    "Eating, drinking and carrying on..." -- Adelaide Brennan
Christmas morning, 1968. The view from Apollo 8, 39 years ago.  Merry Christmas, Joyeux Noël, Nollag shona dhaoibh, Felíz Navidad, Happy Krimble.. [ Link to today's entries ]
Oíche Nollag, Christmas Eve ... an' all t'ru da house, Chuck an' his relatives are all getting soused ... In fact, I made some most excellent Old Fashioneds for meself and me da last night, which ended up with Dad snoring on the sofa. The last week or so has been frenzied, so sorry for the lack of posting. Presumably you've been as busy as I have. We shall endeavour to do better next year. And now ... The last food porn of 2006. There's a group based in the Bay Area called The Ghetto Gourmet, "Improvisational Fine Dining" or more accurately a "culinary speakeasy", in which dinners are prepared in private homes, by a rotating cast of guest chefs. It's a great idea, and seems to have taken off in popularity for these guys, who are beginning to take their act on the road. Last year you may remember my lamenting the closing of our favorite local restaurant Cinnabar, which we still miss dearly. Over the last year we had heard that Cinnabar's chef Damon Bruner had been doing a few one-off catered dinners along these "culinary speakeasy" lines, but we had missed the opportunity to go to both of them. A few weeks ago we got an email alerting us to another Damon dinner coming up, this time under the auspices of Ghetto Gourmet, and we leapt at the chance and barely squeaked in at the last minute (I think we may have been the last two to get in). It was held at a beautiful home in the Hollywood Hills (from what we could tell, it was the same neighborhood where Robert Altman filmed "The Long Goodbye") -- 35 strangers, bringing their own wine and sitting on cushions on the floor. Entertainment was provided by a cabaret-style singer/songwriter named José Promis, playing wonderful songs and prompting Wes to describe him as "a more whimsical Rufus Wainwright", and ... there was a guy there making balloon animals. Christa leaned over and whispered, "How frightening is this?" but there was more to come from this gentleman ... 
First course came out, a passed hors d'oeuvre of Warm Camembert Tarts with Truffled Honey and Pomegranate Seeds. 
This was a pleasant surprise, as it wasn't on the preliminary menu that was emailed out. Creamy cheese, sweet and pungent honey, tart pomegranate ... one of those great little concoctions with a lot of different flavors going on, balancing and playing against each other in one or two bites. My bouche was amused, and ready for more. 
Second course: Kumamoto Oyster topped with Pickled Ginger-Sake Granita. This was one of Damon's signature dishes from Cinnabar, and it (or a close variation of it) would appear in the middle of almost every tasting menu he prepared. This is also quite possibly Wes' single favorite thing from Cinnabar (of the very many favorite things): "I could eat a whole tray of these," he said. Now as I've mentioned before, I'm a bit of an anomaly among New Orleanians -- I love oysters in every way, shape and form except raw. However, I've also mentioned before that I will eat anything Damon Bruner puts in front of me, and as raw oysters go this is an amazing preparation, an inspired combination of flavors and textures and temperatures. 
Third course: Warm Calamari Salad with Peanuts, Lime, Cilantro and Mint. This is another great dish from the days of Cinnabar, slight variations of which were almost always on the menu. Big calamari fan here, and the Thai-inspired combo of herbs and chiles were just perfect. We were sitting next to Christa, who had tipped us off to the meal and who is good friends with the chef and his wife Edith, and couldn't help but notice the absolutely Gargantuan serving of this dish that was brought to her. Evidently it was one of her favorites from Cinnabar too, and she just glowed as she put away every speck. 
Fourth course: Butternut Squash Confit with Hungarian Bacon. This was a surprise, as they early menu simply said "Butternut squash soup." This was not puréed but in chunks, and cooked in a confit? In fat? Really? I meant to ask Damon about this but forgot. It could very well have been, because it had a silky texture to it, and was laced with chunks of smoky, salty Hungarian bacon which apparently came from a store right down Eagle Rock Blvd. toward Cypress Park. We'll be heading there soon to stock up on this stuff. 
Fifth course, entrée: Star Anise Braised Beef Shortribs with Black Truffles and a Truffle Risotto Cake. This was the dish for which we'd been trembling in anticipation all week, and we weren't even expecting the fresh truffles. I had assumed there'd be preserved truffles or truffle oil to flavor the risotto, given the entirely reasonable price for this dinner (that would have been fine with me, actually), but we heard that Chef Damon had been given the gift of some fresh black truffles, and not only did they go into the risotto they were shaved over the beef as well, their earthy flavor a marriage made in heaven with long-braised, beautifully fat-marbled shortribs. This was a close-your-eyes-moan-and-pound-on-the-table dish. I'm not sure if I actually pounded on the table, as the place settings were a bit closely quartered, but I most certainly closed my eyes, moaned and just chewed, savoring every molecule of that flavor. The anise was beautiful in the braise, a nod toward the flavors of Vietnamese pho, mild and aromatic without being overpowering, perfectly balanced in flavor as a sixteen-foot steel beam balanced on the point of a hatpin. I was almost getting lightheaded; taking a bite of this was almost like taking a bong hit. (Not that I ever do that sort of thing, mind you, of course not ...) And truffles! Hard as an act this is to follow, we finished off with a dessert after my own heart. As a New Orleans boy I'm very very fond of bread pudding, and tonight's dessert was Chocolate Banana Bread Pudding. 
Damon got to take a break on this one, as it was made by his wife Edith, who knocked it out of the park. From what I could tell the pudding had been baked, then cubed and baked again so that the edges got crispy. It was served warm, and instead of a sauce we had vanilla ice cream, which was just what it needed; it was rich enough such that a sugary sauce might have been too much, and it reminded me of the crème anglaise my mom makes with her Bananas Foster bread pudding. The setting was grand, the company was lots of fun, and the entertainment delightful. José did several songs for us (and we're looking forward to seeing him again), and as for Addi Somekh, the balloon man ... well, it wasn't frightening, kids-party stuff at all. The balloon creations he made moved quickly from a few animals to surreal sculptures, even more surreal hats, and then his pièce de resistance -- he blew up one of his long skinny balloons halfway, to about the size of a globe, and left the thin skinny unblown-up part, tied that off, taped a guitar pickup to the inflated part and began to play the balloon like a bass guitar, making the notes by varying the length and bend of the skinny part. Out came Addi's friend Henry with a guitar, and what we had was Unpopable, an improv rock/jazz duo of guitar and balloon bass. They did several songs as well, and were fantastic. This wasn't music to listen to in the background, this was music that had people smiling and watching and clapping along with delight. 
Chef Damon and (pastry chef!) Edith, plus Ghetto Gourmet founders Jeremy Townshend and his brother Joe, Dave Kim and all the other Ghet crew did a fantastic job, as did our wonderful host and everyone involved. Sign up at ghet involved, ghet on the mailing list and ghet thee to a culinary speakeasy dinner with these guys or anyone else who does similar gatherings. You'll have a blast. 
[ Link to today's entries ]
Merry Christmas! I'm off in the wee hours of the wee hours of the morning to head back to New Orleans. It'll be my first Christmas there in a few years, and the first Christmas my folks have had in their new house after the flood, so I thought the time was ripe. Christmas in Mandeville ... that'll be ... different. In the meantime, enjoy this remix of one of my favorite Christmas TV shows, slightly remixed. Here's "A Charlie Brown Christmas", as performed by the cast of "Scrubs." Ho ho ho. (And a bottle of really good, 29-year-old rum.) [ Link to today's entries ]
The Cooley Slap! Speaking of Darin Morgan, with regards to yesterday's post about the late Peter Boyle ... Back when we were film students at LMU, Darin co-starred with his friend Tony Mortillaro in a student production written and directed by Tony that to this day, 20 years later, remains quite possibly the funniest short film I've ever seen. It's called "Legends of Doo-Wop," and I've been thrilled to see it recently pop up in festivals (especially the HBO-sponsored U.S. Comedy Arts Festival) long after we all graduated. I first mentioned that film on this weblog back in 2000, but since then ... Yet another reason that I love YouTube so much is the fact that some kind soul has uploaded this film to that stupendous service (albeit with some odd pre-title titles that are NOT from Tony; the first authentic title card says "Robbie LeBeef Presents"). Sit back, relax and enjoy seven very funny minutes with the Legends of Doo-Wop. CAUTION: Watching this film may cause certain classic songs to be ruined for you for life; you'll ever be able to hear them again without cracking up. "So finally I invented The Cooley Slap ..." (Oh Jesus!) [ Link to today's entries ]
Peter Boyle's Final Repose. RIP, 1935-2006. I didn't know that he had been a Christian Brother (!), nor that John Lennon had been best man at his wedding! What I do know is that amidst his long and distinguished career, there are two things that stand out which are worth more than 10,000 episodes of "Everybody Loves Raymond" -- those are "Young Frankenstein" (especially "Puttin' On the Ritz") ... and his Emmy-winning performance in what's perhaps the best episode of "The X-Files" ever, "Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose," written by my old schoolmate Darin Morgan (who also won an Emmy for writing it). Watch these clips only if you've already seen the episode. More clips here, here and here. Thank you, Mr. Boyle. [ Link to today's entries ]
Fuhgeddaboutit! Don't mess with next year's just-named King of the Krewe of Bacchus, or he'll whack you. This is a great choice, and I think he'll be a terrific king. They'd better watch it, though ... he's a big guy and if he gets too drunk on that float he's going to crush his pages to death as he falls over. (I remember the terror in the eyes of the King's pages way back when as Raymond Burr wobbled as he stood in front of his rolling throne ...) Sona. Food porn time! I'm way behind on this, 'cause this was my birthday meal from over a month ago. As is our custom, Wes and I surprise one another with a superb meal on our birthdays (well, we know we're having the meal, just not where, until we drive up to the place). This year was an even bigger surprise, because this place wasn't even on my list, and I'd only barely heard of it. That was my loss, because as it turns out Sona Restaurant is being hailed as one of the best new places in town, and Chef David Myers has been racking up the awards for his inventive, seasonal cuisine. He's also a seafood specialist, and is apparently adept at bringing in seafood that's rarely seen in this part of the world ... as I was to find out later. Two gigantic Martinis launched us on our way, and then out came the amuse bouche: 
Bigeye Tuna Tartare, marinated in basil oil, atop a thinly sliced watermelon radish with burrata cheese, julienned radish, black sesame seeds and pesto. Wow, quite a mouthful of a description, for such a one-bite mouthful of food, but my wasn't it tasty? The crunch of the radish, the smoothness of the tuna, the perfume of the basil, the creamy unctuousness of the burrata, the nuttiness of the sesame. And gone in one bite. Sometimes I hate amuses bouche. Maybe one day I'll just ask my server, "Um, can you bring me a tray of these?" For my first course ... the wrong choice. (Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, as you can see ...) 
I love sweetbreads, and their presence on a menu is a virtual guarantee that I'll order it, or at least consider it very seriously. This one was terrific -- Crispy veal sweetbreads with white bean purée, pistachio confit and applewood-smoked bacon. Crispy and rich, its texture perfectly set off by the creaminess of the bean purée, and those pistachios ... gorgeous. With this I drank a 2003 Viognier, Cold Heaven "Sanford & Benedict," Santa Ynez Valley. I loved this dish, truly I did; had no complaints about it at all and nothing but praise. Except for when I saw Wesly's dish ... 
Maine lobster risotto with shellfish emulsion sauce. Okay, the sauce was a foam, and Wes and I make fun of foams (I thought foams were on their way out anyway). But this foam tasted fucking great, and the risotto was the kind of dish where you take one bite, then your eyes cross and you moan and pound on the table. This was truly outstanding. I very nearly ordered one to be sent just for me, but we were still planning entrée, cheese and dessert ... sigh. I got a great dish, but he got a better dish than I did. Bastard. I hate it when that happens. (*goes off into the corner to sulk*) The entrée more than made up for that, though. 
Australian Barramundi with artichoke-tomato ragout and olive vinaigrette. When I told Christa last Friday that I had had barramundi on my birthday, she gasped and shrieked, "I hate you!" Apparently she had fallen in love with barramundi while living in Australia and had it frequently, and was seriously jonesing for it since coming back to the States. I'm delighted that she's delighted that she now knows where she can probably go out and get some. My first bite foreshadowed her enthusiastic reaction. Man, what a great piece of fish. Pan-seared for crispy skin, it's firm yet tender with a mild, sweet flavor. The waiter compared it to red snapper but I liked this better. The ragout of tomatoes and artichoke bottoms was perfect with it, and the thick, tangy olive vinaigrette (as thick as a mayonnaise, almost) brought it all together. Fabulous. I want more. Although I think I came out ahead in the entrée competition, Wes was more than happy with his: 
Liberty Farms Duck Breast with boniato purée and pineapple-rum confit. The duck was perfectly seared, a rosy-red medium rare. Boniato is a tuber that tastes like a cross between a sweet potato and a regular Russet potato, with a fluffier and less sweet flavor and texture than a typical sweet potato. The tang of the pineapple, with a touch of sweetness from the caramelizatoin and the rum, with that purée ... mmm. Once again the balance of components and flavors in the dish was perfect. This guy is really an amazing chef. With this I drank a 2004 Arcadian Pinot Noir. I was a bit surprised at that recommendation from our server, but it's a lighter red, barramundi is a meaty fish, and they paired beautifully. Cheese, please ... there were two choices, a 3-cheese or 6-cheese plate. Given the choice we were facing with dessert, and the approach we were contemplating on how to deal with that choice, we opted for the three: 
Left to right: Five-year aged Gouda with apricot conserve ... Saint-Maure chêvre with fennel salt and marinated sun-dried tomato ... Abbaye de Bellocq with almonds. The aged Gouda is light-years beyond the bland hockey pucks you get in the grocery store. This deep orange cheese had a very complex flavor, filled with the crunchy little white protein crystals that are a sign of good aging, with almost a savory-butterscotchy flavor. I won't even consider eating Gouda unless it's aged these days. The Saint-Maure is a goat's milk cheese from France, ash-covered and formed along a long straw, tart and nutty and goaty. The Abbaye de Bellocq (whose name I remembered easily because of E. J. Bellocq, the photographer whose work in New Orleans' Storyville using prostitutes as his models is well-known back home and beyond) is a hard sheep's milk cheese from the Basque region of France, whose mild nutty flavor went very well with the almonds. Just as we were enjoying our three cheeses, the couple next to us had the six-cheese plate delivered to them, and I of course couldn't help but gawk. I immediately bristled because their selection contained Époisses, which we didn't get. "Goddammit ... I want Époisses!" I muttered, although I comforted myself in the knowledge that it was undoubtedly the pasteuerized stuff, not the wonderful, runny, horrifically smelly and life-changingly intensely flavored black-market unpasteurized stuff that Chef Pete got for Poppy at Marisol one time ... so runny that as Poppy said "it was extending pseudopods and attempting to escape from the plate." Now, for the dessert dilemma. Sona's pastry chef is Karen Yoo, chef/owner of the instantly famous new pastry shop in Los Angeles called Boule, so we didn't want to mess around. There was one thing we both instantly zeroed in on, boggling ... "Oh my God ... can you put that in dessert? Will it work? Dare we try it?" We did, of course, but we had such a hard time deciding what else to get that we went for three desserts, split between the two of us. First, as Mary says, there is no dessert without chocolate: 
Heirloom Chocolate Tart with Chico Farm strawberries and bittersweet chocolate sorbet. Intensely chocolatey and rich. And who doesn't love a birthday message written in chocolate? 
Now, the one Wes really wanted to try: Lemon Verbena Cheesecake with sous vide pears and Welschriesling granita. "Sous vide" is a cooking method developed by a chef at the famous French restaurant Troisgros about 35 years ago, in which the flavor and texture of ingredients is maintained by cooking for a long period of time at low temperatures, often up to 24 hours, in sealed plastic bags in hot water. It's difficult to pull off, but when done properly it can yield spectacular results, as with these amazing pears ... firm yet creamy texture and fantastic caramelization and intense flavor. Man. The granita was delicate and flowery, like the wine it was made with, and the cheesecake was perfumey and only barely tangy. I love verbena, and wish it were used in desserts more often. (Actually, I bathe with it every morning; I'm fond of a lemon verbena soap from France that I get at Trader Joe's.) Finally, the one we both boggled over and just had to try ... 
Cinnamon Spice Cake with Foie Gras Ice Cream (!), and brown butter vanilla apples. Foie gras in ice cream?! Holy crap! Some people might find this sort of thing too "Iron Chef" for them, but we went right for it. Foie gras lends itself perfectly to sweet preparations, of course, and is typically paired with fruit sauces and sweet wines like Sauternes, so why not in a dessert? It was beautiful too -- there was just enough foie gras in the custard to give it a distinct flavor and not overpower with richness. An inspired combination of flavors, as was every single other thing on the menu. With our desserts we drank a 2004 Alois Kracher Cuvée Beerenauslese Riesling, Burgenland, Austria. I loooove sweet dessert Rieslings. Trockenbeerenauslese is my middle name. (Well, it isn't actually, but it could have been, if my parents were mad Germans.) "Y'now," said Wes at one point during the meal, "we really need to do this more often, and screw the expense." Enjoying food like this is part of what makes life worth living, and if we have to eat soup and salad for a week or two to make up for it (financially and calorically), so be it. I make good soups anyway. I'm hoping we can get back to Sona soon, before he changes the menu and takes that lobster risotto off. Yep, a great birthday! [ Link to today's entries ]
O Holy Night. Last Monday's episode of Aaron Sorkin's "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" (one of our favorite new shows) featured a number of New Orleans musicians, portrayed not by name in the show but as "homeless" and looking for gigs anywhere they could; several of the musicians in the show's regular band were portrayed as having falsely called in sick just so that these guys could get a little income from playing. After meeting Troy "Trombone Shorty" Andrews, the show's co-exec producer Danny Trippi (Bradley Whitford) arranged for them to play a special spotlight performance on that week's show, in front of a backdrop slide show of the devastation of New Orleans. I know I'm a sucker for this kinda thing, but I sat there and cried. The one-off band consisted of Troy Andrews and "Kid Merv" Campbell on trumpets, Roderick Paulin and Frederick Shepherd on saxophones, Kirk Joseph on sousaphone, Stephen Walker on trombone and Bob French on the drums. The song they played, in a beautiful arrangement, was "O Holy Night," and you can download the MP3 to your computer here. You an also watch the segment on their music page. It's about time. Gen. Augusto Pinochet, the despot who overthrew the legal government of Chile in a U.S.-sponsored coup on September 11, 1973 during which its democratically-elected president, Salvador Allende, died and thousands tortured and murdered in its aftermath, is finally dead after having spent far too long on this planet, and after never having been brought to justice. I shall mark this long-overdue passing with a tribute to one of his victims, the great Chilean singer-songwriter Victor Jara, and the lyrics to a song written in his memory by Adrian Mitchell and Arlo Guthrie, which I learned from the singing of Christy Moore.
Astonishing, that mad fuckin' shrew in Britain actually mourned the bastard ... eight years after having taken tea with him and praising him for "bringing democracy to Chile" (?!!) and helping her out with the Falklands. Christy Moore said of her then, "When I saw [Thatcher] recently take tea with Pinochet and laud him for his support during the Falklands War, I thought perhaps the poor lady might be totally fuckin' mad, but that would be to trivialise her absolute danger to us all." She's apparently as mad as ever. It's okay to be glad someone is dead. Thingmaker! BoingBoing recently featured a great post about one of my favorite childhood toys, the Thingmaker, which would make things like Creepy Crawlers out of the incredible Plastigoop! You simply must watch the TV commercial (although I must say they were in color when I was a kid ... I'm not that feckin' old!). My other favorite toy was the Strange Change Time Machine. [ Link to today's entries ]
Yeah you rite, Chef Chris! The current issue of New Orleans magazine is its annual dining issue. I was jazzed to see Adolfo García lauded as Chef of the Year -- I look forward with great eagerness to every meal I've had at Rio Mar, where every dish I've ever had is fantastic, and I was also pleased that they honored a chef not known for "New Orleans food" per se -- but perhaps the biggest yeah-you-rite came with the second honor they bestowed, that of "Best New Chef". That went to Chris DeBarr of The Delachaise, on St. Charles just off Louisiana Avenue. And as soon as I get home I'm gonna see if he's still doing that foie gras tasting menu, or else get the Grinch Who Stole Christmas menu ... congratulations, Chris!! Can't wait to get back there and eat again. (Poppy notes that "[i]t seems funny given that he has been cooking in New Orleans for sixteen years now, but the Delachaise is the first local restaurant where he's been head chef, so I suppose he is in fact a New Chef at age 45." Betta late den nevuh, bra ... and dey ain't nuttin' wrong wit' bein' fawty-fahv! "An bhfuil tusa ag labhairt liomsa?!" I stumbled across an absolutely delightful, funny, touching and thought-provoking Irish short film today, entitled (in English) "My Name is Yu Ming", or "Yu Ming is Ainm Dom" in Irish. It's a 13-minute tale of a young man in China, bored with his dull life as a shop clerk, who spins a globe at the library one day, closes his eyes and stops it at random with his finger ... which lands on Ireland. He looks it up in at atlas, which lists its official language as "Gaelic", oddly omitting the fact that its other official language (and the most widely spoken one) is "English." He checks out an Irish-language tutor from the library, teaches himself Irish (no mean feat), then heads to Dublin to try out his language skills. Hijinks ensue. The scene where he speaks his first properly-pronounced bits of Irish to himself in the mirror nearly made me spray my tea all over my monitor. "Father Ted" fans should see if they can spot one of that show's cast members in this as well (who gives a lovely performance). Here it is, in its entirety. ("An bhfuil tusa ag labairt liomsa? Is mise an t-aon duine anseo!" ... bwahahahaaa!! You'll figure it out.) Enjoy the fill-um! November Looka! entries have been permanently archived. [ Link to today's entries ]
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