redacted recipes

Road Trip Snapshots III and a Homecooked Meal

To pick up where we left off, the drive from the Grand Canyon to Sedona was very beautiful, and we stayed in an equally lovely B&B overlooking the red rocks. We were a bit tired of road food by then and had high hopes for a good meal that night. The Barking Frog was highly recommended, and while it had the  pretensions and prices that would indicate a great meal, it did not live up to its promise and Ann found herself emulating Gordon Ramsay, as she surveyed each kitchen nightmare they served up. One of the specialties of the house was guacamole made to order at the table, so of course we ordered it, assuming they must take great pride in a really kick-ass recipe. Sadly not. In fact they seemed to the have no opinion of what guacamole should taste like at all, given that they left all of the ingredients (aside from the avocado) up to us. This was Ann's first Gordon moment. "Shouldn't they have some conviction about what a great guacamole tastes like?" she wondered. "Why are they leaving it up to us?" And indeed, Ann makes it much better with half the fuss, even if she does say so herself.

It got worse. Jack ordered the flash fried tilapia, which arrived sitting upright on its belly, having been skewered on a pike (of the sort one normally sees receipts impaled upon). To add injury to the visual insult, the poor fish had been slashed right through in multiple places on each side and was a bit more than "flash fried." The strips of exposed flesh along each unnecessary slash were chewy and dessicated. Ann had the goat cheese chili rellenos, which could have been wonderfully innovative-- she did really like the goat cheese filling. However, the peppers were soggy, the batter was soggy and the enormous amount of roasted tomato sauce (which tasted far more Italian than Mexican) did not help matters.

Not surprisingly, we were very glad that our next stop was Tucson, where we knew that Ann's mother would feed us well. As you can see, MaryAnne is a serious collector of cookbooks in addition to being a fine cook.

Ann had asked MaryAnne to tutor her through the preparation of her world renowned flank steak-- a dish Ann has never managed to get quite right, despite numerous attempts and phone consultations. The recipe is some forty years old and comes from The Brave Bull in Los Altos and was originally made with New York Strip steak. MaryAnne developed a more economical way of making it with flank steak (those of you old enough to have watched the Watergate Hearings live will know that flank steak was once a very inexpensive cut of meat), and served it often for company and to the delight of all who tasted it.

Pepper Flank Steak

It's a simple recipe and all about timing and confidence, really. As MaryAnne says, "flank steak is tough if it's not served rare, so once the bacon topping is on and it's under the broiler, make sure you take it out before the bacon starts to look too crisp. Just serve it as-is and if it's too rare you know to cook the first side a little longer next time."

A few notes from our observations: the bacon gets cooked alone, in spite of what the recipe says. Then it should be drained before adding the scallions, peppers and parsley. You should make sure your flank steak is of an even thickness from one end to the other. You need a really sharp knife to cut the thin slices across the grain and on a slight diagonal.

After a few days of damned good home cooking and fine company we were back on the road and headed off to see The Thing, and on to New Mexico. And no, we couldn't possibly tell you what "The Thing" is. You need to go pay the dollar and see for yourself.

Road Trip Snapshots II

Arizona: view from the Meteor Crater Visitor Center

Oatman, a former gold mining town was part cowboy kitsch and part authentic western. It was certainly aware of its appeal to tourists but was also clearly a real community, and the grizzled, grey-haired, grubby stetson-wearing Willie Nelson lookalike in the hotel cafe was definitely not faking.

The place was bizarre; almost every square inch of every wall (and some of the ceiling) was covered with old dollar bills bearing personalized messages and scribblings from their previous owners. We had a fine, no-frills fried breakfast there.

East of Oatman is a particularly awe-inspiring stretch of old 66 which climbs out of desolate desert to zigzag wildly through the craggy Black Mountains.

Soon after we rejoined I 40 we stopped for a shake and a root beer float at the Snow Cap in Seligman. Another wonderful piece of faded Route 66 tat. Great old-school shakes, too.

East of Flagstaff we stopped at Walnut Canyon to see the 1,000-year old cliff dwellings of the Sinagua people. We were disappointed to discover that the main cliff trail was closed because of a major rock fall but we still had a great view of these amazing old 'houses'.

Although it was quite a way off our planned route we realised we were too close to the famous Arizona meteor crater to pass up a visit. We were very glad we did because it's every bit as impressive as photos suggest. We took the one-hour rim walk in scorching 93-degrees-in-the-shade heat (what shade?) and it was definitely worth the dehydration and sunburn because not only did we get great views into the crater but the information provided by our guide was genuinely fascinating, and included plenty of historical facts we'd never heard before.

Next we retraced some steps and headed north to Tusayan via a completely unnecessary detour over unpaved roads through a small forest (thanks a lot, Google Maps!) We stayed in a hotel just a couple of miles away from the entrance to the south rim of the Grand Canyon; obviously the main order of business for the following day.

The Grand Canyon. One could say a lot, but it's pointless. Let's just say that it's true what everyone else says: pictures and films simply do not begin to do it justice. You cannot get a full sense of the jaw-dropping scale and majesty of this colossal, nature-sculpted marvel. One's first view of it is... breathtaking, awe-inspiring and a whole mess of other cliches. Here are some pictures anyway, but trust us, they don't tell the story nearly well enough. The only way to fully appreciate the sheer vertiginous visual impact and profound sense of vast geological age is to simply stand there and gaze.

Road Trip Snapshots

Quick report from the road in the form of snapshots and minimal commentary (we'll get wordy when we get back). We changed our plans slightly, opting to fly into LA and follow Route 66 to the Grand Canyon, rather than starting in San Francisco. It meant foregoing the swoop through Sonoma for a wine raid, but we'll make up for that when we hit the Finger Lakes area of New York near the end of our trip.

Starting from LAX, we spent the first few hours of our drive hopping on and off the fragments of old Route 66 wherever we could in an attempt to experience the fading and decaying remnants of the original America's Highway.

We had lunch at the delightfully kitsch Summit Inn, and played with fortune telling "answer machine" which was part of the napkin dispenser. Very like a primitive and purely mechanical version of the Magic Eight Ball, it answered any "yes" or "no" question. Fortified with more calories and grease than any human being should consume, we headed off into the desert.

We had hoped to stay at the legendary Roy's in Amboy, which according to our guidebook was still open, but alas. Roy's closed down to the public several years ago and the rooms were broken open and as dilapidated as the old sign. So we pressed on to Needles for the night. Needles, you might be interested to know is one of the warmest cities in California and it was certainly sizzling when we arrived. Our usual need for wine with dinner shrivelled in the heat, and I don't believe cold Sam Adams has ever tasted so good.

The next day we crossed the Mojave noting these Triffid-like cacti scattered about.

We  also noticed  this sign. We took a photo, thinking it was interesting, but certainly not expecting to actually see any wild burros.

No more than a quarter of a mile further on we found this lovely little family on the outskirts of Oatman. They may be wild but they were incredibly friendly and unconcerned. As you can see, one of them quite fancied a ride in our car and had to be physically manhandled away from the door!

After this delightful interlude we pressed on to Oatman for a glimpse at the wild west and Clark Gable and Carole Lombard's nuptial chamber. More on that later!

We're off!

Tomorrow morning Jack and I will get up at an uncivilized hour to catch a flight to California, where we will  start our trip across the country. We'll be arriving in style, as the airline significantly discounts first class seats 24 hours before take-off and we were lucky enough to snag the last two. Packing has been an interesting exercise... we've got to fit laptops, cameras, cell phones, and an iPod (with all of their various chargers) into our allotted luggage and carry-ons along with guide books, maps and other road trip necessities (first aid kit, anyone?) on top of enough clothing for two weeks. Eek! And we still have a shopping list of items to buy when we get there! A cooler, snacks, water bottles, a thermos, paper towels and wet wipes...

For me this will be the longest vacation I've taken in twenty years-- two weeks all at once! We both very excited and happy to get away together, and we thank those of you who came up with ideas for places to stop! We're taking our laptops and hope to post along the way, though we may not be able to visit you all as often as we usually do.

While we're gone though I thought I'd point you to a few posts from way back when... (...when, frankly, nobody was looking!)

This is my favorite tomatilla salsa recipe, as well as a description of The Range From Hell that's always trying to kill me.

Best little fish tostadas EVER! Much thanks to a fellow member of Metafilter for the photo and the recipe.

And finally, an attempt to describe the feeling of delight and connectedness one feels when eating great food in good company. I call it "the Boating Party Effect."

The Epic Roadtrip: Advice Wanted!

Jack and I are driving across the US in May and we want advice from US food bloggers (or anyone who has made a similar drive across the US) about places we shouldn't miss along our route. This all started when my Mom, who lives in Arizona, recently decided to let go of some precious pieces of furniture handed down to her by my grandmother. When we looked into what it would cost to have it trucked out to east coast we were astounded, so it all went into storage until we could figure out what to do with it. This isn't the sort of stuff you give away if there's any choice in the matter.

I wrote a little about my grandparents for the first Apples & Thyme event, describing their lives as cattle ranchers. Integral to raising beef cattle was a massive old Boos butcher block (the work surface is about three feet thick) that always stood in their kitchen. There is a little oak secretary, an old chair with a needlepoint seat cover made by my grandmother, and a game table with matching chairs she always played bridge on. There are a few other pieces, as well as some boxed kitchen items. Not surprising that my sister and I want to make sure these things stay in the family.

I've always wanted to find the time to drive across the country with Jack. During his time here in the US he's seen a fair amount of the east and west coasts, but very little else. So the Epic Road Trip came into being.

We plan to fly into San Francisco and rent a car with a brief run up to Sonoma to pick up some cases of wine from two or three of our favorite wineries, and then to drive across Nevada via The Loneliest Road, dropping down to The Grand Canyon and then to Tucson, where we'll swap the car for a small truck, visiting my parents for a few days and loading in the furniture. We've got this piece pretty well planned.

From Arizona we have no real itinerary and we want advice! If you know the area along any of the following legs of our journey, we'd love to hear about it. great roadside diners, things to see and do, the must-not-miss oddities... please tell us! We're avoiding large cities, as we'll have the hassle of needing to park a truck, so we don't need advice on what to see in Saint Louis or Chicago, please.

Here is the tentative plan, organized by major routes, stops to sleep not included:

Route 10 from Tucson to Las Cruces, New Mexico

Route 25 to Albuquerque (with a side trip to Santa Fe)

Route 40 through Amarillo, Texas to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

Route 44 through Tulsa and into Missouri, all the way up to Stanton

Route 70 to Joliet, Illinois (we plan to skip Chicago)

I 80 to Sandusky, Ohio at the bottom of Lake Erie

Then we'll hug the Lake Erie shore through Ohio and Pennsylvania, before heading east to the Finger Lakes area of New York

From there we'll abandon the major highways in favor of small roads into Vermont (and a stop in Bennington to see my daughter)

Finally, we wind our way across Vermont to New Hampshire, stopping in Nashua to deliver my sister's share of the furniture

So what do you know? What's your advice? Where is that fabulous little cafe? How about goat farms producing cheese? We want to know about all of it!

On The Piste with Pasticerra

Long time no post! It was a wonderful (if exhausting) trip but I'm very happy to be back. It was almost two weeks ago that I met Pasticerra (Marla) and her husband Fabrizio on the sunny slopes of Sauze D'Oulx, and she was much more prompt with her post about it, but I have the excuse that I've had no decent net access until today. There was a solitary, ancient Toshiba laptop in the hotel where I was staying, and it was almost as unreliable and slow as the positively antique, dust-encrusted 1998  "desktop" (it needs a desk the size of a snooker table) I have in my London flat. When I tried to let the main "Redacted Recipes" page fully load on it I crashed the thing completely. It's not only good to be back home, it's good to have the use of a real computer again!

We were lucky with the weather during the week I was in the Alps. The snow had been pretty sketchy in the weeks prior to my visit, and when my companions and I took a few quick runs on the Sunday we arrived it was clear we'd be dealing with plenty of patchy, icy conditions unless we got some more, and soon. Fortunately the 8-10 inches predicted for the following day came to pass, and we spent that day enjoying fresh, fluffy snow both on and off piste, much to the delight of my companions - snowboarders all. For the rest of the week we had nothing but clear blue skies and cool but pleasant temperatures, as you can see from the pictures. That single snowfall just about saw us out nicely.

Fabrizio and Marla

On Thursday Marla, Fabrizio and I met for lunch in one of the central parts of the Sauze D'Oulx ski area. I recognised her immediately and we settled down for a chat over panini and the sloppiest burger I have ever eaten (it was very tasty, though).  Marla surprised me with a gift: a lovely box of Italian chocolate liqueurs and a sweet little bottle of truffle oil (you can see them in the picture on yesterday's post). We swapped stories about our histories, chatted about blog-related matters and then decided we should do a couple of runs together. Now, I can ski okay - in that clumsy, graceless way we once-a-year Brits tend to have - but as soon as I saw Marla and Fabrizio zoom effortlessly away it was clear that skiing had been part of their lives for a long time. Indeed, Marla had skied as a child growing up in Colorado, and had also spent several years as a ski rep. Fabrizio just skied like someone fortunate enough to have been around the mountains all his life (I don't know if this is actually the case, but it certainly looked like it!) He had a casually energetic style that reminded me of my first Italian ski instructor, and it was obvious he was greatly enjoying this rare opportunity to get away from work and enjoy the slopes and the beautiful weather. I felt pretty pleased just to be able to keep up with them (although had they decided to put the hammer down I'm sure they'd have left me eating powder in no time).

I began to feel guilty for not meeting up with my friends after lunch (as we had half-agreed to) so I said farewell to Marla and Fabrizio as they set off for a few more runs, then attempted to contact my group via walkie-talkie. Over the course of the trip these gadgets proved invaluable - so long as all you wanted from them was the opportunity to hear a bunch of snowboarders saying, "Dude... where are you? Where? Dude... you're breaking up... *KZZZKKKKH*... Dude?" However, if you wished to arrange an actual meeting, they were as much use as the proverbial chocolate teapot. So, after a couple of trips to the top of the lift ("We said the bottom, dude!") and a couple of runs down to the bottom ("Dude! We're on the way up to meet you at the top!") I decided to give up on them. As I prepared to ski down from my final wait at the bottom of the lift ("Dude! We're at the top!") I saw Marla and Fabrizio again as they were about to make their way home. We said a second farewell and I headed back to Sauze D'Oulx where, a couple of hours later, I finally located my friends. No walkie-talkies were involved; I just searched the town bars. The application of common sense can sometimes make technology superfluous.

It was a great day. Thanks again for the gifts, Marla!

Jack and Marla

Moen's: Quality Comestibles

M. Moen & Sons is, as you will see from our sidebar, a food shop we love. They describe themselves as butchers, and indeed they are, but to call Moen's merely a butcher's shop is a little like calling Fauchon a sweet shop. Sure, Moen's does meat: it does organic and free range meat of absolutely stunning quality and variety; from game birds and beasts to top-quality beef, from superb home-made sausages to patés and home-cured deli specialities. But it also sells fruit and veg, fresh bread, smoked salmon, olive (and other) oils, various vinegars, pesto, sauces, pickles... to enter Moen's small but beautifully laid out space is to be instantly surrounded by a colourful and enticing cornucopia of culinary delights.

There is an eclectic cheese counter filled with British and continental varieties. There are luscious olives of many types, some of which have marinades so delicious it's tempting to finish them off with a spoon after the olives are gone (a temptation I rarely manage to resist).

In spite of all the vegetarian diversions, Moen's is still primarily about meat. It's a carnivore's paradise. I haven't found a better place in London for a truly top-notch steak or a juicy, flavourful sausage. But I must just mention the egg custard tarts. Egg custard tart is a traditional British dish made primarily with eggs, butter, sugar, cream and flour, and usually topped with a sprinkle of nutmeg. It's delicious. My mother's version is wonderful, but it can't compare with the moen... I mean moan-inducing, melt-in-the-mouth ecstasy that is the Moen's individual egg custard tart. I don't know what they do to make them so special. They're a little sweeter than a typical example but that alone cannot fully explain their almost crack-like addictive qualities. When I was recently in London I bought four of the little beauties, intending to have not more than one per day. Riiight. After two days I had to go back to stock up. Ann knew I'd be indulging in such sinful custardy ways and (this is true) set her Facebook status to,  "Ann is unhappy that Jack will be having Moen's custard tarts and she will not", for the entire duration of my stay. Moen's produce does this to you. It ruins you forever. In the best possible way.

Grape Expectorations

[Originally written in August 2006]

Call that title punetic licence or something. Of course we didn’t spit; we swallowed, like the oenophilic sluts we are. We love wine far too much to squander the lovely stuff on the spittoon so it was case of small sips for the designated driver and sucking down every last drop for the lucky passenger.  I’m talking about our recent trip to California wine country.

I like California. The weather in summer manages to be warm, but not too warm. It’s sunny, but not oppressively humid. There’s often a cooling breeze. The beaches are long, open and strewn with patterned pebbles, shattered crabs, surf-smoothed jetsam, and tangled clots of marine plant life that look like a nightmare conglomeration of overcooked lasagne verde and slimy alien birthing pods. It reminds me of parts of the British coast and yet it’s also so different that I never feel at home. The waves swell and heave more impressively. The hills stretch back higher and further. Little terns or petrels or - hell, I don’t know what sort of birds they were - pick frantically at the slick, wet sand exposed by the receding foam and wait until the last second before trotting comically away from the next incoming wave. Gulls wheel and squeal and bully. There are surfers, and they chase away the OC and bring the Beach Boys back.

On the first day we headed south from San Francisco, down to Bonny Doon Vineyard. We made a special detour here because this is the place that initially persuaded me that my previously dismissive attitude to Californian wine needed a serious rethink. About a year ago we visited some friends who insisted we try a bottle of Bonny Doon’s 2002 Cigare Volant. I was sceptical. I am an old-world wine snob. For me, it doesn’t get any better than a damned good Bordeaux or a big, sweaty Rioja. I like the earthiness of old-world reds; the complexity of them. I like that they are not overly laden with sweet fruit and jamminess and all those sickly top-notes which so often swamp new world wines; especially Aussie and Californian ones. Too much fruit flavour in a wine is like too much of any good thing: too much. French wines are subtle and difficult and sleazy and dark and polluted. Californian wines used to strike me as being like candy and gum and Coke and Barbie dolls as opposed to dark chocolate and spices and brandy and sex. And then I tried the 02 Cigare and experienced the revelation of a new breed of Californian wine.

The guy who runs Bonny Doon is an enthusiast and an amiable nut. He has wines called “Big House Red” and “Cardinal Zin” and “Domaine des Blageurs” and (my favourite) “Heart of Darkness”. Some of the labels feature Gerald Scarfe drawings – how cool is that? He is clearly a lover of French wine and the French way of making it, and yet he doesn’t try to slavishly replicate Cotes Du Rhone, Claret and Burgundy. He takes an old-world approach to winemaking and applies it to California grapes and California methods. The results are an absolute bastard crossbreed joy. You get the best of both worlds. You get toppiness and big fruit but undercut with leather and tobacco and pepper. The best Bonny Doon wines are explosive on the palate and leave a lingering afterglow in the mouth. With the hindsight offered by our trip I can say that while they may not be the “best” wines in California, for my taste they’re some of the most inspired, surprising, experimental and original. And the folk in the tasting room are so nice,  so enthusiastic, and so keen for you to enjoy their wines it’s really quite touching. None of the rote litany of method and grape combination and vintage comparison you find at so many better-known wineries, just “Woah, you HAVE to try the 03, dude. On a scale of one to damned good it’s… damned good!”

The Tasting Menu (Redux)

Another old piece originally published in Damned Intellectuals:

The Tasting Menu
October, 2003

It’s been a while since I’ve traveled without an itinerary. The last time I had that pleasure was in the summer of 2000, when Jack and I wandered through Northern England. We never knew where we’d end up for the night—just stopped when we felt like it and found a likely looking B&B. We stuck to Yorkshire and then the Lake District, gazing at the landscape as we drove aimlessly from place to place and absolutely reveling in the luxury of needing to be nowhere.  We did end that vacation with a more structured weekend in Paris—Jack had reserved a room ahead of time in a lovely hotel—but even then we managed to ignore time and to simply let things happen, rather than racing to meet an agenda.

We've traveled a lot since then—another driving trip through England, a stay in Genova, Christmas in Barcelona, and a spring vacation in Switzerland—but always with my children, who spent last year in an International School in Italy and gave us a splendid excuse to make frequent trips to Europe). Traveling with two adolescent girls requires planning. You don’t want to spend too much time in the car, you want to know where you’re staying each night, and you try to make sure you’re always near something interesting. All quite pleasurable, but not the sort of letting go one can experience when traveling alone or with a partner.

A few weeks ago, quite unplanned, Jack and I found ourselves in Le Tableau, an appealing-looking French bistro in the East Village. We decided to put ourselves entirely in their hands and try the tasting menu with accompanying wines. I don’t know why we don’t do this more often. It reminded me of a night in 1997 at La Scopettaro in the Testaccio Quarter, where the restaurant owner offered us “a taste of Rome” and proceeded to send out plate after plate of unexpected and wonderful dishes (four antipasti, two pastas, two secondi, all accompanied by a wonderful dry red; two rounds of sweets with sparkling wine; and finally a death-blow consisting of three bottles of spirits—grappa, limoncello, and some sort of aperitivo tasting of raisins). It reminded me of a lunch Jack and I had in Apricale, on the Italian Riviera—again endless plates of fabulous food and no need to make any decisions.

We did it again last week—this time at Tocqueville in Union Square, a lovely place with attentive (but not obsequious) service and food to sigh over. We opted for the 7 course tasting menu and, if I remember correctly, we were each brought: a sashimi sampler plate consisting of the freshest fish I've ever tasted; a small bowl containing two perfect tiny tomatoes and a tiny scoop of tomato sherbet floating in tomato confit; a serving of grits and truffles topped with a perfectly poached quail's egg (this one may sound odd, but tasted seriously sexy); a serving of perfectly cooked foie gras with scallops which made Jack emotional and me feel corrupted in a divine sort of way; a serving of veal with herbed potatoes; a serving of some fabulous runny stinking cheese with a pear roasted in cognac and tiny pieces of raisin toast; and finally THREE normal-sized desserts to share—a  chocolate soufflé sort of affair with mint ice-cream, a mango pavlova, and a burnt-sugar apple tart. Each course came with wine selected by the chef and wine steward. We started with sake (the sashimi) and moved on through champagne to reds as the meal progressed.

These little culinary adventures make me happy. As we sit and talk and let it all happen I feel myself expanding—letting go and becoming close to happy. Maybe it’s because on most days there’s an agenda of some sort to get through—an endless series of decisions. Maybe it’s just because the food was so good. Whatever the reason, I felt suddenly free and as if I was traveling again—no need to think about tomorrow at all.

(We've been back to Tocqueville many times in the years since, as well as to La Bernardin, Aquavit, Bouley, The French Laundry, Gary Danko's and Gordon Ramsay at Royal Hospital Road. We always have the tasting menu and we always love the adventure. Somewhere I'm sure Jack or I have pieces we've written about some of these remarkable meals. One day I'll dig them out. In the meantime, we jave a long list of tasting menus yet to try.)