Pie Hole

Youngest and Bucket Go West:

Thats right folks, pack that bag with linen pants, summer dresses, and a bottle of Motrin to control those hangovers!

This time, WINE COUNTRY!

Four days and five nights to address all that Napa, St. Helena, Healdsburg, Sonoma, and Yountville have to offer. Oh yeah, and a quick stop in San Fran. In brief, life is great and the likely hood of me perishing due to over eating was on high alert.

We board our plane on time- no worries I didn’t drug up my little Bucket but hooked him to a portable DVD player to entertain him while we fly. In those four hours in mid air, I read over the numerous restaurants that were available to me in the next four days. Where should we go, what should I order, what winery should I go to? Will I feel different about San Fran since the last time I was there was nine years prior when I worked at Farallon in Union Square? All I know is that I was going to eat a ridiculous amount of food, and perhaps I should have just packed some moo-moos and called it a day.

We touch down in San Francisco and already we are starving. We pick up our Jeep- that’s right; we are a rugged couple with our all wheel drive. I hooked up Sheila, our GPS system that I borrowed from Vive la Frenchie, who despite her being such a diva at times (the GPS that is) was a huge help this weekend. Bags in back. Where to first, Shelia?

TARTINE BAKERY.

Amazing croissants, rich flaky banana cream pie, moist pound cake, luscious quiche, tasty coffee, lesbians, hipsters, and under arm hair; Pastry Chef Mecca. I was in heaven; to think that such a place could exist AND win a James Beard makes one believe in fairy tales and princes. I thrived at the idea that one could have a bakery that didn’t use fancy décor and flashy flavors to create such a wonderful establishment. I left inspired, gushing with hope, and really fucking full.

We waddled over to our Jeep and set sail for St. Helena, our home for the next four days. Being in the industry, you have the opportunity to meet all walks of food life and occasionally cross paths with those that present a remarkable opportunity. We were invited to stay at Somerston Winery in Yountville. As we followed Kaia, our tour guide to the vineyard, we realized that we had been driving up this huge mountain for over twenty minutes. Where were we going and more importantly how are we going to manage to get back after a twelve course meal with two bottles of wine?

The gates opened to Somerston and it was truly gorgeous. Acres upon acres of perfectly groomed vines, row-by-row stalking up the mountains and reaching the sky. A reflective pond with its lonesome swam, a porch wrapped ranch house in the middle of it all, a large pool with deck in back, cute kitchen, country style bedroom, and off-road vehicles to race around the lot; this was all ours for the next few days. This is how the other half lives. Only thing we were told to be mindful of was that there was no phone reception out here and to not walk around at night due to mountain lions. Grrreat.

Our next food outing was Bottega, Chef Chiarello’s regional Italian cuisine, set in a refined rustic setting offering outside seating next to the fire, to grabbing a stool by their bar or sitting in a banquette overlooking the open kitchen. (Obviously I did it all.) The Oscar of the evening goes to the Lamb Osso bucco for its outstanding performance in a Main Dish; of falling effortlessly off the bone and dripping with luscious juices down my chin to its finally destination, my watering mouth. GO MEAT!

I will say that driving up a winding mountain side when its pitch black outside with no guard rails or lights, after having a rewarding meal with great Italian wines to accompany, is well….terrifying. Bucket did his best to not scare the osso bucco out of me and made it home safely. Well, after we woke up the groundkeeper due to us not having the right password to get thru the gates. (Side note: it did cross my mind that if we didn’t get ahold of someone right there we may have to sleep in the car and also realized that dearest Bucket and myself always find ourselves in a “Hardy Boy” situation. But to my despair, I am not equipped with my flashlight and Swiss army knife to fight off the hungry stricken mountain lions, but only have 4 inch heels, a clutch bag, and a bag of left over osso bucco.)

The following day was a blur of stuffing an ungodly amount of food in my mouth. We drove to all over wine country to such wonderful establishments like Girl and the Fig, Press, Dean and Deluca, Umbunti and Willi’s Seafood and Raw Bar where I found the love of my mouth. The Miyagi oyster. This sweet briny delicate buttery goodness of love is quite possibly the best thing I have ever had the privilege of tasting. Mr. Miyagi, not only were you the best martial arts teacher in the classic 1984 hit Karate Kid but you’re a damn good oyster to boot.

Now I know you are thinking to yourself it’s a romantic get away, a perfect place for a couple to be alone and spend some quality time together; “well did they”? And folks, we did.

We went to The French Laundry.

I have been wanting to dine at The French Laundry for over a decade, so needless to say I was excited. To my disbelief, Bucket being the avid dinner that he is, had never been. So we were embarking on this food journey together.

The tiny building that holds this three star Michelin restaurant is quaint and inviting and once we were sat in the cozy sun roof studded room we noticed that we were in the Asian sensation room since every other table in this tiny tiny room were all Asian and every table that left was only to be re-sat by another Asian couple. I concluded it was because of my remarkable high cheekbones and Buckets fashionable clothing that we donned these seats.

At this point I ask myself do I dissect this meal and point out my favorites and perhaps my thoughts of what could have been improved or do allow myself to hold on to this meal as a mark, an experience, that I truly hope that every cook, every server, every foodie, every person that enjoys a remarkable moment in time to attend. So I leave the mystery in Yountville, in hopes that this may intrigue you to book that flight and drive those miles to the motherland that is The French Laundry.

But the food fun doesn’t stop there. The following day I grab my sunglasses to shield my hangover eyes from the sun and dine at Bistro Jeanty. Having fallen in love with classical French cooking lately, I was not disappointed in this a la Amelie’ restaurant. With tomato soup covered in flaky buttery layers of puff pastry to Chicken Coq au Van to vanilla bean crème brulee, I no longer cared that my liver was soon to go on strike due to the copious amounts of fat and wine I had consumed in the last seventy-two hours.

We mustered up for our last meal, Redd. I am about to go out on a limb and say that this was my favorite meal. Was it because my Bucket looked dashing in his grey theory summer suit, or perhaps it was how he said “Happy Birthday Baby” at every west coast meal to make up for the fact that on my actual birthday two weeks prior I worked fifteen hours that day and had to sleep at the hotel. Or maybe, just maybe it was the “Prom Queen” cocktail that was bright pink and made me giggle (Y: "How was the Prom Queen?" B: "Just like I remembered...) or the chicken thigh sun choke dish that blew my skirt up just right or the four desserts that we ordered and tried just because we wanted to. Redd is a fairly new restaurant to the wine country scene, having been open in 2005. Despite its youth, I think in my humble opinion, it possesses a lasting ability that I hope to return and try once again.

Just when I thought that we has exhausted out jaws from all that chewing we made one last stop before we were mid-west bound. Zuni Café in San Fran. With the light asparagus pasta and lambs tongue salad (which I would be lying if I said didn’t freak me out cause you actually see the taste buds and then I start thinking about my tongue and what if you cut that up and so forth and so on….a vicious cycle really) Zuni is a classic for a reason. It deliveries damn tasty fare.

Thus ends the adventures of Youngest and Bucket on the west coast. Where we may travel to next, I’m sure ridiculousness and great food is sure to follow. Perhaps, the Big Apple will be next or maybe Sin City, or…….Savannah?

Tune in for next time…..

-Youngest

My Milkshake Brings All the Boys to the Yard:

In the recent years there has been a misguiding notion that chefs are the new rock stars. No, that doesn’t mean that I don my pleather pants, six-inch biker boots and paint my face to look like a cat to attend work. Even though that would be a change form the oversized stark white chef jackets and black baggy chef pants that just scream mom jeans! With chef celebrity television shows, books, magazines, pots and pan lines, and lets not forget their own sitcom; we have forgotten that something is cooking in the oven. (We all recall the sitcom Emeril…right? I can’t hear the word BAM without instantly vomiting in my mouth)

How did this misconception happen? And more importantly, how are we going to make sure it doesn’t ruin the whole profession? Granted, chefs generally have large egos to start with; hell we play with knives and fire all day but we don’t need a talk show to make our heads any bigger. I believe it started with the birth of the Food Network. It seemed harmless, I’m sure. Lets put good chefs on television to showcase how to really cook to the public and because most people like to eat they are likely to watch it. No harm done right? Wrong.

It would seem like anything we showcase on television, print, movies; we feel the need to overexpose it at nausium. Having programs that promote classical cooking techniques wasn’t enough. They brought you Iron Chef, Top Chef, Cupcake Wars, Man vs. Food, and a million other reality chef shows that become less and less about food and more and more about how one could be the next “Celebrity Chef”. I will say that there is much incentive for a chef to appear on these shows; to help them stand out in an insanely rapidly growing chef pool. Why is this profession growing at such a ridiculously rate to the point where thousands of kids are flooding into a market that doesn’t have the structure to withhold it? Easy. This profession has been marketed as the next rock stars. They see chefs throwing fits on prime time and think that it is their true calling, or perhaps yes, yes I could be happy telling someone to “pack their knives and go.” But when you get these kids, and yes, they are kids, in your kitchens and hand them a prep list, they don’t understand that you have to work your ass off to really hack it in this profession and you, the professional, are stuck with their entitlitis.

(Foot note: Entitlitis noun. (en-title-i-tis) the modern epidemic of new individuals in the workforce that feel that they are due instant perks and privileges just because they are there and not because they have worked for it)

It wasn’t enough that this industry is riddled with addictive personalities leading to drugs, alcohol abuse, and the common Peter Pan syndrome. We can now glorify the fact, instead of creating hard working true to form professionals to enter the ever-competitive market. Even better, if we have the capability to be celebrities and rock stars then perhaps we have the opportunity to make $20M per season at a hotel like Bono or perhaps Madonna make per tour. Perhaps I should tell my chef that and right after be running out of the kitchen with my pink slip in hand and a copper pot up my ass.

I am not certain is there is a solution to this ever increasing problem. I would like to think that as a chef we can be appreciated and supported by our peers and patrons that enable us to be successful and allow us to do what it is that we love to do. Cook.

I wonder when Kelis wrote her milkshake song was she perhaps working at a DQ and realized that she too could have a one hit wonder about the delicious and addictive nature of milkshakes after watching a good hour of Top Chef Masters? Whenever I hear that hypnotic jingle I always crave a good vanilla milkshake or even better a malt! People at times confuse the two ice cold treats but the only real difference is that one contains malt powder which gives a slightly sour flavor appeal and thicker mouth feel.

Milk shakes are easy to make and indeed bring the boys to the yard. You mention making one of these creamy flavorful treats; no one will be able to resist you. My favorite growing up was the one my dad always made on a hot summer day, Coffee Milkshake. All you need is coffee ice cream, chocolate sauce, milk, and a blender. Now in days I get a bit creative and make my own ice cream or add other ingredients to the mix, a banana, coffee liquor, orange zest, cardamom for a Turkish coffee effect, the list is endless especially if you start investigating what you have left in the freezer or kitchen cabinets.

I would be more than happy to share with you my Dad’s Classic Coffee Milkshake recipe that really is to die for especially in these hot summer months.

I can teach you. But I’ll have to charge.

La-la. La. La-la.

-Youngest

Dad’s Famously Delicious "Better Than Yours " Coffee Milk Shake:

1 pint Haagen daz

1.5 cups whole milk

per taste Herheys Chocolate sauce

1 “glug” Bailys Irish Cream- if it’s been a long day, perhaps 2 glugs or maybe the whole damn bottle…

Place all this in the blender and turn on high. Be sure to have the lid on- its not a pretty site…believe me, I’ve seen it. Be sure to not to run it too long because it will heat up the mixture and make it soupy. Go get that chilled pina colada glass from the freezer and fill her up. Best served up with friends on a patio.