BLOGSCHU

Creme Brulee Redux

A few weeks ago I posted a photo of a creme brulee one fancy restaurant served, in the words of one blogschu reader, in a jiffy pop tin. Now for a contrasting example of stellar presentation from my favorite neighborhood place.

Antica's Ruggero Gadaldi makes perfect, simple northern Italian cuisine that somehow always manages to have a fresh twist. His creme brulee incorporates a touch of blood orange - one of my favorite treats of the season. An inspired flavor combination was elevated by its ingenious presentation.

The custard was served in a hollowed-out blood orange. The visual and aromatic appeal adds to the appreciation of the slightly sweet citrus that makes a decadent dessert almost refreshing. And it was so fun to pick up a half-orange to spoon out every last bit.

Equally impressive and memorable to the previous presentation, for the polar opposite reason. Not sure the photo does it justice, but it was brilliant.

Auto Rock

I travelled to Boonville this weekend, in the heart of Anderson Valley, to pour the only Sonoma Valley wine at the Annual International Alsace Varietals Festival.  

It was amazing to be surrounded by a group of winemakers and wine lovers so passionate about wines that altogether probably represent less than a few percent of wines sold in the US. Even with all the buzz about alternative, aromatic whites, the few restaurants and wine shops that do embrace these varieties tend to focus on imports, but there are several excellent domestic bottlings that were on display this weekend.

Our cool site and unique legacy make us unique among our immediate neighbors in our ability and commitment to grow gewurztraminer, but up in the Anderson Valley, there are dozens of exceptional rieslings, gewurztraminers and pinot blancs to taste. There were dry and off-dry table wines and decadently delicious late harvest wines. Wines that I (and you) don't remember to drink nearly often enough, though they offer tremendous variety and are exceptionally food-friendly.

I promised myself I'd return to Anderson Valley soon with the free time to explore the wineries and the spectacular beauty of this place. It is only two hours from Sonoma, but something always makes it seem further away in my mind. That something is Highway 128.

Highway 128 is a one-lane slalom course through the mountains that separate Mendocino and Sonoma Counties. It can be a super-fun drive, if you dont get carsick, have a well-handling car, and there isn't a local bearing down on your back bumper for going too slowly. However, when you're running a bit late for an event and it is raining, it can be a bit stressful. The total lack of radio and cell phone reception mean that if you don't have company, you had better have some good driving music close at hand.

Which brings me to today's Music Monday. Mogwai's aptly-named 'Auto Rock' kept me mellow so that I was able to enjoy the beauty of the drive and take my time.

Local Joe

I absolutely love coffee.

I am fully dependent on it as well, mind you, but it is as much a great pleasure as a physical need to have a large cup every morning. No frothy espresso beverages are necessary, just a strong, brewed coffee with the tiniest splash of whole milk, and then the day can begin properly.

Given how much interest and energy I expend on food and wine, it is somewhat curious even to me how little I put into selecting coffee. I couldn't tell you difference between Ethiopian vs Costa Rican, and though I've been to a cupping, I found it completely impossible to get past two tastes without losing all sense of palate.

I know people who swear by specific brands and spend insane amounts on the machines, but I've never bothered with any of it.  I am not claiming to be low maintenance - its not like I buy the stuff in cans, and I really hate bad coffee, but I am uncharacteristically unexperimental in this area.  I determined my preference for French Roast long ago, and at the risk of losing all credibility with some of you, I admit that I regularly buy Starbucks, pre-ground, at the grocery store.

I know, I know.  All the Bay Area Peet's loyalists are appalled, but I find their roasts bitter. (There, I said it!) And while I have made many a well-intentioned purchase of brands promoted as organic and fair-trade, I have yet to find one whose flavors I appreciate as much as its practices.  And to those of you who insist on grinding your own, all I can say is you must be made of something stronger than I am if you can tolerate that sound in the morning, especially before coffee.

A few months back, I was invited to a fundraiser for Tel-Hi, an amazing community center that has been running health, food, education and art programs for the people of this San Francisco neighborhood since the days when Charles Bundschu lived just a few blocks away.  I won a gourmet basket in the silent auction full of local treats , including a pound of dark roast coffee from Graffeo Coffee Roasting Company.

Graffeo is a family-run company, founded in San Francisco in 1935. They still roast small batches of beans in a sparse, old storefront on the north end of Columbus Avenue. They don't sell cups of coffee and they only sell three blends: dark roast, light roast and decaf.

After a night of lots of great food and GB Merlot at that fundraiser, I woke the next morning in desperate need of coffee. I made that first pot of Graffeo and it spun my head around.

I am now a total convert. I still don't experiment, but you won't catch me buying Starbucks, or anything else, anytime soon.  I've bought bags for everyone in my family, and highly recommend paying them a visit.  Even if you can't make it to North Beach, they offer mail order on their website.

New Orleans Kitchen

New Orleans cuisine combines the best of its French ancestry (i.e. butter) with the best local ingredients (i.e. fish, shellfish and spices) to create what is arguably the most distinctive American regional cuisine.  Sure lots of places have a dish they are known for, but think about it. You could open a restaurant called New Orleans Kitchen halfway around the world and most people would be able to guess at least five or six dishes they'd expect to find on the menu: gumbo, jambalaya, red beans and rice, crawfish (etouffe, or just plain boiled), oysters, anything blackened, from fish to filet mignon. Can you think of any other US city that can say that? I can't.

On Superbowl Sunday, kitchens across the country were turning out cajun and creole specialties in honor of the Saints.  On CNN, James Carville and Mary Matalin were debating the proper way to make gumbo (not surprisingly, I agreed with James. The darker the better!) The game broke a 27-year record for TV audience (previously held by the finale of M.A.S.H.), and I'd guess it was likely a record day for national catfish sales as well.

Years ago, I got a tiny little photo-heavy New Orleans cookbook as a gift.  Its butter-splattered pages are a testament to how much I love those recipes. My all time favorite is barbeque shrimp, which despite the name has nothing to do with grilling. Basically it is shrimp sauteed in butter, beer, cayenne and rosemary, with a little lemon and parsley.  This recipe is pretty close, though I've never used celery and onions.

The people I was watching the game with usually frown on the idea of eating anything served swimming in melted butter. Health freaks. So with their eyes fixed on the game, I fried blackened redfish in butter instead. If they can't see the butter, it works best for all of us.

On the side, I made my own version of red beans and rice:

- saute onions, garlic, sliced okra, red pepper and tomatoes with bay leaf, pepper, salt and chili powder/cayenne until soft
- add broth and rice, cover
- separately cook and dice some andouille sausage
- when the rice is done, add a can of azuki beans (red kidney beans are too big to me) and the chopped sausage and heat through

I fully planned to drink beer, but we had a bottle of 2008 GB Chardonnay open while we were cooking, and it worked really well with the food, so we stuck with that.

It was all pretty easy and yummy, if not particularly authentic, but even so, the moment I set the plates down, Tracy Porter famously intercepted that pass, and it was as if we all were in New Orleans.

A Toast to the Pruners

The most sensible subject for this month’s club member letter is grapevine pruning; the paramount vineyard task every February throughout the wine growing regions of California. Choosing the optimum harvest day and how to prune vines are the two most important decisions a grapegrower can make with regard to the quality of his grapes.

Used to be (twenty years ago) that February was not necessarily the big pruning month; rather the task was spread throughout all dormant months, December – February. However, back then growers began to notice that over the years, their vines were being attacked by a fungal disease called Eutypa dieback, an ailment that doesn’t usually surface in a vine until it is ten or more years old. Imagine planting a new vineyard, waiting a few years for your first crop, enjoying just a few years of luscious growth and ample, full grape bunches before you observe the vines slowly begin to decline; in three or four years a vine can be dead.

This phenomenon became so prevalent that grower organizations began funding university research to learn more about the disease. The findings led to the reason why most vineyard pruning is now accomplished in February. It was discovered that Eutypa is spread by raindrops – ingenious Mother Nature. The fungus is common in most vineyards on the soil surface, on old vine clippings from the previous year, and even on the growing vine bark. When it rains, drops fall on the fungus, releasing spores into the air which can drift onto any new pruning cuts made on the vines. Once landing on fresh ‘wounds,’ the spores colonize and the vine is infected. If an infected cut is close to a trunk, in ten years the vine trunk is infected and it can no longer transport the nutrients it needs to survive.

In normal years, by February many rainstorms have already passed by, releasing most of the spores before there are no fresh pruning cuts to infect. The more drops that fall before you prune, the more the Eutypa’s ammunition for the season is depleted. Waiting until February to prune is now simple logic, and the best known prevention of infection.

Here on Rhinefarm, the men who do the pruning should be revered by all of us who enjoy the fruits of their February labor. Every cut they make on each vine can be reflected in your glass. A large disconnect is only natural, as they are standing up to their knees in mud on a cold, foggy morning, carefully guiding their shears to make just the right cut. We, on the other hand, are sitting at a comfortable table, a clean cloth and warm meal possibly set upon it, while the cork is pulled and the glass is filled, never giving the pruners a thought. Your pleasure can only be enhanced by reflecting on the great care of the February pruners, so let’s raise our glasses a little higher this month on their behalf.

Salud amigos,

Jim

Hooray Saints!

I love New Orleans.  I love the food, the music, the art, the architecture, the people, the whole steamy gumbo of it.

I don't give a hoot about football, generally, but I know how important the Saints are to the city. And I am well versed in the chant, thanks to a Gun Bun dinner years ago. 

In June 2005, a few weeks before Hurricane Katrina, Gundlach Bundschu held the first annual Wine Club Member Revel in New Orleans.

The concept of the member Revel is based on the old parties Charles Bundschu used to throw around the turn of the 19th century, hosting friends and family somewhere other than Rhinefarm to celebrate key events like an engagement, or the start or end of a voyage. They were usually grand dinners filled with the camaraderie of family and friends, and always involved some kind of performance, usually a reading poetry or singing songs. He called these gatherings Revels. We now hold these annually for 100 members of our wine club from all over the country; this year's trip to Chicago is long sold out.

That first Revel in New Orleans was full of amazing experiences, from the fais do do on a five-generation homestead on the Bayou to a long night of Sazeracs and Jazz that started at Brennan's and ended much later on Frenchman Street. But the most memorable was dinner at Muriels. Our party for 100 took over the top floor and balcony of the 200+ year old house that holds this fine creole restaurant. The group was divided between two grand rooms, with Jim and Jeff Bundschu each hosting half the group.

Somewhere between the second and third courses, the guests from Jim Bundschu's room each grabbed their napkins and paraded through the adjoining dining room swinging them high and singing, what else, When the Saints Go Marching In.

What ensued was a performance 'battle,' each room taking the opportunity between courses to stage a performance for the other. After several rounds of food, drink, and rapidly deteriorating performances, a New Orleans native (and dear friend) in attendance stood up to rally us for one last joint song. She explained that the one thing that always unites the people of New Orleans is their love of their local football team, the Saints. She proceeded to lead us in a call and response cheer that culminated with the now familiar refrain "Who dat, who dat, who dat sayin' dey gonna beat dem Saints?"

As I mentioned, I'm not into football, but tonight, I embraced the NOLA philosophy that any excuse for a party is a good one and made a dinner of a few of my cajun favorites (more on Thursday).  And when the Saints won their first Superbowl, I sang that cheer as loudly as a drunk fool on Bourbon Street.

What a way to kick of Mardi Gras, eh? That should be SOME victory parade.

Congratulations New Orleans! Two live songs this Music Monday to celebrate your triumph - Louis Armstrong, of course, and The Saints are Coming, performed by Green Day and U2 at the first Saints game in the Superdome after the storm. 

Presentation Matters

Imagine you go to a nice restaurant with friends.  Low lights, leather chairs, nothing on the menu under $20 and lots of unfamiliar words describing techniques and ingredients in complicated dishes.

The meal is fine, the company and conversation far more interesting, and you decide to linger and indulge in a little dessert.  You go for the crème brûlée. 

The well-dressed waiter announces the dessert and smiles as he places it in front of you.

Seriously, what is up with that? Is the dishwasher broken? Do they offer a takeout menu? Who on earth decided this was an appropriate presentation?

I laughed and took a picture (after the waiter was gone, of course) and took a bite. It was pretty delicious. So I got over myself and went for it. If they can serve crème brûlée in aluminim foil, I can drop my own facade of manners and run my finger on the side to get every last bit of it, right?

The part of the meal I can't get over though was the wine list. It was chock-full of big california names, with pretty healthy mark ups making most wines over $75 and many well higher. That wasn't suprising. What threw me was that there were no vintages listed on over 90% of the wines.  

I was scandalized, until almost everyone at the table assured me they rarely consider vintage when ordering in a restaurant. They usually aren't certain what differences to expect based on the vintage, or the producer and region (or price) are so much more of a factor that they often don't even register the vintage when ordering.

Would love to hear what you in the blogschusphere think about this.  How important is vintage to you in making an ordering/purchasing decision? Do you often see menus without vintage (or creme brulee in aluminum for that matter?) Do I need to get out of San Francisco more often?