tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76358051608140072002024-02-19T11:58:18.223-05:00A Hungry GirlLora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.comBlogger159125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-823902860766990662012-06-04T12:09:00.000-04:002012-06-04T12:09:21.177-04:00<a href="http://www.latimesmagazine.com/2010/05/chasing-the-dragon.html">Chasing the dragon</a>Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-60990688855293224812012-05-18T08:53:00.000-04:002012-05-18T08:53:28.337-04:00Travels with Lora, by Jay McInerney<h2>Travels with Lora</h2><div class="post-body"> When I first met Lora Zarubin I never could have imagined that we would find ourselves locked in adjacent cells in the police station of a provincial French town at 3 in the morning. In fact I never thought I’d see her again after our disastrous first encounter, which took place in 1995 at the Grill Room of the Four Seasons hotel. My friend Dominique Browning had recently been appointed editor in chief of House and Garden and she’d decided to ramp up the magazine’s coverage of food and wine. She’d already hired Lora as food editor and Lora was quite adamant that there should be a regular wine column. Dominique, a longtime friend, knew about my passion for wine, and she thought it would be interesting to have someone outside the field write about it. When she proposed me, Lora and some of the other editors were aghast. I was known for, among other things, for writing about people who abused controlled substances and Lora found it hard to believe I knew much about wine. I had a reputation as a party animal; no one had ever accused me of being a connoisseur.<br />
When we got together for lunch with Dominique, I confirmed all of her worst suspicions. I’d been out until the wee hours with my friend Bret Easton Ellis the night before and I was not, as we say of certain wines, showing very well. I was kind of a wreck and not entirely able to hide it. We were in the Grill Room at the Four Seasons, surrounded by moguls sipping mineral water. I felt seriously misplaced and miscast. There were Mort Zuckerman and Mort Janklow and Henry Kissinger. And downtown fuckup brat pack novelist me. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk about wine, much less drink it. However, I was eventually able to impress Lora somewhat with my knowledge. Despite my condition I guessed the provenance of a glass that was given to me blind. I think the only person more surprised than Lora when I identified the wine correctly was myself. One would have to say it was a grudging admiration at best, and I believe Dominique gave me the job over Lora’s protests, but suddenly we were colleagues. Neither one of us could have imagined how intimate that association would become.<br />
Lora was appalled at my lack of knowledge and enthusiasm for California wine so she dispatched me there to begin my education. From the start our respective roles in the Conde Nast hierarchy was ill defined. As food editor and full time employee she had a kind of supervisory role over my column. I guess she thought of herself as my boss, whereas I thought of her as my assistant. Luckily, I knew more about wine than she did. Not much more, but enough. On the other hand she had an extraordinary palate; she was a great blind taster and was able to parse out the scent and flavor components of wine better than almost anyone I’ve ever known. She was also a great cook, an utterly passionate about food; I didn’t know all that much about food, wine’s boon companion, and Lora, who had once owned a restaurant in the Village, was to become my tutor in the joys of cooking and eating, although not without a fight, or rather, many fights along the way. So far as I know we were the only two Conde Nast employees who were sent to couples counseling by our editor.<br />
I’m still not sure how Lora became my travel companion, how she convinced Dominique to pay for her to accompany on all wine-related trips. I think she must have suggested to them that I wasn’t to be trusted on my own and it’s true that I’m very absent minded and badly organized. Lora is the opposite. I don’t want to say she’s anal retentive, but on the other hand I can’t think of a better phrase at the moment. She organized the trips, made the calls, held the tickets until the gate, and drove the rental car. She hated my driving and early on banned me from the driver’s seat. I was happy enough to be the navigator and happy to have everything taken care of. For the next twelve years we logged tens of thousands of miles across Europe, the States and South America. We visited the best winemakers in the world, people like Angelo Gaja, Robert Mondavi, Richard Geoffroy (of Dom Perignon) Helen Turley and Baroness Phillipine Rothschild. We became friends with these people, some of them early in their careers. We dined with them at some of the best restaurants in the world. We drank too much with them. We even flirted with some of them. At least I did, and in fact I would have gotten lucky on a number of occasions if not for Lora’s interference. Just when I thought she was asleep, she would rise and bang on the door of my hotel room to ruin my seduction of a hot young Prada-wearing winemaker in Barolo. She was determined not to see me sleep with anyone I shouldn’t be sleeping with, although she didn’t always succeed. She claimed it wasn’t professional, but her own vehemence seemed strangely personal, her ostensible jealousy all the more interesting since she was gay.<br />
Lora somehow imagined that she was in the closet when I first met her, or else she imagined that I was too much of a heterosexual clod to notice that she was gay. About two years after we started working together we were on a wine trip in the Napa Valley and she made me sit down and watch the two-hour “coming out” episode of the Ellen Degeneris show. It was her way of letting me know. “Well, hon,” she said, afterward—she called everyone hon—“can you guess what I’m trying to say?” I pretended to be surprised, and we had a weepy, huggy scene and opened a bottle of Dom Perignon. I became the confidant of her love life, and she of mine. My third marriage was starting to unravel during the years I first traveled with Lora and she listened to the whole story. She was a wonderful confidant and advisor, and probably should have gotten extra pay for all the listening she did. <br />
Food was an important part of our bond, almost as important as wine, though we didn’t always agree on what, or how, to eat. A disciple of Alice Waters of Chez Panisse fame, Lora believed in simplicity of preparation and presentation. She loved to grill over an open fire; she often told me that one of the most memorable meals we shared was an outdoor asada, a cookout of virtually ever part of a recently living cow on the slopes of the Andes in Chile. She believed that the best restaurants in France were one star or no star, that these were the places one was likeliest to find honest, regional food, whereas I loved the haute cuisine and drama of the two and even three star places. We were always struggling and clashing on this front. As she told a friend recently, “Jay believed in treating himself well, very well. We might have had four hours of wine tasting along with eating the food that gracious vintners always offer but Jay had to end the day with a two star meal. Often Jay ended up eating alone or inviting a stranger to join him, even if that stranger spoke a language he didn’t in a country we knew little about.” <br />
One night I convinced her to go to a famous two-star restaurant in Avignon and it was hard to know who she was madder at—the chef, or me. “This food is so phony,” she said, loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear. “It has no soul. It has no sense of place.” She was right about that one, though she grudgingly came to admire Alain Ducasse’s three star restaurant in Paris, one of my favorites, even as I came to see the point of her no star crusade. One of the best meals we ever had was a lunch at Elizabeth Bourgeois’s unstarred restaurant in Provence, sitting out in the courtyard surrounded by birdcages and trees laden with cherries. Laura somehow knew about the place—I think she’d been there before. We started out with the best tomato soup I’ve ever had in my life, accompanied by a local Viognier, and later, after one of the best meals I’ve ever had in my life we drove a few miles up the road to visit the man who’d made the Ligonier and taste more his wine.<br />
Our split on the Michelin star issue may have partly reflected the fact that she was the keeper of the expense account, the one who had to go back to New York and try to justify a nine hundred dollar meal at Taillevent. We both became prisoners of our roles in a way, me acting the part of the spoiled epicure, Lora taking the part of the disciplinarian, although were usually able to see the humor in the clash. Not infrequently we would drop the roles and collaborate, when we saw a particularly amazing bottle of wine on a list, calculating how much Conde Nast would be willing to bear and how much we would thereafter chip in together to get what we wanted. Such was the case when we were dining at Beaugravieres in the Rhone Valley, which is famous for its wine list and for its way with black truffles during the season. We, naturally arranged to arrive during truffle season. We knew that the 1989 Chateau Rayas on the list was a relative bargain at around two hundred dollars but we knew there was no way the magazine would pay for that and the truffles so we asked the proprietor to cut the bill in half; the magazine would pay for half and we would split the other half. <br />
Memorably, there was no argument about the bill or about anything else when we shared Easter lunch, 1999, at La Tour D’Argent, looking out the window at Notre Dame and listening to the bells. (I wasn’t even annoyed when she told me that I didn’t know what it was like to be raised a Christian. I had to remind her that Catholics were Christians; Lora had been raised in a strict, fundamentalist household, a source of much guilt and torment later in life.) We agreed that the pressed duck wasn’t the best thing we’d ever eaten together but it was absolutely essential that we order it, the restaurant’s signature dish. <br />
As with so many other foods, Lora introduced me to black truffles, and decided that we should make a pilgrimage to the source, namely Perigord, also noted for its gut-busting cuisine, much of which involves ducks, geese and their livers. (I’d discovered white truffles on my own, more or less by accident, when I was on a date shortly after I arrived in Manhattan and a waiter offered to shave them on our pasta. I nearly had a heart attack when the bill arrived but I craved them from that day forth.) Lora had somehow befriended the Peyberre family, truffle dealers extraordinaire, and we had we had an extraordinary dinner at their home in Perigueux during which we stood beside the stove with Madame and learned seventeen uses for black truffles, while drinking copious amounts of Cahors, the inky Malbec of the region. <br />
Typically, somewhere around the fifth or sixth day of travel, of eating two big meals a day and drinking like fish, Lora’s liver would give out and she would have a meltdown. She would scream at me, threaten to go home, threaten to quit her job. Sometimes it would happen when I failed in my role as navigator and we found ourselves stranded on a dirt road in Tuscany with no clue as to our whereabouts. Sometimes it was a disagreement about a particular wine. Sometimes it was the matter of the hotel room. She was convinced that sexism was at work whenever I got a better hotel room than she did. A simpler explanation, possibly, was that my reputation as a novelist was sometimes responsible. My books were very popular in France and Italy, which were our most frequent destinations. But when I tried to suggest this to Lora she told me I was being self important. One of the more curious aspects of our relationship was her conflicted feelings about my reputation as a novelist. At times she would brag on me, and my novels, and at other times she would seem to deny that it was possible that anyone could possibly be aware of my other line of work. I think its possible she was jealous of this other career, the one in which she didn’t participate.<br />
Lora was a witness to the disintegration of my marriage; and when I finally sold the four bedroom apartment uptown that I’d shared with my wife and kids, she found me an apartment in her own building, the London Terrace in West Chelsea. We liked having one another as neighbors although she came to regret the fact that I was directly above her; she claimed to be able to distinguish the mating cries of the different women who visited me, and even when I was alone she claimed that I thumped and stomped on her ceiling. At least once or twice a week though, finding myself alone, I would go downstairs with a bottle of good wine and she would cook for me, a ritual we repeated on Sept 11th, 2001, after we watched the towers fall from our picture windows. She ran upstairs to wake me after the first plane hit, but I was already up, earlier than usual, and I’d seen the first plane hit while I was standing on a chair in front of the window trying to fix the chain on my blackout shade. That night we opened the best stuff we had handy, a bottle of 1982 Lynch Bages from my stash, a bottle of 1990 Jaboulet Hermitage La Chapelle from hers. We figured we’d better seize the day, the future being very uncertain. It’s a principle I have tried to continue to observe ever since.<br />
~ ~ ~<br />
That fall, on a trip to Alsace, we spent the day with the great Olivier Humbrecht and his beautiful English wife, drinking old wines and eating the first white asparagus of the season. I think we were both pretty hot on Olivier’s wife. We had some the best white asparagus I have ever had in my life, washed down with a spectacular 1990 Zind Humbrecht Muscat. That afternoon we drove two hours south to visit Bernard Antony, a great affineur, or cheese master. Antony served all cheese dinners for a perhaps a dozen guests a few nights a week and Lora was determined to dine there, distance be damned. We had a hell of a time finding the unmarked house in the little town of Vieux Ferrette, but eventually found Antony, who took us on a tour of the caves under his house and eventually served us some forty or fifty cheeses, and a great deal of wine. Antony kept opening special bottles for us once he learned that we were wine buffs. I remember a perfect farmhouse Munster, which he served with a Riesling from Boxler, and a soft, creamy Brie de Meaux with a Trimbach Pinot Noir. After a three-hour cheese bacchanal Lora once again insisted on driving us back to Strasbourg. An hour later we were pulled over at a roadblock. The cops had no choice but to arrest Lora once they got her blood alcohol reading. <br />
“What about your husband,” asked one of the cops hopefully? “Maybe he can drive.” The last thing they wanted was the headache of dealing with foreigners, of processing our arrest. Unfortunately my blood alcohol level was higher than Lora’s. So we spent the next few hours at the police station, talking with the cops and periodically blowing a new test. We spent our first hour in adjacent cells but eventually they deemed us harmless and let us hang around the office. None of the cops seemed to speak English and we both speak pretty bad French but I recall a lively and intricate conversation with the gendarmes that night. I remember that Lora kept telling that I was very famous writer, which seemed to impress them, France being one of the few countries in the world where writers rank high on the social scale. Finally, close to dawn, they dropped us off near the car and told us to get out of their jurisdiction. I promised I would get my French publisher to send them some books but somehow I never got around to it. <br />
Every year or two one of us would threaten to quit the magazine after suffering some slight at the hand of the other. After I missed a plane to Paris, where I was supposed to meet Lora to write about wine stores, I explained that the fax they’d sent me had been blurry and I read six thirty as eight thirty. (Actually true, I arrived at <span class="caps">JFK</span> at six thirty, having just missed the flight, and finding that the cheap ass ticket they’d bought for me was non transferable.) No one, especially Lora, seemed to believe me. I was unable to reach her that night and she went absolutely ballistic when I reached her in Paris the next morning. Indignant at this lack of trust, I threatened to quit. When she finally returned Dominique prescribed—insisted upon—couples counseling for the two of us, and offered to pay for it, or rather to have the magazine pay for it. We did three or four sessions and they helped a lot, though we still had one or two breakdowns to go.<br />
I was staying in the Beverly Hills Hotel in October 2007, doing a gig at the LA Library, when I got an e-mail from Lora with the subject line <span class="caps">HAVE</span> <span class="caps">YOU</span> <span class="caps">HEARD</span> <span class="caps">ABOUT</span> <span class="caps">THE</span> <span class="caps">MAGAZINE</span>? When I reached her she told me she’d been called into a meeting in Dominique’s office that morning where the staff had been told that the magazine was shutting down. We’d been hearing the rumors for years and were almost inured to them. Almost from the moment Dominique had taken over the magazine her rivals had been predicting its failure, but she’d lasted for twelve years, as had I, which, when I thought about it, surprised me. Writing a wine column seemed like a lark and I certainly hadn’t intended to stretch it out this long. I didn’t know until it was over that it had been one of the great adventures of my life. <br />
I was fortunate in having a parallel career, but I worried about my colleagues and about Lora in particular. Eventually, she found a job with the L.A. Times as a Food Editor, just in time for its bankruptcy filing. She commissioned wine pieces and complained to me about the quality of the writing. I saw her a couple of times on trips to Los Angeles. We went to the opening of Thomas Keller’s Bouchon in Los Angeles, but it only served to make us nostalgic for the multi-course feasts we’d shared at the French Laundry in Napa. I’d made the mistake of inviting a group composed of individuals all of whom were easily as high strung and neurotic as Lora herself—not that hard to do in L.A., actually—and no one really seemed to click. Lora seemed to be in a bad mood; she eventually told me the newspaper was hemorrhaging and that her salary had been cut in half. In 2010 she moved back to New York to work as a personal chef for Annie Liebowitz, an old friend. She’s recently been working hard at creating the perfect loaf of sourdough bread and judging he samples she dropped off at my house in the Hamptons this summer I’d say she’s getting close. We talk about doing a project together; a movie producer who was at the dinner at Bouchon later expressed an interest in commissioning a screenplay about our travels together but that idea seems to have gone the way of most Hollywood pitches.<br />
Now, when I visit a wine region, I don’t have to worry about anyone else’s itinerary; there are no fights about driving, or choosing a restaurant, or expenses, no jealousy about rooms or waitresses. I still love to discover new wines and to meet the people who make them, to share meals with them and walk their vineyards, although now and then on these journeys I feel something, or rather, someone, is missing.<br />
<br />
An Essay from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Juice-Veritas-Jay-McInerney/dp/0307957284/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1336844472&sr=8-1"><span class="caps">THE</span> <span class="caps">JUICE</span></a> 2012<br />
</div>Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-36307227768377225652011-10-21T12:03:00.004-04:002011-10-21T12:12:53.144-04:00Apple Pie Contest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yV-JNtyI-fb5uscaFyJ3Q-1FmGbasL-Hf6cDEXrWeEsWNxr0uhAgZTsrsVCMuvnuEoSqk7AKS95aTrdsElOzPRV6Cc3U1Ha2nL1AH3JFYy8HB12JrKoT5dmeCLdgO8iXAP4JOOn69zrj/s1600/IMG_1088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yV-JNtyI-fb5uscaFyJ3Q-1FmGbasL-Hf6cDEXrWeEsWNxr0uhAgZTsrsVCMuvnuEoSqk7AKS95aTrdsElOzPRV6Cc3U1Ha2nL1AH3JFYy8HB12JrKoT5dmeCLdgO8iXAP4JOOn69zrj/s320/IMG_1088.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I’m not competitive…I just avoid competition because I hate to lose. There are, however, certain temptations and recently Montgomery Place Orchard in Red Hook New York, presented me with one I couldn’t resist. Every September the orchard puts out a clipboard with a sign up sheet for their apple pie contest. I love their many variety of apples and I’ve often considered the contest. How hard could it be after all? I’ve made dozens of delicious pies in my time and I’m especially good at a tart tatin. There was no category for tart tatin at Montgomery Place; the only categories were traditional double crust or crumb top. I went for the double crust. </div>Montgomery place sells a variety of familiar apples like Empire, Fuji, Gala, Jonagold and Golden delicious but I get excited by the less familiar varieties --Esopus Spitzenburg, Karmijin de Sonnaville and Ananas Reinette to name just a few.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUHBgsa455EWWKRXWS9tjz_5z44NS67-aoeYW81Ew548sjhdy_JFJyQn_4lT2mIHLwKjoARoGqQDMObMDc7sPsye9sNYKqSMRB1CoLwcanxxvM5CWqAxh3dIGhyphenhyphenQJadvKeVLPaY1QIwLVm/s1600/chestnut+crab+apples.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUHBgsa455EWWKRXWS9tjz_5z44NS67-aoeYW81Ew548sjhdy_JFJyQn_4lT2mIHLwKjoARoGqQDMObMDc7sPsye9sNYKqSMRB1CoLwcanxxvM5CWqAxh3dIGhyphenhyphenQJadvKeVLPaY1QIwLVm/s320/chestnut+crab+apples.jpg" /></a></div>I noticed some chestnut crab apples, a small variety with an intense flavor that matches my idea of everything an apple should be and taste like. This was the first time I had noticed them. They are crisp, not too sweet and I decided that this was the apple I would use for the contest. <br />
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If you sign up for the contest Montgomery Place gives you a free peck of apples. I took my peck and then bought all the remaining chestnut crab apples they had to make sure I’d cornered the market. Not that I have a competitive nature or anything.<br />
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My apple pie testing began. My normal crust is part butter and leaf lard. I tested a few varieties of this crust, with different sorts of butter and varying proportions of butter to leaf lard (I use the leaf lard from Flying Pigs Farm at the Union Square Greenmarket in NYC). I also tried out different flours. The final crust was perfect by my standard, flakey, a bit savory and not too sweet.<br />
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The apples cooked beautifully. All I added to them was some maple sugar, brown sugar, thyme leaves and a little flour for thickening.<br />
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I felt confident this was the best I pie I could make so and I was ready to bake for the big day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDpY8pKBhzvQNPjlXN8m9rc1A72xjXAC5JCfPhPQWh1JNCeNt52aulqu7bhI9bH20yUE6YnVZG6seqbQkPGxbbNLikzSmJI-4DpGd_hM-JvC_kbvBFw5o-jXhR8e6uc0gS6yTQyv0m11M/s1600/my+pie.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDpY8pKBhzvQNPjlXN8m9rc1A72xjXAC5JCfPhPQWh1JNCeNt52aulqu7bhI9bH20yUE6YnVZG6seqbQkPGxbbNLikzSmJI-4DpGd_hM-JvC_kbvBFw5o-jXhR8e6uc0gS6yTQyv0m11M/s320/my+pie.jpg" /></a></div>I made my dough two days before the contest and rolled it out the night before. In the morning the apples were peeled and the pie was ready to be assembled. I decided the morning of the contest to make a bit of caramel and add some fleur de sel and toss the apples with a bit of this mixture along with everything else. Why? Who knows but next year I probably won’t do that.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFL1WPnT90OO7Qepu8qE-cKuVdZKpqbk5Tg91OsPzrHgu-fvpSh2yAv8z53ztIJgl2yUV9y2RL16bb2CW0Scr8R79k5bjDkiNbKpdiioIzsj76JMiczoogVK6B-JyGLKKZA6S-W6pIJ5A/s1600/me+and+my+pie.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFL1WPnT90OO7Qepu8qE-cKuVdZKpqbk5Tg91OsPzrHgu-fvpSh2yAv8z53ztIJgl2yUV9y2RL16bb2CW0Scr8R79k5bjDkiNbKpdiioIzsj76JMiczoogVK6B-JyGLKKZA6S-W6pIJ5A/s320/me+and+my+pie.jpg" /></a></div>The pie came out smelling heavenly and I took it over to Montgomery place at 11:30 am. Your pie has to be there by 12:00, so there is no hot pie advantage.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8q_5n9X03weqN7aGClqWFqe4PYWyOqg0QCwC-lEvaPlgAu5jLbRF8hnE65NoWWk30z7FkL0qeorfhtfzcLrx1ov9ztkDdNHuXv7ksoVCYxi_N76TZTyKk6hIUKWAjedUKMCa7m2-r_JHd/s1600/crumb+crusts.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8q_5n9X03weqN7aGClqWFqe4PYWyOqg0QCwC-lEvaPlgAu5jLbRF8hnE65NoWWk30z7FkL0qeorfhtfzcLrx1ov9ztkDdNHuXv7ksoVCYxi_N76TZTyKk6hIUKWAjedUKMCa7m2-r_JHd/s320/crumb+crusts.jpg" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8J3l1THZQke9wpSBUHk2wYIk256qX7ag09d37GmoXQM_eFFD9N-GKtb1xGoXWFur45M1YrMqfiL-_3l_4zWZ5lp0NMdW5x0D372ZtNM2ejCRr7Fj4ohwcyQitV0StUAfZuE36uXmcWDiI/s1600/double+crusts+lined+up.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8J3l1THZQke9wpSBUHk2wYIk256qX7ag09d37GmoXQM_eFFD9N-GKtb1xGoXWFur45M1YrMqfiL-_3l_4zWZ5lp0NMdW5x0D372ZtNM2ejCRr7Fj4ohwcyQitV0StUAfZuE36uXmcWDiI/s320/double+crusts+lined+up.jpg" /></a><br />
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The frenzy around the stand was palpable and exciting. This year’s judges were a group of people who keep the farm running: electricians, plumbers, and other essential workers. There were 28 double crust pies entered and about 15-crumb tops. My pie was given number 10.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Z8ncRjmxYy1ZQXiKyQL50omoyBkDSf5JxUjweTsKplrguj_nFgtSVaAMYWN7ep_kYFzIGTdXdCUTBAkQK0me54Nlkg3zHc2EHuC1-Dgrdn3c_g-4CWY-Z7v8AyyH9c7xp1mo1bmw_r2M/s1600/cutting+pies.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Z8ncRjmxYy1ZQXiKyQL50omoyBkDSf5JxUjweTsKplrguj_nFgtSVaAMYWN7ep_kYFzIGTdXdCUTBAkQK0me54Nlkg3zHc2EHuC1-Dgrdn3c_g-4CWY-Z7v8AyyH9c7xp1mo1bmw_r2M/s320/cutting+pies.JPG" /></a></div>One of the volunteers approached my pie and began to slice it with a pie spatula rather than a sharp Japanese blade as I would have preferred. She struggled. “Heavens! She is tearing my pie I thought,” but somehow she managed to sever three slices. She commented how flaky the crust was which surprised me given the fact that she had smashed the crust with her dull contraption. Nonetheless, the pie was now in front of the judges.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRBpptwGEAhowzUkOhtRbGex8JimJ6RU35skynQEAJOIi1y5A4xuT_ylq-2MCdtMi5Jfcbb8rU9EGVKiCRgLVVa74IzGY3DcbHXbIH0n286os8m6-U2fxEnd1uIy1-26yYKZVXAx9n2vsy/s1600/wining+pie.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRBpptwGEAhowzUkOhtRbGex8JimJ6RU35skynQEAJOIi1y5A4xuT_ylq-2MCdtMi5Jfcbb8rU9EGVKiCRgLVVa74IzGY3DcbHXbIH0n286os8m6-U2fxEnd1uIy1-26yYKZVXAx9n2vsy/s320/wining+pie.jpg" /> </a></div>After about an hour the winners were announced. To my disappointment I didn’t win. Mary Creech took first place in the double crust division. She used a combination of Swiss Gourmet and Macoun apples. It was a very traditional pie with, I think, Crisco in the crust. It was flakey, and the filling was delicious, light and gently spiced. It was a great pie.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYenXidXstVrrHyUfzdbIRubhqAkhM6z7sagofZ8FktH0xw9l-yKuFS0P8NgEfMjpdAyAdmji227pfJGPt1PehpKVBxikZmCfhZ953EO1amDDZ8LOV7chYbJu42-fBjQhJ5bEX1f0S7b2V/s1600/%252310+cut+open.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYenXidXstVrrHyUfzdbIRubhqAkhM6z7sagofZ8FktH0xw9l-yKuFS0P8NgEfMjpdAyAdmji227pfJGPt1PehpKVBxikZmCfhZ953EO1amDDZ8LOV7chYbJu42-fBjQhJ5bEX1f0S7b2V/s320/%252310+cut+open.jpg" /></a></div>Will I enter again next year? Yes, I feel like I need one more shot which is why I don’t enter contests: I can’t stop until I win.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-WSIjy-dzllZkxRNxzfZQf5peUsNSMgppwwSVfTVrNfTcf3MMHqvVongcyWk15KJ42Jx1jv_Rj2FuElmdY7W0-w72g0wldRP4wvWSc0wJFna_of7MYhPK3TCDKc4FON-OfQMvmge54YG/s1600/2011-10-142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-WSIjy-dzllZkxRNxzfZQf5peUsNSMgppwwSVfTVrNfTcf3MMHqvVongcyWk15KJ42Jx1jv_Rj2FuElmdY7W0-w72g0wldRP4wvWSc0wJFna_of7MYhPK3TCDKc4FON-OfQMvmge54YG/s320/2011-10-142.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>On a side note, after the judging is completed and the winners announced everyone is given a plate and fork and you can taste any of the pies that were entered. It’s a frenzy. Below is a photo of my pie number 10, which as you can see is almost all,gone? I got much satisfaction from that.Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-50527452356421030092011-10-06T09:44:00.081-04:002011-10-06T16:52:43.117-04:00My Top 10 Favorite things to do in San FranciscoMy friends are always asking me for my lists of what to do and eat in cities around the world and here at home. Having been born and raised in San Francisco I thought I would start with one of my favorite cities in the world. This is a top ten list and not an easy list to edit, but I will update them from time to time.<br />
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<b>Swans Oyster Depot</b><br />
A true classic and never out style seafood bar where you can sample the finest seafood the bar area has to offer.<br />
http://swanoysterdepotsf.com/ <br />
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<b>Sightglass Coffee</b><br />
For the coffee obsessed drinker this is a must stop.<br />
http://sightglasscoffee.com/<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSy3oJg3AIazws-LVDzSIbYO_xcaNzrRQw9NNDK4TKcZ7VlgQxL8nGgkP6pB-0jUvUr6HLVLzym8wkm9oAsA0au30vRDl8xcmH4D0ypsuXwiO9EZX5AmPSWoV5syhli03yw7tVr9FQSCCk/s1600/sightglass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSy3oJg3AIazws-LVDzSIbYO_xcaNzrRQw9NNDK4TKcZ7VlgQxL8nGgkP6pB-0jUvUr6HLVLzym8wkm9oAsA0au30vRDl8xcmH4D0ypsuXwiO9EZX5AmPSWoV5syhli03yw7tVr9FQSCCk/s320/sightglass.jpg" width="239" /></a><br />
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<b>4505 Meats</b><br />
The Hamburger at 4505 Meats at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market on Thursdays or Saturday is simply one of the best I’ve ever tasted. Simple ingredients equal perfection. I always pick up a few bags of their famous Chicharrones.<br />
http://www.4505meats.com/eat/lunch/<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRr_-AAKeoJ7IKGB7kG8M1Cy3mSPlJNJrKYh-hGpyUnh28egZBfsz_TkomG-pQhtY7WIIkJZ0kXkXvn1icXLr8g1xWOZvmiLCiYCnOOFxoYsdXt1Ua00uKcz3borg89Z7iArkMnyHbYkF/s1600/4505+burger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRr_-AAKeoJ7IKGB7kG8M1Cy3mSPlJNJrKYh-hGpyUnh28egZBfsz_TkomG-pQhtY7WIIkJZ0kXkXvn1icXLr8g1xWOZvmiLCiYCnOOFxoYsdXt1Ua00uKcz3borg89Z7iArkMnyHbYkF/s320/4505+burger.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Tartine Bakery</b></div>Chad Robertson’s bread is a religious experience and I pick up as many as I can get my hands on, no matter what the occasion.<br />
http://www.tartinebakery.com/bread.html<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAp2b02ZCsE22PY_-LcjDQZTWDNr8AP2dCqiRHRNBWPfTBK3Ah79XqcnUDWkWmffxLV0cIvldc65RI_3OB9qZUGNS3quFngwdsMdikMsc4o_RphcALgy5gDEO59hqVi_RTrY5XqluG4nIk/s1600/chad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAp2b02ZCsE22PY_-LcjDQZTWDNr8AP2dCqiRHRNBWPfTBK3Ah79XqcnUDWkWmffxLV0cIvldc65RI_3OB9qZUGNS3quFngwdsMdikMsc4o_RphcALgy5gDEO59hqVi_RTrY5XqluG4nIk/s400/chad.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><b>Mr. and Mrs., Miscellaneous</b><br />
A jewel of an ice cream shop in Dogpatch serving fun twists on classic flavors and combinations of<br />
everything ice cream.<br />
699 22nd Street, at Third St. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihF0wzG6J6TIRwG3R2lf7ZZRR8X9_hsOFe5RvsddnJk8-ZufyOHNjeip4LIe-d-0CTIsBCLfaIwKjyuot1NSrhOa6E-tU7reGTrBs36xtR6-l3mRrFdD8ARTBRD9y_qGBS2WnaE060ZDhk/s1600/mr+and+mrs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihF0wzG6J6TIRwG3R2lf7ZZRR8X9_hsOFe5RvsddnJk8-ZufyOHNjeip4LIe-d-0CTIsBCLfaIwKjyuot1NSrhOa6E-tU7reGTrBs36xtR6-l3mRrFdD8ARTBRD9y_qGBS2WnaE060ZDhk/s320/mr+and+mrs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<b>Mission Chinese Food at Lung Shan Chinese Restaurant</b><br />
A brilliant pop-up Chinese restaurant inside an existing Chinese restaurant, I go for the dumplings that are made to order.<br />
http://www.missionchinesefood.com/<br />
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<b>Cask</b><br />
This wonderful shop is for anyone searching for the finest selection of spirits, and all the specialty ingredients to make genius cocktails at home.<br />
http://www.caskstore.com/<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcU8JhYDL5x6yh8c7Kc5VUZ01gt8DUHMgV_ugmEP-0ZHNUVvOQhmI03dIb8nam3qx2RThA44_tIHbU_Y_R4tjrIEK-3zKJLCTi_rBTjRomy5uzAsZK7-kGuq3KmPrcVqH4ZiroF487T8h6/s1600/1556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcU8JhYDL5x6yh8c7Kc5VUZ01gt8DUHMgV_ugmEP-0ZHNUVvOQhmI03dIb8nam3qx2RThA44_tIHbU_Y_R4tjrIEK-3zKJLCTi_rBTjRomy5uzAsZK7-kGuq3KmPrcVqH4ZiroF487T8h6/s1600/1556.jpg" /></a></div><b>Bi-Rite Market</b><br />
I especially love the wine selection shop at Bi-Rite and everything else as well. One of the best-edited markets I’ve ever been to.<br />
http://biritemarket.com/<br />
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</div><b>Omnivore books on Food</b></div>New, antiquarian and collectable cookbooks for anyone who loves cookbooks, this is the bookstore for you.<br />
http://omnivorebooks.com/<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLKE3JjSH-vBf8crzynRR9qGiioCeAl1mkmzglImRHhBqb9llr-5jn34jWXqF9oXXQaIrvDw_GpUQeXnS8YXav6dgSiOPhqE2oFqqiCDA5KpZD_mtDs7PXYc3jlu0bnNMyON6ePIcNfCa/s1600/macarons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLKE3JjSH-vBf8crzynRR9qGiioCeAl1mkmzglImRHhBqb9llr-5jn34jWXqF9oXXQaIrvDw_GpUQeXnS8YXav6dgSiOPhqE2oFqqiCDA5KpZD_mtDs7PXYc3jlu0bnNMyON6ePIcNfCa/s1600/macarons.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Bar Agricole</b></div>Besides the fact that this is an amazing restaurant, it is also serving some of the finest cocktails in the Bay area.<br />
http://www.baragricole.com/#/drinks/<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I first discovered Argentinean wines quite a few years back when I made my first trip to Mendoza, a wine region in Argentina where some of the greatest reds wines in the world are produced, specifically made from the Argentinean varietal Malbec. Every meal I had with various winemakers, they always served a white wine with the first course and most often it was an Argentinean Chardonnay. I’m not a big fan of Chardonnay outside of Burgundy because it is usually just another anomalous chardonnay, refreshing but not satisfying or expressive and complex. My memory of the whites wines there were not as memorable as the reds so I never gave much thought to Argentina as a great white wine producing country.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I went back to Buenos Aires a few years ago and had dinner with some friends. We went to have a classic Argentinean dinner, an Asado where meat plays center stage. A variety of meats are cooked over an open fire and then served in progression along with various side dishes. The meats in Argentina are extraordinary, usually what we call in this country grass fed. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">We left the wine ordering to one of the guests who was a native of Buenos Aires. I am always curious to discover something I haven’t had before and be surprised. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I expected to us to start off with the dreaded Chardonnay but to my surprise he started us off with a bottle of Torrontes, a white wine I’ve never heard of.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjT-cSATSPLTutkr4v1J-A_JD2mXmCemYuRWWVWrHyIsrBoJXlwhyLdbrzDCcNqHTIV_hP_Df9FunuRD14p3wE7W3YJuUBrOMW3lly-GZxXwNn__VLKMFQJovcjoRlznqRtPTxMhA2XKB3/s1600/Colome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjT-cSATSPLTutkr4v1J-A_JD2mXmCemYuRWWVWrHyIsrBoJXlwhyLdbrzDCcNqHTIV_hP_Df9FunuRD14p3wE7W3YJuUBrOMW3lly-GZxXwNn__VLKMFQJovcjoRlznqRtPTxMhA2XKB3/s320/Colome.jpg" width="239" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Upon my first sip I was in love. The Torrontes was a bottle of Colome’, the aromatics of the wine were so refreshing, Jasmine, white peach and citrus notes were all beautifully expressed. The wine reminded me slightly of a Viognier, less complex but the structure of fruit and acidity were in perfect play. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghK_rxod_cJmtBxofu4SPqOp9J_Rh627jeLxk8T99GUw4fc0AhDnYIi6s2k1hf7MNj75xsI_6kRd13tytmxE97AUjvOBx-DQ-t67PburUgNdGyig8BF_8SF3yLgdicu8F1pNC_ppfGyjeo/s1600/asado+ingredients.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghK_rxod_cJmtBxofu4SPqOp9J_Rh627jeLxk8T99GUw4fc0AhDnYIi6s2k1hf7MNj75xsI_6kRd13tytmxE97AUjvOBx-DQ-t67PburUgNdGyig8BF_8SF3yLgdicu8F1pNC_ppfGyjeo/s320/asado+ingredients.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">You begin the Asado generally with some Empanadas, often baked in a wood-burning oven. The torrontes was refreshing and vibrant with the Empanadas, and then we had the grilled sausage, which was an interesting compliment to torrontes. The fattiness of the meat and the crisp aromatic wine went well. And to my surprise I wasn’t missing a red wine at all with the sausage.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTjBf6V2hj8_9g_YtQ6cg6N8zj-PyppI1_iGi6wTg5bU9pI_ANuaSBdsXtM9xzsu6J5bMjKZ7KcL8CnCF1JmfUKlHZ8gKKwzAhCQYF8lkzeopxcKDi8Gqo2ZbBFNRyiSNC-N_GT_MxgGy/s1600/asado.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTjBf6V2hj8_9g_YtQ6cg6N8zj-PyppI1_iGi6wTg5bU9pI_ANuaSBdsXtM9xzsu6J5bMjKZ7KcL8CnCF1JmfUKlHZ8gKKwzAhCQYF8lkzeopxcKDi8Gqo2ZbBFNRyiSNC-N_GT_MxgGy/s320/asado.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Torrontes is made from a hybrid of Moscato De Alexandria and the Criolla grape. It is originally thought to be brought from Galicia Spain to Argentina by Missionaries. Phyloxeria destroyed the vines in Europe so they disappeared and so to this day, Argentina is the only country that has the vines and produces the wine. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Over the last 15 years there have been big changes with Torrontes. Torrontes doesn’t have the prestigious pedigree of let’s say Chardonnay, and the grapes were much more rustic years ago and no one took the wine very seriously. Over the years that has dramatically changed when winemakers started realizing the potential of the wine.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSi1HIy1pb6clUggpgyn2pxQLiEJiTkvsY9fqtiKWM8V5kgX8yPBoDe5TsLNuoAFJy1-xiW_r8_Mor1oHkkGoVwuaoP6UhMZ1_87sYaC5eFXZrZwQUEQLiE8jaK6u4Mo4iSFzq9s2V3Ble/s1600/Mounier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSi1HIy1pb6clUggpgyn2pxQLiEJiTkvsY9fqtiKWM8V5kgX8yPBoDe5TsLNuoAFJy1-xiW_r8_Mor1oHkkGoVwuaoP6UhMZ1_87sYaC5eFXZrZwQUEQLiE8jaK6u4Mo4iSFzq9s2V3Ble/s320/Mounier.jpg" width="239" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">No one is more passionate and producing one of the finest Torrontes than Jose Luis Mounier who arguably makes one of the finest examples of Torrontes in Argentina. Mounier has been producing Torrontes for 25 years in the Calchaqui Valley of Salta a region in Argentina, which he considers one of the best terriors for the grape. The Salta region is located at the foothill of the Andes at an elevation of 5,500 feet above sea level.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He believes because of the altitude, extreme temperatures, low rainfall, sandy soil and the quality of the water it is the ideal location to bring out the elegant South of him is Cafayate which produces good and interesting wines according to Mounier but nothing compares to the expressions you get from the terrior in Salta.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When I first tasted Mounier’s wine, I was blown away. You first have to understand that Torrontes is a simple wine, unlike a Viognier or big like a Roussane it’s subtle and when well made extremely aromatic. Think of biting into a Muscat grape is the best way I can explain it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Mounier’s wine is incredible, and was one of most expressive Torrontes that I’ve tasted so far. What impressed me was the texture of the wine on my palate; it was dense, full and had great volume. It was complex and very surprising. The fruit was also so expressive and refined at the same time. The wine blew me away. Clearly this is a guy who is obsessed with detail, that’s why it’s no accident that his wine is so good. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">His obsession starts in the vineyard. Because of the extreme sun, the way the vines are planted are so important. In the wine world it’s called the canopy, the style of covering the fruit with the leaves for proper shading of the fruit so the fruit won’t burn but so that it gets the right exposure of the sun. Another, detail is the volume of fruit he produces from each vine. For example, think like this. If one vine can produce 15 clusters of grapes, but at the right moment when the clusters are still green you cut off 7 of them, the energy of the vine goes into the remaining 7 clusters that remain. That’s the principle so for many dropping that fruit is like leaving money on the vineyard floor but for the winemaker who wants to make great wine, a necessity.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9L9ki4HccGwqAuNfq297rum_askQ_tYMk07twN24Jj5f6KmaQuSHe8fVRXHLB0UbB_V0yYcik1sp-Ws1QuNVRbbWGNqEtIs2RytMqXvQ_NjZy8xPVZFBJOfV_PvDaZjvyYIvrrlaagnQE/s1600/IMG_1026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9L9ki4HccGwqAuNfq297rum_askQ_tYMk07twN24Jj5f6KmaQuSHe8fVRXHLB0UbB_V0yYcik1sp-Ws1QuNVRbbWGNqEtIs2RytMqXvQ_NjZy8xPVZFBJOfV_PvDaZjvyYIvrrlaagnQE/s320/IMG_1026.jpg" width="239" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Mounier isn’t the only winemaker producing fine examples of Torrontes. The wines made by Susana Ballbo at Crios and Colome are also among some of the top Torrontes also being produced and among my favorites. Balbo’s wines are very accessible here in the states and she also brings 25 years of winemaking experience to the table.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In LA where sushi plays such a starring role, I’ve been tasting torrontes alongside and I have to say it’s a fantastic marriage. Grilled Santa Barbara spot prawns are also right up there as one of those magical combinations.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">All of us are looking for good value in wine these days especially me. I want to drink wine that has integrity but I can afford to drink daily and as far as whites goes, this is one I am ordering by the case.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-17517110140169543472011-09-13T18:22:00.011-04:002011-09-23T10:39:49.626-04:00My Tournebroche, I Never Leave Home Without ItFire is primal and almost everyone in love with cooking over a wood fire has had a primal moment. Mine was this: lamb revolving slowly on a spit over burning wood in the downstairs kitchen of Chez Panisse. That was back in 1988. The look, the smell, the anticipation of the taste, but above all the simplicity of the scene took me to a place I never wanted to leave—a place where something is always turning slowly on a spit.<br />
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Years later in 2001 at Chez Panisse’s 30th anniversary, Alice Waters set up a tripod and suspended a giant copper cauldron from it to cook fish bisque over a wood fire. That was about the best soup I have ever had. Was it the smoke, the scene, the person stationed there whose sole job was to stir the pot that made it so wonderful? It was all of these plus the visual anticipation of a meal prepared so memorably. <br />
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Over the years, I’ve collected equipment for cooking over an open fire. One of my most cherished tools is my Tournebrouche by Le Capucin from France. The French have made these nifty clockwork spits for well over a hundred years. The mechanism could not be simpler: you wind the clockwork handle which turns the spit; when it winds down a charming little bell rings and you wind it up again. The Tournebroche was probably only meant for the fireplace which is how I usually use it, but I took it to upstate New York this summer and decided to try it outside. I built a fire and made spit roasted pork shoulder for pork burritos. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitCvTYqKdoD06AmON7QsEeuIzKKfmj6rPfJJohxOccP98yJIphDZp8Z-_7iDG-lUXNj-bdkXLdATx-gh-0jyvp1W2UgRGOz0zmwtU84qzeCFDvFPjURNtWmgbL2PMqssW7A7AK-dTgwZUO/s1600/F1312_1880.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitCvTYqKdoD06AmON7QsEeuIzKKfmj6rPfJJohxOccP98yJIphDZp8Z-_7iDG-lUXNj-bdkXLdATx-gh-0jyvp1W2UgRGOz0zmwtU84qzeCFDvFPjURNtWmgbL2PMqssW7A7AK-dTgwZUO/s320/F1312_1880.jpg" /></a></div><br />
The 10-pound pork shoulder came from <a href="http://www.fleishers.com/">Fleisher’s</a>, the great butcher in Kingston, New York. They were careful to leave an inch of fat on it so that it basted as it turned. I wrapped the meat in herbs from the garden and did nothing else besides rubbing it with salt, pepper and olive oil. I cranked up the Tournebrouche and the whole magical ritual began. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVj8k02abuQmYIHv1Bezd4PWnYNQ-WYx6UcYReFTbrAsDGuxD-JG0d4uwI4uigoAuXU6MejocTgYgvkG_tew5DjhtMCX3rh7G34CrFvxVmLBjvYatHYOh-j8IbXkfu-GxJDlRrVfCjBgnF/s1600/IMG_0978.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVj8k02abuQmYIHv1Bezd4PWnYNQ-WYx6UcYReFTbrAsDGuxD-JG0d4uwI4uigoAuXU6MejocTgYgvkG_tew5DjhtMCX3rh7G34CrFvxVmLBjvYatHYOh-j8IbXkfu-GxJDlRrVfCjBgnF/s320/IMG_0978.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I cooked the pork shoulder for three hours until the crust turned beautiful dark amber. The smell was intoxicating. But don’t get me wrong; you do have to work during the cooking. You have to tend to the fire constantly moving embers and adding wood to keep an even heat under the meat. And you have to regulate the fire so it heats but does not burn. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3kRDH4xTJ9zfuqnbnH4emyJwvQcIxl3MaCOJ7f0WsYwjCcW_PLff8EhHRUtHRKQ1wSIlAaFLWetlgWFFYjpBeroOlh4qSz2xmQUtgwdFCmegFjbGxevTmz9Ntn-UgcBLteg8rkgXTl-M/s1600/IMG_0980.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3kRDH4xTJ9zfuqnbnH4emyJwvQcIxl3MaCOJ7f0WsYwjCcW_PLff8EhHRUtHRKQ1wSIlAaFLWetlgWFFYjpBeroOlh4qSz2xmQUtgwdFCmegFjbGxevTmz9Ntn-UgcBLteg8rkgXTl-M/s320/IMG_0980.jpg" /></a></div><br />
When I took the meat off the spit my sense of accomplishment was off the charts. We had made black beans, rice, several salsas and homemade tortillas for the burritos but the pork barely made it to the table; everyone in the kitchen was picking at it. The flavor was unlike anything I remember before and the texture was as tender as if it had been slow cooked for eight hours. This lunch was one of the greatest successes of the summer and everyone who was lucky enough be there will carry the taste forever.<br />
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All I can say to friends who weren’t there is that my Tournebrouche travels well and I will gladly travel with it and do this meal or another like it again and again and again.Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-71773466391651116232011-09-12T17:43:00.000-04:002011-09-13T17:44:34.135-04:00Takeout with Nancy Silverton<div class="entry-body">
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As I was sitting at the Mozzarella bar at Osteria Mozza the other
night, I was telling Nancy Silverton how much I loved the chicken at
Pollo a la Brasa and how I had just written a <a href="http://imstillhungry.latimesmagazine.com/2010/05/polla-ala-brasa.html" target="_blank" title="pollo alla brasa">blog about them</a>.
I knew she was a fan, and she immediately one-upped me and told me she
has this routine—first she picks up a chicken at Pollo alla Brasa and
then goes to Carousel, the amazing Armenian restaurant on Hollywood
Boulevard, to get side dishes to go with the chicken.<br />
She invited me along with some friends to come over for dinner and
try it out. I was beyond curious as to how these sides would fare with
wood-roasted chicken, but I was sure Nancy knew what she was doing.<br />
<img height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133ee3c04fd970b-800wi" width="400" />
I arrived to a table Nancy had set up in her beautiful garden. With
the outdoor fireplace blazing, I glanced over the amazing array of side
dishes she'd laid out, each more mouthwatering than the next.<br />
<img height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0134816b543d970c-800wi" width="400" />
Nancy asked her friend Jason to stop at <a href="http://sunnin.com/" target="_blank" title="Sunnin Lebanese Cafe">Sunnin Lebanese Café</a>,
to pick up some dishes there so we could compare. I couldn’t wait to
dig in.
I loaded my plate with everything—hummus, tabbouleh, mutabbal, muhammara
(made with walnuts and red peppers), labneh harrah (a yogurt cheese
with pickled peppers, tomatoes and olive oil) and, of course, the
chicken and some pita. It was all sublime.<br />
<img height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133ee3c17dd970b-800wi" width="400" />
I thought the sides from Carousel were pretty amazing, and the dishes
from Sunnin were good as well, especially the fattoush salad, made with
tomato, onion, cucumbers, toasted bread and sumak. Nancy had this down,
and as she was putting out the final offerings, she said, “No dishes,
no mess.” A perfect dinner party.<br />
<img height="320" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0134816b3a9d970c-800wi" width="240" /><br />
Then she upped the ante with some of Manfred Krankl’s Sine Qua Non
wines, including the estate grenache and syrah. The grenache was mind
blowing. I'd aways wanted to taste it, and sure enough, it was the best
grenache I’ve had outside of France. The syrah was right up there, too.<br />
Nancy was right: It’s a perfect dinner to throw together—a meal you
couldn't improve on if you had made it yourself. I can’t wait to try it
at home. <i>Pollo alla Brasa, 764 S. Western Ave., 213-382-4090;
Carousel, 5112 Hollywood Blvd., 323-660-8060; Sunnin, 1776 Westwood
Blvd., 310-475-3358.</i></div>
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Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-54925258653397040682011-09-01T17:38:00.000-04:002011-09-13T17:39:33.730-04:00Soba Heaven<div class="entry-body">
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<img alt="Sonoko Sakai, soba" border="0" height="400" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef01310fd2e090970c-800wi" width="300" /><br />
Since I love anyone obsessed with food, it's no surprise that I would
love Sonoko Sakai. I recently had dinner at her home. Aside from being
an accomplished movie producer, she's also a master of the soba noodle,
which is a buckwheat noodle from Japan. When made properly, these
noodles can be transcendental.<br />
My own experience with soba noodles was at Honmura An, a soba-noodle
restaurant in New York, which prepared fresh soba daily. It was one of
my favorite restaurants in N.Y., and I was devastated when they closed.<br />
As I sat down with Sonoko, I shared my own obsession with making the perfect loaf of <em>pain levain</em>,
a bread made with sourdough. Immediately, Sonoko and I had a meeting of
the minds. She explained her passion for soba, how she approaches it as
a kind of daily meditation and that if she misses a morning of making
the noodles she’ll feel unbalanced. I knew I was in the right place—if
you’re going to learn about how to make soba, then you want your teacher
to have that kind of passion.<br />
The thing is, real artisanal soba noodles are made with only
buckwheat flour and water, and because buckwheat has no gluten, the
measurements must be right or they will turn out chewy or will fall
apart in the water. Most commercial soba you buy is mixed with wheat
flour.<br />
To watch a soba master make soba noodles from scratch is profound. In
fact, Sonoko told me that the best soba masters grow their own
buckwheat to their specifications. She even travels to Japan regularly
to study with her teacher <a href="http://soba.specialist.co.jp/" target="_blank" title="Soba Heaven">Akila Inouye</a> and, in fact, brought him to L.A. to teach a few classes.<br />
<img alt="Sonoko Sakai, soba" border="0" height="400" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0120a96be41e970b-800wi" width="400" />
As I watched Sonoko, she sifted the imported buckwheat flour from
Japan. After adding water, she began kneading the dough in a gigantic
metal bowl. She then turned the dough into a ball with a little top,
which she referred to as a nipple (her teacher calls it a Hershey's
Kiss). Then, as she rolled the dough with four-foot pins, she used
numbered discs to measure its height.<br />
<img alt="Sonoko Sakai, soba" border="0" height="400" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef01310fd2e2c3970c-800wi" width="400" />
Sonoko kept apologizing for not being perfect yet, but her work
looked flawless to me. Somehow, magically, the dough went from round to
rectangular, then folded up into a tight little package. She then
brought out a gigantic knife and started slicing the soba with
consummate precision. She tells me that a true master actually slices
without ever looking at the knife while slicing. Then she makes piles of
perfectly sliced soba noodles ready to be boiled.<br />
<img alt="Sonoko Sakai, soba" border="0" height="188" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef01310fd2e31f970c-800wi" width="400" />
Finally, it is time to eat. She boils the soba noodles and then runs
them under cold water—we’re eating them cold, which is my favorite way.
We have fresh nori to crumble over the noodles and a broth with freshly
grated daikon to dip the noodles in. With my first bite, I am
transported into pure bliss—the taste and texture are just perfection.<br />
I know I will always treasure this experience and am most definitely
signing up for the next class when her teacher returns to L.A.<br />
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Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-77170931653260260832011-08-26T17:41:00.000-04:002011-09-13T17:41:55.005-04:00A Great Pair: Tavern and Bonnacorsi<img alt="tavern, brentwood, still hungry" border="0" height="320" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef01311009fc87970c-800wi" width="240" /><br />
My recent lunch at Tavern showed when it comes to passion in the
kitchen no one comes close to Suzanne Goin. The Brentwood eatery, which
she started with her partner, Caroline Styne, has, in my opinion,
finally found its footing—not an easy thing to do in a town where people
want a restaurant to be perfect from the start. I always have been of
the school that it takes at least a year for a restaurant to get its
rhythm, and Tavern has done just that.<br />
I think one of the biggest strikes against it has been the space—odd
and confusing. You enter the take-out space, but the hostess is in the
middle of the restaurant, which, especially if you you’re arriving for
the first time, is really disorienting. You don’t get that initial hit
of a boisterous bistro allowing you to connect right away with a dining
experience.<br />
I went for lunch with my friend Jay McInerney and the winemaker Jenne
Bonaccorsi to taste some of her recent wines. (Bonaccorsi is making
some of my favorite pinot noir and syrah in Santa Barbara county.)<br />
<img alt="tavern, brentwood, still hungry" border="0" height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133ec63eeab970b-800wi" width="400" />
We started with the house-made sourdough that was served with some
sweet butter and salt. It was killer. I have been obsessed with making
bread myself, and I have to say that Tavern’s sourdough is the best I’ve
had so far in L.A.<br />
This was followed with one of the best salads I can remember having
in a long, long time—made with Little Gem lettuce, crab, prawns,
cucumber and radish, all tossed in buttermilk vinaigrette. It was
perfectly dressed with a nice lemon finish and each and every ingredient
was beyond fresh. I really appreciated that the lettuce was cold. I
can’t tell you what a pet peeve it is of mine when you order a salad and
the lettuce is room temp or warm.
<img alt="tavern, brentwood, still hungry" border="0" height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef01311009fe62970c-800wi" width="400" />
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We had Bonnacorsi’s Vogelzang Viognier with the salad, which also
blew me away. Jenne only makes 100 cases of this delicious wine, and I
know I'm not going to waste any time getting on her mailing list. The
wine was elegant, with notes of kumquat and honeysuckle and great
acidity. It was extremely well balanced—not overpowering or cloying, as
most California Viogniers tend to be.<br />
<img alt="tavern, brentwood, still hungry" border="0" height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133ec63f0bb970b-800wi" width="400" />
Our entrées included the Tavern turkey burger, chicken over lentils
and steak frites. My turkey burger was exactly what I was in the mood
for. The homemade brioche-style bun and all the fixings were great.
Jay’s chicken looked delicious, and he loved it, and Jenne’s fries were
perfect, especially dipped into the homemade mayonnaise.<br />
<img alt="tavern, brentwood, still hungry" border="0" height="320" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0131100a0210970c-800wi" width="240" /><br />
We ordered the orange cycle for dessert and when it first came out it
wasn’t what any of us expected—more of a parfait with layers of fruit
and sorbets. I really wanted a more traditional orange cycle, but it was
good nonetheless. The Meyer lemon tart was next. Its buttery, thin
crust almost resembled an old-fashioned English meat pie. The thinly
sliced lemons melted in your mouth. It was sublime.<br />
As I left and walked past the pantry of cookbooks, cheeses,
charcuterie, breads and prepared foods, I was really tempted to buy a
few things. I thought that exiting worked better than entering, but no
matter, I am coming back for sure.Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-53376209704646056622011-08-18T17:49:00.000-04:002011-09-13T17:49:24.814-04:00Mango Madness<br /><div class="entry-body">
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You would think they were selling freshly plucked black truffles from
Lalbenque, France, what with the swarm of shoppers surrounding the Wong
Farms mango stand this Wednesday at the Santa Monica farmers' market.
The frenzy was quite a sight—so much for the notion of the laid-back
Angeleno.<br />
Wong Farms sells the most extraordinary, tree-ripened mangos from the
Coachella Valley from mid August thru mid September. This was their
second week at the farmers' market, and the word was out. Luckily, I had
ordered my mangos the week before, so I was there to pick up my case.
The frenzy was due to the fact that after 10 a.m., Wong sells whatever
mangos are left that were not picked up from customers who preordered.
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When I got there, the line was already long. But if you could taste
this mango you'd understand why. As I was standing in line being pushed
and shoved, a guy walked by and said he didn’t even care what they were
selling, he was going to get whatever people were waiting for—it was
hysterical.<br />
<img height="263" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133f3584939970b-800wi" width="400" />
They were selling the Valencia Pride mangos, and this was the last
week for those (next week, they start with the Keitt varietals), and
their Valencia Pride mangos are just unbelievable. First, once ripened,
the texture is like no other mango I’ve ever had except in India. The
flavor is intense, floral and almost perfumed—in a good way. I love to
chill them and just spoon out the mango.<br />
Last night some friends came over for dinner, and Stan scrapped off
the remaining flesh from the skin and seed, threw it in a cocktail
shaker, muddled it, added some vodka and ice and whipped up the most
delicious cocktail. It needed nothing else.<br />
Next week, the frenzy will probably be even crazier for the first of
the seasons Keitt varietals. Order yours in advance. The mangos sell for
$3.49 a pound and are worth every cent. <i>Wong Farms, 760-265-9167.</i><br />
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Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-24941663660614348012010-10-29T17:55:00.000-04:002011-09-13T17:56:39.452-04:00Breaking Bread at Tavern<br /><div class="entry-body">
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When I first tasted the sourdough bread at <a href="http://www.tavernla.com/" target="_blank" title="Tavern">Tavern</a>
in Brentwood, it reminded me of the sourdough bread I used to eat as a
child in San Francisco. The texture, flavor and consistency was almost
identical. <br />
If you’ve been a reader of this blog, you know I'm a bit of a bread
snob—and I couldn’t believe that bread of this caliber was being made in
Los Angeles. So I reached out to my friend, chef-owner Suzanne Goin, to
see just who was doing the baking.<br />
Goin told me his name was Nathan Dakdouk and that I might want to meet him in person to get the <em>gestalt</em>.
Boy, she wasn’t kidding. Nathan is probably one of the most passionate
breadmakers I have ever met, with a personality to match.
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<img alt="" height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef013488904ab8970c-800wi" width="400" /><br />
First, he took me into the wine cellar to show me the sourdough
starter he uses to make all his breads. He affectionately calls it la
Madre. He brought this starter to L.A. from Connecticut, where he had
owned a bakery. A real sourdough starter is so important when making
bread. Each loaf Nathan bakes is made with love and personal attention,
even though he makes the bread for all of Goin's restaurants—Tavern, AOC
and Lucques. He also bakes bread for the Hungry Cat, Goin’s husband’s
restaurant.<br />
<img alt="" height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef013488904c46970c-800wi" width="400" /><br />
The thing with any sourdough when made with a real starter is the
bread isn't dead after the first day, whereas most fresh bread you buy
is either stale or too hard after one day. Good sourdough should last a
week—just reheat in the oven, and it comes back to life.<br />
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Nathan also makes a special AOC loaf, which is great; blueberry
bread, which toasted is my favorite bread for breakfast; and a variety
of others. But his sourdough is one of the greatest food finds L.A. has
to offer, and I don’t hesitate to drive across town to get my loaves no
matter what the traffic. <em>11648 San Vicente, Brentwood, 310-806-6464, tavernla.com.</em><br />
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Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-63633092335865455072010-10-12T17:53:00.000-04:002011-09-13T17:54:37.685-04:00Blue Bottle Coffee Brews It Best<br /><div class="entry-body">
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<a href="http://www.bluebottlecoffee.net/" target="_blank" title="Blue Bottle">Blue Bottle</a>
isn’t new. I’ve been enjoying the Bay Area purveyor’s coffee for years.
But ever since hearing about its first store on the East Coast in
Brooklyn’s hipper-than-hip Williamsburg earlier this year, I’ve been
jonesing to get there. Owner James Freeman is obsessed with how his
coffee is prepared, so the beans are only available through his stores,
although Blue Bottle does sell to restaurants.<br />
<img alt="" height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133f5060128970b-800wi" width="400" /><br />
What especially intrigued me about this store was the introduction of
Japanese slow-drip coffeemakers to make iced coffee. But there they
were, behind a glass wall, slowly dripping 88 drops of water per minute.
For coffee aficionados, this is sure to be an experience like no other.
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I decided to try the Kyoto-style iced coffee, and it truly is a tasty
brew. The nuances of the bean are so crystal clear and expressive:
first, a powerful hit of chocolate, then an essence of coffee beans and a
texture unlike most brewed coffee. Now, I love my macchiato, don’t get
me wrong, but this surpassed any espresso or siphoned or brewed coffee
I’ve had before.<br />
<img alt="" height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133f505ff3c970b-800wi" width="400" /><br />
Still, perfect coffee notwithstanding, because I’m obsessed, I have a
suggestion: For all the trouble Blue Bottle goes through using these
expensive machines to produce such extraordinary results, they should
invest in a <a href="http://www.kold-draft.com/" target="_blank" title="Kold-Draft">Kold-Draft ice machine</a>.
Kold-Draft uses an exclusive, state-of-the-art “upside-down”
horizontal evaporator, which makes cubes that are larger and melt
slower. Slower-melting cubes means less dilution.<br />
Anyway, just an idea. Even without fancy ice cubes, there is nothing diluted about a cup of Kyoto iced coffee at Blue Bottle. <em>260 Berry St., Williamsburg, Brooklyn (other locations listed on the <a href="http://www.bluebottlecoffee.net/" target="_blank" title="Blue Bottle">Website</a>)</em></div>
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Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-11137207484250758912010-10-05T17:50:00.000-04:002011-09-13T17:51:23.522-04:00A Loaf of Tartine Bread<br /><div class="entry-body">
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The bread baked by Chad Robertson at <a href="http://www.tartinebakery.com/" target="_blank" title="Tartine's">Tartine’s</a>
in San Francisco is my favorite in the United States, hands down.
Nothing can compare to picking up a freshly baked loaf when it is just
coming out of the oven. The smell and texture are intoxicating, and it
takes everything in me not to tear into it the minute I get it in my
hands.<br />
<img height="320" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133f4de7dbd970b-800wi" width="273" /><br />
That’s not to say that there isn’t fantastic bread available in other
cities across the country, but Robertson approaches breadmaking as an
art, and he has been perfecting his loaf for more than 15 years. The guy
is old school. He apprenticed with various bakers here and abroad to
experiment with different styles until he perfected his own recipe. To
this day, he is still learning—in fact, he recently emailed me from
Paris, where he was meeting with several bakers.
<br />
Now everyone can take a crack at his bread. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tartine-Bread-Chad-Robertson/dp/0811870413" target="_blank" title="Tartine Bread"><em>Tartine Bread</em></a>,
a book I have been waiting for since Robertson first told me about it
more than a year ago, was released last week. And it is nothing short of
brilliant.<br />
<img height="297" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133f4e3a2b6970b-800wi" width="400" />
I first met Robertson in Point Reyes Station 14 years ago, when he
was baking bread in a small shack called Bakeshop with a wood-fired oven
built by Alan Scott. The bread was amazing even then. Through the
years, Robertson moved to Marin and then finally to San Francisco,
opening Tartine Bakery on Guerrero Street in 2002, offering an array of
pastries, desserts and sandwiches.<br />
<img height="297" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0134880374fe970c-800wi" width="400" />
<em>Tartine Bread</em> promises to teach you how to make the perfect
loaf right in your own home oven. The recipe is relatively simple,
needing only a bit of time, patience and practice. Robertson went
through great pains to get his wet dough right, sending it it out to
nonbakers to test. The book includes great bread recipes and more than
30 sweet and savory dishes.<br />
I have been on my own journey to make the perfect loaf. There is
nothing like breaking freshly baked bread with loved ones, along with a
bottle of wine and some delicious food. That’s all you need. Stay
tuned—I'll be trying out Robertson's recipe.<br />
<span class="link popout" title="Click to open in a new window">Popout</span>
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Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-87499673101141035042010-08-23T10:36:00.006-04:002010-08-26T10:59:45.596-04:00Bread for a Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-TvdjId09c7_iCsaLEFNiXYORkptG5gN0brCXr1Rlt2d8PrhP9DkNe0F2QnPow60-OG36bbUlNThX0Lr7nvRlwkPRY2o1WR4G_Zud0SRS-Lyufme5nz3BEr0VFPmryYzPYKBKjTOO3OD/s1600/manfred+sine+qua+non.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-TvdjId09c7_iCsaLEFNiXYORkptG5gN0brCXr1Rlt2d8PrhP9DkNe0F2QnPow60-OG36bbUlNThX0Lr7nvRlwkPRY2o1WR4G_Zud0SRS-Lyufme5nz3BEr0VFPmryYzPYKBKjTOO3OD/s320/manfred+sine+qua+non.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Recently I visited one of my hero's in the wine world, Manfred Krankl and his wife Elaine. Their winery, Sine Qua Non which is located in Ventura California is legendary and the wines impossible to get which has given them cult status. What started off as a hobby for Manfred, has turned into a full time business. Sine Qua Non produces some of the finest Rhone varietals I've had in California and one of my favortie's is The Naked Truth, an estate grown Grenache. The production isn't huge and because they have such a cult following and the demand is greater than the production the best way to get the wines is to get on the mailing list otherwise you will pay through the roof.<br />
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Nancy Silverton first met Manfred in Greece back in the 70's while on vacation with her sister. While working at Campanile restaurant for Nancy and her ex husband Mark Peel he started producing small amounts for the restaurant. They then started up La Brea Bakery together which they then sold. After the sale Manfred used the capital devoted himself to making wine his full-time job.<br />
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We started off at his winery to do some barrel tasting. Manfred has different photographs on all his barrels which I've never seen before. It's very funny actually, what images he chooses to reference his various barrels. As we started tasting there was very little spitting going on let me tell you...The viognier was spectacular as was everything I tasted. The whites, the reds were all exceptional. The most interesting part of the tasting, was tasting all the various fruit seperatly and then taste some which he has then blended. In the case of the whites, each wine whether Fiognier, Roussane or Marsanne could of been bottles by them selves they were that good yet as a blend they went to another level. The same went for the reds.<br />
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We went back with Manfred to his house and drank even more great wine over a wonderful lunch. It was such really a treat. Manfred and Elaine have a gorgeous property over looking Ojai, where besides restoring a house they have planted vineyards and are building a winery on the property. They are getting some fruit from their vineyard now and in the years to come when the vines mature will be getting much of the fruit from there, hopefully that means they will be able to make more wine. They have a great collection of decanters in their dining room and above them is a wonderful quote which says it all..I couldn't agree more.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_ZjcwAkjc21nzOmZoUhSCMwgh7zqdm2Rk9-nUUQUdRraeVJdGkSZDSdUOK6eZXF3d4v1Gk-9SadCXSJPdnb8KzsLmSW3XADbRHZ36JKZ967Q5GGrVjWW04yz7KzayXiFjk2ndP9_V356/s1600/manfred+for+a+day.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_ZjcwAkjc21nzOmZoUhSCMwgh7zqdm2Rk9-nUUQUdRraeVJdGkSZDSdUOK6eZXF3d4v1Gk-9SadCXSJPdnb8KzsLmSW3XADbRHZ36JKZ967Q5GGrVjWW04yz7KzayXiFjk2ndP9_V356/s320/manfred+for+a+day.JPG" />This</a></div>Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-21980091386262436772010-08-10T17:47:00.000-04:002011-09-13T17:47:38.345-04:00La Numero Uno<div class="entry-body">
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Once in a while, a restaurant comes along where you experience
home-cooked food that's not necessarily simple, quaint or un-fussy—it’s
just real. La Numero Uno is such a place, a small Salvadorian and
Mexican restaurant that serves some of the best Mexican food I’ve had in
a long time. The Mercado family, who are now the owners as of a month
ago, are hands-on chefs.<br />
On the Salvadorian side of the menu, they have delicious pupusas. We
ordered the revuleta pupusas, which were filled with pork, cheese and
beans and served with a side of coleslaw that was wonderful. The Mexican
side of the menu is mostly recipes inspired from Mexico City ,
including classic dishes like mojarra frita, a simple piece of fried
fish, and pollo con guisado, an exquisite chicken stew—both of these
were sensational and satisfying.
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<img height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0134861cf2dc970c-800wi" width="400" />
One of my favorite dishes, and the best I’ve had in L.A. so far, was
their chile rellenos. The chilies were fresh, the batter was light, and
the red sauce delicious. When I asked our server what their most
authentic and unique dish was, she said the salpicon, a traditional
Mexican dish of shredded meat and chopped radishes served room
temperature. They made theirs with ground beef, and though it was fine, I
think if made traditionally with shredded meat, it would be
outrageously good.<br />
<img height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133f2f96e93970b-800wi" width="400" />
My friend Craig who lives in the building next door turned me on to
La Numero Uno. He is trying to introduce them to using some organic
ingredients, so he brought some tomatoes and peaches from the farmers'
market. They served us some sliced peaches for dessert, a perfect ending
for a great meal.<br />
Besides just great food, the prices are unbeatable, and you can
BYOB—another great plus. It’s also right down the street from the
ArcLight on Vine, so it’s a great spot for before or after a movie or
any other time as well.<br /> <i>La Numero Uno, 1247 N. Vine St., Hollywood, 323-957-1111</i><br />
<img height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0134861cf68f970c-800wi" width="400" />
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Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-82332639140010086012010-06-04T17:30:00.000-04:002011-09-13T17:32:36.768-04:00Cuts Like a Knife<img height="240" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0133efa289f0970b-800wi" width="320" />
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Anyone serious about cooking knows how invaluable a sharp knife is.
There are so many gadgets out there to sharpen knives, and most don’t
work, but sending your knives out to be sharpened is a risky business
unless you know they will be sharpened by hand. If a knife is sharpened
by a machine, it is done on an electric stone, which usually gets too
hot and ruins the tempering of the knife. It can never keep a sharp
edge.<br />
I believe through years of experience that the best way to maintain
your knives is to sharpen by hand with two whetstones, one to get the
blade sharp and the other to fine tune the edge. The only drawback to
sharpening this way is that it takes a good half hour per
knife—honestly, I am lazy and would rather have someone else do it for
me. The problem is that I haven’t found anyone in L.A.—until now.<br />
My life has changed.<br />
While shopping for a broom in Little Tokyo, I stumbled into a
charming old-school hardware store called Anzen. Inside I noticed two
worn-out sharpening stones on the counter. I asked the owner, Norihiko
Takatani, if he sharpened knives. He explained that he did and that it’s
a service he likes to offer his customers. I was ecstatic, because who
knows knives better than the Japanese?Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-69103403122295286562010-05-24T10:01:00.001-04:002010-05-24T10:02:47.427-04:00Baking Bread in New York City<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUwDPOc08B8G-joIeAKON_HpngrZw_w3Q3NCYk6XEmF4D8_ALKOUNbOaMK6e2gG2W_fKiCHl5qzGGI3GbhbrRkxCA4RIogLbRHA6CQAIbq0guNqEVPkMX02M7Z-9aMjh3KnnavwQswuwT/s1600/L1050885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUwDPOc08B8G-joIeAKON_HpngrZw_w3Q3NCYk6XEmF4D8_ALKOUNbOaMK6e2gG2W_fKiCHl5qzGGI3GbhbrRkxCA4RIogLbRHA6CQAIbq0guNqEVPkMX02M7Z-9aMjh3KnnavwQswuwT/s320/L1050885.JPG" /></a></div>For the past month I've been swamped with work and have been a very bad blogger, but that has not stopped me from baking bread religiously. In fact while I was recently working in NYC, I brought my starter and baked a few loaves. Unfortunately, I didn't have my mixer which was a drag. I had to knead by hand and the results, well it tasted great, but wasn't the most visual.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCDrxh4OHF2ZuPZg1EMy7iqrUB3WdaGp4auHPS6zCFM_QKb-qiRG0GXuB4xEZLJ9Ihs52hoq6f0-mHEhESAAt8S7Pb7PNGVHc4nV3K8faiB0B_BOljTzheyQGSfU05ahGzsKEhZNwi5bl/s1600/L1050888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCDrxh4OHF2ZuPZg1EMy7iqrUB3WdaGp4auHPS6zCFM_QKb-qiRG0GXuB4xEZLJ9Ihs52hoq6f0-mHEhESAAt8S7Pb7PNGVHc4nV3K8faiB0B_BOljTzheyQGSfU05ahGzsKEhZNwi5bl/s320/L1050888.JPG" /></a></div>There is something so gratifying about baking being a constant in my life, making something by hand that gets better and better.<br />
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More to come, including my first Walnut Sourdough with some first of season walnuts I picked up at the Farmers Market.Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-71668864747546951012010-04-02T23:08:00.000-04:002010-04-02T23:08:27.305-04:00wowowowMy friend Julia Reed interviewed me on her radio show for the website wowowow. Check it out, kind of fun.<br />
<a href="http://www.wowowow.com/entertainment/wow-effect-episode-5-new-career-new-town-lesley-stahl-linda-fairstein-452160">http://www.wowowow.com/entertainment/wow-effect-episode-5-new-career-new-town-lesley-stahl-linda-fairstein-452160</a>Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-86331290456565729812010-04-02T22:31:00.001-04:002010-04-02T22:35:43.180-04:00Practice, Practice & More Practice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKGmnYGfVMJy1Zg3ycYcP1wpaUkVAOjtT1cxPPUnjL5L0OJvXqaJvX1HD6s8iKJ2Fe8PD-fFbPbJGy-GFEdGsESTm2TtAbl545GuA2aKO7FP-5dSnjHxITHoYlxXhO-O_ypCBLj7hLc3S/s1600/L1050879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKGmnYGfVMJy1Zg3ycYcP1wpaUkVAOjtT1cxPPUnjL5L0OJvXqaJvX1HD6s8iKJ2Fe8PD-fFbPbJGy-GFEdGsESTm2TtAbl545GuA2aKO7FP-5dSnjHxITHoYlxXhO-O_ypCBLj7hLc3S/s320/L1050879.JPG" /></a></div>I’m such a bad blogger; forgive me everyone for not posting more often. Not quite sure how those bloggers out there can blog on a daily basis, maybe they don’t have a day job or something going on, not to be judgmental. I’ve felt like I don’t want to bore everyone with the process of baking but I actually realized this weekend that it’s exactly what I should be blogging about, the endless weekends spent baking, even though I think nothing is really happening actually so much is.<br />
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Baking has been my constant, my refuge and the practice; call it meditation that is keeping me sane during insane times. I feel like the world is cracking up and though I try and do my part, its intense out there. I remember when my life was much simpler and the stress level was much more sane. I thought when you got older all that you invested in starts to pay off, but guess what, its kind of not working out that way, its actually the opposite. To survive I feel is having to be open to re-inventing yourself and in the end it’s really been a good thing for me. It’s how we grow and change. I want no self pity because I would never have taken this journey, but here I am and I am so proud of one thing, that I have some control over, my pain levain.<br />
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So many friends I know are actually surviving by reinventing themselves, taking it back to the simplest denominator. In the food world it seems everyone is trying to go back to making something by hand and I for one think that is so the way to go. It’s a given that no matter what, everyone has to eat so the business won’t go away.<br />
This week after almost a month of posting I realized that to be good at anything, no matter what, it simply takes practice. That thing that you do on your own, with no one watching, just you practicing what it is you want to learn and in my case be the best at. It’s the subtle small lessons, the weird way you start to become so familiar with something, it becomes second nature. <br />
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Last Sunday on one of those morning shows, there was segment on Lionel Poilane. The Lionel family was in the bread business in Paris and he made it so chic and produced one of the finest loaves of bread in Paris. I was so lucky to have met him and spent an afternoon with him at his bakery. I think it was one of the reasons I wanted to make bread. It was a video taken of him before the tragic helicopter accident that took he and his wife Ibu. Lionel was making his signature cookies and doing it all with just one hand. He was explaining that it’s about touching the ingredients, an egg in the middle, a circle of sugar and then a circle of flour. All the while he was incorporating the ingredients in a slow motion and presto it was a ball of dough. He spoke of how we need to touch, it’s that tactile experience that you need in baking.<br />
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When the weekend comes around I don’t really want to take chances with my bread but that is what I should be doing, experimenting. It just a drag to spend 10 hours on something and then it doesn’t turn out, but my bread needs more work to get it to be ultimately what I want. How do I get there, by sometimes making bread that doesn’t work so I learn not to do whatever it was I did again? It’s the practice of making it over and over again, and getting more and more familiar with it. I am so proud of where my bread has come; its incredibly delicious and all of my lucky friends who I share it with are in awe. Not in a way that feeds my ego, but in a way that just confirms my resolution, sometimes it’s the small things in life that are the most important.Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-17682361090306274882010-03-10T17:36:00.000-05:002011-09-13T17:36:51.384-04:00Ojai Citrus Is Something Special<span class="entry-author-parent"><span class="entry-author-name"></span></span><br />
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<img alt="ojai citrus" border="0" height="300" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0120a921ccaf970b-800wi" width="400" />
It's that time of year again, as I wait patiently all year long for
the height of citrus season. The farmers' markets are busting out every
kind of citrus imaginable, and the colors are incredible. I feel healthy
just looking at them. The greatest variety runs from January thru
April. There are Cara Cara oranges, Page mandarins, Tahoe Gold, Gold
Nugget, Daisy and Clementine tangerines, tangelos, cocktail grapefruits,
lemons and limes and so much more.<br />
I especially love the citrus from <a href="http://www.friendsranches.com/" target="_blank" title="Friend's Ranches">Friend's Ranches</a>
in Ojai. They're at the Hollywood farmers' market on Sundays and the
Santa Monica farmers' market on Wednesdays. Their stand is so old
school, and the variety is great as well. The citrus from Ojai never
disappoints. I'm looking forward to the Ojai Pixie Tangerines, which
should be showing up soon—they're seedless and incredibly sweet.<br />
<img alt="ojai citrus" border="0" height="400" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef01310f889280970c-800wi" width="300" /><br />
I’d have to say my all-time favorite is a Page tangerine, and the finest I ever had are from <a href="http://www.tangerineman.com/" target="_blank" title="Churchill Orchard">Churchill Orchard</a>
in Ojai. Unfortunately, they only sell mail order or at the Ojai
farmers' market on Sundays, so I'll be heading up there next Sunday to
load up. The tangerines are a very rich deep orange color—sweet and
luscious and the perfect juice to use in a cocktail.<br />
This is the time to make your marmalade, squeeze juice for your
whiskey sour, cook with them or just eat them plain. Just get out and
enjoy while the going's good.</div>
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Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-52652970836667086312010-03-07T11:02:00.003-05:002010-03-07T11:05:19.439-05:00The Perfect Loaf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZwGs3Vur3Zii1nNAAvX9R20iljJd8QmNQr7zaNnwu5f2aC4dnPLF6bH7OtK0rWNtpMwJyqAV8MzHhp6gaudWHwPcCrvXmDFw_A_6C0AmvB0vcwBvWEqEhd88F2W_82P-BVuwBTF2Ma1-/s1600-h/The+perfect+loaf.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZwGs3Vur3Zii1nNAAvX9R20iljJd8QmNQr7zaNnwu5f2aC4dnPLF6bH7OtK0rWNtpMwJyqAV8MzHhp6gaudWHwPcCrvXmDFw_A_6C0AmvB0vcwBvWEqEhd88F2W_82P-BVuwBTF2Ma1-/s320/The+perfect+loaf.JPG" /></a></div>Yesterday after 5 months of testing and baking Pain Levain, I can say with confidence that I made the perfect loaf. Everything was there, taste, smell, texture and a good crust. Considering that I am making a loaf at a time in a pot, it's pretty amazing. I can only imagine what it's going to be like when I get to bake in a wood burning or a professional deck oven. I'm really happy and still have a long way to go, but these benchmark moments make the journey fun.Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-26252325407006218132010-03-03T10:57:00.003-05:002010-03-07T11:05:57.602-05:00Back to BreadIt’s been a busy couple of weeks. I’ve been traveling and and working to pay the bills. Finally, this weekend I’m back to baking bread. It’s been good to take some time off and reflect on the bread I’ve been making. When I step away, I can be more objective and critique my work fairly.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt4tpDgACEyNVRMRp4ywdvl1A_BhfKuTXEnEXrtLEPPuSixVQubhKDMxYKL_zScZRag-Q-U0lHQJTGa2JtPPmit9qnAw_tjoFW_QnTYb33pvfrnRuNt_yrpu_jG9cGCd-LVVtV42U4qb7s/s1600-h/starters.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt4tpDgACEyNVRMRp4ywdvl1A_BhfKuTXEnEXrtLEPPuSixVQubhKDMxYKL_zScZRag-Q-U0lHQJTGa2JtPPmit9qnAw_tjoFW_QnTYb33pvfrnRuNt_yrpu_jG9cGCd-LVVtV42U4qb7s/s320/starters.JPG" /></a></div>I did take my yeast with me so I could keep it going which was pretty insane. I guess I could start over, but at this point I’m really attached to my yeast. I really like the flavor and smell and don’t want to loose them.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoex-67Gy2PArNCkRmjQfSp9nSVwp-S1lyr3L5EaWN0qWM1RuB3YPTF6sHyQPQDljUoUYjkErOyn9QBlOLrdEy-hhKiMHtZpL_8Ya2QXjozEGWYe1mBaAB3kyN_7Nge9KZQIWSZm26i5bG/s1600-h/3+loaves.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoex-67Gy2PArNCkRmjQfSp9nSVwp-S1lyr3L5EaWN0qWM1RuB3YPTF6sHyQPQDljUoUYjkErOyn9QBlOLrdEy-hhKiMHtZpL_8Ya2QXjozEGWYe1mBaAB3kyN_7Nge9KZQIWSZm26i5bG/s320/3+loaves.JPG" /></a></div><br />
This weekend was mega baking marathon all day Saturday and Sunday. I am testing different dough, trying to get my dough to have a specific texture and flavor, which for now, is only in my imagination. Trying to produce this is, well, let’s say it ain’t easy. Working with a natural starter has a lot of variables.<br />
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I made 6 kinds of dough, all of which use different methods. It’s a bit frustrating. And so scientific! I find myself feeling rebellious and want to quit. Besides which working with a wet dough is even harder but I know once I get it, it’s all going to be worth it.<br />
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One thing I am noticing that really makes me happy is the improvements in the smell and flavor of my bread. My loaves really taste alive and stay fresh for 3-4 days after I bake. That is the one thing I wanted, now I just have to get that wet texture down.<br />
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A loaf that is a couple of days old is perfect for making a grilled cheese sandwich on the Panini press. I was watching PBS the other day and Ruth Reichel was on the Gourmet travel show reproducing a grilled cheese sandwich she’d eaten at the <a href="http://www.boroughmarket.org.uk/">Borough Hall Market in London.</a><br />
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She spoke about how simple it was because of all the perfect ingredients. Basically she buttered the outside of the bread then piled cheddar cheese on one side then a variety of chopped onions, red, shallots and scallions on the other. She put the halves together then grilled the sandwich on both sides until it’s golden brown and there you have it.<br />
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I couldn’t wait to make this panini when my bread was old enough. The result was fantastic. The onions bring the sandwich to life. I kept fantasizing that the inspiration for the sandwich was the Cheddar cheese from <a href="http://www.nealsyarddairy.co.uk/">Neal’s Yard Dairy</a>, which is outside the Borough Hall Market. I made mine version with some of the clothbound cheddar from Cabot which I brought back with me from NY. A perfect choice!<br />
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This weekend my friend who is a farmer and on the board of the <a href="http://www.farmernet.com/">Hollywood Farmers Market,</a> delivered two of my fresh warm loaves to the women who run the market. I really want to get a small stand there and sell bread. I can’t believe that I am even trying without a kitchen yet, but there is a fire in me and I just have to blind faith right now. If I get a venue to sell my bread, I know I will find the space to do it.<br />
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One day when I get a real space with a real oven, professional mixer and more space it will be easier and the results will be brilliant, but for now I’m fine making a few loaves at a time and getting the recipe perfect.Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-18304733851524143702010-02-22T18:05:00.001-05:002010-02-22T18:06:01.006-05:00Traveling With My YeastI'm sorry my blogs have been far and few between. I've been on the east coast and will be back home tomorrow. I plan to pick up my bread baking and bake over the weekend. Meanwhile, I am proud to say that I have been traveling with my yeast, feeding it twice a day. All I can say is it's no small feat and I am actually impressed with myself.<br />
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Right before I left, I baked one of my most successful loaves of bread ever. I think the secret was using banneton's, a linen covered basket that you use to proof bread.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEhKyAavU-gDJFcuWygPvLGEG3tOTqhSdmWn46KDHjzJ04fih9DV6B0r2SKi3NwRVWkhyphenhyphenSt2ZHkcIKXcjaJztMreRELfwSYOHcbrw1U6r8FYmEP6BMFOXMjpQrYicp8YI_XnKDV46o2uy/s1600-h/banetton+loave.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEhKyAavU-gDJFcuWygPvLGEG3tOTqhSdmWn46KDHjzJ04fih9DV6B0r2SKi3NwRVWkhyphenhyphenSt2ZHkcIKXcjaJztMreRELfwSYOHcbrw1U6r8FYmEP6BMFOXMjpQrYicp8YI_XnKDV46o2uy/s320/banetton+loave.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSo2sp6vMBYbtuznchp6TuZY_RhQli6gprGKqIRuYNu00cqNAA8Ar5AGSBYZREwnBRZGdpYgHDtipAbY7Cg_sm5A3-RuHdHk5d4gHLlfQZSwG8Kxq28EtcS-On2Ol_F1C_2T3ta7i3aPz/s1600-h/banetton+loaf+close+up.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSo2sp6vMBYbtuznchp6TuZY_RhQli6gprGKqIRuYNu00cqNAA8Ar5AGSBYZREwnBRZGdpYgHDtipAbY7Cg_sm5A3-RuHdHk5d4gHLlfQZSwG8Kxq28EtcS-On2Ol_F1C_2T3ta7i3aPz/s320/banetton+loaf+close+up.JPG" /></a></div>More to come.Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-13542897979348357842010-02-03T11:48:00.004-05:002010-02-03T11:51:27.543-05:00Bread, Truffles and ChampagneUsually, I plan to bake bread on Sundays, sometimes on both Saturday and Sunday if I have time. It takes me a week to prepare my starter. On Friday I prepare the build, which is combining a few tablespoons of the starter to a flour and water mixture and let it sit overnight. This gets added the next day to my final mixture. It’s often called the first build. This weekend I’ve had both days free to bake. It’s been full on.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpQP8kplvwjyxk5C_cGcMHHjq3c3S2wwfNP-zDdOcw3-qdbelkFV70cpGrv8Y_U3nJao5tKM0sT6cw7P4ivxxZQ1D4VGOD342ZBp5fLL_ncBblrMS1EyK27I27qCgd-MlXhBSG1Cz3B_6/s1600-h/two+loaves.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpQP8kplvwjyxk5C_cGcMHHjq3c3S2wwfNP-zDdOcw3-qdbelkFV70cpGrv8Y_U3nJao5tKM0sT6cw7P4ivxxZQ1D4VGOD342ZBp5fLL_ncBblrMS1EyK27I27qCgd-MlXhBSG1Cz3B_6/s320/two+loaves.JPG" /></a></div>I experimented with several different loaves. The loaf on the left I proofed in a round coiled wicker basket and the loaf on the right I proofed in linen. Both loaves tasted great, but I love the free form oval shaped bread the best. I baked both of them in Staub cast iron pots, one round and one oval, which is the next best thing to having a professional oven. I’m lucky enough to own these pots—they are pricey. If you don’t happen to have a Staub, Chad Robertson of<a href="http://www.tartinebakery.com/"> Tartine</a> suggests a Lodge cast iron pot as an alternative. The Lodge is more affordable and gives you the same results.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFWlhrowCZ-HESccG5APuXJepWXIf209QiDnUL2oifl-sw_AruM6TT3GjPGRbPyXIDSg861TxVvLn2a-NZ55zHV_Sh6HhSPqm3mw7oEWfTJ41TseP8heWpCph4ANnJ3zpx9AX4ew_2UU5/s1600-h/truffle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFWlhrowCZ-HESccG5APuXJepWXIf209QiDnUL2oifl-sw_AruM6TT3GjPGRbPyXIDSg861TxVvLn2a-NZ55zHV_Sh6HhSPqm3mw7oEWfTJ41TseP8heWpCph4ANnJ3zpx9AX4ew_2UU5/s320/truffle.JPG" /></a></div>This past week some friends and winemakers from Bordeaux visited me in LA. I decided to treat them to a dinner of black truffles—my first experience with a black truffle was in France and I wanted to relive it. On my last trip to NYC, I was turned on to the company <a href="http://www.plantin.com/">Plantin</a> in New Jersey that supplies all the top chefs with truffles. I was very impressed with the quality of their truffle—smell, texture, and appearance. If you’ve never had a black truffle, I can only describe it by saying that it’s like tasting the earthy and essential essence of mushrooms. Their taste unique, delicious, and powerful that once you’ve a great one, there is no substitute.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxFxYeOqb52jqZo9VzsqjIANe0wWnQKxNyT7rLi6wSpp4FvZHBpx-UkRXJOfezjau81Yb8i3NuTSvQfdjK5pUN1w8GxmVV0wyJ8rib7-svRbknr_dq-TDv51we3gWfHZFdl7ggLJzoDRc/s1600-h/truffle+sandwich+and+champagne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxFxYeOqb52jqZo9VzsqjIANe0wWnQKxNyT7rLi6wSpp4FvZHBpx-UkRXJOfezjau81Yb8i3NuTSvQfdjK5pUN1w8GxmVV0wyJ8rib7-svRbknr_dq-TDv51we3gWfHZFdl7ggLJzoDRc/s320/truffle+sandwich+and+champagne.jpg" /></a></div>I started with my favorite all time recipe for black truffles, it’s also the simplest—a toasted truffle sandwich. I first tasted this when I was in Bordeaux with my friend Bruno Borie of Chateau Ducru Beaucaillou at the house of Pebeyre family in Cahors. The <a href="http://www.pebeyre.fr/">Pebeyres</a> are a wonderful family who have dealt in truffles for many years. Jacques Pebeyre made these exquisite, blissful concoctions—heaven on bread. I couldn’t believe that something so simple could be so remarkable.<br />
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Back in LA, dinner was great; the truffle sandwiches, which I made with my bread, Pain Levain, were a hit and always are when I serve them. I followed them with a risotto topped with shavings of fresh black truffles over it and served teleme cheese, a delicious old school California cheese, which also had truffles, shaved over it. A true truffle fete.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7xS2otEOly4VOBJcOHKYaulCaRkeApgPzmINamLAS1-0hL-JMdbOcwwon2ZwG6-E_UOPLWXwEP1XbkjRaga57AL_n9EtDhjqlJtdUXFozco1DUHR4ZnOOcWZZT3pc_B9wU25SqcFEBx5J/s1600-h/egg+with+truffles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7xS2otEOly4VOBJcOHKYaulCaRkeApgPzmINamLAS1-0hL-JMdbOcwwon2ZwG6-E_UOPLWXwEP1XbkjRaga57AL_n9EtDhjqlJtdUXFozco1DUHR4ZnOOcWZZT3pc_B9wU25SqcFEBx5J/s320/egg+with+truffles.JPG" /></a></div>The best part of this story though is that I had a truffle left over! I immediately put in a bowl with some eggs so I could enjoy some fried eggs over the weekend with my freshly baked bread. So on Sunday, I fried up an egg, toasted a couple of slices of my bread and shaved my remaining truffles over the egg. As I took my first bite I was in heaven. It was seriously one the best breakfasts I’ve had. There was something missing though. A drink. Since it was Sunday, late, late, late morning, I’m not embarrassed to tell you I treated myself to a glass of Pommery Blanc de Noirs Champagne with my egg and toast. This was the perfect complement to my sublime breakfast. I can’t think of a better Sunday brunch, not least of all because I was eating my own bread.Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635805160814007200.post-79788691234383251112010-01-27T09:31:00.002-05:002010-01-27T16:09:31.637-05:00Story about Sam's breadMy friend Alice Waters sent me this link yesterday, a wonderful story about bread. I loved it and wanted to share it.<br />
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<a href="http://www.chewswise.com/chews/2010/01/alice-waters-called-seeking-bread.html">What to Do When Alice Waters Calls, Seeking Bread</a>Lora Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00912328047254329201noreply@blogger.com2