I'm Such A Good Cook When I'm Drunk

The key with cooking, as with most things in life, is to do it while tipsy.  

That probably sounds delusional, but no, it's true.   I come into my own when I'm a little tipsy in the kitchen.  When I'm tipsy, I prepare potatoes, fish, chicken, brussel sprouts, whatever I'm working on, with elan - not to mention salt, pepper, olive oil, garlic, olive oil, pepper, and lately, maple syrup.  I don't get hung up on exact recipes and measurements.  I throw everything together with a generous hand and then bake it, saute it, roast it, buy it from Safeway, whatever.  It gives me a warm glow in my stomach and heart.

To be fair, though, that could be the bourbon. 

My latest adventure while tipsy?  Brussels sprouts.  Yes, those.  The ones we hated as kids and tried to hide beneath napkins.  Brussels sprouts are hip now.  They are like the stars of one of those ugly duckling movies, where they show up to prom dressed up in bacon and maple syrup, and everyone is blown away by how amazing they taste . . . er, look.

We want to cook healthy meals because we're supposed to do so, right?  If we're parents now, if we are supposed to be grown ups, this is what we do.  We cook Brussels sprouts. 

It would be easy enough to just steam them.   I have a fancy vegetable steamer that I conned some friends into selling me cheaply by tricking them into emigrating for a while.  That would be simple, conservative, safe.  But no, I wanted some flair.  I remembered reading about Brussels sprouts and maple syrup, and a quick conversation with Siri - my latest toy is an iPhone 6 - gave me the idea of what to do.

Brussels sprouts are actually easy to prepare.  You remove the outer layers, the ones that might be dirty or tough, and with a good knife slicing off the tough base of the sprout, the layers practically fall off with a touch.   I halved them, quartered some of the larger ones, and threw them in a frying pan with olive oil, then scattered pepper and salt across them.  After five of the six recommended minutes, I carefully poured a tablespoon full of maple syrup into the pan.

 It sizzled, and the kitchen filled with the smoky, ethereal, sugary scent of evaporating maple syrup, a scent that would creep into the pores of the sprouts.  It reminded me of how I picture the angel's share of whiskey distillation.   It's not a technically accurate comparison, but it works poetically.  There is a similar warmth and smokiness in whiskey and in maple syrup.

(Actually, I think I have a good idea for a chain of restaurants, open late:  Waffles N' Whiskey.  I should think about trademarking that, but I probably won't.)

Chaotic or not, my technique proved effective.  The Brussels sprouts were delicious, fried, slightly browned, and with a hint of flavor.  The first time I tried this, it was with roasted potatoes and canned soup, and I think it turned out quite well:

The lesson, I suppose, is that when in doubt, add alcohol.  Or maple syrup.  Or both. 

Writing For Salmon, Or Vice Versa

I just realized I haven't written a food blog for a month.  More than a month.  That is shocking. 

It isn't that I stopped eating or cooking; I was just so busy with work and poetry and fiction and wedding planning that I wasn't doing anything particularly complicated or noteworthy from an amateur food lover's perspective.  That changed with the arrival of salmon from Local Catch Monterey Bay.  Salmon season has brought not just an influx of dolphins and whales to Monterey Bay, but also fresh inspiration for my blog!

Our last two Local Catch deliveries were fresh chinook salmon fillets.  My big discovery has been the secret to salmon's popularity.  It has so much natural flavor that you don't need to do much to it.  It will still be delicious.  I appreciate this even more now in light of my previous efforts to infuse fish with flavor.

In both cases, I cooked the fish on the stove-top, using a grill plate that is placed over two burners.

Salmon on the grill

The first stab at salmon, I paired it with couscous, one of those ever-reliable five minute instant couscous boxes from the local virtuously organic grocery store.  The fish looked fantastic, and it browned up nicely, even if the second picture posted here makes it look oddly like the See-Threepio of salmon.

Parsley and lemon, with salt and pepper during the cooking, were really all the additions I made to this, with just a few bits of garlic added to the olive oil in which I cooked the fish.

 So it looked great.  Unfortunately, it didn't really cook all the way through the first time, so we had to put it back on the grill for a bit longer, which ruined the effect.  It tasted great, of course.

See-Threepio hides behind couscous

 The second time, conversely, I cooked it long enough that it was done all the way through, but I might have cooked it too long, or I tested it too frequently with the knife and fork, because the salmon kind of fell apart.  I cut the fillets in half and cooked them hot, trying to get the skin to just crisp up a bit, but it still fell off this fish.  Next time I'll use a spatula instead of knife, or maybe not cook it as long.  Thoughts?  How do you keep salmon fillets intact and still ensure they cook all the way through?

This second time of asking, we paired the salmon with corn on the cob from Trader Joe's, and a Not This Pink wine from Bonny Doon.  As you can see, the plated fish was more a pile o' fish than a fillet at that point, but it was still delicious.  Overall, it was successful, and we felt smugly healthy as we ate vegetables and protein at the same time.  Can't wait for the next fish challenge!

Back To The City; or, Heading To Margaritaville

It had been months--literally--since I had been to San Francisco prior to Saturday. Ever since the move to Santa Cruz last October, I put out roots like a particularly sedentary house plant and stayed put.

A meal at Tres--formerly known as Tres Agaves--was a great way to go back, especially because Marina and I met up with Emily and Vaughn.

St. Patrick's Day--and a rainy, chilly St. Patrick's Day at that--spent at AT & T Park watching two soccer games amidst raucous fans of Mexico left me hungry. We wanted a place close to the park so we could have an easy walk back to the Cal Train Station at 4th and King. We also wanted a place where we could make reservations, because, well, it was St. Patrick's Day, and judging by the number of people riding the train that morning who were fully outfitted with cases of beers, it was going to be a busy Saturday night.

Tres fit the bill, especially because we could make a reservation en route via an Open Table app on Marina's iPhone, obviating the need for any extraneous human contact. I remembered Tres from the Tres Agaves days, when Jeff and I went there for drinks one night. They are famous for their tequila, and by extension, their margaritas.

They did not disappoint. A pitcher of house margaritas was elegantly divided up by our server into four glasses, two salted, two un-salted. It was elegant in how they were ordered: Marina--no salt; me--salt; Vaughn--no salt; Emily--salt. Alternating not just in salt-no salt terms, but also by boy-girl. How civilized is that on our part?

The margaritas were good, the tortilla chips, salsa and guacamole were excellent and warm, and the shrimp tacos I had were perfect. We were also impressed by the service. Not only was everyone friendly, professional yet relaxed, but they were also magicians. The table we sat at was quite wobbly, and one of the busboys came over with a napkin--a napkin, a tell you--and fixed the issue after a moment's study of the table. Marina or Emily called him the Table Whisperer.

The point of my blog is: go to Tres. You will be very impressed before you can count to three.

So That's How They Do It!

I have just discovered marination. Wow. My fish-life just got a lot more flavorful.

Last week, Local Catch Monterey Bay provided black cod, and I decided to try something other than frying it in garlic and butter. I decided to bake it, and like Robert Frost, I found that that has made all the difference.

I chose the following recipe from the Local Catch website:

Baked or Grilled Black Cod Teriyaki

Quantities are for 2 black cod steaks or fillets.

2 black cod steaks or fillets
2 teaspoons melted butter
1/2 cup teriyaki marinade
2+ cloves minced garlic
black pepper

1 Mix together the melted butter, marinade, garlic, and a few dashes of pepper. Pour the mixture over black cod steaks in a shallow glass dish, and let marinate for at least 20 minutes.
2 Bake at 350 in a casserole or baking dish in the marinade for about 20-30 minutes or until fish flakes easily.
OR
Grill on a stovetop grill pan or BBQ grill, turning carefully once, until fish flakes easily, about 15 to 20 minutes, brushing occasionally with marinade.
3 Serve with rice, with the juices (if you baked) poured on top.

I had to look up marinating, because I wasn't sure what all I had to do. Apparently, not much, which is fantastic, given the results. At the store, I didn't see any plain teriyaki marinade, so I chose a sesame seed teriyaki marinade, and I'm quite pleased with the results. (I also looked up cloves, just to make sure I was right and wasn't going to use too much or too little garlic. Scratch that; there is no such thing as too much garlic, only too little.)

Here are photos of the fish and the marinade before and after baking:






I now love baking fish. All I had to do was prepare it, marinate it, and stick it in the oven, and then serve it up with a packet of Trader Joe's Rice Medley.







From the first bite, I was extremely happy. It was sweet and flavorful, with the marination having done the trick. I paired it with a 2009 Le Cigare Blanc from Bonny Doon, and that was very successful.

In other words, hurray for baking!

Fishing For Perfection

My quest for the perfectly-prepared fish continues. Monday night, I prepared chilipepper rockfish from Local Catch Monterey Bay. Or at least I think it was chilipepper rockfish. The bags aren't actually labeled, and when you get fillets, you can't compare them to a picture of a whole fish. The weekly email from Local Catch said 90% of the fish being distributed was chilipepper rockfish, and damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a marine biologist*, so I'm playing the odds and saying that yes, I prepared chilipepper rockfish.



Marina was out of town, so I didn't attempt any of the more complicated recipes on offer that required glazing or basting or any methods that required a mastery of French vocabulary. I decided to cook it on the stove with my usual mix of butter, a splash of oil, garlic, lemon juice, Old Bay, and salt and pepper, focusing on the advice I was given to cook it hot and fast. Lemon juice was key, because our backyard lemon tree is heavy with lemons at the moment.



So yes, the fish preparation was basic, but I did decide to add side dishes. Nothing complicated, just a bit of pre-mixed salad and some instant risotto, just to make a more complete meal.

There have been two challenges I have found so far since I've started cooking seafood on a regular basis: making it flavorful and preventing it from falling apart into mush. This dish was certainly more flavorful, with good texture, although it still fell apart a bit. The flavor could be a result of combining the fish and the risotto, as the risotto did add a sweet creaminess, but I think the proportions of garlic and lemon juice were better this time. As for the fish falling apart, I may have cooked it just a bit too long, although the structural integrity was still better than my last attempt with rockfish. This is key, because everyone knows that structural integrity is the first qualification that one looks for in a gourmet meal.



Overall, I would say this meal was a success. Tonight I'll be preparing black cod, and since I have the day off, I might actually investigate some more complicated recipes. Marina is still away, so now is the time to experiment with potential disasters, right?

*Also, damn it, Jim, I'm a blogger, not a doctor, so don't come to me for free medical advice.

A Hat Trick Of Stylish Dining

It's been a while since I've offered thoughts on a dining-out experience. Hopefully you will find it was worth the wait, as I have scored a hat trick, in that the last three restaurants I've dined at have been extraordinary experiences.

Restaurant 1833

Ever since I read a review in the Chronicle of Monterey's Restaurant 1833, I felt compelled to go there. The description of American comfort food, diverse cocktails, large oak trees and fire pits, all called to me like a siren.

For my birthday weekend, we headed to Monterey on Saturday the 11th, to see the Aquarium and scout out details for possible wedding venues. We stayed at the Casa Munras Hotel, which I remembered from childhood stays. The most convenient aspect of the hotel was the location: a scant two or three blocks from Restaurant 1833.

We had a reservation at 9 p.m. When we arrived, they were running a little late, and the place was overflowing with young folks. Apparently it is quite the hip scene. The hostess suggested we get a drink at the bar. We found two stools in an alcove at the end of the bar and perused an extensive cocktail list. The bar itself was luminescent, white marble, maybe? The room felt almost like a library, with a shelf at the opposite end of the room, up above the heads of all the happy drinkers, featuring an old-fashioned clock and lines of books.

There were three young men behind the bars, two of whom seemed to be busy with wiping glasses and looking detached or bored, not offering a greeting. But finally, the lead bartender came over, cheer and light, and we ordered. I selected a Kentucky Waffle, featuring bourbon and lemon-maple syrup, cider, and cinnamon. Before the drinks were delivered, though, our table was ready.

This table was a standout. Marina sat on a comfortable bench against the wall and I took the heavy-duty beige easy chair, with tufted buttons. Our cocktails arrived soon thereafter, and were as good as advertised.

For an appetizer, we tried the biscuits, which the Yelp reviews had touted, and they are truly essential if you go, light and fluffy and flavorful.

For the entree, after ascertaining that the fish was line-caught and therefore sustainable, I ordered the Potato Crusted Snapper. Per the recommendation of the waitress, I paired it with a chardonnay. The snapper was amazing, light and flavorful, and from my own attempts, I know that making fish flavorful is not an easy thing. The chardonnay was not particularly memorable, but overall, it was an outstanding meal.

It was a little crowded, overall, and leaving through the front courtyard, we came face to face with hordes of young people, which made me glad I'm no longer on the dating scene. Let's face it: young people can be kind of annoying when they are trying to impress members of the opposite sex.

Still, I loved going there, and the dessert, apple mille feulle or something like that, was delightful.

Aquarius

Considering how often Marina and I stayed at the Dream Inn on our weekends in Santa Cruz before we moved here, it's hard to believe that we never ate at Aquarius, the restaurant attached to the beachfront luxury hotel. Well, actually, Marina could easily believe it, because I was always so fascinated--enthralled even--by the concept of room service.

On Saturday the 18th, we strolled along West Cliff Drive at sunset for a 6 p.m. reservation in the oceanfront dining room. I loved it from the moment we walked in. The table was wooden, golden brown in the light, and spaced comfortably away from the other tables. The walls featured small, asymmetrically-arranged lamps that looked like swarms of jellyfish in red, blue, yellow and green, and the walls were floor-to-ceiling windows with views of the beach, the wharf and the pier.

I ordered the mint julip that I had enjoyed before via room service, and for dinner, I ordered fish and chips and an Anchor Steam. Before the entrees, we tried an appetizer of warm Brillat-Savarin cheese with bread and quince paste. I had never heard of such cheese before, and now I am angry with the world for not introducing me to this cheese earlier. Or I would be angry, if this meal, cheese and all, hadn't put me at peace with the world for at least six more months.

And then came the fish and chips.



I had been craving fish and chips, and I had been thinking about going to the Parish Pub during the week to come after our meal at Aquarius, when Marina would be out of town. After Aquarius, that was no longer necessary, because these were some of the best fish and chips I have had in some time, and Marina agreed. They were light and tasty, the batter crispy but not too oily. Just right. Nothing more needs to be said.


Hoffman's Bistro

The trend of restaurants--and in one case, a bar--projecting black and white movies silently on one wall has puzzled me. I saw it at Specchio and Foreign Cinema in San Francisco--and at Dalva's Bar. I didn't get the point. You don't know what is happening in the movie, unless you happen to have seen it before. If you haven't, all you know is that these vaguely European people are walking around, looking angsty and significant. It's like the restaurant was saying, "We're hip enough to show these classic movies, but way too sophisticated to have you actually watch them."

But now I get it.

Hoffman's Bistro in Santa Cruz features live jazz nightly, and this went surprisingly well with the showing of Casablanca on a front wall, even with no sound for the film. It added a certain je ne sais quoi to the atmosphere, and I liked it.

The food and drink was even better. For an appetizer, we chose the Trio--garlic hummus, tabouli style quinoa, and tomato couscous, served with flatbread. Best hummus I can remember, creamy and flavorful, and not overly salty as you can find with grocery store hummus. Marina agreed, saying it reminded her of the homemade hummus she had in Vienna, that was made by a Syrian doctor for all the roommates of the flat where he and Marina were staying.

The wine was outstanding; our server recommended a local Pinot Noir by Alfaro. We immediately decided to visit the winery in the near future. One odd detail was that the glasses were placed on the table empty, and we each got a small carafe with the actual wine. I saw this once before at 1833 with the chardonnay, and I was puzzled. I asked the server, who said it was a new concept to him as well, but that it was basically intended to ensure an equal pour for every glass, and also to allow people to sniff and sample the wine in small doses first.

For dinner, I was torn between the catch of the day and the Chicken & Waffles. I eventually went with the latter, which was southern fried chicken, golden waffles, spinach and a jus sauce. Outstanding. The chicken was delicious, melting in the mouth, and surprisingly good when paired with the waffle. I never would have pictured combining a waffle with spinach, fried chicken, and sauce, but it was delightful. Marina tells me this is a staple of southern cooking. Huzzah for southern cooking, is all I can say.

Breaking Oysters; or, Screwdrivers In The Kitchen

Last week, our Local Catch Monterey Bay share consisted of a big bag of oysters from Tomales Bay. I've had oysters before, with saltines and beer primarily, but I've never had to deal with the shell. Oyster-shucking sounds dramatic, and apparently you can get a specialized tool, but a screwdriver was also recommended.

I know, that surprised me too, but I do have a screwdriver, and I don't have an oyster-shucker. Before now, the only association I made in my mind between the kitchen and screwdrivers involved vodka and orange juice--those were some dangerous DIY projects, let me tell you, but also quite entertaining.

Marina was out of town, so I invited her sister and brother-in-law over. Marina's sister doesn't like oysters, but he was enthusiastic. We discussed the options for preparing the oysters. The first consensus we reached was that beer was a vital staple. Actually, that was probably always implied.

It was too dark to fire up the grill, so that left the options of baking them or eating them raw; neither of us felt brave enough to try them raw, although that would have given us an option for introducing vodka into the equation after all.

So baking it was. I washed off the oysters, checking to make sure none of the oysters were already open, which would be a sign of poor health and a reason to discard it. The oysters had rough, asymmetrical shells with two distinct halves, a cup and a flatter lid. They looked rather daunting to my inexperienced eye.



Once the oven reached the required temperature, I slid the baking sheets in. Before long, I was puzzled by a loud pop. Did the baking sheet explode? Was the house under assault? Fortunately, no. When I looked in the oven, I discovered the source of the sound was the oysters actually popping open, like magic!

It was quite impressive.



Not all of the oysters popped fully, and I wasn't quite sure how to wield the screwdriver. However, I soon found the knack; I would slip the tip of the flathead screwdriver in the seam that appeared between the shells, and they would actually part quite easily. The shells, after baking, felt a little more delicate, a little flakier.

I will say there was a bit of mental disconnect when comparing the pile of discarded shells with the much smaller pile of oyster meat, but no matter.



As the meat was small, we supplemented the meal with pasta. For the oysters, I made a sauce of garlic, melted butter, and lemon juice. I was worried I heated the sauce for too long, as it almost seared the garlic pieces, but it turned out deliciously. I also had bought a bottle of cocktail sauce, but I think the butter sauce was my favorite.

The oysters themselves were delicious, and the kitchen retained the seafood smell for hours, which made me happy. Marina's brother-in-law wants to try mussels next, so we may actually branch out into seafood experimentation beyond the Local Catch adventures. That would be wild, just like the ocean from which we get the seafood, so very appropriate.