Sonoma Valley Weekend

It is now a day before a ‘final’ and a square of chocolate (or two) into procrastinating, I’m listening to Ingrid Michaelson’s ‘The Way I am” and chuckling to lyrics about buying your baby Rogaine when they start losing all their hair; I’m remembering my own future Rogaine baby and our recent weekend up to Sonoma.

Having heard amazing exclamations about abundant dairies (eg. Andante, Spring Hill) as well as Egg Farms (eg Judy’s), Fayvor, zipcar citrus and I pulled into down town Petaluma on an impromptu treasure hunt for Petaluma food stuffs. Goal: to see one of these farms and come home with goodies to share.

Our first stop a cup of java from Peet’s, Tagliaferri’s for a sandwich (not memorable enough to mention) and ask for help since we had no idea where we were going. Our first recommendation and stop, Spring Hill Cheese Company. Facing Western Street in an unpresumptuous building serving as the storefront for their dairy, we tasted and decided on three cheeses to take home. Their Colby Jack, Teleme and Old World Portuguese. My favorite, Teleme, was rich, creamy with just enough cheesiness to make it interesting without it being overwhelming.

A “where can we find fresh eggs” at the cheese shop and a suggestion of a sign off a neighborhood road led us to Bill and Vikki’s house and farm at 498 Lohrman. Two rounds around a lamb specked field later we ask misc. man on the side of the road about where we can buy eggs. Turns out it was just the man we were looking for!

Bill was kind enough to show me around to the back where he keeps his brown layers and small farm field. He explained how the overall chorus of clucking can be a litmus test for the health of the flock. Fayvor concurred as he reminisced his own childhood.

These very same eggs, some gifted others inhaled as is, managed to make it into my latest attempt at tiramisu. Not bad if I do say so myself.

Culinary School, Long at LAST

So what ever happened to Emi and culinary school?

After deferring from the CIA, I spent the last three years working. The previous position, an event-planner-catch-all of sorts for a rather large consulting firm--think running all office wide events, promotion dinners, and creating the food club which now is in their London office ::preen::. Having been hired for administrative work, it seemed only natural that my administrative position quickly shifted into the food realm. CIA deferment expired, new lease signed, new boyfriend, and price comparison finished, it only made sense to continue what I started by attending culinary school. This time, the CCA; Cordon Bleu's Bay Area School.

It's exhilarating being elbow deep in learning all things food. I've been there since November and already classes are just flying by--skills 1, butchery and now kitchen math. With my camera back in commission, I'll try to be a bit better about posting. :) For now, a few photos to catch you up and how about a "What's my Story" Essay per School Scholarship Requirements.

It is a bit of a dichotomy
that my Japanese Grandmother, 'Oma' and my German Great Grandmother,
'Grandma G', were two that taught me my love for food. My Oma, had imparted
her travel history through her daughter, my mother, Mari's repertoire
of recipes. This oddity is not just because we phonetically referred
to my Japanese Grandmother as Grandma in German; it is that I never
directly learned to cook from her. Instead, reasoning, knowledge &
love for world cuisine manifested itself in my life through three people
and their travels: my mother (Oma's daughter), my father (Grandma G's
grandson), and of course, Grandma G, all 5 ft 8 inches of herself.

"Now your Oma would have served this just in Winter..", my
mother would say as she placed a steaming bowl of Oden, Japanese fish
cake soup, in front of me--Seasons often dictated what we had at home.
My father's lamb with mint currant sauce in the Spring; Summer brought
my mom's cold noodle salad,'Chukah Soba', and in the Fall, Grandma G's
apple pie. These traditions, new and old came from a conglomeration
of what's been passed down, to the travels of my mother and grandmother;
both my mother and her mother, Oma, married men who worked in companies
that placed them abroad. The UAE, England, France, and Singapore are
just four countries that the both of them lived in while married to
their transient husbands. Consequently, my sister and I too lived in
several countries before the age of five.

In Singapore, whilst my mom learned how to make a proper satee chicken,
I played with my friend, Karen tying her hair up in to tens of rubber
bands. Earlier, at age three, Abu Dhabi pool side, I formulated a penchant
for beer--going around asking lounging club members for beer. When we
lived in Paris, we would stop by our neighborhood bakery for our daily
baguette on our way home from preschool; and while walking, I would
hollow out the baguette, much to the amusement and dismay of my parents.
From Paris, on a first class flight, I tried to order caviar; we were
on our way home to the States to live with my grandparents in Kansas,
where at a ChiChi's Mexican restaurant I tried to order escargot. My
family, and consequently then myself, learned to appreciate cuisines
of the world as a way to assimilate ourselves into each culture. The
product is a palate and appreciation for each culture's cuisine in both
me and my sister.

Which brings us back now to my home in San Francisco. It really is
no wonder that I have a penchant for world cuisine. Being bi-racial
and having lived in six countries before the age of five, I have found
my comfort and identity through the accessibility of world cuisine.
It is my 'home' and in most ways, my identity. As I write, I am eyeing
my lamb curry, basmati rice and tandoori chicken cooking on the stove.
My boyfriend, Fayvor is helping me, ever patient in taking instruction,
by allowing time for me to type here. We both know how much culinary
school is costing us both financially and time-wise. However, with cornerstones
of each of our histories, and our accumulated knowledge in hand we aspire
to move to the country-side and run and bed and breakfast or restaurant
some day.

The CCA has been a remarkable source of information. To finally know
the science behind emulsification and baking soda, and how to bone out
a yoke of lamb; I have taken home what I've learned in school and imparted
my knowledge into our cooking at home, to friends at dinner parties,
at outings to collect oysters, and not to mention, to Fayvor, who has
heard and learned through my recounting interesting discoveries at school.
While enrolled at the CCA I aspire to create the groundwork for my future
endeavors. Not only to know how to run and maintain a successful self-sustaining
bed and breakfast, but to pass on knowledge of how to maintain a self-sustaining
lifestyle to our children. It is for these reasons that I aspire to
glean what knowledge I can at the CCA--to create a more meaningful future
for myself, my children, and those who cross our path.

It’s FINALLY Open!

I’m very excited and also sad to say that Four Barrel Coffee is FINALLY Up and running. I’ll miss their ghetto-fab set up in the alley--perhaps a great idea for quick take-away? 

Anyway, 

A bit of a disapointment to still have been tasting Stumptown's Hairbender instead of their own. Even so, Well Done!

AND,

Man, what an INSANE machine! La Marzocco Mistral. You can actually see the machine doing the work for the shot being pulled!

Fayvor’s sister Echo was in town recently and we had planned all sorts of food-related activities (more to come later) 

For now, since we were on this topic earlier, here’s the end of her trip with a stop into Four Barrell to go with  the previous post.

Moove Over Chicken!

A group of coworkers and friends recently went in on a half of a cow together from Morris Grass-fed; enough meat to feed a family for a year (apparently). Our share, a seventh of a half of a cow, is about a month’s worth of meat, and easily filled 3/4ths of our freezer! Seeing Interesting Cuts like Petite Tender and Blade Roast come out of our boxes really got my mind stewing over the possibilities.

With Daily Candy’s guidance via newsletter article, we sought out what many believe to be the ‘healthiest’ kind of beef. Grass-Fed is generally about 65% lower in saturated fats than your typical soy-grain-hay-corn-chemically fed meat. Since Joe’s free range cows just eat grass, the meat is super lean and high in Omega-3 fatty acids and Conjugated Linoleic Acids. Both of which help the immune system and fights heart disease! (yay!)

Special cuts stashed away in Fayvor’s freezer, we began experimenting with the ground beef. Gyoza came out perfectly--just the right amount of juice and give. I’ll be writing about that another time. The hamburgers, however, were rather interesting in a gamey and chewy sort of way.

Now this is where I insert that I mean ‘interesting’ in a Good way.

Though Fayvor thinks the beef tasted flavorful, I found it gamey. I like gamey! Caught a little off guard since I normally associate this type of flayvor (ack!) FLAVOR (jeebus) with lamb. It’s pretty subtle though, so I wouldn’t steer away (buh dum dum ching) from trying grass-fed beef. It’s worth it.

Heeeeeeyyyy Charlie...

Heeeeeeyyyy Charlie, come down this alley, Charlie.... pssst.. just a little closer.. yeah, this alley... down a little further....

A recent article in the SF Chronicle reluctantly piqued my curiosity. An Alley coffee shop? -- Really? For the sake of abstaining from normalcy, I usually avoid newspaper finds, however, something about going down a random alley in the Mission in pursuit of stellar niche coffee really got my attention. I mean how often does something like that come up?

Later that same week, I put in a phone call to Dave, bassist and visitor. A fitting 'Charlie' if I don't say so myself. Trusting, grouchy and doe-eyed. We settled on 10 am Saturday. Planning to meet up with him there, I surreptitiously guided him by phone to the alley a la Charlie.

Much to my dismay, I found him 15 minutes later with generic 'natural food' store coffee benched and waiting outside 24th street Bart Station.

"What happened?!"

"Uhmm.. I thought you meant this place?

I glared at him, minorly annoyed, and then glanced over at the coffee shop on the corner of 16th and Valencia. ((Not even remotely close to the instructions dictated earlier --'walk down Valencia towards 15, hang a right on fifteenth and then a left on... )) yeah... so I was bit put off; my plan to get him into the alley FOILED ::evil gesture of hands rubbing together::"

Having sufficiently glared at Dave we 'pleasantly' made our way to the 16th/Mission Bart station walking one block over to 15th and a hop to Caledonia lane. 3/4ths of the way into the dead-end alley is when you start realizing that you're really at the right location--the two lonely cafe chairs and sounds of shots being pulled give away its hiding spot.

Verdict - Hidden Treasure --Oh, Booty!

STATS:
Owner: Jeremy Tooker (ex-Ritual)
Beans: Stumptown (for now)
Get: Latte (not skinny)

Little Boy Blue

Adoring parents across the street immortalize 'tender toddler in knit cookie monster cap and waist tied balloon' via photo. It's these snap shot warm fuzzy moments observed over coffee that one takes for granted.. well, that is until you look up and realize the beauty, in the typical 10am Saturday, is actually quite contently staring straight at you through the fogged window--in azure-blue-eyed toddler form.

Koshitsky + Musician + Coffee Lunatic = Blue Bottle

In another life this random armpit alley of the city, now a plaza of modern posh, Blue Bottle Cafe (their newest endeavor) is tucked away from the transients that once inhabited this alley. Literally en face de Mezzanine, and surprisingly crowded. Simple, chic Blue Bottle Cafe, was a secret amongst those 'in the know;' an "Eureka!" treasure publicized and, now, renown.

How was their Coffee? And who the hell is Koshitsky?

Koshitsky is a Viennese military emisarry who lived, oh in the 1600s or so. He's thought to have opened the first coffee shop in Vienna. What do you know? It's also called Blue Bottle (two and two)! But I'm not here to talk about him so you can always Wikipedia for more info on that. So what about the coffee? Honestly, it's probably one of the better cups I've had in a longgggg time-strong, non-acidic, and fruity; it also held up to cream quite well. Mind you, THE coffee NOT latte. If you can't already tell, I wasn't all that impressed there. Very grainy in taste; as opposed to it's texture; definitely lacking smoothness. I'm not entirely sure it's as good as La Colombe. Though, there is something to be said for supporting local, organic and artisans.

Try it for yourself.



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NEXT!

::BLAH::

Seems to be the mood of the week in euphamistic form. So back to the blogging and violin playing, something ANYTHING to keep the mind occupied. Prelude from Suite No. 1 for unaccompanied cello (arranged for violin); somewhat learned (check), happier (no check), moodier (check).

NEXT!

Fifty cent novel stand by, ps. I love you. Normally a "gag-me" but now finished sniffles and all.. right gag me.. yeah.. ::blows nose::

NEXT!

House Mates awwww... housemates.. glass of wine (check), group painting (check), better? (somewhat yes). Day 2 ::hit snooze:: ::hit snooze:: (Shit hits the fan) ::Hit snooze maybe 8 times more...:: Housemates convince me out of the house (check).

(Ooooo a random-ish cafe!)

Ahhhh...

Five minutes of Barting and 30 minutes of walking we arrived at this cafe clear out in what Yogi (not his real name) calls the "Alabama Mission." 2 blocks away from Mission Cliffs. Another "who knew" kind of experience - Rockabilly meets I'm Hippy-Edu-Hip. She a beatle shirted, tatt'd cashier waits while I inhale the menu (hrm.... rice noodle salad,mushrom sandwich, apple sage arrugala tomato pesto pizza... OOOOoo yes!)

Can't help but think that the boy would like this place.. ::sigh:: erhm

NEXT!


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