tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62784427506400976662024-03-05T08:57:48.821-08:00Rants of the Hedgehogjefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.comBlogger135125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-1696986976036573132013-03-12T15:29:00.000-07:002013-03-12T15:57:17.412-07:00Rethinking Joe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Back in January, my friends Ashley Brown, <a class="g-profile" href="http://plus.google.com/110418214425418288050" target="_blank">+Ryan Stotz</a> <a class="g-profile" href="http://plus.google.com/101273874876212629141" target="_blank">, +Steve Jackson</a> and I wrapped up a great weekend with lunch at <a href="http://www.miloscitycafe.com/Pages/default.aspx" target="_blank">Milo's City Cafe</a>. The specials included an array of scrambles, one of which sounded very familiar. "That sounds like a Joe's Special!" Which it did and which it was but the rest of the table looked lost. I almost never get to give Ryan the jaw-dropped "you've never heard of?" face (which he regularly greets me with) so I did it twice.<br />
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As it turns out, a Joe's Special is still very much a regional dish, which I must have picked up while living in the Bay Area. In theory, a San Francisco chef created it for a last-minute customer after the rest of the kitchen had been shut down and blah blah -- and it has become a standard for quick family dinners and late night, post-drinking sustenance. It's cheap, quick and free of exotic ingredients.<br />
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It's a simple scramble, combining ground beef, spinach, onions and eggs. It's also filling and comforting; judging by the number of recipes floating around, it's been family food for generations and the only correct recipe is Mom's. (Milo's version, incidentally, is typically excellent.) I hadn't even thought about the dish in years but after that lunch, I decided to put something together at home.<br />
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The online barrage of recipes vary only in the extra bits and the technique remains the same: soften diced onion in olive oil/butter, brown ground beef with onion, plop a thawed package of frozen and drained spinach on top, cover and heat through. Meanwhile, beat eggs with some seasoning, stir that into the spinach/meat until the egg sets and serve. Most, but not all, include garlic with the onion and it's not uncommon to sprinkle Parmesan cheese over the dish just before serving. Mixed in with the beaten eggs is some combination of Worcestershire, basil or oregano, salt, pepper and occasionally hot sauce.<br />
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I put together a reasonable facsimile of this as my first effort and it was a nice treat on a cold evening. But it is, frankly, a bit dull. I found myself slopping on a good bit of Crystal at the table to pep it up.Since my mom never fixed this dish (and would likely have ruined it anyway) I could range freely in my own version. And a casual reference in one of the recipes to "sometimes subbed sausage" gave me some direction. The Original Joe's was, after all, an Italian place in San Francisco so it made sense to use bulk Italian sausage. I got mine at New Seasons and it was surprisingly good, with lots of fennel. I switched to sweet onion, doubled the garlic and dumped the frozen spinach for fresh. While I can see the convenience for the home cook of thawing burger and spinach to feed the kids, there's no substitute for the fresh stuff.<br />
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Simple prep: dice onion, mince garlic and soften in some olive oil and butter, then bung in something like 1/3rd pound of sausage. Prior to this, rinse, dry and chop up about one bunch of spinach and lightly beat two eggs with sauces and some dried basil, salt & pepper. When the sausage has cooked, cover with the spinach and then the lid. Spinach takes very little time to cook, so then it's time to stir in the eggs and finish. Top with freshly-grated Parmesano Reggiano. Scoff it down.<br />
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<br />jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-14671872133798266152011-10-27T09:18:00.000-07:002011-10-27T09:18:56.108-07:00Alex and Jeff's Excellent Adventure, Part IV<br />
<b>Alex gains a hat</b><br />
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Saturday, oddly enough, was pretty subdued. Maybe the staying up late drinking had worn us out. When I got up late (especially for me) that morning, Alex appeared to be in the midst of a near-death experience and obviously wasn't ready to charge into the day. I went in search of breakfast and the nice lady at Reception recommended Mother's, which was only a few blocks away. I believe it was her responsibility to tell me ahead of time that the recommendation came with an hour+ wait out in the sun--it's a very popular place.<br />
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So I ended up where I started, crossing St. Charles from our hotel to the Hilton, which has a terrific brasserie on the ground floor, <a href="http://www.lukeneworleans.com/">Lüke</a>. Only drawback? Insane portions.<br />
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That's the Plat Lyonnais, which I believe should have come with a warning "delicious potatoes buried under four huge sausages." My waiter told me I wasn't required to finish, although he had seen a few people manage it. Everything, including the presspots of coffee, was fantastic. After I'd finished as much as I could and the waiter took away the evidence of my failure, I got a text message from Alex wondering where I was and reporting that he was raring to go. Or, anyway, ready to eat. He ended up with the Croque-Madame et Frites.<br />
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A few days earlier, I'd commented to Alex that I thought he'd look great in a pork pie hat, and he said he'd been thinking the same. We spoke to several people about hats, because New Orleans seemed like a good place to look. Everyone said the same thing: go to <a href="http://www.meyerthehatter.com/meyer/">Meyer the Hatter</a>. Period. Meyer the Hatter has been in the same location since 1894, providing all manner of hats to musicians, movie stars and hipsters for more than a century. It's also about two blocks from our hotel, not far from Canal Street. The jam packed store floor is topped by two more stories of hats in storage. More colors, more sizes, more styles...<br />
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Alex was fitted by a tiny French lady (one of the staff told us she'd been there since the French Revolution) who peered up at him and announced "7 1/2 long", pulled out a hat and plunked it on him. Perfect fit.<br />
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I have no idea what we did after that. Walk around? Eventually we decided on an early dinner and landed at one of Ryan's many recommendations: <a href="http://www.coopsplace.net/index.html">Coop's Place</a>. Walked in, grabbed two bar stools, ordered Sazeracs and dinner and watched as people began standing around outside, out of the rain. It wasn't until we left that I realized that was the line to get in, which hadn't existed when we arrived. Timing is everything.<br />
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Coop's Place is an unassuming bar with no attempt at slickness, on the walls or behind the bar. The kitchen is out back, outside, where they also smoke the most incredible tasso I've ever tasted -- well, that's not adequate, because I haven't had that much tasso. Let's say some of the most incredible smoked meat I've ever tasted. The tasso was in my jambalaya supreme (rabbit, sausage, shrimp and tasso) which was brilliant. Very poor photo follows.<br />
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We were beat. Another trip to Cure was considered but seemed overwhelming. Back to the hotel it was.<br />
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On Thursday, waiting for Jenaya to pick us up, Alex and I had briefly sat in the hotel bar, which specializes in champagne cocktails and is a very pleasant space. The bartender spoke to us and then left to serve her tables, and we decided to go outside instead. She ran over just as we reached the escalator to ask where we were going, and we promised we'd come back later. So we did, two days later. Courtney was born and raised in New Orleans and pretty much fulfilled every story I'd ever heard about the warm and friendly locals. We pretty much had the place to ourselves, and talked with her about the city, cooking, music, and what we'd experienced over the last few days. Even though she built us no original and complicated cocktails, Courtney goes on the list of best bartenders ever.<br />
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Sunday it rained, New Orleans style. During a break in the downpour, Alex and I headed to the French Quarter for a muffaletta, except Napoleon House is closed on Sundays. A quick check with Ryan steered us down the block to <a href="http://www.johnnyspoboy.com/">Johnny's Po-boys</a>, a relative newcomer that's only been open since 1950. Johnny's was packed.<br />
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After awhile the crowd thinned out a little, because people left and it was raining so hard that no one was swimming through it to come in for a po-boy. As ordered by Ryan, we had a roast beef po-boy, dressed. We split it.<br />
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That was pretty much it. Walking in the rain was not fun and we were drenched. We drank hot tea in the hotel bar for awhile and eventually headed out for our evening flight back through Houston (bbq in the airport!) and home.<br />
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I believe I promised deep thoughts, but I've misplaced them. This I will say: New Orleans is not like any place else. It's not like any other American city (although outside the city proper a lot of it looks like the worst of Southern California). I really had no idea what people were getting at when they told me of their affection for the city, or why people would put up with storms and heat and even move back after huge sections of New Orleans had been pounded and flooded and dismissed by the rest of the country.<br />
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I don't believe anyone can have even a faint grasp of how special New Orleans is without actually being there. Me? I don't know anything about NOLA at all, except that there is so much there to experience and immerse myself in. I'm definitely going back.<br />
<br />jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-88809476647394777182011-08-28T08:04:00.000-07:002011-08-28T08:04:10.148-07:00Alex and Jeff's Excellent AdventureSome time in the spring my son, Alex, asked me if I wanted to travel with him to Tales of the Cocktail, a bartenders' convention. In New Orleans. In late July. I scoffed. <br />
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Weeks later I gave it more serious thought. After all, how many times in my life would I have the opportunity to go on a real adventure with one of my kids? Here was the opportunity to share our mutual enjoyment of cocktails and food in a city and a culture neither of us had ever experienced. I wasn't particularly interested in attending programs at Tales, but I figured I could do a little exploration on my own while Alex and two of his friends soaked up knowledge, booze and networking connections. I was only worried that it would be so godawful hot and muggy that I'd never go anywhere.As it turned out, the friends dropped out and neither Alex or I attended Tales. We did, however, have a great time and my preconceptions and view of New Orleans were turned upside down.<br />
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<b>Wednesday--We have landed</b><br />
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Although I was braced for the sort of horrid humidity and heat I faced in DC last year, when we landed at mid-afternoon it was warm and almost cozy outdoors. Our cabbie seemed eager to get rid of us, one way or the other, and rocketed along well over the speed limit. The hotel was a great score, thanks to Hotwire, very quiet and located a short walk from the French Quarter. And, as it turned out, our first destination, Herbsaint, was only a few blocks in the other direction on St. Charles. The highpoint at this little bistro would have been the frogs' legs but the day's amphibians were too wily for Herbsaint. I did, however, get my first Louisiana gumbo and it was good. It also reassured me that I was on the right track at home.<br />
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Next stop, and one of our primary destinations was Cure, a fairly new and serious cocktail bar on Freret. Just getting there was entertaining enough; our cabbie was full of information and advice delivered from the filthiest mouth I've ever heard. Driving everywhere, over some seriously torn up roads, he insisted we tour the Garden Distrct, which is filled with the most beautiful and exotic mansions I've ever seen. (Sorry, no pictures. Look it up.)<br />
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<a href="http://www.curenola.com/index.php">Cure </a>was everything we'd hoped for and more and immediately moved to my short list of best American bars. Fantastic service for food and drinks, an enormous selection of spirits and cocktail ingredients, homemade bitters and terrific original cocktails. I was ready to stay the week.<br />
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First up for me was the Gun Shop Fizz on the right, and Alex's Disappearing Ink (Dolin Blanc, Sherry, Strawberry Bitters, Rosewater, Lemon Peel, Mint) on the left. Cocktails are generally made with one or two dashes of bitters, but the fizz uses two ounces of Peychaud's. I expected a puckering challenge to my mouth, but the Gun Shop is bright and refreshing. More wonderful drinks followed, including Rhiannon Enlil's delicious Bees for Pele. (Rhum Agricole, Yellow Chartreuse, Lemon, Honey, Spice Bitters, Angostura Bitters) and a Sazerac made with Thomas H. Handy rye.<br />
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We had chosen to sit on the short side of the bar, opposite the kitchen rather than the bottle display. This made it very handy when the cooks reached over to deposit our small plates, including the fresh crab and watermelon salad. We were later given a dish of white chocolate-dipped blackberries with crumbled bleu cheese and walnuts.<br />
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Later, our server told Alex and I we should follow Rhiannon and it didn't appear that we were being ejected. Instead, we were taken to a pair of tall glass-fronted cabinets near the door which was storage of their most special beverages. "Do you see anything you're interested in?" Well, yeah, hell yeah, but it was too overwhelming to focus. Rhiannon ended up choosing a bottle of <a href="http://www.pernod.fr/english/marques/aperitifs_viniques/byrrh.html">Byrrh</a>, a rich and delicious aperitif, and then offered to make us each our drink of choice using the Byrrh. Alex was served a variation on the Negroni, and I on the Manhattan. And I've run out of superlatives.<br />
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Rhiannon above, Alex's Negroni below.<br />
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Off we went to the hotel and off I went to deep sleep. As it turned out, Alex was restless and went for a walk, thereby discovering that the French Quarter was only a few blocks away and that drunken college boys fling strings of beads even when it's not Mardi Gras.<br />
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<b>More to come.</b>jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-43076289805001206252011-08-28T08:01:00.001-07:002011-09-15T11:54:28.299-07:00Alex and Jeff's Excellent Adventure, Part II<b>Thursday--A Full Day</b><br />
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Although New Orleans was our primary destination, I wasn't going to travel that far into the Deep South without seeing countryside and the Gulf, and knocking another state off my list (it's now down to six unvisited). Thursday was a beautiful sunny day, and we drove our rented car east on Hwy 90, through the Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge, past Lake St Catherine into Mississippi and along the Gulf Coast's Long Beach.The car's air conditioning was very welcome, for as beautiful as the day was it was also hot and humid. <br />
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I admit to real bigotry about the region, wondering why the hell anyone would want to live there, especially outside New Orleans. I also admit to being a dumbass. The drive to Gulfport, through a wide variety of woods and waterways and beaches, was utterly beautiful (and some of the most picturesque, seen from bridges and causeways, frustrated the photographer).<br />
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The Hwy 90 bridge over Chef Menteur Pass, which connects Lake Pontchartrain and Lake Borgne. The highway then travels along an isthmus bordering Pontchartrain and soon enters Mississippi.<br />
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We saw ample evidence of the rebuilding along the coastal areas with homes built on platforms high above the ground. Virtually every residence we saw was brand new or under construction. <br />
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A long stretch of white sand (appropriately called Long Beach) runs from the mouth of Bay St. Louis all the way to Gulfport, Mississippi, and almost certainly all the way to Biloxi. It was hot and nearly empty. In contrast to the ocean I'm most familiar with, the Gulf was extraordinarily warm and murky. The temperature really was like a bath, but neither of us was tempted to swim in it.<br />
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The "goal" of the trip, or at least the target, was lunch at the Half Shell Oyster House. Lunch turned out to be very late, and we were ravenous. Grilled oysters got us started. Alex had a seafood pie and I ordered the Royal Red shrimp, which were luckily in season. Big shrimp, with a flavor more like lobster than the usual taste. The only downside was that they resisted peeling.And grits.<br />
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And for dessert, my first-ever real Key Lime Pie. It was good. Alex had to get his own.<br />
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And a busy evening<br />
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Our great friend, Jenaya, had recently repatriated to New Orleans, having been washed out by Katrina in 2005. She had made us promise to give her one night to get a taste for her city, which we looked forward to eagerly. Jenaya picked us up at our hotel and drove us on an apparently random and twisted path through the French Quarter to the Bywater neighborhood. On the way, we saw our first "second line", this one for well-loved club owner Ray Deter, and a huge brass band of youngsters in bright yellow t-shirts. (Our first brass band but by no means the last. Music everywhere!)<br />
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It's almost impossible for me to describe <a href="http://www.bacchanalwine.com/">Bacchanal</a>, other than to say it's just about the coolest place I've ever been. From my perspective, it's in the midst of nowhere immediately across from an old Army depot, railroad tracks and the Mississippi River. It seems obvious that Chris, the owner, isn't relying on pedestrian traffic for customers. This is a place that you make an effort to go to, because you've been there, or you've heard great things about it, or you're fortunate enough to be taken there by a friend. If you were looking for it, you might easily pass by entirely.<br />
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When you watch the first season of Treme (which you absolutely must), Bacchanal is featured in at least two scenes. In the first, Sonny buys his girlfriend a bottle of wine--the interior of this brick building is a funky and well-stocked wine shop, and was the original Bacchanal. Customers enter, choose a bottle of wine or two and take them and their glassware out to the large and wild backyard. We got there early enough to select a table, but later on, with the band playing and the chef knocking out superb food, it was filled with happy guests in the warm and sticky night. Many of the guests were attractive women of all ages.<br />
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Jenaya's friend Chris had been out fishing the day before, and provided 60 pounds of tuna for the chef. And, oh god, was it good, along with our ceviche and flatiron steak. And wine. Lots and lots of rosés. In Episode 9 of Treme, there is an entire scene set in the back yard, and Janette's portable kitchen is set up exactly where the new outdoor kitchen is now located. <br />
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Which seems like a good time to apologize for the general craptastic nature of the photos. I've come to the conclusion that a combination of good photos and a rousing night out is difficult to pull off. Bacchanal has much better photos on their <a href="http://www.bacchanalwine.com/">website </a>and their Facebook page. Check them out.<br />
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<b>Update (9/15):</b> Bacchanal is having some problems because of their live music. There's a good piece <a href="http://www.nola.com/nolavie/index.ssf/2011/09/bacchanal_youre_perfect_dont_c.html">here</a>. <br />
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Much of what followed is a bit blurry. The three of us walked through the neighborhood, visited her shotgun house, and then two of her local dive bars. In the process we twice passed the bar in which Kermit Ruffins was playing, with a huge crowd spilling outside during a break. Both the bars were called JP's or JJ's. I think. The one we landed in was packed and the music being played was excellent. In New Orleans, the rules about smoking in bars are very different than they are in Portland. As far as I can tell, the rule is: whatever the owner wants is fine. I think people in this bar were required to smoke. Next to the jukebox was something I hadn't seen in years, a cigarette vending machine.<br />
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<b>Still more to come after a good night's sleep. </b>jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-3150789360420597512011-08-28T08:01:00.000-07:002011-08-28T08:02:58.190-07:00Alex and Jeff's Excellent Adventure, Part III<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aTg8heEuiw41Pe1DFRpZSV4xpHKwsmKyxQC1j3-LzoUa0NAwL2QqcorVN_OXXe33M4TuOy6P3mYoCuzHqTsUsuEYXyPYY17TY8r3rRCvbcu6uMcV8WF8oIdTMgWlfZwuLhJXpOeVMA/s1600/cafe+du+monde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aTg8heEuiw41Pe1DFRpZSV4xpHKwsmKyxQC1j3-LzoUa0NAwL2QqcorVN_OXXe33M4TuOy6P3mYoCuzHqTsUsuEYXyPYY17TY8r3rRCvbcu6uMcV8WF8oIdTMgWlfZwuLhJXpOeVMA/s320/cafe+du+monde.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<b>Friday it rained</b><br />
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Living in Oregon for years has gulled me into thinking I know something about rain. After all, everyone knows it rains constantly here, day after day. In New Orleans, apparently, they've decided it's more efficient to pack two weeks worth of rain into two hours. Step out in it and you will be soaked to the skin in minutes and scampering from balcony to awning just doesn't cut it. (Note: next time bring an umbrella.)<br />
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Since walking around town was a really poor option, we decided to travel north to Abita Springs and visit their brewpub. First stop, though, was the justifiably famous Cafe du Monde in the French Market, where it has resided since 1862. Open 24/7 except for Christmas and days when hurricanes "pass too close to New Orleans." Most of the seating is outdoors, under a roof, and most of what is served is a cup of café au lait (with chicory) and three beignets buried under a cloud of powdered sugar. It's all just as delicious as it looks.<br />
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As the rain started in earnest, we drove for about 30 minutes to cross the <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/aa/Lake_Pontchartrain_Causeway.jpg/1473px-Lake_Pontchartrain_Causeway.jpg">Lake Pontchartrain Causeway</a>, the longest continuous bridge over water in the world. Along the way, Alex discovered <a href="http://www.wwoz.org/">WWOZ </a>on the radio, a listener-sponsored station playing an amazing blend of New Orleans music and local culture--and it's available streaming on the Internet! All of which made for great entertainment while driving over an endless bridge through pouring rain.<br />
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And more pouring rain. All I can say about Abita Springs, other than the rain, is that they have a very nice brewpub and a lot of very pretty houses. And cats. They have at least four (one ran off) trying to find a dry spot to sit outside the pub. None of them looked happy and particularly not about being disturbed.<br />
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As the day dried out, we headed back to New Orleans and our date with piggies.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixb22xjfeRA8TARd7tDbU7T_WRQf7Z5_O2npt8tw958gKylHm7sCvm8AiZ9oqhHci-HcQRqU2npp66MgKGIDSBiVSKHCDfomk0-BZzMRXPLT5KHAcsNTEwm4yn_8C-6ToR-uImpv098w/s1600/cochon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixb22xjfeRA8TARd7tDbU7T_WRQf7Z5_O2npt8tw958gKylHm7sCvm8AiZ9oqhHci-HcQRqU2npp66MgKGIDSBiVSKHCDfomk0-BZzMRXPLT5KHAcsNTEwm4yn_8C-6ToR-uImpv098w/s320/cochon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Alex had gotten us early dinner reservations at <a href="http://www.cochonrestaurant.com/">Cochon</a>, a restaurant specializing in, uh, pork. (And I note that the owner/chef has been awarded the James Beard Award for Best Chef South, 2011.) And thanks to Alex, we received a warm greeting from the lovely Naomi aka Elaine (ask Alex), one of his former co-workers. Most of the menu items were "small plates", which can be a relative term. Oysters the size of my hand. Below that, pork cheeks and something yummy. An <i>amuse-bouche</i> with they called head cheese, which has no resemblance to any thing I've ever seen with that name and was delicious (as was the pickled okra). And finally, the main dish, braised pork with cracklings and peaches. I probably could have had apple fritters with southern pecan sherbet if there I had any room.<br />
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The rest of Friday involves drink. <br />
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After porking out, we found another bar on Alex's list, which turned out to be a not very exciting hotel bar where I had an indifferent Sazerac (I think). We got excellent advice from the bartender, however, including a warning that we really did not want to walk to the next bar on the list, down a very sketchy street. Instead, he suggested <a href="http://www.arnaudsrestaurant.com/arnauds/wp-content/uploads/French-75-interior-barshot-credit-David-Spielman-e1281098426117.jpg">Arnaud's French 75</a> bar in the French Quarter next to Arnaud's Creole Restaurant, which has been in the location since 1918--a beautiful and elegant bar with a superb and attentive staff. In the spirit of Tales, the bartender had created some new specialties. I think (but can't guarantee) that the new drinks included a specific Amer. I got stuck on their version of a Martinez and never wavered.<br />
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Arnaud's was a perfect place to spend the evening, with a lively crowd that included spill-overs from the restaurant (a wedding rehearsal dinner with exceptionally lovely Southern Belles), a friend from Portland, and more people from Portland! And to top it off, it was only a few blocks (stumbling distance) from our hotel.<br />
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<b>A little bit more to come, although mostly much quieter, and perhaps some deep thoughts.</b><br />
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jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-10188139837192551882011-05-30T16:24:00.000-07:002011-05-30T16:24:13.268-07:00Battling the Starlings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhswchKyCQaqPvZ2hLWywHyX2FtEkLvY5CBWiK3yAUJG52maIdRypEP_QsYZogYdrNf9BdZdkuD6WSzrp8KJXuJWMzvF3EIudILQ5DZohHbiBPzfqH1kK3GHxJhVF3FifNq9DCxz_jQ/s1600/nuthatch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhswchKyCQaqPvZ2hLWywHyX2FtEkLvY5CBWiK3yAUJG52maIdRypEP_QsYZogYdrNf9BdZdkuD6WSzrp8KJXuJWMzvF3EIudILQ5DZohHbiBPzfqH1kK3GHxJhVF3FifNq9DCxz_jQ/s320/nuthatch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Over the course of a year, I get a lot of visitors to my balcony, drawn in by four different feeders offering options for birds. I added a suet feeder late in 2009 after being briefly visited by a Townsend's Warbler in the snow. The <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/jgRodHnr0AnSfIOBoW2abQ?feat=directlink">suet feeder</a> gets regular visits from chickadees, bushtits, nuthatches and a flicker. Drop-ins have included warblers and a Downy Woodpecker.<br />
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A week ago, the starlings found my suet and proceeded to demolish it. Researching the problem, I ran across a few discussion boards where someone inevitably asked "why all the hate? They're just birds." So, briefly: starlings are a non-native intrusive species that some idiot introduced to this continent years ago. They are large, noisy, and they crap everywhere. They descend in a flock and eat all the suet while chasing off any other birds (except the flicker, who is much too large to be intimidated). Starlings are also persistent and creative, more or less the rats of the sky.<br />
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The nice people at the <a href="http://backyardbirdshop.com/index.php/about">Backyard Bird Shop</a> offered a couple of different solutions to replace my feeder and discourage the starlings. One approach is to use a bottom-only feeder that has the suet cake lying flat with a roof over it; birds have to cling underneath to eat the food. This is no problem for most of my visitors, like bushtits and nuthatches but in theory, starlings can't do that. In theory. Like I said, they're persistent and I read reports of starlings that had learned to cling.<br />
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So I went with the cage within a cage. The inner cage holds two suet cakes comfortably and the holes in the outer cage allow little birds simple access as you can see. (I was taking a photo of the feeder with my cell phone, standing about three feet away when the nuthatch showed up.) So I crammed in two cakes and came home to find that the starlings had eaten about half. It turns out that they can easily stand on top and drill down to the suet quite easily. Furthermore, the juvenile starlings can cram their heads in from the side and reach the food.<br />
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Back to the shop, where it turns out that my only real problem was putting in all the suet. The trick is to cut one cake in half lengthwise and put the two pieces in side by side. Then the starlings can't reach it from the top and the juveniles haven't been all that successful from the side of the cage. Soon their nasty heads will be too large to fit in. Meanwhile, not only can the little birds get in and out with ease but the flicker is actually having a much easier time hanging on to the feeder and his long neck fits through the outer hole easily.<br />
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So yay me. Boo starlings.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-87885540640214688372011-05-08T11:50:00.000-07:002011-05-08T12:40:27.022-07:00A different beverage entirely<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UBNsrdjlqOKeMcPxREYUI-dpAOEMtlX6eOPWcz9fJ1C7NbNYgUU3ZNKlfI2is8fzmPE9e_apopBi8AV169Q6XQwWgy5lWwx2pLMGGmpYdVIDJ8GGp4U2q21UkkUa4HgueiCwg4i_nw/s1600/latte.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UBNsrdjlqOKeMcPxREYUI-dpAOEMtlX6eOPWcz9fJ1C7NbNYgUU3ZNKlfI2is8fzmPE9e_apopBi8AV169Q6XQwWgy5lWwx2pLMGGmpYdVIDJ8GGp4U2q21UkkUa4HgueiCwg4i_nw/s320/latte.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>When my friend Ryan and I went to San Francisco the last week of April, we did not limit our drinking solely to wine, cocktails, wine and beer. On occasion, we started the day with coffee, thanks to the good folks at<a href="http://www.bluebottlecoffee.net/about/who-we-are/"> Blue Bottle Coffee</a> (follow that link because it's a very interesting company). As good as many of the Portland and Eugene roasters are, I would instantly shift my loyalty to Blue Bottle should they ever open a roastery here, even though the World's Cutest Barrista works elsewhere.<br />
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That's the second-best latte ever, by the way, along with the remains of a Parmesan-fennel-sea salt shortbread cookie. The remains lasted only seconds after the photo. <br />
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First stop was at the <a href="http://www.bluebottlecoffee.net/locations/mint-cafe/">Mint Plaza cafe</a>, home to the world's first five-light siphon bar.(which is apparently a big deal, besides looking extremely cool). UPDATE: And then I realized that the five-light is off to the far right in this photo. I still have no idea what the Frankenstein-looking thing in the clear box is supposed to be.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBY7IobyAIuZyoHDXDbtbTzyZMmcknhjE5AjXsNIX4HiXSy3ez8iZrdraDZWuvlbpjK0SsOFPDo3DqB6YfIHBHz1gH8vuLMS-xn06nbF-WXzFxYausGvldwcP27JysR0LgFsaqXbT1aw/s1600/bigger+siphon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBY7IobyAIuZyoHDXDbtbTzyZMmcknhjE5AjXsNIX4HiXSy3ez8iZrdraDZWuvlbpjK0SsOFPDo3DqB6YfIHBHz1gH8vuLMS-xn06nbF-WXzFxYausGvldwcP27JysR0LgFsaqXbT1aw/s320/bigger+siphon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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The Japanese have apparently gotten very serious about their coffee (Japanese always seem to get very serious about anything interesting), and their approaches to brewing coffee and the equipment designed for their techniques are <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/13/magazine/13Food-t-000.html">finding their way to the US</a>.<br />
<blockquote>One adopter — and importer — of Japanese gear was James Freeman of Blue Bottle Coffee in Oakland, San Francisco and now Brooklyn. Freeman and his wife, the pastry chef Caitlin Williams Freeman, recounted a visit to Chatei Hatou, a Tokyo coffee shop where brewing coffee isn’t exactly a ceremony but is ceremonious. They said beans were weighed, ground, emptied into a filter and preinfused with a little bit of water that let the coffee bloom and release carbon dioxide. Cups and saucers were warmed, a slice of was set in the fridge to firm up. Only then was the coffee brewed, slowly. <br />
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“They’re going for a mastery of technique, then a mastery over all the important details of service,” Freeman said. “It adds up to an incredibly elusive experience. It’s hard to manufacture splendidness. It seems as though they have something very difficult figured out.” </blockquote>And that giant siphon? There's a really beautiful <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2008/01/23/dining/20080123_COFFEE_SLIDESHOW_index.html">slideshow </a>about it at the NY Times, along with a YouTube video of the thing in operation:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/SHz-NIPTvf0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
While I was sucking down my latte, Ryan waited patiently for 10 minutes while his siphon coffee was prepared.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1CKTTzwgX6PlQaMWjQDXDGtPnZToDLfz4NJVNDeUNMpNViBVu7ISaW-WHWCigherRcB4hEkrJ_ki_9lD5swcFLNkeV8QTtXEYqlQQFMzlltJa7S7YLKUZgTDtQVBO6fyDMIe8xq6HQ/s1600/siphon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1CKTTzwgX6PlQaMWjQDXDGtPnZToDLfz4NJVNDeUNMpNViBVu7ISaW-WHWCigherRcB4hEkrJ_ki_9lD5swcFLNkeV8QTtXEYqlQQFMzlltJa7S7YLKUZgTDtQVBO6fyDMIe8xq6HQ/s320/siphon.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Showy, huh? And then the pot comes to the table.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_-0opUdlVl9hQ6-tdJ9V3B7Mi1gxBt_kvewblTvj3C0wbj-erHCHDDJvlVmN7_Yj99IUkPjmIFes6gCMX8j450UKEGEAUOR99YYeAdtmFmNIO2zOK3GxBo17z4osNja_P7YxJpGqJg/s1600/service.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_-0opUdlVl9hQ6-tdJ9V3B7Mi1gxBt_kvewblTvj3C0wbj-erHCHDDJvlVmN7_Yj99IUkPjmIFes6gCMX8j450UKEGEAUOR99YYeAdtmFmNIO2zOK3GxBo17z4osNja_P7YxJpGqJg/s320/service.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I couldn't for the life of me figure out how the siphon worked, but YouTube came through again.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/FxIs2GVsqgY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
Was the coffee better? You'll have to ask Ryan, who seemed pleased (which might have been because he finally got his coffee). I stuck to the latte.<br />
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The next day, we visited the Ferry Building for the second time, and I had the Greatest Latte Ever at the <a href="http://www.bluebottlecoffee.net/locations/ferry-building/">"secret" coffee bar</a> with the shockingly short line. It didn't take 10 minutes to brew, either.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-53790970529893309952011-04-30T12:51:00.000-07:002011-04-30T12:51:00.506-07:00Spoils of Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrQrjVtpwT2w7z9FjqIjucaOVeI3OcjddVE8Cu38ZwUdmnaFHpOaJ9L2lK8Y6x540vqkNgErNBBvCW_WaxjuP-eO2O6rrLAUmLQBxALZlhbU9XTGM_ch3jUrCn4AohszmOP9I5J2BPmQ/s1600/loot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrQrjVtpwT2w7z9FjqIjucaOVeI3OcjddVE8Cu38ZwUdmnaFHpOaJ9L2lK8Y6x540vqkNgErNBBvCW_WaxjuP-eO2O6rrLAUmLQBxALZlhbU9XTGM_ch3jUrCn4AohszmOP9I5J2BPmQ/s320/loot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It does seem like a lot of wine and spirits, doesn't it? Ah, well, it's not every day that I get to root through the liquor stores in California. I was on the hunt for vermouths and aperitifs I can't find around here, and a few other bottles seem to have fallen into the basket.<br />
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More to come on those vermouths, both foreign and domestic.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-7997279009935670072011-03-25T12:35:00.000-07:002011-03-25T12:35:57.158-07:00Random Photo of the Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJSuKaUYdXhCt1diQs5PL8HIgL77m19GQxN0-s8e9_xcf46SvrFtcFICIO0T_9BQHrRXnKY32SVY_Lu8X_uD8LuJMTsoiDRQHlOWzi4IWN4o1XsryzUo7iJpSW9HS7a8yhxJMREMxoWw/s1600/stadium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJSuKaUYdXhCt1diQs5PL8HIgL77m19GQxN0-s8e9_xcf46SvrFtcFICIO0T_9BQHrRXnKY32SVY_Lu8X_uD8LuJMTsoiDRQHlOWzi4IWN4o1XsryzUo7iJpSW9HS7a8yhxJMREMxoWw/s320/stadium.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>JELD-WEN Field, almost ready for first match on April 14. What had most recently been PGE Park has been converted from a baseball-friendly park to a futbol/football field for the Portland Timbers, now a Major League Soccer team. The entire season is effectively sold out already.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-53372172655401912962011-03-19T10:03:00.000-07:002011-03-19T10:03:25.810-07:00Random Photo of the Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH86cjYFZwco63qCE0UnA2XSKEdE2qQeSMLlHgr1vOlQg8WDMfDZUyPGyUYdvlW_Ik9hKtKEntMu6ne80hNiMzJVYOlyrNcJcI77HziSnFZx4OGHIhPwTzC1IBE0LwZpkSz7SA03FjHQ/s1600/moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH86cjYFZwco63qCE0UnA2XSKEdE2qQeSMLlHgr1vOlQg8WDMfDZUyPGyUYdvlW_Ik9hKtKEntMu6ne80hNiMzJVYOlyrNcJcI77HziSnFZx4OGHIhPwTzC1IBE0LwZpkSz7SA03FjHQ/s320/moon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Night photography needs work. And a charged battery. The moon last night was spectacular.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-88976646397710403252011-03-04T11:42:00.000-08:002011-03-04T11:42:51.520-08:00In search of the perfect glass<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv6oiXZIvMAo1Nawd88j29S52oiUIKezF3oOHwtJT4LJy_khp5gFbcC7Nb-dd6ZHKBcTmFBcfK4MwJWyX2filYsUQ20ag_pHY0WhVAZ0VaAciruJTPy-061GzrXCKFud0zV4UBSsq0uA/s1600/glassware.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv6oiXZIvMAo1Nawd88j29S52oiUIKezF3oOHwtJT4LJy_khp5gFbcC7Nb-dd6ZHKBcTmFBcfK4MwJWyX2filYsUQ20ag_pHY0WhVAZ0VaAciruJTPy-061GzrXCKFud0zV4UBSsq0uA/s320/glassware.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
"The perfect glass" being dictated, of course, by what is served in it. I may have gotten obsessive about this when I was becoming somewhat obsessive about beer. I treasure the few bars and pubs that make the effort to serve their beers (especially Belgian or Belgian-style) in the appropriate glass rather than pouring everything into a shaker "pint" designed for mixing cocktails.<br />
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Wineglasses are another subject entirely. I completely fail to grasp the need or distinction between a pinot glass, a burgundy glass, an Oregon pinot glass (wtf?) but I'm open to persuasion. I've been sold on the ickiness of a rolled rim, and I do understand the advantage of a glass large enough to really get my snout into. I've got glasses for red wines and different glasses for rosé or riesling, but there are subtleties I'm missing.<br />
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Beverages that sparkle, though, those I get. I love bubbles in my drink, be it water or juice or wine. Especially wine. As far as I'm concerned, it's impossible to go wrong with a decent sparkling wine and lately I've been churning through all sorts of moderately-priced and delicious sparklers -- cava from Spain, sparkling Riesling (well, not so moderately-priced) from Germany, proseccos and even a delicious wine from Georgia. No, not that Georgia, but Stalin's country. I've confidently poured them all into good flutes, which like the best pilsner glasses, encourage the formation and retention of bubbles. The carbonation not only provides the correct texture, but pushes the aromatics up and out, into my nose. What could be better?<br />
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The answer, it turns out, is a <a href="http://www.oenophileblog.com/html/flute__tulip__or_coupe_.html">tulip</a>.<br />
<blockquote> <br />
<div align="justify"><span style="font-family: Verdana,Tahoma,Arial,Helvetica,Sans-serif;">So is the flute the proper glass for Champagne? Not so, according to winemakers at Chandon, Roederer, and Taittinger. Champagne is, after all, wine. Neither coupe nor flute allows the wine to fully express its aromatic qualities. There are actually two other possibilities, and they were explored together with coupes and flute glasses at a recent Maximilian Riedel tasting at the Manhattan Riedel showroom. </span></div><div align="justify"><br />
</div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: Verdana,Tahoma,Arial,Helvetica,Sans-serif;">Much more appropriate for a champagne-lover to enjoy the bubbly, especially if it is a “tête de cuvee” or a super-premium bottle, is the tulip glass. The glass is tall, but curves outwards to within a couple inches from the mouth, then curves inwards to the mouth. This design allows a little more space for swirling, and focuses the aromatics more towards the nose. Among the glasses we used for the tasting was the champagne tulip from the new Riedel Vitis line. The glass’ silhouette gracefully maximizes the surface-to-air space, allowing some aeration within the glass and the development of exceptional aromatics.</span></div></blockquote>Clearly I needed tulips or my satisfaction would be shattered. Amazon couldn't deliver the goods, or at least not when I needed them. The Riedel Vitis glass turns out to be available at Macy's. Um, $40 a glass? I'm drinking $10 cava! Maybe there's something in the beer glass collection that will suit. Shuffle shuffle. What's this?<br />
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I got married (the first time) in 1983, and two of my favorite people, Sonja and Shannon, sent a wedding gift from Seattle. These two beautiful women sent two beautiful champagne glasses. Over the years, I'd almost never used them, for fear of breaking them, or because other people were not enthusiastic about drinking from someone else's wedding gift, and the glasses were tucked way in the back of the cabinet for safety. Sonja had turned me on to real sparkling wine, Schramsburg, a year or two before the wedding gift. It's only taken me a bit over 25 years to catch up.Because, d'oh, the beautiful glasses were tulips and they are the most perfect glasses for drinking wine with bubbles.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtU9spANwNXFRkVMgFY1f8Pvy4QZkiwkNOVc1_yiJlECYIoxmI1tf1nbUzGT1PxauYqNxmTOl2_wFi1THBcggIROC2CEirGjkhjdz9bINDARskIEkYAcbIbrC7s2_WP-yc4AR4lD5EhQ/s1600/dolin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtU9spANwNXFRkVMgFY1f8Pvy4QZkiwkNOVc1_yiJlECYIoxmI1tf1nbUzGT1PxauYqNxmTOl2_wFi1THBcggIROC2CEirGjkhjdz9bINDARskIEkYAcbIbrC7s2_WP-yc4AR4lD5EhQ/s320/dolin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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My friend Ryan and I visited <a href="http://thesecretsocietylounge.com/">The Secret Society Lounge</a> shortly after it opened, an intimate Victorian-era bar specializing in well-crafted classic cocktails. I thought they were shaking too many that should have been stirred, but the effort was appreciated, and the offerings really were classic.<br />
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The downside of "intimate" of course is that it's difficult to avoid listening to neighbors' conversations. A new group plopped down next to our table and one of the patrons, barely glancing at the cocktail menu, announced, "I know what I want! I want a dirty martini!". My natural response was to throw her out of the bar, obviously, but I've become tolerant in my old age and realized it wasn't her fault to get it so wrong.<br />
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An order for a dirty martini is a cry for help.<br />
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It takes some time and effort to develop a taste for booze, which is why young people tend to cover it up with all sorts of nasty sweet concoctions like Jack & Coke. When someone is persuaded to try actual spirits, there's a natural tendency to choose something odorless and flavorless -- vodka. Even someone as smart and funny as <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8XDZdE2GSY">Alan Cumming</a> comes to believe that a "martini" is simply an icy glass of nearly-frozen vodka. Shaken, because that's how to get the drink really cold and notice: a sketch of vermouth to rinse the mixing glass and then poured out. The call for a dirty martini is a plea to have <i>something </i>to taste, even if it's only olive brine. <br />
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My father's generation is probably to blame for this, or perhaps we can pin it on Winston Churchill, who championed a big nearly-frozen glass of gin, with the bartender glancing at a bottle of dry vermouth before serving. My dad subscribed to a similar view and would make reference to waving an open vermouth bottle near the martini pitcher. Considering the awful slop he passed off as gin, this only makes sense because the vermouth he'd have on hand was even worse. Bought from the bottom shelf and left unrefrigerated (probably for years), his vermouth was something to avoid.<br />
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As the SF Chronicle's Paul Clarke <a href="http://articles.sfgate.com/2008-08-15/wine/17121337_1_vermouth-martini-drinkers-david-wondrich">writes</a>:<br />
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<blockquote>
Fear, apparently, is a factor. "Almost 75 percent of my vodka martini drinkers are very, very afraid of vermouth," says Brooke Arthur, bar manager at Range. While many vodka martini fans are seeking a cocktail as flavorless as possible, Arthur says, drinkers enter the world of the contemporary bar with almost no exposure to vermouth.<br />
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"They don't even know what it tastes like, but a friend who gave them their first dirty martini didn't use it, so they don't want it in there," Arthur says.<br />
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Native to northwest Italy and southern France, vermouth - a wine that has been aromatized with herbs and other botanicals and lightly fortified with unaged brandy - is widely popular in parts of Europe, where it is usually served as an aperitif. But from the approach taken by most American bartenders - who typically dispense vermouth with atomizers, eyedroppers or simply a delicate hand when mixing martinis - vermouth could be considered some sort of bibulous antimatter. </blockquote>
There is, truthfully, a great deal of sub-par vermouth on the market; anyone who tasted the stuff straight would be justified in thinking of it as crap. Dry vermouth is made from a wine base, seasoned with botanicals. In civilized countries, it's treated as an aperitif, consumed before dinner with ice and perhaps an orange peel. That's good vermouth, though, starting with a base of decent wine, not from some ghastly "wine" you'd never allow on your table. <br />
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Vermouth was first produced commercially in the late 18th Century, but had been concocted at home for centuries. Paul Clarke again:<br />
<blockquote>
Typically made from neutral-character dry white wines that have been flavored with herbs, roots and barks - typically including cardamom, cinnamon, marjoram and chamomile - and then fortified with a neutral grape spirit, vermouth is classically made - and named - for another botanical: wormwood (the plant's name in Old High German is Wermud). </blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwzk1qphm9i99BTfTT1bGZSSFNarG1V40rKRv1HkACYeIlGEBFO5xWOSWzrleLpd-S8uwnNHCjdMwmdm3IWeaxlYcV1D9UhbjKQ73Iei72gTmSBbUHM8tV3PHubUZJ_TSFJxsHD6ZHw/s1600/array.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwzk1qphm9i99BTfTT1bGZSSFNarG1V40rKRv1HkACYeIlGEBFO5xWOSWzrleLpd-S8uwnNHCjdMwmdm3IWeaxlYcV1D9UhbjKQ73Iei72gTmSBbUHM8tV3PHubUZJ_TSFJxsHD6ZHw/s320/array.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Fortunately, really good vermouth (and aperitifs) are becoming more available, and truly distinctive vermouths are being produced right here in the US, although on a limited scale. The Quady Winery has been producing a dry and a sweet vermouth in California since 1999. Their dry vermouth is very dry indeed. On a base of Orange Muscat wine, they've added a unique blend of botanicals including lavender and various mints. (Also from California is Sutton Cellars dry vermouth, with great word of mouth--not going to taste it until some kind soul from California brings me a bottle. They are also developed a rosé vermouth, which sounds like heaven.)<br />
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Here in Oregon, a small company produces Imbue Bittersweet Vermouth, which is bitter indeed. Tasting it on its own, I found the vermouth shocking and demanding, but as a martini ingredient it is exceptionally good: pretty much the polar opposite of a "vodka martini". <br />
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The European vermouths included in the photo range from the gentle Dolin "Blanc" on the left (the also make excellent dry and sweet vermouths), Lillet Blanc (technically not vermouth, but filling a similar role in cocktails and on the table) and the very rare Cinzano Orancio, which is too sweet to be a "dry" vermouth, and too delicate to replace sweet vermouth. It plays well with oranges, oddly enough.<br />
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Find a bar that stocks good vermouth and ask to try a few on the rocks. A twist of lemon and a spritz of soda help to create a refreshing pre-dinner drink. And then try some serious cocktails. Make a real martini!<br />
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Martini the Right Way (or one of the right ways)<br />
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2 oz. gin (I like Tanqueray because it's good and it's cheap; there are plenty of other choices, such as Aviation; it's important that it be a robust gin<br />
1 oz. Vya dry vermouth<br />
2 dashes orange bitters<br />
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Stir vigorously with plenty of ice until well-chilled; pour into an frosty cocktail glass and garnish with lemon peel<br />
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Or try Neil Kopplin's Inverted Martini<br />
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2 oz. Imbue vermouth<br />
1 oz. gin<br />
add ice and orange peel<br />
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<b>UPDATE:</b> More on dry vermouth at this <a href="http://alexandbecky.wordpress.com/2011/02/28/spiritual-sundays-dont-fear-the-vermouth-part-2/">blog</a>.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-7676456407113862042010-09-14T16:36:00.000-07:002010-09-14T16:36:07.934-07:00Seeking food inspiration<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgav0qY4C5AQdYriq-80Auwc-euh38x_cZTrfak26EAukOlpY5bNxMfDGaXM1WKsXjq5AJRp1ev7ZZg1xXBnXx7-2TYtGW085-pcNBCgsOu6RlN12_RwDv8MrXNjPKVK8Cw9QqRSh_Vdw/s1600/carts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgav0qY4C5AQdYriq-80Auwc-euh38x_cZTrfak26EAukOlpY5bNxMfDGaXM1WKsXjq5AJRp1ev7ZZg1xXBnXx7-2TYtGW085-pcNBCgsOu6RlN12_RwDv8MrXNjPKVK8Cw9QqRSh_Vdw/s320/carts.jpg" /></a></div>Two months without a blog entry? Have I no sense of shame?<br />
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Last week I finally started paying attention to the eruption of food carts here in Portland. One article I read reported that we had more than 200 now, scattered around town in "pods", which appear to share rent in an empty lot, along with utilities and dining areas. The familiar array on the Transit Mall downtown seems to be primarily Indian, Thai, Thai, Indian and Thai. Plus some Indian food. Elsewhere in town the diversity is much greater, and new pods appear constantly, requiring <a href="http://www.foodcartsportland.com/">websites</a> solely to <a href="http://www.portlandmonthlymag.com/eat-and-drink/find-a-food-cart/">track</a> and review them.<br />
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Alex and Becky made a timely visit to Portland last week, and we chose the very new pod on Belmont near 43rd for our first exploration. So much to choose from! Mexican, Italian, Korean/Hawaiian, sausages, fresh produce, "comfort food", Thai, Middle Eastern... <br />
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Although the Dawg of the Day was tempting, I opted for the pulled pork plate at Namu's Killer Korean BBQ, and the result was even better than expected. Shredded pork, slow-cooked with cabbage was served along with sticky rice and a sauce (I chose creamy horseradish), and traditional Korean cucumber and spinach salads, and kimchee. Absolutely delicious.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdTIYyXnj1BZcm7cDS2FIiC7H_lhMCVxYIrkNie_onA6Vw9PHcxoYPsnTMWNgdAZM9TxzH_v_G3mEAiKihf09ijiO8jula6emvAN5JIgXSs6khVx2gLtV6DQwQWpcW0pfchQ0M7PtCA/s1600/namu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdTIYyXnj1BZcm7cDS2FIiC7H_lhMCVxYIrkNie_onA6Vw9PHcxoYPsnTMWNgdAZM9TxzH_v_G3mEAiKihf09ijiO8jula6emvAN5JIgXSs6khVx2gLtV6DQwQWpcW0pfchQ0M7PtCA/s320/namu.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Alex and Becky chose the Eurotrash cart and came back with equally delicious options.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHabkTcDLesY8QKCWM1joG6YXhqvdGU6Wk57nWZk0BbwFPTEq_jiqsvEMd5YB-1bxnV9_yxyV9hIE7hfM5F3ZfEsk8Q-iuQdlfBlaZv0wEZvZ7mVnaTroIVk4D08v2a37aDizf2sIRog/s1600/prawns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHabkTcDLesY8QKCWM1joG6YXhqvdGU6Wk57nWZk0BbwFPTEq_jiqsvEMd5YB-1bxnV9_yxyV9hIE7hfM5F3ZfEsk8Q-iuQdlfBlaZv0wEZvZ7mVnaTroIVk4D08v2a37aDizf2sIRog/s320/prawns.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Because we were having a late lunch, we almost had the entire site to ourselves. Based on observation at other locations, I'm guessing that the place is jumping during the noon hour and in the evening (almost all of these carts are closed by 10 pm). As pleasant as it was for us, on a cool summer afternoon, I have to wonder how well the carts will do in the Winter when the table umbrellas will offer little shelter. The Hawthorne pod has a big tent for seating, but most of the pods I've seen are highly exposed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrieY8SFKO8k4PSNv5I54pak6Me4UrT4EMDqpOB0mR56PRKY6dZtWwFXDFOteos9RfkCntXmXjHYhE778NCtNB3EX8cdD5MYVMUNAAhjopK4LG5-TtK3pgCsxdbl36iwRF9MvoGWUNeg/s1600/seating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrieY8SFKO8k4PSNv5I54pak6Me4UrT4EMDqpOB0mR56PRKY6dZtWwFXDFOteos9RfkCntXmXjHYhE778NCtNB3EX8cdD5MYVMUNAAhjopK4LG5-TtK3pgCsxdbl36iwRF9MvoGWUNeg/s320/seating.jpg" /></a></div>jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-21855409005722001682010-07-10T17:27:00.000-07:002010-07-10T18:01:01.881-07:00A perfect marriage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpwpWJftxCNlDst3FApJ0K_aFEAsq2gypaPYHtyHG3eVEYUFXLDl8RQXuuRuErOp3rAEqu_n9ch3dy9p9ysRIAWlQYvpC667jcFDrAHzq7uhx2PYyjQ-Wz-tecxmlYoMdjtuyOLhaeMA/s1600/mariage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpwpWJftxCNlDst3FApJ0K_aFEAsq2gypaPYHtyHG3eVEYUFXLDl8RQXuuRuErOp3rAEqu_n9ch3dy9p9ysRIAWlQYvpC667jcFDrAHzq7uhx2PYyjQ-Wz-tecxmlYoMdjtuyOLhaeMA/s320/mariage.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I have been a fan of Four Roses for about a decade, although it has long been a geographically-challenged affection. Up until a short time ago, Four Roses distributed their bourbons in Kentucky and nowhere else in the US; the primary market, in fact, was Japan. Even when I learned that they were reentering the US market, I figured it would be years before any found its way to Oregon. I was ecstatic when the Yellow Label, the Small Batch and the Single Barrel appeared in OLCC stores within the last year.<br />
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Four Roses has a unique approach to bourbon production. They maintain five different yeast strains (used to create the "beer" that will then be distilled into whiskey) and two different mashbills, with varying amounts of rye grain.To crib from their <a href="http://www.fourroses.us/home">website</a>:<br />
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<blockquote>All 10 of these recipes are gently aged undisturbed in new white oak barrels in our one-of-a-kind single story rack warehouses. All 10 recipes are expertly married together to create Four Roses Yellow. Four are married for Four Roses Small Batch Bourbon. Only one is hand selected for Four Roses Single Barrel Bourbon. To the thrill of Bourbon connoisseurs and Bourbon collectors, from time to time, our Master Distiller will select an exceptional single barrel, or marry a few exquisite recipes, to create one of our highly acclaimed limited release Four Roses Bourbons.</blockquote>I had no expectation of ever seeing the Mariage in Oregon, but a helpful bartender steered me to a liquor store with a few bottles in the back room. The 2009 Mariage combines 10 year old and 19 year old OBSK with 10 year old OESO whiskies. (If you want to know what the codes mean, check <a href="http://www.fourroses.us/ten">here</a>.)<br />
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When it comes to reviewing beverages, I'm completely useless. My friend Ryan can bang out 200 words on a single wine in minutes, complete with (to me) obscure references to fruits and vegetables, and solid suggestions on how to pair the wine with food. In whiskey reviews, I constantly run across references to leather, pipe smoke, or granite. Or, as D G Compton titled a short story collection: <i>Hot Wireless Sets, Aspirin Tablets, the Sandpaper Slides of Used Matchboxes, and Something that Might have been Castor Oil</i>. So I will again crib from the Four Roses site, because it's as close as we're going to get to appropriate language:<br />
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<blockquote><span class="emph">Nose:</span> Rich fruity aromas of ripened cherry and pipe tobacco, hints of lemon citrus and dried oak.<br />
<span class="emph">Palate:</span> Ripe fruit and allspice with creamy layers of caramel and toffee.<br />
<span class="emph">Finish:</span> Long and smooth. </blockquote>See! Pipe tobacco! What did I tell you?<br />
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The word I've always used to describe Four Roses bourbon is "soft," although I'm hard-pressed to explain why. The reference to the finish above, "smooth" pretty much defines Four Roses bourbons, all the way from the lowly Yellow Label on up. Any one of these bottlings might offer the perfect introduction to bourbon for people who "don't like whiskey", but I'm in no way implying that they are training-wheels bourbons. Mariage 2009 is warming, rich, and complex.If you can find a bottle, buy it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8R6wgRYM05ZGyS7TG2IWhEukH6WMTMkzmA2hXTL_yFNoX1EpUIu10dokWnaW8HgFqmdo5vhmnULux79Kk9kcgPSRq77xoYeNtAGCif8BFOp6bFxsf24zIoEeQp_084l-j3MPCg4uSw/s1600/proof.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8R6wgRYM05ZGyS7TG2IWhEukH6WMTMkzmA2hXTL_yFNoX1EpUIu10dokWnaW8HgFqmdo5vhmnULux79Kk9kcgPSRq77xoYeNtAGCif8BFOp6bFxsf24zIoEeQp_084l-j3MPCg4uSw/s320/proof.jpg" /></a></div>jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-21126568574470561122010-05-31T11:05:00.000-07:002010-06-01T06:03:05.359-07:00Pomegranate YUM<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99KF5vMN_lruL1pcBbxxvMue5txWopktlKTj3M9ELiM0oZXA_P5872tvArIiICB0DQ-_ljamTTKuu3XCZT6P1Myx84vW0XBOrAG3iEIF0u6Mma8u47a8f6UgeGXgxw9B65zYrnDzVfA/s1600/pomegranate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99KF5vMN_lruL1pcBbxxvMue5txWopktlKTj3M9ELiM0oZXA_P5872tvArIiICB0DQ-_ljamTTKuu3XCZT6P1Myx84vW0XBOrAG3iEIF0u6Mma8u47a8f6UgeGXgxw9B65zYrnDzVfA/s400/pomegranate.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Working backward: I was craving a Picon Punch and realized that some time back I had thrown out a critical ingredient: grenadine. Not the hideous red glop from Rose's, but real grenadine homemade from pomegranate juice. Digging around for recipes, I discovered that Jeffrey Morgenthaler had <a href="http://www.jeffreymorgenthaler.com/2009/how-to-make-your-own-grenadine/">posted a recipe</a> that looked considerably simpler and better than what I had used previously. That version began by reducing pomegranate juice by half and then adding sugar. The grenadine tasted OK, certainly much better than the fake stuff, but it was much too thick, especially since I was refrigerating it. Grenadine from that bottle slid directly to the bottom of the glass, looking like an unappealing lava lamp.<br />
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Morgenthaler's recipe simply requires dissolving the sugar in the juice, exactly like making simple syrup (or hummingbird nectar, for that matter) but then gives the grenadine an extra punch and richness with the addition of orange flower water and pomegranate molasses. Pome-what? Pomegranate molasses turned out to be easier to find than expected. In fact, Barbur World Foods not only had pomegranate molasses, they had multiple brands to choose from. Obviously, I've been missing something in the world food line or I would have known this. The grenadine was just as advertised: simple, colorful and absolutely delicious. (Shortcut hint: I skipped the "squeeze a pomegranate" and went for the pure juice.)<br />
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When I asked Morgenthaler what to do with the 12 ounces remaining in my bottle of molasses, he suggested I just save it for the next batch, but after tasting the stuff I decided he may have missed the boat on this one. This morning's breakfast included bacon, French Toast and pomegranate molasses rather than syrup. Jackpot! Further exclamations of joy and sensation! Not only is the pomegranate flavor a delicious change but the molasses has a delightful tartness to set off the sweetness of the fruit. <br />
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Maybe I should have washed breakfast down with a Jack Rose or a Picon Punch, but coffee seemed the wiser choice. Pokey, incidentally, is guarding a bottle of the grenadine.<br />
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UPDATE: Doing a little more digging, I found an interesting <a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2009/03/the-secret-ingredient-pomegranate-molasses-recipes-cookies-barbecue-sauce-pork-ribs.html">blog post</a> about pomegranate molasses, with recipes. The barbecue sauce is definitely on my list.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-50888298472012517462010-04-28T20:01:00.000-07:002010-04-28T20:02:02.116-07:00A bit of cooking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_3bzomGewuoIh5HLEK1R9y2QC58b5h202vAHJRzDsClG-aCIOTi8SSuS3-zCD_oG9J4Ox9Vi9id1z92MkrL7JOXLIgW9yeeIU8aheqntoxO6t6kbFbk__-fGuBVPAlgslRcgI70mjaw/s1600/bacon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_3bzomGewuoIh5HLEK1R9y2QC58b5h202vAHJRzDsClG-aCIOTi8SSuS3-zCD_oG9J4Ox9Vi9id1z92MkrL7JOXLIgW9yeeIU8aheqntoxO6t6kbFbk__-fGuBVPAlgslRcgI70mjaw/s320/bacon.jpg" /></a></div>One of my favorite Szechuan dishes is Steamed Pork with Mei Gan Tsai, which I discovered accidentally in an Oakland family-style restaurant. At the time, I lived on a ridge above the restaurant, where the kitchen fans blew up to the apartment in the evening. Needless to say, decisions about what to have for dinner often involved walking around the corner for Chinese food. Having become a loyal customer, I could get good advice and make unfamiliar choices. Moving away could have been traumatic, because it's not a commonly-offered restaurant dish, but Bruce Cost's excellent book on Asian ingredients provided the recipe.<br />
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It's a simple dish, with a time-consuming preparation. The first step is to boil a nice chunk of pork belly for about 45 minutes. The meat is drained, patted dry and rubbed with dark soy, then browned in very hot oil. Tonight's meat came from Fubonn market on 82nd Avenue, which has an excellent meat department. This is a particularly nice-looking slab with plenty of meat and fat.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPPcXDF0HzOv1aShZwHo_ikUiMSU0laq0uoDCDWXxFdSkXZ_OmNrOYKjk4G2lLcAbqXVqkDTCXhR-UVd4o8A_5XD6HVkzsO-t4wzTBhua9NCHPEEc7tkkaivNQrwBYo_IXCCm_bJLlg/s1600/for_steamer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPPcXDF0HzOv1aShZwHo_ikUiMSU0laq0uoDCDWXxFdSkXZ_OmNrOYKjk4G2lLcAbqXVqkDTCXhR-UVd4o8A_5XD6HVkzsO-t4wzTBhua9NCHPEEc7tkkaivNQrwBYo_IXCCm_bJLlg/s320/for_steamer.jpg" /></a></div>Eight cloves of garlic, about four ounces of pickled mustard greens, dark soy and a half cup of Shao Tsing rice wine is sauteed briefly. The meat is sliced and placed in a bowl, with the greens and seasoning ladled on top. The whole dish then goes into the steamer for a good 2.5 hours, during which time the hard fat of the bacon will break down into soft yumminess and add lots of pork flavor to the greens. The process is essentially the same as the breakdown of fat through slow cooking in the best barbecue.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ext3-o6v6bVwCyZ91QOzrVde6SkdMm643y58TI7ETa2WQRuxedV0e-aFwrMwvKDmSPkuZWlH-rMz97t3HVc4VcFGaJZ4ubJYJ95pWe2vQ5aa-GRN8yJjxvJvN2oSt7rQlGs-KldWxQ/s1600/dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ext3-o6v6bVwCyZ91QOzrVde6SkdMm643y58TI7ETa2WQRuxedV0e-aFwrMwvKDmSPkuZWlH-rMz97t3HVc4VcFGaJZ4ubJYJ95pWe2vQ5aa-GRN8yJjxvJvN2oSt7rQlGs-KldWxQ/s320/dinner.jpg" /></a></div>Pork on the left, Ma Po Bean Curd on the right. And, of course, there is rice.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-33953548185575123072010-04-27T08:00:00.000-07:002010-04-27T08:18:44.286-07:00Chicago with the Snobs, Day 5<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyF-zjahLdoL8GCcH3iexr-KcfbYvjMcUYf3U2e-K5-T0iegruox531G7myIQa2IxqqeZ0X_88UREpT64DpJgoUBVVJkQksXh4-UDiMlBf-6HL97EkNk1BP-i1kaBOg73VIbetfqosg/s1600/pilgrimage.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyF-zjahLdoL8GCcH3iexr-KcfbYvjMcUYf3U2e-K5-T0iegruox531G7myIQa2IxqqeZ0X_88UREpT64DpJgoUBVVJkQksXh4-UDiMlBf-6HL97EkNk1BP-i1kaBOg73VIbetfqosg/s320/pilgrimage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464832713852077122" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Day Five was primarily a travel day for the remaining Snobs and, naturally, the weather was gorgeous after four days of gray and damp. Most of the group had either left on Sunday or had mid-day flights out on Monday, but Peter, Ryan and I had brunch at <a href="http://www.heavenonseven.com/">Heaven on Seven</a>, a Louisiana-themed restaurant in the Loop. Excellent food, and Peter's introduction to a po'boy, which he handled with grace and style. Ryan and I had a daily special, shrimp and cheese grits with gumbo on the side. Yum.<br /><br />After seeing Peter off to a few pints and his flight, Ryan and I had one last Chicago task, a visit to the holy shrine of hot dogs: the Vienna Beef factory store. Located in an industrial area not far from De Paul University and its lovely neighborhood, we reached it with a short trip on the Red Line and another short bus ride west. The "store" is also a diner and the company lunchroom, with plenty of other products on sale besides the essential hot dog--all sorts of meat goodness, packages of condiments, t-shirts--the works, as it were. Even though we'd been well fed at Heaven, Ryan got a hot dog at the Source. It seemed a fitting conclusion to all the days of excess in Chicago.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH03rp0_2ZZuLyRSHb9vZ9C72bvtCalcJqrDloSCJS7TgVPjaJk41NawiaPGMPZFZGle3wZ_mOWEJscUvYWssKU_IsrjxXjX2JxAOL5ZTlUNfP6spxjFyhfC78dqWk0TuxNCuJDnjWMw/s1600/pilgrim.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH03rp0_2ZZuLyRSHb9vZ9C72bvtCalcJqrDloSCJS7TgVPjaJk41NawiaPGMPZFZGle3wZ_mOWEJscUvYWssKU_IsrjxXjX2JxAOL5ZTlUNfP6spxjFyhfC78dqWk0TuxNCuJDnjWMw/s320/pilgrim.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464836734206822226" border="0" /></a>jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-46037772946554857882010-04-26T06:19:00.001-07:002010-04-26T06:45:29.138-07:00Chicago with the Snobs, Day 4<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhat2ziBCdWxvnUoJbzoNKRnxDbgY1lFDu3AGMLbUXF6g5Man8DSaeDopT7EqODaY9p-fzShNrVUoVoDPETnX_yMdU9WUkxBm2umqSH7IvAD6l9t9jhWjCE56JN4KJtDCn0hd7p-E5EDQ/s1600/ballpark.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhat2ziBCdWxvnUoJbzoNKRnxDbgY1lFDu3AGMLbUXF6g5Man8DSaeDopT7EqODaY9p-fzShNrVUoVoDPETnX_yMdU9WUkxBm2umqSH7IvAD6l9t9jhWjCE56JN4KJtDCn0hd7p-E5EDQ/s320/ballpark.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464435426374451106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Four of the Snobs had invested in tickets to a Sunday ball game (excellent seats!) and had been viewing weather forecasts with some dread. Over a hot dog breakfast in the Loop, we watched the rain pour down, and considered options. We could abandon the idea entirely and find a warm dry nook with food and beer, or we hope for some periods of dryness and at least tour an unfamiliar ball park. For my own case, opportunities to see a Major League game come infrequently, and there was always the possibility that the visiting Mariners would avoid being swept by the White Sox. Not a strong possibility, but hope springs eternal.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnxnOW_jt9HquwTDlHHim1gkzHWZ432rwPLFeQyMsKd8Mgh2iUMcqzIjVLExBCPtbg-rp3AEePnPNnZCBXBLHmFPgBZzVCZqYGOrh3qeaBLgMkVTcNKnp0y0aPxDvosUHs33HFaeH17A/s1600/wetball.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnxnOW_jt9HquwTDlHHim1gkzHWZ432rwPLFeQyMsKd8Mgh2iUMcqzIjVLExBCPtbg-rp3AEePnPNnZCBXBLHmFPgBZzVCZqYGOrh3qeaBLgMkVTcNKnp0y0aPxDvosUHs33HFaeH17A/s320/wetball.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464435430195375042" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Chicago makes baseball easy, at least on the South Side, as the Red Line stops a few hundred yards from the park. We were seated four rows back, on the first base line in right field. The stadium is built so that this meant we were virtually at field level with a great view. It was wet. And cold. Tarps were down over the infield and their removal was greeted with a roar of approval. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad! And just as the game began, it rained. Not for long, though, just enough to give everyone a good soaking in preparation for blasts of really cold air. For the most part, the rain held off for nine innings but the cold and the wind never did. We stuck it out, though, along with the thousands of happy locals whose team won this <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/jeff.frane/ChicagoDay4?feat=directlink">game</a>, along with the previous two games in the series. Me, not so happy with the result, but very pleased we'd taken our chances.<br /><br />CTA makes baseball easy after the game as well. Portable fare machines, lots of extra customer service staff directing fans down to the trains, which were frequent and capable of carrying far more people than the light rail trains I'm used to in Portland. Red Line into town, Blue Line up north and a quick bus ride to the Map Room, where we settled in for the evening. For the baseball Snobs, all this meant no beer until 5:30 pm! Clearly, we needed to work hard to make up for the delay. Dinner was take out, delicious Cubano sandwiches from a few blocks away.<br /><br />I was tucked up snug in bed before midnight. Other Snobs, however, finished up with cheezborgers at the <a href="http://www.billygoattavern.com/">Billy Goat</a>. No, seriously.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-15920681178289327112010-04-25T07:17:00.000-07:002010-04-26T06:13:49.688-07:00Chicago with the Snobs, Day 3<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj31vaEuoLA0REo1Z26WURqLFTVErXGwCnkuaveI5zEQbsEkG3lTHlpvwTeU4SslUd8sdHi7PV5bTUC8Zpfii8HbBPtQ5MfV83SJmiUvFBRDB9_yw1lsdhiSzYKJLIQ2gJ4HdQaWQFo-g/s1600/stotz+dog.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj31vaEuoLA0REo1Z26WURqLFTVErXGwCnkuaveI5zEQbsEkG3lTHlpvwTeU4SslUd8sdHi7PV5bTUC8Zpfii8HbBPtQ5MfV83SJmiUvFBRDB9_yw1lsdhiSzYKJLIQ2gJ4HdQaWQFo-g/s320/stotz+dog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464080832843352530" border="0" /></a><br /><br />More food and less beer, more or less. Knowing that there would be a line at Hot Doug's, the plan was to arrive when they opened at 10:30 or as close to that time as possible, given the longish transit ride out to sausage <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/J7w1sp1yhL0_U3hN-3YT4g?feat=directlink">paradise</a>. Since it was The Snobs, naturally, the plan fell short at critical moments and we ended up arriving at about noon. There was a <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/CxFCcVNJKlAZ2x4XFBQDNw?feat=directlink">line</a>. We stood and talked in that line for 90 minutes before reaching encased meat heaven. Thanks to the generosity of absent Snob, Charlie Gow, we indulged. Well, others did. I only had a Chicago dog, a corndog and an Uber Garlic Pork <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/T6CK_Wo2VmH0ULCSjavlsg?feat=directlink"> Sausage </a>with Roasted Garlic Dijonnaise and Moody Blue Cheese. And duck fat fries. There were other <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/T6CK_Wo2VmH0ULCSjavlsg?feat=directlink">sausages </a>at the <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/w9iUP6QYh8g8qafeCaN5Cw?feat=directlink">table</a>, mostly from the <a href="http://www.hotdougs.com/specials.htm">specials section</a> of the menu.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4K53vuUqQVXGSC9OkMuEUt5XJiiWtRiidGHXus_UoZfgGR-In3y0Uneo-knDPFvhcCTmR3WVthtZqTpDbGP4tZ0iwB0dG06vQfZuVHuDzUkVjU17gco8W4Puh4KXpjGi2_ZOM1a5dEw/s1600/dougs.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4K53vuUqQVXGSC9OkMuEUt5XJiiWtRiidGHXus_UoZfgGR-In3y0Uneo-knDPFvhcCTmR3WVthtZqTpDbGP4tZ0iwB0dG06vQfZuVHuDzUkVjU17gco8W4Puh4KXpjGi2_ZOM1a5dEw/s320/dougs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464080839085173042" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We packed our well-stuffed casings on to the bus and then the El (Chicago understands public transit as well as Chicago understands meat) and landed at Rock Bottom for many pints and many Chicago fans screaming as their hockey team won in overtime on multiple screens. (Chicago also understands sports, as one would expect of a city with two baseball teams, a hockey team and a basketball team.) Additional Snobs drifted in and then out through the afternoon. There was beer.<br /><br />And then there was pizza. Five of us pushed off through the rain to Gino's East for excellent deep-dish pies, the crunchy polenta crust stuffed with cheese, meat, tomatoes and spices. Both pizzas were considerably better than in a visit seven years ago to a different Gino's, and the service was terrific.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZ1NLxhsTC2vyMCXit___o6pMf5EUX5iuAQn7i928oyGEM8K8Q8IQM4f0JFPgzjlxIQlAbBD6HhpcdenQ4aCcDGpKekTFC_Nh4_VFxZ7YikFT1tX46LsgSv1hqwoJq4FA9ms8ZpIbAQ/s1600/genos.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZ1NLxhsTC2vyMCXit___o6pMf5EUX5iuAQn7i928oyGEM8K8Q8IQM4f0JFPgzjlxIQlAbBD6HhpcdenQ4aCcDGpKekTFC_Nh4_VFxZ7YikFT1tX46LsgSv1hqwoJq4FA9ms8ZpIbAQ/s320/genos.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464080843721142562" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Don't these guys look happy?<span style="font-style: italic;"> (From left: me, Ryan, Steve, Andy, Dave.)</span> Most fortunately, our server offered to take the photo before we started to eat. Damage to the food was considerable and certainly not pretty. Nothing to be done after all this but push on through the rain to the Billy Goat for Old Styles. No cheezborgers, though, at least not this night. I hear rumors that cheezborgers were consumed the previous and the following nights, in the wee hours.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-280094667618604132010-04-24T06:02:00.000-07:002010-04-24T06:45:53.328-07:00Chicago with the Snobs, Day 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9-D5cwpCqmjdFP8-TNnd-gG0sakcrPM6arP6WV36ze3fconhng7wthsrvx4RmG9lha-yDw80HOBRLla1wn7WG900VZJOdmZQZbHMJ5rI5p8V8LDo6HTaxoC02K4n_Gc8tyjzoMa0Ag/s1600/IMG_0395.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9-D5cwpCqmjdFP8-TNnd-gG0sakcrPM6arP6WV36ze3fconhng7wthsrvx4RmG9lha-yDw80HOBRLla1wn7WG900VZJOdmZQZbHMJ5rI5p8V8LDo6HTaxoC02K4n_Gc8tyjzoMa0Ag/s320/IMG_0395.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463691427498604834" border="0" /></a><br />Day 2, pretty much all about the food. And beer. But mostly food, at least at first.<br /><br />This started with lunch at Rick Bayless' <a href="http://www.rickbayless.com/menu/layout?id=3#popup">Frontera Gril</a>l, reservations for eight at the 11:30 opening--prompting Brit Peter to cry, "Who eats lunch at 11:30?" as though we were mad. The photo is of my "light entree", <strong class="menu-item-head"> </strong><span style="font-style: italic;">Cazuela de Pato</span>:<strong class="menu-item-head"> </strong>"slow-cooked Gunthorp duck carnitas with ancho chile, lentils, slab bacon and grilled pineapple. Crispy onions." Others at the table had barbacoa goat enchiladas or the daily special of lamb slow-cooked in some incredible sauce, or . . . these being served after the small plates and appetizers, primary among them the "Trio, Trio, Trio: a sampling of Ceviche Fronterizo, Ceviche Yucateco and Coctel de Atun Tropical.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFR6NQ6-3CyPwqrGWd8fGe6XaM6scE8XzKkrs4w6MUp34Pd2ZHwRlTmY1kJxl4P1UkVpbmemjuermnn3nQMLXgwOm3JR0I0TJoTC378j3HCtpBovWn_dT3nNzjbm12HgYMbLxZf7Jzg/s1600/trio.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFR6NQ6-3CyPwqrGWd8fGe6XaM6scE8XzKkrs4w6MUp34Pd2ZHwRlTmY1kJxl4P1UkVpbmemjuermnn3nQMLXgwOm3JR0I0TJoTC378j3HCtpBovWn_dT3nNzjbm12HgYMbLxZf7Jzg/s320/trio.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463694374957774594" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well-stuffed with incredible food, we pottered off to the El, and a brisk walk (to those not plagued with battered knees) to the <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ewRvCA7UgnwXhMzzn5_pqg?feat=directlink">Map Room</a>, one of Chicago's best multi-tap taverns. I had remembered the Map Room as dark, smoky and packed but yesterday reflected the non-smoking rules, with <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ChEHwS6FFKIfd7Bgc5_Erw?feat=directlink">lots of light and air</a> and a truly fine selection of beers from around the Midwest. (More photos <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/jeff.frane/ChicagoDay2?feat=directlink">here</a>.) Eventually, a somewhat rash decision was made to move on for food and a visit to Hopleaf. Certain members of the party elected to skip the food and arrange seating at Hopleaf for the other six. We will speak of this treachery no more.<br /><br />The half dozen heroes cabbed over to Mr. Beef, which turned out to be closed (apparently not uncommon). Fortunately, <a href="http://www.portillos.com/portillos/">Portillo's</a> was close by and we were able to fall on Italian beef sandwiches (hot peppers and crusty rolls) and real Chicago hot dogs.<br /><br />Another cab ride over to Hopleaf, which was packed, crowded, stuffy and offered primarily Belgian beers we could find anywhere civilized. No place to sit or even stand comfortably and very little I found interesting on offer. Ryan, Steve and I peeled off for what turned out to be a longish bus and train ride to the Clark Street Ale House, where we lucked into a table and a much more appealing list of regional beers. The pub was crowded and loud, but vastly more comfortable. Other Snobs eventually wandered in later, more beer and fun ensued and we got ready to push off to bed. Amazingly enough, most of the group elected to head out to the Billy Goat Tavern for cheezborgers (cue Belushi skit). I tottered back to the hotel on my own, spent entirely too much time waiting on the El platform and just barely made it to my room without embarrassing myself.<br /><br />Time now to clean up and get ready to stand in line for lunch at Hot Doug's. I believe there is a pizza in my future sometime after that.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-90497664994739625602010-04-23T07:09:00.000-07:002010-04-23T07:37:36.571-07:00Chicago with the Snobs, Day 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSe4UhPzN07hc2qRg6FpkxFAsAp2Ojbgb88-FYim8YDiV-SY-THYuXrCBv_grovb5U51RxSiO3ZtA0i2KDhsIpAnszIzko9_cldHCh4GJ9haoftS4lpIHAMjMjFUe25P6w7b2iJRjE8w/s1600/witzel.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSe4UhPzN07hc2qRg6FpkxFAsAp2Ojbgb88-FYim8YDiV-SY-THYuXrCBv_grovb5U51RxSiO3ZtA0i2KDhsIpAnszIzko9_cldHCh4GJ9haoftS4lpIHAMjMjFUe25P6w7b2iJRjE8w/s320/witzel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463335111827017778" border="0" /></a><br />I am blessed with a group of excellent friends, loosely known as The Snobs who, perhaps unfortunately, are scattered across the US and beyond. For very special occasions we've been able to gather for a few days of in-person visiting, always involving beer. Two of the Snobs were born in 1970, the year of my majority, and we decided it was worth celebrating. Chicago has several advantages, not the least of which is centrality, so there are nine of us here from the West Coast, the East Coast and the UK. The only goals are consumption and badinage, both of which we're quite good at.<br /><br />Five of us managed to arrive at O'Hare virtually at once, took the El into downtown and our various hotels, then began acquiring more Snobs as we moved from <a href="http://www.rockbottom.com/chicago">Rock Bottom</a> (loud, crowded and quite decent beer) to <a href="http://www.piecechicago.com/flash/index.html">Piece</a>, serving non-Chicago pizza and house beers (OK pizza, eh beer). Piece was unbelievably crowded but by great fortune we were able to ooze into a table as acquaintances finished their meal and oozed out--one of whom was actually the Rock Bottom brewer responsible for my excellent pils. From there, we El-d a few stops further north to <a href="http://revbrew.com/">Revolution</a>, a new brewpub serving exceptionally good beers. At this point, <a href="http://www.lewbryson.com/">Lew Bryson</a> was to have made a surprise entrance (him being in town for Whiskeyfest), which he screwed up by gabbing about on Facebook. Everyone was pleased, though, to have an Auxiliary Snob (with a very special flask) who is as much fun as Lew. There was some initial concern that Lew's laugh would get us 86'd, but the wait staff at Revolution was tolerant and the place was noisy enough to absorb the volume.<br /><br />Chicago at night is so different from laid-back Portland that it's difficult to credit. Even well after midnight, the streets were bustling, the bars packed and the El trains well-filled with people. Lots of young people out and about, dealing with the chilly air in everything from skimpy skirts to parkas. A lot of bicycles in what appears to be a very un-bikefriendly town. And Chicago is a lot older than Portland, which is most obvious to me in the tunnels and platforms of the El, amazing constructions of iron and wood with furnishings dating back to the 19th Century. All, I might add, still functioning with surprising efficiency. Two in the morning? No problem, the train back to the Loop will be here in six minutes.<br /><br />The best part? We just got here and don't leave for days.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-55953553236699456252010-03-19T06:04:00.000-07:002010-03-19T06:36:29.296-07:00The birds vote for Spring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzJ7ITSUtdT6p4ZnGeQoqCFs_QZC62J1f98biKRC6WYBleTggDKAmrEvzD18ShpjLP-itoncHl0mHqpTJZXJs5oEfuvl1fWwfzFNK9H0EhP_eDF-SP-b1ieJOtztWuqnS7WM-WilklA/s1600-h/DSC_0090.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzJ7ITSUtdT6p4ZnGeQoqCFs_QZC62J1f98biKRC6WYBleTggDKAmrEvzD18ShpjLP-itoncHl0mHqpTJZXJs5oEfuvl1fWwfzFNK9H0EhP_eDF-SP-b1ieJOtztWuqnS7WM-WilklA/s320/DSC_0090.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450335644437388738" border="0" /></a><br />I crabbed about Daylight Saving Time the other morning, but I have to admit it is nice to have some light in the early evening. It means I can actually see the grill without a flashlight, for one thing, but it also means some opportunity to get a better look at my new visitors.<br /><br />I now have three feeders on the balcony, with the addition of a thistle feeder, intended to attract finches. To date, I have two regular and greedy Lesser Goldfinches, who visit the feeder over and over during the day and spend a lot of time pulling seed out through the mesh. On rare occasions, they will sing a full-length version of their <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Lesser_Goldfinch/sounds">song</a> but more often it's a single falling note (which is included in the recording). It's not unusual for me to see one of them on the feeder, stopping between bites to call that note, and then I can hear a response somewhere off in the trees from the other bird.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6KqATsJYtYP-WfEFfpFxWdUwwxsI1nl2QhkK-ftXJ0osgaIuj_ToVYzskhXEkiNWYINbYNwPmikU2vP4sQknnLAPRRbkF8MWkcvk3TZqHgbVqGFq5CZ4u0tPhNOPp5yCSd8URisMT2Q/s1600-h/DSC_0002.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6KqATsJYtYP-WfEFfpFxWdUwwxsI1nl2QhkK-ftXJ0osgaIuj_ToVYzskhXEkiNWYINbYNwPmikU2vP4sQknnLAPRRbkF8MWkcvk3TZqHgbVqGFq5CZ4u0tPhNOPp5yCSd8URisMT2Q/s320/DSC_0002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450337624741323074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />All the sunlight meant getting a better look at my regular visitors: Bushtit and Black-capped Chickadee as well. A few more photos <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/jeff.frane/Finches?feat=directlink">here</a>.jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-43219557681105917712010-03-06T14:58:00.001-08:002010-03-06T15:26:17.243-08:00I say it's Spring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Wd3ilkBGBD1f4-0jf8p3R5T2R_Lnzv3mxMTDK0WawhpdQMWRz0zRfxhCJmAOEkzgi-LOzdiQ1vi2G3tJ_kuYImI3LhhQ8i1Op5-X95bNP1O6BRAF3RUV-PkC_JFIcwVElZ9Ti6kvmg/s1600-h/IMG_0319.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Wd3ilkBGBD1f4-0jf8p3R5T2R_Lnzv3mxMTDK0WawhpdQMWRz0zRfxhCJmAOEkzgi-LOzdiQ1vi2G3tJ_kuYImI3LhhQ8i1Op5-X95bNP1O6BRAF3RUV-PkC_JFIcwVElZ9Ti6kvmg/s320/IMG_0319.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445659408812773602" border="0" /></a><br />According to the calendar, Spring is weeks off but here in Portland it's well ahead of time. It made for a nice walk today for Ralphie and I, especially along Sellwood Blvd, where I found my dream house (or houses). Not only is this a beautiful old home with a beautiful old cherry tree out front (along with a beautiful not-so-old resident), but it offers what might be the best view in Portland. Sellwood Blvd sits on a ridge overlooking Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge and the Willamette River, with a clear view of downtown. Far down below is a walking and biking path, part of the 40-mile <a href="http://www.40mileloop.org/maps/map_springwater_corridor.pdf">Springwater Corridor</a>. The steep wooded hillside between road and path is already packed with songbirds.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQvndIa8Y9ZkkrK4WnC2lRusfakyd-ssjJTT5UlD2iSOQFJua_bZR7zVPUZiOJzybzNgFEeocITR-4KGl0gtpyAINLMfVmFaiIFU6P8VNqISoGFPs_Re35X64jwVBQOxxjk7yX_ltEg/s1600-h/IMG_0320.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQvndIa8Y9ZkkrK4WnC2lRusfakyd-ssjJTT5UlD2iSOQFJua_bZR7zVPUZiOJzybzNgFEeocITR-4KGl0gtpyAINLMfVmFaiIFU6P8VNqISoGFPs_Re35X64jwVBQOxxjk7yX_ltEg/s320/IMG_0320.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445661778599764610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'm just having a little trouble deciding whether the nice lady should give me her house, or if I'd rather have one just down the street, because the other house has a widow's walk and therefore even a better view.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX07aeM46HdJx9yGsHs5k4Nx7ZMx1Pf8usQhHCA1U0Y17a4AbTjPyj536N3dmookbuynD-dgjLC_BOkEkzIQTO7yCTSRRBoqNhneQVz6HF6CGrTWS8Ge5AEpmlrUlJ74-SgLqfXhD4dw/s1600-h/IMG_0311.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX07aeM46HdJx9yGsHs5k4Nx7ZMx1Pf8usQhHCA1U0Y17a4AbTjPyj536N3dmookbuynD-dgjLC_BOkEkzIQTO7yCTSRRBoqNhneQVz6HF6CGrTWS8Ge5AEpmlrUlJ74-SgLqfXhD4dw/s320/IMG_0311.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445662486573308338" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And this house is right next to Sellwood City Park, a real gem tucked away from traffic, while still a short hike to the Bybee-Milwaukie stores and antique row. Maybe the people who live here should give me their house instead.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHCK43k2OGYJdC2wZcLQ9cHADJuA0JLoZMmWdmr_WdBlYqd2nESrhHVftSiHkolfxnE35GIushfVaWhGOFskvVt_FhEK78fNqCEK8rUanp8e2rQ2L6XK6nl7tHX4QYQqb5ltM2-ZhyphenhyphenA/s1600-h/IMG_0310.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHCK43k2OGYJdC2wZcLQ9cHADJuA0JLoZMmWdmr_WdBlYqd2nESrhHVftSiHkolfxnE35GIushfVaWhGOFskvVt_FhEK78fNqCEK8rUanp8e2rQ2L6XK6nl7tHX4QYQqb5ltM2-ZhyphenhyphenA/s320/IMG_0310.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445663718448792674" border="0" /></a><br />Ralphie doesn't seem to care, just so long as I shut up and let him walk.<br /><br /><iframe marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=sellwood+park&sll=45.487523,-122.63441&sspn=0.011192,0.033023&ie=UTF8&hq=sellwood+park&hnear=&ll=45.476993,-122.646704&spn=0.02527,0.029507&t=h&output=embed" frameborder="0" height="350" scrolling="no" width="425"></iframe><br /><small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=sellwood+park&sll=45.487523,-122.63441&sspn=0.011192,0.033023&ie=UTF8&hq=sellwood+park&hnear=&ll=45.476993,-122.646704&spn=0.02527,0.029507&t=h" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255); text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-58713775054752795672010-02-12T14:25:00.000-08:002010-02-12T14:26:31.203-08:00Random Photo of the Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyjVdzYeP-9vIdQ26MT70SrJD1QSgagQvGpwZusB-F0rciFRepbyX3mh5TREy88pEZ33O1hsD54AlK_6qcegnoThVXxYGPiQttDsztAwLHeP-7pDTZVe0hc2aayN4_zWad7AlTSw7ZUw/s1600-h/chickadee.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; clear: both;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyjVdzYeP-9vIdQ26MT70SrJD1QSgagQvGpwZusB-F0rciFRepbyX3mh5TREy88pEZ33O1hsD54AlK_6qcegnoThVXxYGPiQttDsztAwLHeP-7pDTZVe0hc2aayN4_zWad7AlTSw7ZUw/s320/chickadee.jpg" border="0" /></a><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a><br />Chickadee comes to visit and very very quickly grab a seed. This is the first time I've had decent light on the balcony when shooting (through the glass) the bird feeder.<br /></div>jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6278442750640097666.post-47802867729862715782010-02-05T16:27:00.001-08:002010-02-06T16:12:51.116-08:00Pulling the thread<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Zr8PKl8cSOjkWn-2eoWNZ8-Qtzs2w4q7oWqiEuO1igf1VkO4KAvo6wjEJmzUI8GhLuWJm5zc7Iu-Tuuuit6AeHYp8OWalAl9SfRoJ3jc9tsuFqkgYDnFQnp2XLPTVGt8hhwZelDd_w/s1600-h/bright+city.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Zr8PKl8cSOjkWn-2eoWNZ8-Qtzs2w4q7oWqiEuO1igf1VkO4KAvo6wjEJmzUI8GhLuWJm5zc7Iu-Tuuuit6AeHYp8OWalAl9SfRoJ3jc9tsuFqkgYDnFQnp2XLPTVGt8hhwZelDd_w/s320/bright+city.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434920771848680274" border="0" /></a><br />One of the great joys of my life has been discovering new music. In the late 60s and early 70s, this usually meant trusting the judgment of reviewers at <span style="font-style: italic;">Rolling Stone</span>, having a friend with similar taste put on an LP, or tracking down musicians as they left one band and joined or formed another. After 40 years or so, I have no memory of how I found the Keef Hartley Band, unless I followed up with him after his stint with John Mayall's Bluesbreakers. All I know is I fell in love with the band largely because of the vocal and guitar contributions of Miller Anderson.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/c3HV4uOtML0&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/c3HV4uOtML0&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />Eh, not the greatest video, but finding any good footage from that era is mostly just luck. As he was leaving the Keef Hartley Band, Anderson released his first solo album, <span style="font-style: italic;">Bright City</span>, with a much more jazz and folk orientation than the blues rock the band had produced, except for one very bluesy track. The haunting title song would surface in my memory off and on for years, long after the LP had been stuck away with hundreds of others as I was seduced by the ease of CDs.<br /><br />When I bought my first CD, I swore I wasn't falling into the trap of replacing albums I already had on LP--an oath that must have lasted a week. Instead, many of the CDs I bought were to replace old favorites that over time had been overwhelmed by the pops and skips of long use. Being able to clap on headphones and listen to something like Paul Butterfield's long <span style="font-style: italic;">East/Wes</span>t instrumental in pristine clarity was impossible to resist. Unfortunately, a lot of the music I'd acquired was simply not being reissued on CD.<br /><br />Within the last decade or so, the recommendations from friends like Ryan and Charlie included music from "my" era, the late 60s and early 70s (before Ryan was even born) that I'd never heard, from a lot of musicians I'd never heard of. Much of the music came from overseas, primarily from the UK, music that hadn't penetrated our close-knit world of California.<br /><br />Thanks to the Internet I discovered digital versions of much of it and eventually acquired the equipment needed to digitize my LPs--which is a lot of work. So much easier to track down files online or CDs issued by tiny record labels, many of them from Europe. I recently reacquired the Keef Hartley Band albums, and without much confidence did a search for Miller Anderson. It should probably have been no surprise that he's still working, still touring and still producing exceptionally fine music--with a <a href="http://www.milleranderson.co.uk/">website </a>that included <span style="font-style: italic;">Bright City</span> as a CD. Webmaster Ada responded to an email to tell me they still had a few copies and, if I wanted, she could have Anderson autograph one (see above). And so she did. I bought that and a copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Bluesheart</span>, a fine blues album from 2003. (Thanks to the Royal Mail and the USPS, the package took three days from Brighton, England to Portland!) The "exception" I mentioned on <span style="font-style: italic;">Bright City</span> is a solid blues cut that appears to have become a signature for Miller Anderson. A version kicks off <span style="font-style: italic;">Bluesheart </span>and I found a video of him performing the song in Moscow:<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yBxNQZPCQeY&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yBxNQZPCQeY&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />Before the CDs had arrived, I'd already picked up another recent album featuring Anderson, a <span style="font-style: italic;">Live from Glasgow</span> recording by a group called The British Blues Quintet, five musicians who had been playing live and in studios, with a constantly shifting group of fellow musicians, since the 60s. The album "features" Maggie Bell, and a casual study made her sound very intriguing, with comparisons to Janis Joplin. In the late 60s, Bell had been the lead singer for Stone the Crows, yet another musical group I'd never listened to. I did have a faint memory that I'd heard of them, but only because of the bizarre death of lead guitarist Les Harvey, who had been electrocuted during a sound check. As far as I can tell, Stone the Crows had never made a dent in the American market and certainly hadn't surfaced on West Coast radio. Harvey's death finished the band, but not until they had produced some brilliant music--how had I missed them?<br /><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2HtIAy4Vhks&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2HtIAy4Vhks&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />Listening to Stone the Crows brought me full circle--back to discovering "new" music from the late 60s, music I would have eaten alive back then which became something miraculous in 2010. And I'm pleased to report that Miller Anderson and Maggie Bell are still brilliant. (YouTube also has a three-part live Stone the Crows concert from Paris that runs over 20 minutes and makes the comparisons to Joplin a little more understandable.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.alexgitlin.com/stc1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 266px;" src="http://www.alexgitlin.com/stc1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>jefffranehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17699992839260757505noreply@blogger.com0