VittlesVamp

When Good Dinners Have Bad Neighbors

The birthday partying continued. Regrettably though, there was an unfortunate theme that infiltrated two excellent dinners -- bad dining neighbors.

First there was a festive dinner at Bar Breton with Laurel, where we planned to celebrate both our b-days in fabulous French brasserie-style. As evidenced by the exquisite appetizer of Tuna Tartare pictured above, the food was indeed fabulous. The meal also included the restaurant's much-lauded BB Burger, medium-rare and juicy, composed of house-ground brisket and short rib, as well as warm Nutella Crepes for dessert.

Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

Well, the food and service was lovely. The view -- of a canoodling couple -- was not.

I'm not a prude, but there are times you just want to shout "GET ROOM!" This was one of those times. Especially, since the couple in question hadn't asked for a secluded corner table and instead sat smack dab in the middle of the well-lit dining room. I could see that the man was clearly twice the age of his blonde companion, so perhaps he wanted to show off a bit, but c'mon. No need to be unappetizingly amorous in public.

Next up was Saul with my pal Sandra. As always, the food was masterful, starting with a Cauliflower Soup that amazed and delighted...

Moving onto Aged Rib Eye Steak with Slow-Cooked Beef Shortribs, Garlic-Scented Potato Puree and Bone Marrow Butter, followed by a triumphant Baked Alaska for dessert, it was a truly divine birthday dinner.

Divine except for the newly engaged couple seated to our left. Seated only half a foot to our left.

The "he" in the couple had popped the question and given the ring at the entrance to the small, low-key restaurant and then "she" proceeded to gush about the ring at the table ad nauseum with stops for the requisite PDAs throughout the meal.

This really would have been okay, had they not been plunked down within easy earshot of Sandra and I, a mere six-inches away from our table.

I realize that I probably sound like a curmudgeon with this posting. But, is it too much to ask that these overtly ardent couples find more private tables? Both establishments had enough room and table options to satisfy that sort of request. Yet, neither couple made a move. And, if it is way too much to ask, can they just keep it to hand holding and a game of footsie, until they home?

Yup. Guess I'm a curmudgeon after all. That's was you get for turning a year older!

And, maybe next time I'll simply ask for the secluded table.

Proof That The Economy Is In The Crapper

Today's Wall Street Journal featured a Personal Journal cover story about making canned foods at home, spotlighting recipes for canning your own Pickles and Peach Jam.

Now, canning is all well and good, but the Journal is a publication that typically features food and drink reports about truffle auctions and high-priced tea obsessions.

Now, they're promoting canning. Canning?!?

Can't wait to see next week's Wall Street Journal feature on butter churning.

Pollan's "Here" Isn't My Here

I feel like inviting Michael Pollan over for dinner. His diatribe in yesterday's Sunday New York Times Magazine was so darn sad, it inspires me to make him a chicken.

Titled "No One Cooks Here Anymore," Pollan's article presented a ying-yang view of food in the U.S.-- comparing past to present. For page after wistful page, Pollan waxed poetically about his childhood watching Julia Child in all her public television glory take on boeuf bourgignon,, duck a la orange and mousse au chocolat. Then he turned to his current despair in discovering that cooking has become a "spectator sport" in America and that suburban Moms are buy frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, lest they deign to go through the arduous task of making the lunchbox classic themselves.

Michael: The women that buy frozen PBJ don't want to cook and have availed themselves of any tool necessary in order to avoid it.

On the flipside, there is a reason that gourmet supermarkets like Whole Foods and local greenmarkets are flourishing. There is very strong microcosm of the U.S. that has thrown themselves full-throttle into the culinary arts. Whether it simply comes to appreciating fine food or actually hitting the stove, it's a revelation.

Hasn't Michael Pollan seen how many people share photos of everything they consume on Flickr and alike? He might see it as part of the "spectator" aspect of food these days, but I think it has more to do with the savoring. These amateur foodies and photogs are snapping a fleeting image of a plate that goes beyond sustenance, taking it further into the realm of art.

Cooking hasn't disappeared. It's morphed. It's being cherished by a group of fervent foodies who don't -- and won't -- give up on the pleasures of the frying pan, whisk and blender.

Case in point: This weekend alone I whipped up tart and creamy Avocado Dressing, made Fettuccine with a rich Lemon Cream Sauce, brewed a pitcher of fresh Sweet Iced Tea, put together a fragrant batch of Basil Pesto, and indulged in the culinary hug that is making a Roast Chicken with Asparagus, Potatoes and Carrots (see above).

I made the bird for a friend who is in a bad way. Not Michael, mind you. Another pal.

But, Michael: The offer still stands. Just let me know when you're ready. Roast Chicken will be yours. I'll have my roasting pan on standby and the butcher on speed dial.

Foodie Film Fanaticism

Who knew a Nora Ephron film could be so polarizing? You know the situation is bad when Nick Denton's Silicon Valley tabloid Valleywag decides to get into the fray.

That said, I've seen "Julie & Julia" and Meryl Streep is breathtaking, warm and utterly charming as Julia Child. I couldn't help but smile with delight every single time she was on screen. And, an overwhelming need for all things French surely did follow.

The grumbling is really all about Julie Powell - the real Julia Powell, not the fictional one up on the screen portrayed by the ever-perky Amy Adams.

I say ignore it. Go. See Meryl as Julia. It's bliss.

Another Russian Delicacy

It's called hair sausage. The hair is not grown. It's placed.

It's not from young Asian women relinquishing their long tresses. It's from Italy, where they relinquish strands of spaghetti by the millions.

Beautiful, ain't it?

A Stinky Thing To Do

Clearly, the person who committed this crime is a whey-ward soul who desperately needs help -- as well as the chance to spend some quality time alone with a hunk of Epoisses in a very small, tightly enclosed cell.

All Fired Up

And no where to grill.

This time of year can be so frustrating for a gal who would love nothing better than to fire up a barbecue and get cooking.

Instead, I simply get bombarded by article after article about grilling, grilling, grilling, grilling, grilling and grilling.

So, it looks like the only way I'm going to be able to harness the power of fire this season will be through the culinary art of flambé.

Stay tuned and keep your fire extinguishers at the ready...

California Cuisine?

I always thought of the City of Angels as the culinary home to sprouts, tofu and wheat grass. That is, unless you're savvy enough to indulge in the city's hot and spicy -- and very, very tasty -- taco truck culture. So, the Los Angeles Times' homage to the glory that is Schnitzel paired with German Potato Salad took me by surprise.

Nary a sprout or tortilla in sight.

Sehr gut!

Pizza For Anytime, Automat Style

Apparently, Pizzas served baked to order out of a vending machine are becoming popular in Italy. Seriously.

I Like The Greenies

I've always liked the greenies when it comes to M&Ms. But generally I'm more of a dark purple/black gal when it comes to olives, usually reaching for the Kalamatas. The greenies never held the same appeal. That is, until now. Until Castelvetranos.

There's a reason they are the olive bar rage at Whole Foods and beyond. The San Francisco Chronicle has this to say about these plump, mild, buttery, ever-so-slightly briny beauties:

Castelvetranos are harvested young and cured in lightly salted brine, which accounts for their bright green hue (it's not food coloring) and meaty texture. With a mild, nuanced flavor that's both salty and sweet, the fruit appeals not only to olive aficionados, but also to those who shy away from stronger, brinier varieties. Some refer to them as the rich man's version of the mild black olives we were drawn to as kids.

Fresca Italia manager Andy Lax says that the company actually began carrying the Castelvetranos about 4 years ago, but it wasn't until recent months that they exploded onto the scene - likely due to the fact that more markets and restaurants started ordering them.

"It used to be that we were selling a pallet every couple of months or so," he says, referring to a flat that holds 100 ten-pound buckets. "Now we do one or two a week. We can't get them in fast enough."

The importing company is the largest supplier of the olives in the Bay Area, selling to markets like Bi-Rite, Rainbow and Whole Foods. But according to Lax, Bay Area restaurants are clamoring for them as well.

At Perbacco, the olives show up in nearly every course. Chef Staffan Terje serves them as a simple bar snack drizzled with Castelvetrano oil, throws them into a braised lamb dish, cracks them into vinaigrettes and pasta sauces, and pairs them with mozzarella.

"They're mild, and they don't have a lot of contradicting flavors," says Terje, "so you can put them in sauces or braises and they don't overpower the dish."

But Terje says they get the most recognition at the bar, where they're pitted and dropped into martinis.

So, once again, I can claim a fondness for the greenies. And, this time, they even go seamlessly with a stiff drink. (After all, M&Ms are notoriously difficult to pair with a cocktail.)