mph for the trip, the reality of the narrow winding road made progress much slower. In other words, YOU drive 60 mph back there, but I’m not going to.

I crossed the border to Oregon on the 199 highway. It’s not much of an impression, being out in the middle of nowhere with just some tiny little towns dotting the road. One thing I found especially hysterical – bear in mind that I’d been driving by myself for three days at this point – was that when you approach the little hamlets in Oregon there is always a sign that reads “congestion.” Pretty much if there are three or more houses together, there is a sign that reads “congestion.” This, in itself is kind of funny. But then I kept thinking I needed to get the state of Oregon some Claratin and there would be no congestion. Get it? Claratin? Congestion? I supposed this was what passes as the soul searching of yet another confused menopausal woman, or at least it’s the best I can do.

I was completely tired of driving on rural, scenic routes by the time I hit the I-5 in Grants Pass. But the I-5 still has its share of hills and curves, although nothing as bad as the 199. The Eugene exit came up by surprise and I was once again balancing maps on my lap with the dome light on. I didn’t see much of Eugene, but there is one thing I’d like to ask the city officials. Would it be too much to ask to have signs that are visible in the dark? Seriously. The type is tiny, the letters are dark against a dark background. It they are doing this to subvert a terrorist attack, I am here to assure you that Eugene OR will flummox the most ardent evildoer. Still, I made it to my brother’s house. I pride myself on my navigational skills, and they proved to be reliable as always.


Rodger and Amy's house in Eugene

My trip from here on out was all about family. I spent a great evening with my brother and his wife – and their two kids who are still at home. We had a great meal and caught up. It was a lot of fun.

Day four
I headed to Portland the next day, stopping at a horrible little place – Almost Home Restaurant & Steakhouse. The overflowing parking lot lied this time and when I went in I saw why. This was a basic restaurant that harkened back to the old days with bad bland food that older people just love. I was way less than impressed with my roast beef french dip sandwich, which pretty much put the Less in taste.


The sign said scenic spot, so I took a picture

I made it to Portland, with the snow-capped volcanos in the distance. I don’t know, after Mount St. Helens, they make me nervous. I was even able to find my step-mom’s house. Actually she hasn’t been my step-mom for over 30 years. But she’s pretty cool about keeping us in her lives considering that she’s under no obligation to do so.

Made it!! My step-mom's house and the car I delivered.

Of all the places I’ve found with my exceptional navigational skills, my step-mom’s house was the hardest. This is because it’s not on the street that the address indicates. You can’t even get to her house from the street it’s supposed to be on without going over and around few blocks. My mission was accomplished. I had delivered my step-sister’s SUV, which I’d grown to hate. It has no power, is a stick shift and it is ergonomically challenged. But it does handle well, and that’s worth a lot.

I spent the evening with my half-sister, her husband and kids – she has three now. My two step-sisters were there and they’re back to bickering. It’s bizarre. They’re almost in their 50s and they sound the same. The evening was kids, noise, catching up and good food. It really was – looking back on it – a rather fun evening in a chick-flick, feel-good-movie kind of way.

Everyone gathered to make dinner, just like The Family Stone or something


The lovely Miss Emma and her dad

The evening ended with my niece Emma coming to stay with her grandmom. She wanted to “get to know her aunt.” She’s a very sweet kid and I loved meeting her. She’s all gangly attention-grabbing goofiness, sweet and sincere and I relate to her as the oldest sister with two younger brothers. She will never be able to take men seriously. She will most likely always be a bit condescending because she knows just how truly dorky the male gender really is.

Joyce put me downstairs in her really nice basement and I perused the family scrapbooks she’s kept, including the ones chronicling her and my dad’s marriage. It’s kind of chilling how much time has passed, or maybe just humbling. It's an odd perspective to look back and it was a really great ending to my trip. I had a great time getting back in touch and I'm really glad it wasn't at some tragic family event as these reunions so often are.

Did I learn any great truths that I took back home with me? Not really. Everyone was still everyone, which is good because they’re all pretty decent people. No one is a big asshole, which is actually something to be proud of in a family. They all still have the same old quirks, but in my family they’re just quirks, not serious character flaws. We’re all just people trying to raise happy kids and lead relatively happy, productive, comfortable lives. That’s something.

More recipes -- beef stew and baked pasta

I've been cooking up a storm lately, mostly because I don't want to spend a lot of money on food. I'm also in full hearty winter meal mode, which means lots of stick to your ribs kinds of stuff. The stew recipe is distilled from the stew my former mother-in-law used to make, a Gaston stew where I misinterpreted the pepper corns for juniper berries, with really great results.

The pasta recipe is just something I threw together. It just so happened that we had book club the night I made the pasta and the hostess was serving lasagna she had bought from the store, so I asked if she minded if I brought leftover pasta. She didn't. Everyone seemed to like it. I used Dreamfields noodles, which I use now because of the fewer effective carbs.

Juniper beef stew

3 pounds chuck cut into 3/4 inch squares
flour to dredge
white pepper
sea salt to taste
1/2 cup olive oil
6 stalks celery, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 cups small carrots
2 onions cut into half inch pieces
3 cloves garlic minced
15 baby red potatoes
8 juniper berries crushed
3 bay leaves
1 tablespoon thyme
1/2 cup red wine
About 1 quart beef broth, or enough to come to the top of the stew

Dredge beef in flour, salt and pepper. Heat a few tablespoons olive oil in a large Dutch oven. Add beef in and brown in batches. Add more oil as needed. When all the beef is browned add onions and celery to olive oil, add more if needed and cook until starting to sweat, add garlic and cook until it becomes fragrant, being careful not to scorch it. Add beef and the rest of the ingredients and simmer. You can cook this for a couple of hours in a 300 degree oven, but you still need to cook it on the stove top to thicken the juices. Be very careful not to burn the bottom by stirring constantly.

Italian sausage pasta bake

1 box Dreamfields penne pasta cooked al dente according to package directions
1 pound sweet Italian sausage
1 large yellow onion, chopped
1 large bell pepper, seeded and chopped
3 minced garlic cloves
2 large cans Progresso crushed tomatoes with added puree
3 bay leaves
1 tablespoon oregano
1/2 cup red wine
1 pound shredded mozzarella
1 container fresh mozzarella
Parmesan cheese
8 ounces provolone

Remove casings from sausage and brown, breaking up into small pieces. Add onion and pepper and cook until onion starts to become translucent. Add garlic and cook until fragrant. Do not brown or it will be bitter. Add tomatoes, bay leaves oregano and red wine and simmer. Grease a 11X13 inch glass baking dish. Add sauce to bottom of dish and spread out. add half of the noodles. Add more sauce. Top with half of the cheese. Add noodles, sauce and the last of the cheese. Sprinkle with Parmesan last. Cook in 35o degree oven for 30 minutes.

Biscuits and gravy and other gross stuff

 

 

My husband has serious food issues. Rob pretty much doesn't like food. He likes candy, some meat, potatoes, barbecued beans and canned peas and corn and that's about it. I'm seriously not exaggerating -- the guy is developmentally disabled when it comes to food in that he hasn't developed his palate since he was 10 and lived on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

One of the few things he DOES like are (is?) biscuits and gravy. Not the biscuits and sausage gravy served at most breakfast places, no, his majesty likes bacon gravy and biscuits.

When I first was introduced to biscuits and gravy as an adult living in Colorado, I was repulsed. It sounded disgusting to me -- heavy gravy over thick heavy biscuits. The food is beige, so it would look ugly. There just didn't seem to be anything appealing about the idea to me. I actually worked up the courage to try the dish and my opinion hasn't improved with time.

But Mr. Food-issues loves the stuff, so I learned to make it. I make it on the rare occasions that Rob begs and whines so much that I actually will go to the trouble of messing up the kitchen -- and this is a messy dish -- to serve something I won't eat. I taste it to make sure I have the seasonings right, but that's about it.

Here's the recipe. Enjoy it, because I don't.

Bacon biscuits and gravy

1 pound thick bacon fried and drained
flour
about 1 or 2 cups of milk
pepper
salt

Drain all but about 1/2 cup of the bacon grease. Add flour and whisk, forming a roux. Add milk slowly, whisking. Add until you have a nice, thick gravy. Add pepper and salt to taste. Make sure to make the gravy pepper-y enough.
Make a batch of rolled Bisquik biscuits, according to package directions. Serve the biscuits with gravy ladled on top with crumbled bacon on top of the whole mess.

Merry Christmas

First, I'd like to say that my grandson is the cutest baby in the world. Second, we had a great Christmas. Nothing dramatic. No Big Presents. It was just us and various family members. Rick and Marilyn came out to spend a Christmas in California with their sons and they stopped by.

I took Courtney, Dave and Cody to the Grove in Hollywood. The picture with Cody is hysterical. Poor squished baby!

We spent a quiet New Year's Eve and I made wings, including my Asian-inspired wings, which are my favorites. The other wings I make are classical Buffalo hot wings. I served these with the requisite celery and carrots with blue cheese dressing. I added some Trader Joe's small tacos, which people always like.

I also made my signature New Year's Eve dish, pigs feet with sauerkraut, but, as usual, no one wanted to share it with me. Too bad for them.

Asian chicken wings

Large, family pack of chicken wings, cut into sections, wing tips discarded
Canola oil
soy sauce (I use Kikkoman reduced sodium)
Kikkoman Aji-mirin sweet cooking rice wine
One bunch scallions cut into 1/2 inch pieces
Fresh ginger root, sliced, about 6 pieces

Pour canola oil into an iron skillet or a good electric skillet to about 1/2 inch in depth. Heat until hot, but not smoking. Fry wing sections for about 15 minutes on each side until golden brown. Drain on paper towels. You can bake the wings, but they don't tend to hold together well when they're mixed with the other ingredients. In a large wok mix wings with enough soy sauce and sweet wine to cover them completely. Add scallions and ginger root and heat through. Remove ginger root before serving.

Christmas street fair

One of the things I love about living here in Ventura is the weather. Where else can you have a street fair for the Christmas holidays? OK anyplace in Southern California, Arizona, parts of Texas and Florida. Oh, never mind.
My point is that the weather makes the holidays all the more enjoyable. Yesterday Lindsay and I went with her fiance Ryan to get Christmas trees. It was a warm day. In fact, I wore my shorts and a t-shirt.

There are those who say that they can't get into the "Christmas spirit" without cold and snow, but I beg to differ. It's so much more comfortable to look for trees without freezing half to death, feeling every appendage go numb, losing all sensation in your lips and shivering uncontrollably.

I've bought trees in 0 degree weather wit blinding snow and I can assure you it becomes an exercise in pain. You basically pick the first tree you see because it's so cold. And the tree freezes in the tied-up position so it takes a few days and a lot of sappy water falling on your floors for the branches to come down and for you to know that you got a tree with a bald spot the size of Donald Trump's ego.

I was able to peruse the trees at my temperate leisure. I wanted an especially tall one this year because it's Cody's first Christmas and even though he won't remember it, he will always remember the sense of sparkly lights and everything being pretty and everyone being happy.

Kind of like the way I always thought -- and still do think that Christmas at my grandparents' was magical. My grandmother would get an enormous tree -- seriously to this day everyone says she got the biggest trees they'd ever seen -- it would be about seven feet wide and at least 15 feet tall. She decorated it with blue lights and silver ornaments, with lots and lots of tinsel. It was amazing and each year my brothers and I would run to sit under the tree. They had a little music box that played Hark the Herald Angels and had three kids singing under a lamppost. My grandparents said they were my brothers and me. I would sit for hours under that tree and play that music box. I treasure those magical Christmas memories and I want to make sure Cody treasures his.

Our California Christmas has some unique traditions. We always go for a walk on the beach. The kids go up to the hot springs on Christmas Eve. They won't go this year, for the second year in a row, because Courtney is pregnant again and can't go. Next year there will be two babies. Crazy.

Besides the street fair, I posted a picture of a peace rose I grew out front. I'll bet you're not seeing a lot of them elsewhere.

Travel piece

These photos are from a visit to Oceanside to see my stepsister Jennifer and her new baby Evan. My stepmom and half-sister were there along with one of my newphews. Below is a piece I wrote about that trip.

I took a one-day seminar from Laurie Buckle, managing editor of Bon Appetit and we were supposed to write a 100-word travel piece. I had just finished her six-week course four weeks ago, and was a little burnt out. I said something to Rob about writing a piece on my trip to Oceanside and how crappy the food was there. Everyone thought it was really funny and Laurie actually said it was the best thing see's seen me write. She didn't know where I could sell it exactly, but here goes:

Whenever I visit a new place the first thing I do is try to find local restaurants and examples of local cuisine. I eagerly anticipate the new culinary adventures awaiting me. After all, I watch the Food Channel. I read the travel pieces.
I was ready to be delighted as I traveled to Oceanside. I arrived late and asked the desk dude where to eat. It was about 11:45 p.m. He told me to try Angelo’s, but to hurry. “It closes at midnight,” he said.
I ran to my car and entered the Angelo’s parking lot at 11:50 p.m. I drove up to the suspiciously dark menu. I set my clocks according to the atomic clock feed we keep in the house, it was a good ten minutes before midnight, but a voice said “We’re closed.”
I drove up and down the Coast Highway, but all I found was a scary tuna sandwich at seedy, scary convenience store. It was either that or the ubiquitous petrified hotdog. Oh well, I thought, I could stand to miss a meal.
I started poking in the other direction from the motel and my heart leapt when I saw neon in the distance. Dare I hope? Could it be a McDonald’s. Could I be getting a Big Mac?
Nah. It was a Del Taco, which I resorted to as an emergency measure. The hamburger tasted like cardboard – more so than the usual fast-food burger. Oh well, I’d try culinary adventuring tomorrow.
I woke the next day and decided to bypass Carrow’s with its familiar breakfast menu. I went to the Jolly Roger restaurant in the Oceanside Harbor. I had a lovely harbor-side seat and the restaurant was all quaint and seaside-y. I ordered eggs benedict, my very favorite breakfast food. The waitress smiled conspiratorially, “Would you like extra sauce?”
“Sure,” I said. I love me some hollandaise sauce. My eggs arrived. They were perfectly poached on a nice, crispy English muffin, or what once had been a crispy English muffin, by the time I got to it the muffin had drowned in the sauce. The sauce looked unlike any hollandaise I’d ever seen, not even the canned kind. It was reddish/yellow and had a greasy consistency, kind of like melted butter, but a lot grosser, with not even a hint of lemon.
I scraped off as much sauce as I could, ate my eggs and played with the plastic hash browns. The breakfast proved a good investment, however, because I got a stomach ache that lasted the rest of the day and killed my appetite.

Happy Halloweenie

 

 

 

Breakfast places in Ventura

Here's another article I wrote for my food writing class. It's a guide to breakfaat in Ventura:

It’s the smells, the sweetness of pancakes and syrup, the tang of orange, the bitterness of coffee, the savory eggs and potatoes, that make a great breakfast as comforting and satisfying as a warm hug on a cold day. You’d think it would be easy, after all breakfasts tend to be fairly easy in concept, but as anyone knows who has had a disappointing plate of rubbery, cold bacon and congealed eggs served with leaden pancakes, it’s not so hard to make a bad breakfast.

A great breakfast needs to throw dietary considerations to the wind, which is why they should at most, be a once-a-week treat. Weekend breakfasts are a time-honored tradition, allowing for lingering over a cup of hot coffee with toast and the newspaper.

Ventura is a breakfast Mecca in the county. There are so many great breakfasts available, it’s almost impossible to list them all. This is more or less a list of just-breakfast places, that focus on the morning meal and in most cases also serve lunch: The kind of place that closes at 2 p.m. each day.

Pete’s Breakfast House is a local favorite and there are long lines each weekend morning. They serve up a great, traditional breakfast, but the charm of Pete’s is the casual “Everybody knows your name” atmosphere, where regulars shout greetings to people behind the counters. People rave about the omelettes, and the pancakes and waffles are very popular.

Allison’s Country Café is also popular with the weekend crowds. With its emphasis on their light, fluffy biscuits served with homemade raspberry jam that is available by the jar, this is a delightful, homey restaurant that is country without pretense or artifice. The menu focuses on eggs, waffles and hotcakes, along with the legendary biscuits.

Golden Egg Café is right down the street from Pete’s, which seems kind of a shame because it has never really had a chance to be considered on its own merits. There are outdoor tables available, which are pet-friendly. The menu features basic breakfast food and the bacon is thick and very nicely cured.

Art’s Corner Café focuses on customers. So much so that caricatures of regulars, drawn by area artist Chris Martinez line the walls. Art prides himself on his soft, fluffy pancakes and the French toast is the old-fashioned thin sliced bread kind. The chile verde is also featured, as well as really large portions of eggs, potatoes, bacon, sausage and ham.

Eggs N Things is a small Ventura County chain that is well-known by locals. They serve every customer a small Swedish pancake that’s served with a dollop of boysenberry jam. The eggs benedict can be a bit uneven, with eggs arriving at random stages of doneness. But the food is very good overall.

Café Nouveau has been discovered and it’s not going well. The delightful breakfast restaurant located in an old, renovated house with an exquisite outdoor patio is wonderful if you catch it at the right time. The menu is good, with breakfast burritos, eggs, French toast – the thick kind, but the service is quite spotty and can be downright rude. The lines on the weekend are long and the wait staff gets so flustered that they have trouble filling orders.

Franky’s Restaurant was long a Ventura favorite. But under new ownership, it's a shell of its former self, with a truncated menu and the elimination of the iconic fountain. The old staff is gone as is the tomato/basil dressing. The menu focuses on healthier choices.

Ojai travel piece

This is from my food writing boot camp class I took in West Hollywood. This was supposed to be a food/travel piece, but somehow the mention of how to get there using the scenic route was considered somehow irrelevant???? And the whole getting away from it all angle was considered trite:

Anyway, here it is.

Ojai: Getting away on a road less traveled

When life is too hectic, when traffic is too traffic-y, crowds are too crowded and you head’s wound so tight it could snap off with the slightest jostle, it’s time to get away. But this can’t be a getaway that causes more stress than it relieves. This needs to be a getaway that offers ease of access along with an entirely different, laid-back environment.
Ojai, California, is nestled in the mountains just north of Los Angeles in a place that seems far, far away from the endless mini-malls and big box stores that seem to be the norm in the Southern California landscape.
Getting there can be a delight. Sure, there is a more direct route – you take the 101 Freeway north to Hwy 33 and go on north to Ojai – but half the fun of getting away is getting there, especially if it’s scenic. Take the 101 Freeway north from Los Angeles. In Ventura, take Hwy. 126 to Santa Paula. Get off at the signs for State Route 150 and follow the two-lane marked road though the town and up into the hills.
This is a drive, with its Alps-like views, and a two-lane road that meanders alongside the Santa Paula Creek that can quiet the most stressed soul as soccer games and payback dinners fade into the background and an obligation-free weekend away beckons. In the spring the mustard weed blooms and the hillsides explode in yellow, rising into the deep blue that is the sky. Other times of year are equally delightful, unique and waiting to be discovered. The road rises through the hills and levels out in what is known as the Upper Ojai, a series of ranches set in a high valley, with fields of apricot trees and grazing cattle..
You pass by Beatrice Woods’ Ojai Foundation, the Boccali tree farm and end up at the village/crossroads of Summit, where a lone hamburger stand, which is almost always closed, sits by the side of the road. The road starts to wind again and right at the top is an overlook where visitors can view Ojai stretched out below, evoking a Van Gogh landscape, with its Medeterranian-style vineyards, fields of oranges and red-tile roofed homes all nestled at the foot of Topa Topa mountain, which forms a distinctive backdrop for the western half of Ventura County.
Highway 150 delivers visitors outside of town, where the road is lined by stone walls and the orange trees spotted from above. A local favorite, Boccali’s restaurant, which serves pizza and pasta where the not-so-secret ingredient is the homegrown tomatoes, is immediately on the left where the old California oaks offer dappled shade over the picnic area where diners enjoy their meals.
The center of town is heralded by the downtown arcade, with its distinctive scalloped arches facing Libbey Park, the heart of the town. Libbey Park is home to an annual tennis tournament, a music festival, Shakespeare and other performances in the small ourdoor amphitheater.
While Ojai is home to the Ojai Valley Inn, which is a high-end escape for the privileged, there are a number of smaller places available for the weekender. The Lavender Inn, 210 E. Matilija St., is a bed and breakfast that offers rooms that are as quaint as the bed and breakfast’s name. The inn offers cooking classes through the Ojai Culinary Institute, with such topics as farmers market specialties, Italian treats and holiday cooking taught by local chefs and food experts. But if even a cooking class is too much pressure, the Lavender Inn offers massages and other relaxing spa services.
After a morning of travel has generated a healthy appetite, it’s time to take a break and grab a sandwich or salad at Rainbow Bridge Natural Food Store, directly across from the Lavender Inn. The store offers a variety of organic foods and pre-made or made-to-order specialties. Take your lunch and head to nearby Libbey Park, where you can enjoy small town people-watching in the sun. If you’re lucky, local performers will be entertaining. You can stroll around the wooded park after lunch and visit the Libbey Bowl. The outdoor stage offers kids – and childlike adults – a chance to perform, if only for the local frogs.
Spend the afternoon shopping and browsing at the local galleries. Ojai is an artists’ retreat and there are many local artists who display their works. This is the kind of small town where shopkeepers are relaxed and friendly. Visitors have been asked to “watch the store” as owners run down the street to “grab a bite.”
One of Ojai’s great joys is the Pink Moment. When the sun sets on most days, the unique topography causes the rosy rays to appear to get trapped by the atmosphere, bathing the town in a pink glow. The very best place to watch this is Meditation Mount, a facility where people are welcome to contemplate the unspoiled view in the Peace Garden.
Dinner in Ojai offers a multitude of possibilities, from fine dining at Suzannes, Azu and Auberge to more casual, but still high-end fare such as that offered at Pangea or Feast Bistro. One thing about all restaurants in Ojai share is an emphasis on local fresh produce. Chefs tend to be inspired by the abundance and variety of vegetables and fruits that are locally grown and they use them well. Just outside of town is the Deer Lodge, 2261 Maracopa Highway (Hwy. 33) where wild game is prepared by a chef who is adventurous enough to offer a smoke trout chile relleno with a chili cream sauce that will have diners licking their plates.
After a good night’s sleep, wake up to a buffet breakfast at the Lavender Inn or try out the more traditional fare at Bonnie Lu’s Country Café or Eggs N. Things. After getting a bellyful, head to the local farmers market where vendors from local farms offer all kinds of treats – from fresh, locally grown apples and strawberries to root vegetables and a myriad of greens and herbs. This is a great place to gather flowers for the week or to stock up on salad greens and fresh, local eggs. Try out the “soap lady,” with her homemade soaps, the “salt lady,” who offers organic Celtic salts to be used as rubs alongside her many herbal potions, or the lavender booth, dedicated to all things lavender.
Ojai is nestled at the foot of Los Padres National Forest. There is a ranger station on Ojai Avenue, just outside of town where visitors can get day passes and directions to area trails. A number of hot springs can be hiked to in the area, along with a bike trail that runs from Ojai down to the ocean in Ventura.
If you’ve worked up an appetite from the morning fun, don’t overlook Rubens Burritos, which is a tiny little hole in the wall that serves huge and tasty burritos, or Ojai Pizza, which also has a great lunch menu.
You can head out of Ojai from whence you came, along Highway 150, or you can choose to go down Hwy 33 to where it swings by the ocean and runs into the 101 Freeway. Either way, the unique small-town charm of Ojai will stay with you – at least until the Monday morning productivity meeting.

The tale of fenugreek

 
  
This is the piece I worked on for Laurie Buckle's class in food writing. I'm having so much fun with this class.
At the local farmers market every Sunday in Ojai, California, is an organic produce booth. With its bunch of knit rainbow-hatted, dread-headed sales people, it is a Mecca for health food afficionados from around the artists’ enclave north of Los Angeles. Each week people clamor for the fenugreek, which is available alongside such exotic offerings as wild arugula, nettle, rosemary, cilantro, and other seasonal herbs and greens. The salespeople are happy to help customers who have questions about the more exotic or unusual offerings.
Fenugreek is used in both seed, dried and fresh forms extensively in Middle Eastern, Indian and Asian cooking. The Latin name is trigonella foenum graecum. Trigonella refers to the triangular flowers and foenum graecum means Greek hay, supposedly because it was used to sweeten the smell of inferior Greek hay, according to botanical.com Web site.
Fenugreek does have a strong, characteristic odor. Some say it smells kind of like maple syrup, and in fact, fenugreek is used to make maple syrup flavoring, but others find it has more of a earthy, curry-like smell, which is appropriate because fenugreek seeds are often used in making curries in India and Pakistan.
The leaves, also known as methi, are used in Middle Eastern cooking, often in stews. Fenugreek has also been used traditionally for various medicinal reasons and the powdered seeds are often sold at health food stores to lower blood sugar, as an anticoagulant and to help breast feeding mothers increase lactation, although the latter use is under debate. But the amounts used in cooking have little effect on health and fenugreek is added to increase the complexity of flavors.
Fenugreek seeds are a spice and fenugreek leaves are considered an herb. They can’t be used interchangeably.
“Fenugreek seeds are NOT a good substitute for leaves. Think of the difference in flavour between fresh coriander (cilantro) and coriander seed. You can use them as a substitute but you'll get a different flavour. If you do use fenugreek seeds DO NOT overheat them or you will really know what bitter tastes like. Add them with the liquid,” says David Smith of England, who writes and maintains the Web site The Curry House (http://www.curryhouse.co.uk)
Fenugreek has a rather bitter flavor, which can be off-putting for the American palate, but if you counteract the bitterness with other brighter ingredients, the resulting dish can be complex and delicious. And with many of the medicinal/health effects of cod liver oil, fenugreek not only adds to the flavor, but also to the nutritive qualities of the foods in which it’s used. A word of caution, though. People have noticed a distinctive smell to their sweat and urine after eating fenugreek, some say it’s like maple syrup.
Fenugreek is often used with potatoes. The guy at the Ojai produce stand recommended it in a potato casserole or in soups. Other recipes call for using fenugreek in dals, or the pureed lentil dishes that are often served in Indian cuisine. The following recipes take both of those ideas, Indian-style spices and healthy cooking concepts, to create dishes that have a depth of flavor that is rather unique to the Western palate.
This lentil soup recipe is low-fat (if you consider extra virgin olive oil a fat), is inexpensive and is actually a vegan dish that people who profess an allergy of all things labeled Health Food find tasty.

Lentil soup with fenugreek2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup chopped carrots
1 cup chopped celery
8 cups vegetable broth
1 16 ounce package lentils, rinsed and cleaned
1 teaspoon salt
1 heaping teaspoon garam masala
5 to 6 bay leaves
1 cup fresh fenugreek leaves

Heat the olive oil in a Dutch oven. Add onion and saute, add carrots and celery. Saute until vegetables start to sweat. Add minced garlic. Cook until garlic becomes fragrant. Add vegetable broth. Add lentils, salt, garam masala and bay leaves. Cook for 30 minutes on medium heat, stirring occasionally. Add fenugreek leaves. Cook an additional 15 minutes or until lentils are tender/chewy.
Serve with pita crisps

Pita crisps
Cut 4 pita rounds into fourths and divide each fourth into two pieces. Spray cookie sheet with olive oil. Place pita pieces smooth side down on cookie sheet. Spray pita with olive oil. Sprinkle with granulated garlic powder (not garlic salt). Cook in 350 oven for 8 minutes.

Using butter with extra virgin olive oil raises the burning temperature of the butter, making it suitable for longer term higher temperature cooking. Plus this is a really easy way yo get the taste of ghee (clarified butter) without going through all the trouble of making your own. You can use extra virgin olive oil exclusively to make the recipe healthier. The Vindaloo seasoning is an Indian-style spice mix from Penzey’s spices, which carries a wide variety of curry spices.

Potatoes with peas and fenugreek

6 medium waxy potatoes, such as red or yellow potatoes cut in 3/4 inch pieces
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1½ teaspoons Vindaloo seasoning
1 cup frozen peas
½ cup fenugreek leaves
½ cup spring onions, coarsely chopped (Scallions can be substituted)
Sea salt to taste

Boil the potatoes in salted water for about 4 to 5 minutes. Drain and start to fry oil/butter mix in a heated skillet. Add Vindaloo seasoning and cook until potatoes start to brown. Add peas, fenugreek leaves and spring onions. Cook until peas are thawed. Salt and serve.

Just some photos for now

I've been busy taking a food writing boot camp course with Bon Appetit Managing editor Laurie Buckle. It's a total blast, although it's in L.A., which means I have to overcome my fear of driving there -- I'm not down with the insanity of the L.A. interstate system. The drive gets longer and longer each time and I leave earlier and earlier and get there later and later.

These pork chops are made with some purple peppers I grew, along with some green ones. I added onion and apple and made a wine reduction. It was really nice with pork chops, which I just sauteed in some olive oil.

The flourless chocolate cake comes from Bon Appetit magazine. It's amazingly easy and insanely rich. I added the raspberries, along with a little raspberry extract in the ganache. A slice of heaven.

Cody: The Da Vinci of Drool

Technical note: HA! Blogger! I tired to upload photos in Explorer -- no dice; in Firefox -- no can do. But I will not be defeated, so I went to Picasa and uploaded through there. But STILL not happening. So I copied and pasted the code, which appears in Picasa. Opened a post and pasted the code into my blog.
Ha! Ha! I have pictures!.
Each victory of the tyranny of machines/computers must be celebrated.

 
 
 
  

I spent 10 days in Ohio visiting my daughter Courtney and her husband, Dave, and preparing for the baptism of Cody: The Wonder Baby.

First, I'd just like to join all the grandparents who went before me in saying that my grandchild is the most beautiful baby EVER. While my parents were never down with the whole grandparent thing -- at least not when it came to my kids -- I've decided to take the pendulum back to the other side. My grandchild can suck his toes with a pensiveness that belies great genius. And drooling? This baby is the Da Vinci of drool.

All of Cody's grandparents and parents descended for his baptism and I was in charge of the food. This meant a lot of shopping in Ohio, which is kind of fun, but harder than I remember with a baby (Oh yeah, when I had my babies, we were so broke that shopping was out of the question.)

Each time I visit the Midwest, I'm reminded why I really hated that part of the world. The weather is way too dreary and I feel trapped. There's something about being able to look out over the ocean that is liberating.

I bought a Honeybaked Ham (my favorite), bread, cheeses and crackers and chips. I made potato salad and a pasta chicken salad. I serve hamburgers and hotdogs, which were OK, especially after we got propane for the grill.

Everyone seemed to have fun. I avoided the volleyball game: I had visions of my ex-husband's current wife cramming the ball up my nose (or me hers), and most parties don't need that much drama.

It was a great party and Cody entertained his guests with a precocious ease -- but then when chewing one's finger is all you need to do to enthrall the crowds ...

Chicken pasta salad
Two boxes of tri-colored rotini, prepared according to directions until al dente
Meat from six cooked chicken leg quarters or the equivalent (cook the chicken in a 350 degree oven for about an hour to an hour and a half).
1 cup chopped celery
3/4 cup slivered, toasted almonds
About 2 cups of grapes sliced in half

Salad dressing
2 cups mayonnaise
1 cup sour cream
1 to 2 tablespoons Garam masala powder (Curry powder can be substituted)
Mix together.

Mix together the cooled chicken, prepared pasta, celery, almonds and grapes. Pour salad dressing over and toss until everything is well coated. You can dress up the top with grapes and almonds if you wish.

Peachy problem

Here's my problem. My peaches took forever to ripen this year because of a late, rainy spring. They just started getting ripe last week. But I have to be in Ohio for my grandson's baptism. After waiting a year, I want my peaches.

My peach tree is a source of great pride and joy for me. When we moved into our house five years ago, I went to Home Depot and found these sticks they were claiming were fruit trees. For $4.99, I figured, "What the hell" and bought one. I planted it in our front yard in front of the picture window. I optimistically reasoned that if it grew into a tree, it would provide a screen.

My neighbors laughed. "What's that supposed to be?" they said. "A peach stick. What does it look like?" I replied. I mean, seriously.

I nurtured my little stick. The first summer it produce just one peach. One perfect, sweet Zen peach. I was delighted. Then the little stick took off. Now it's a decent sized tree screening my front window. The neighbors look on with awe and covet my peaches. But no dice. These puppies will be lovingly put up by me.

But I'm in Ohio and can't collect my fruit. I gathered a bunch up before I left; skinned, pitted and trimmed them and I stuck them in the refrigerator. I'm hoping they'll last until I get home. They're a bit more buggy than normal. I don't use spray -- not because of any fervor -- but because I can't figure out how to use the sprayer. But I cut all the bug parts out. Rob says you'll get peach worm eggs if you eat them and they'll grow in your body and kill you. Sigh.