Back to the Real World

Tonight is our last night in Sacramento. I am facing the return to the Bay Area with mixed emotions, as I am always glad to be back by the bay, but there is something good about being here, too. It has been a long time since I have stayed a whole week here, and I am always amazed by how easy it is to return to a regular routine while here.

However, work is in the Bay Area, our home is there, at this point most of our close friends are there, so off we go.

On our expedition to William Land Park, the big park on the South side of town, I was reminded of the mixture of stark trees, their leaves shed for the winter, and the crystal clear blue skies. Looking up at the tangle of trees in a place that I know as well as any reminded me of my early inspirations towards drawing and later to painting.

My elementary school did not have extensive grounds so we had PE as well as many a science and art expedition to this park, which is right across the street from the school. Mr. Marcroft, the science and art teacher would give us our lessons in perspective indoors and then take us to the park to work from real life. Those webs of branches crisply defined against the sky were always a source of wonderment and excitement. When I saw Mondrian's work that led to his pure abstraction I always think of drawing those trees.

However, when I am not in Sacramento and I think of the light typical of the area I do not think of winter, rather late summer, when the shadows are long, cool, and inviting. Although Wayne Thibaud credits Richard Diebenkorn with the idea of using French ultramarine for shadow, I cannot help but think that Thibaud was really reflecting a bit of the hot, Central Valley summer where the shadows really do seem purple, in contrast to the intense heat and uncompromising light around them.

There is also something of the dusty golds and greens of the French symbolist painters to be found in late summer in Sacramento. It is probably for this reason, in addition to always being taught the supremacy of drawing over painting, that I always gravitate to the cloissonisme of Van Gogh and Gaugin.

Of course this sort of heavy outlining is contrary to the notion of pure painting.

"It is a pity that Vincent Van Gogh never learned how to paint," said Wayne Thiebaud at a lecture a few years back, "but boy he could draw with a paintbrush."

Thiebaud, of all the painters I can think of, is the best at dancing on the line between drawing and painting. His paint handling is magnificent, but often his forms are distinctly outlined in contrasting hues, often in rather heavy lines, sometimes even by means of sgraffito, in which the overpainting is scraped or restrained from the contrasting underpainting. While he may build a line of paint over these sections, I am confident that he almost always works this way. Little sections show through the thick-as-frosting outlines to show a methodical building up of color.

Thiebaud is our local hero. He was not born in Sacramento, but lived there most of his life. Now he divides his time between the Bay Area and Sacramento, but the key to understanding his approach to color has to be a good look at hot and dry summers here. Just as Diebenkorn is the master of Bay Area fog, Thiebaud is the artist who best understands this region.

Thiebaud's style is often copied, but rarely with any finesse. He won his individualistic vision through years of hard work, careful observation and stubborn determination. Any attempt to reduce him to formula will inevitably fail, as his paintings are too carefully constructed to be easily imitated.

Thinking of the cultural world's great contributors always leads to two writers: Joan Didion and Richard Rodriguez. Didion went to C.K. McClatchy High School, where I went. Rodriguez went to Christian Brothers (I think). They write from radically different perspectives, yet share an approach to the language that comes, in part, from the anxiety of growing up in Sacramento.

When one has artistic aspirations in this town, one has relatively easy access to the hip, exciting Bay Area, combined with enough belief in culture to not feel a complete oddball. There is not quite enough culture to distract, and the culture that is here is enough out of step with New York/Los Angeles/Bay Area trends that have almost completely destroyed the visual arts. A sheep's head in preservative would not make it in a gallery in Sacramento, at least not yet. A re-examination of techniques and ideas of the impressionists would not be laughed off the street as hopelessly retardaire either.

I think that the only direction open to painters is to retrench in the sanctuary of good technique. Matters of style are no longer relevant to making art that is original. Inventing radical ways of painting is a dead end that only leads to the grotesque. As a firm partisan of Abstract Expressionism, and the various post-AbEx styles that were anchored in good technique, firm composition and intelligent use of color, I am certainly not calling for a "back to beaux arts" movement.

Art never can go back. We must learn from what has happened, and part of that is realizing that "outmoded" forms are always fair game for reinterpretation, so long as this is not based in simple imitation. The pre-Raphaelites had a style that would have looked startlingly out of place in the era they championed. There were not simply attempting to turn back the clock, as many propose doing today.

Meanwhile we have an entrenched caste of idiots at the helm of our arts establishments. It will take a long time for them to realize that the chicanery and two-bit political pranksterism that masked as real innovation are even less viable and interesting today than they were thirty years ago. So the art museums in the big cities will continue for some time to slide into the abyss. Finally they will realize that they have been out of it for a long time, and they will have to turn to the smaller cities that have the resources to encourage young artists, enough cultural insight to realize that art is worth doing, yet enough isolation to ignore the crap that poses as art in the "hipper" places.

I would look to Portland, Oregon, Sacramento, and other towns of that size to produce the next generation of artists. Meanwhile, I will keep pushing on in the Bay Area. There is something to be said for being the malcontent who insists on pushing the envelope of 1956 Berkeley (or 1976 Ocean Park). Someone needs to be there to laugh out loud at the openings. Also, I have a deep love and attachment to the Bay Area. So I will stay for now, although when I see a great craftsman bungalow in the shade of a magnificent elm tree only a short bike ride from the Coffee Works or Corti Brothers or the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament (which promises to look really good after the restoration), I am tempted to throw in the towel on the Bay Area to come back.

Of course being a restaurant reviewer in this town could be a fairly limited gig!

My favorite part of Christmas food...

I really love the feast we share with our family and neighbors at Christmas, even the intense days of cooking that lead up to it. However, my favorite thing is always the goose risotto that I cook up a few days later. We had it tonight, with a simple salad and a bottle of wine that was left over from Christmas.

Normally I use goose stock from the leftover bones, but a long trip to the park and subsequent nap meant that it would not have been ready in time for dinner, so I used the double extracted chicken stock leftover from the wild mushroom risotto and added a generous spoonful of the concentrated juices that had been carefully gathered from the bottom of the roasting pans. It made a strong, meaty brown stock that worked perfectly for the risotto.

I start with the typical arome of Tuscan food: diced pancetta, diced shallot (onion is traditional, but shallot works better), diced carrot, diced celery and two peeled whole cloves of garlic. To this I add a generous handful of fatty goose skin and tough bits of meat, diced very finely.

It goes in this order:

Per each cup of arborio rice heat a Tablespoon of butter, a Tablespoon of goose fat (I prefer the fat that I reserve from the roasting pans, as it has the roasted goose flavor in addition to the rosemary, fennel and garlic of the subcutaneous stuffing, but the pure, snow-white goose fat that I render from the free cavity fat and fatty skin flaps works well too), and a Tablespoon of fragrant extra virgin olive oil. When it is hot, I add the chopped pancetta and the chopped goose bits. One the fat has rendered from this, I add the garlic and shallot. When the shallot has turned transluscent I add the carrots and celery. When the aroma is so good that I can't stand it I add my rice and a few finely chopped dried porcini mushrooms. Once the rice takes on a pearlescent quality, I add a cup or so of dry white wine (I normally use extra dry white vermouth, but we had an opened bottle of Orvietto Classico, so I used it and was a little more generous than usual). When the wine cooks down, I turn the heat to low and add ladlesful of hot stock, stirring every few minutes and adding stock until the rice is cooked al dente. When the rice is nearly ready I stir in big chunks of goose meat, let it warm in the risotto, then, off heat, stir in a generous helping of grated reggiano parmeggiana and fresh cracked pepper. Normally I top it with chopped celery and offer freshly grated cheese at the table, but I was too lazy to go out in the cold to pick parsley, so I skipped that. I also will finish it with either butter or veal marrow, but there was enough rendered fat in it, so I let it stand.

For the salad I used a mesclun with a generous addition of radicchio, sliced fuyu persimmons, pomegranite seeds, and shaved pecorino romano. For a dressing I made a standard shallot/balsamic vinaigrette with a dollop of Dijon mustard.

I really cannot recommend a better meal for a cold night!

We finished with a Napolitano ricotta and candied fruit pie that my cousin made, following his mother's recipe and Sambuca. If he gives me the recipe along with permission to post it, I will, but otherwise, use your imagination and keep it from being too sweet.

Reading

One thing that I have noticed is that my preferences for reading material change when I am in Sacramento. It might be the drizzly grey weather, or the quiet of the place, but I always seem to have a Sacramento book going that only gets read in Sacramento, at least on the current round of readings.

The problem with this is that when I am in Sacramento for any extended period of time I often pack the wrong books. So I get here and have a bag of books that are great reading in my Bay Area mood, but not for Sacramento.

There are some types of books that work equally well in either place, but I did not seem to pack any of them this time.

One thing that is a constant is that I get most of my reading done late at night. Even in the days before Amalia, I found it easier to focus on serious reading after my evening espresso. Being in Sacramento is no different. When the day is fresh I am much more inclined to read lighter stuff: Rumpole, Don Camillo, etc. But after that 9pm espresso, I am in the mood for something I can dig my teeth into.

For this reason, I do not read in bed. I must maintain my reading space in a different place than my sleeping space. When they get confounded I end up reading until 4am. A book by the bedside is deadly. If I find myself awake only minutes after going to bed, I assume that I have insomnia and grab the book. I learned this the hard way. After a few nights of only a couple of hours of sleep, one's body rebels.

Anyway, I am not happy with any of my choices of fiction, and have not been in the mood to read Jonathon Culler's Structuralist Poetics, which I have been finding amusing the last days before coming to Sacramento. When I look through the bookshelf in my old room I keep lingering on The Lord of the Rings. I have not read it since I was in Junior High School, so I might just give it a go. It should be interesting to read it again, as my memories of it are not that great (I get the books all mixed up and have to admit that my eyes glaze over when my Tolkein fanatic friends talk about how Peter Jackson missed this or that point from the book).

With that, Hobbits are calling!

Seared Tuna with heart of Cardoni and bagna cauda

My parents' next door neighbors have two children who I used to babysit. Now they are in college and the son is taking an interest in cooking. He is a sashimi fanatic, but has, like me, also taken to enjoying the occasional seared tuna. He asked me to show him some techniques on searing tuna, so we made a deal. He bought the fish and I did the teaching.

Searing tuna is remarkably easy, and can be customized to a variety of tastes. Phillip and I like ours nearly raw, with only a slight crust of seared fish around a red core. Others like their cooked through. It is easy, once one is set up to cook to order.

First, you need fresh, sashimi grade fish. Lesser cuts need to be cooked through (might I suggest tuna confit?).

Then, over very high heat, brush the skillet with olive oil. For the nearly-sashimi set, 30 seconds on each side is enough. For the cooked through set, 2 minutes on each side. Don't forget the edges, no matter which option you go for.

For a sauce you can steep a chopped shallot in balsamic vinegar and dress the fish with that and olive oil, you can make the red wine reduction that I use in the tuna tiramisu and use it without the zabaglione, you can finish with a splash of sesame oil, or whatever. Basically, if you like tuna, this is one of the great quick meals.

I had some leftover heart of cardoni and a jar of truffled anchovies that had to be used, so I made bagna cauda:

Roast a head of garlic by chopping off the ends, drizzling with fragrant olive oil, wrapping in foil, and placing in a hot oven.

Chop the truffled anchovy (or use salt-packed anchovies revived in milk), and gently heat in olive oil. Add creme fraiche and squeeze in the roasted garlic.

I topped the seared fish with the cardoni and drizzled the bagna cauda over it.

We ate this with potato latkes (the neighbors are Jewish, and this was Chanukkah), parboiled and sauteed salsify and a mixed green salad with persimmon slices and shaved pecorino romano cheese. Yum. Left to my own devices I would not have done the latkes, but I am glad we had them, as they were the perfect foil to the strongly flavored meal.

With the leftover tuna pieces we are going to make a confit out of them by slowly finishing them in olive oil, then we are going to make a spuma di tonno, a tuna mousse, which I learned from watching Michael Chiarello.

Heavy Cooking and Light Blogging for the next two days

I have begun the preparations for the family's Christmas feast. The latest count is 22 people, so it is a lot of work, but a whole lot of fun. To get all of my ingredients I had to go back to the Bay Area today to make a trip to the Berkeley Bowl, a grocery store that is almost a museum of food. Their produce section is the size of most stores, and coupled with a great fish counter, good meat, decent cheese and wine selections and generally great selection, Berkeley Bowl is one of my favorite places to shop outside of the Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market on Saturdays.

Since Berkeley must have the highest per capita foodie population (many of whom are sad, actually, seeking what they should seek in the sacraments in food, which is a dangerous temptation for a practicing and orthodox Catholic, but becomes deadly in secularists who often seem to go between food esotericism and bizarre fad diets), the Berkeley Bowl is regularly packed to the gills. When a holiday approaches even finding a shopping cart becomes a task. The aisles are full, the lines at the meat counter long, the staff madly replenishing depleted stocks (I think they have been receiving shipments around the clock for the last few days).

However, one thing we noticed is, in spite of being full of agressive foodies, everyone is remarkably polite at the Berkeley Bowl. I have never seen a fight, people allow others to pass and even make an effort to get out of the way. It must be that being in the presence of food items that one has no idea what to do with humbles one. Every time I am there I find some item that I have never heard of, and I am a professional food writer.

Anyway, the goodies are here, the timeline is made and is being revised, and the marathon at the stove begins. Fortunately tomorrow night's dinner is at a cousin's house, so the only food I need to worry about after lunch tomorrow is Christmas dinner. I am also excited to be going to the Traditional Latin Mass for Midnight Mass!

So, after tonight, expect little to nothing on the blog until the 26th. At some point I will discuss Ravel's orchestration, but need to refer to some sources that I do not have, so we will have to wait until I can make a trip to the UC Berkeley Music Library.

Merry Christmas!

Cardoni

Last night I made Gobbi tripatti, which literally means "triped hunchbacks" which is what Cardoni in ragu is called in Tuscan dialect. They are called hunchbacks because when cut, the cross section of some parts are little crescents. Triped refers to cooking them in tomatoes and aromatics the way trippa alla fiorentina is done. I parboil the trimmed and de-strung cardoni in acidulated and salted water, then saute them in extra virgin olive oil and add ragu and either chopped tomatoes or tomato sauce and simmer. I then serve them with a sprinkling of chopped parsley and shave reggiano parmeggiana over them. Always a good dish for a cool night.

Last night I did something else. I read recently about using the heart of the cardoni, which I had never realized was edible. Basically, aftere trimming the stalks, I pared what was left of the core to a good-sized plug, cut it in half and threw it in the pot. I can't believe that I ever threw this away, as it is the best part of the plant, sort of like a gigantic artichoke heart. I did not add this heart to the dish, but am saving it for a version of one of the dishes I had at the restaurant I reviewed Tuesday, a seared tuna, topped with bagna cauda and cauliflower.

What I will be doing is searing the tuna, then placing a slice of cardoni heart and a little bit of truffled anchovy, roasted garlic, Spanish extra virgin olive oil, and creme fraiche on each piece. I will give a report on Tuesday.

Friday Five

1. List your five favorite beverages.

Espresso ristretto
Red Wine
Bombay Sapphire Martini
Laphroaig Single Malt Scotch
Acqua Frizzante/Tamarindo (tie)

2. List your five favorite websites.

I don't know. I have some listed on my links section, which needs updataing.

3. List your five favorite snack foods.

Cheese
Chorizo (the dry Spanish kind)
Salami
Panforte
Popcorn with soy sauce or reggiano parmeggiana

4. List your five favorite board and/or card games.

Backgammon
Blackjack
Chess
Uno
Skipbo

5. List your five favorite computer and/or game system games.

Hearts
Free Cell
Minesweeper
Tetris
Elf Bowling

More on Meyer-Briggs

Another Meyer-Briggs comment popped up on my old rant against it. Since the only way you can find it is to hunt back through the archives, I have decided to post it here. It is from a fellow named Mike. I laughed very hard when I read it, because he describes someone I know who is very into MBTI fits his description amazingly well. While I am not sure the exact etiquette of pasting an entire comment into the main body of the blog, this is so good that I am just going to do it and hope that I have not offended this fellow:

Of course Meyer-Brigss has an "elegant simplicity". There's nothing in the scales that can't be deduced form rading the questions. "Hey, according to Meyer-Briggs, I'm shy! I had *no* idea!"

The test is entire ad-hoc, has never been validated against another instrument, and has no predictive value whatsoever. It has a great pseudo-intellectual appeal, though. I've noticed that it appeals to people who are very rigid and lack creativity- the sort who are good at cataloging data but aren't very good at coming up with original ideas. It's also popular with the sort of person who likes to brag about their Stanford-Binet test score.

(I have a *little* bit of knowledge about this sort of thing... a Master's in psych and most of my PhD work)

Tuna Tiramisu

Every so often I forget to post recipes and get reminders from anonymous folks in the comments box with things like "where are the recipes?" or reminders from not-so-anonymous folks like "ranting a plenty, but the other side?"

So, here is a recipe that I was not going to give out. It is something that I invented about nine years ago, although it was originally closer to sashimi. It changed when I was researching the Futurist banquet and realized that tiramisu was probably a futurist invention. In the spirit of the Italian Futurists, I modified this recipe to something more like what it is now.

It's final form was the result of watching Paul Bocuse make a red wine and herb reduction for a fish dish.

Why Tiramisu?

Everyone knows what tiramisu is (or at least how it has degenerated in most restaurants): layers of espresso soaked ladyfingers, cocoa powder, and a mixture of zabaglione and mascarpone folded together. Often restaurants add rum and whipped cream and chocolate sauce, but those are silly little distractions. The only liquor should be the marsala in the zabaglione.

So I build this with layers (although I usually do it in one layer, constructed on the plates in individual servings) of seared Ahi tuna for the ladyfingers and a savory red zabaglione and mascarpone mixture. I have settled on serving it on a lightly dressed bed of arugula, since the peppery greens add a lot.

So, start by putting a diced shallot, a peeled whole clove of garlic, a few sprigs of thyme, a bay leaf, and fresh cracked pepper in a large non-reactive skillet with a bottle of fruity red wine (Two Buck Chuck Cab is perfect). Simmer and reduce to about a quarter of a cup. Strain and reserve this reduction.

Prepare a large work bowl with ice and water. Set in a place where you can get to it from the stove.

Over a double boiler whisk four egg yolks continually over moderate heat. You are making a custard, but without the sugar that normally goes into it and the addition of the acidic wine syrup, you must take great care to avoid scrambling, as an unctious texture is essential to this dish. Granularity in your zabaglione will be unpleasant. When it is starting to thicken, trickle the syrup into the yolks, continually beating. When it has reached the consistancy of creme anglaise, take your double boiler top and, all the while whisking, put the bottom of it in the ice water. What you are doing is completely halting the cooking so that you can stop having to provide continuous motion.

Fold a tub of mascarpone into the zabaglione. If you want it more pungeant, use a small tub (those little ones that are about an inch and a half tall), if you want creamier, use the larger one that is about four inches tall. But either way, fold it gently but thoroughly. You will have enough of the mixture to feed an army. We have been having an average of 16 people to Christmas and we always have a bit left over, as this stuff is rich (it keeps for a couple of weeks). We are using tuna tiramisu as the first course in a large meal, however, so if you make this your main course, you will probably not be able to serve 16.

Now, dress your arugula in a light dressing:

Dice a shallot. Let it steep in a puddle of balsamic vinegar for 20 minutes. Add a dallop of Dijon mustard, and Extra Virgin olive oil and whisk together. Adjust to taste, keeping the acidity low by using balsamic vinegar instead of lemon juice or stronger vinegar.

Set up your work area, so that you have the bowl of dressed greens, the bowl of zabaglione/mascarpone and a stack of plates. Your assistant's job is to prepare a bed of greens in 30 seconds and then to stand at your side. When you place the seared tuna on the bed of greens, he is to cover the tuna with the zabaglione/mascarpone, get the dish to the table, return and have another plate ready to go in 120 seconds or less. You can do this solo, but obviously it works best with two or three assistants (I have a system where one assistant handles two plates and I have a line up two deep so I can manipulate four medallions at a time. Until you have practiced and have a system, do not do more than two at a time, because it becomes very easy to fuss over one and to let another get overcooked).

Your job is to sear the tuna medallions on all sides, allowing only the outsides to change color. I do it on a non-stick skillet at high heat. I might lightly brush the skillet with oil, but not too much. You do not want the cooking to penetrate much at all. For this reason you must start with high quality, sashimi grade, fish.

If a piece is done and a plate is not ready, put it on a holding plate and don't start the next piece until the line is ready.

If you are going solo, have the arugula already on the plates. Sear a medallion, cover with the mixture, then go on to the next one. The cold mixture will help halt the cooking, and will bring the surface back down in temperature (if the seared parts are hot, that is fine, but I prefer a more room temperature dish - naturally this only works if you are planning on no leftovers, because you are risking it if you put seared tuna in the fridge that has been out at room temperature).

I am thinking of adding seaweed or salsify to the salad greens this year, although I am not sure. I never take plates back to the kitchen with anything but perhaps a stray arugula leaf on them, so part of me thinks that I should stop tampering.

If you want to explore the earlier version it was simply a piece of raw fish over lightly dressed mung bean sprouts and arugula, with ribbons of soy-sauce mascarpone and wasabi mascarpone (you can get creative with the brown and green ribbons, or circles or what have you). To make the mascarpone, just beat in soy in one batch and wasabi in another. Simple. This was basically a Westernization of the classic sashimi. It is quite tasty, although once I invented tuna tiramisu, I have not gone back to this. If I ever want the Japanese way of eating, I simply eat sashimi, which is one of those great joys in life.

This is a complex recipe, so if you have any questions before you try it, feel free to email me at EKeilholtz@aol.com.

Oh no, this could destroy my reputation

If Francois, my roomate in college, reads this he will gloat endlessly, but let me say that the French make the best sauerkraut dish. OK, technically the recipe is from the part of France that is really Germany, but it is now France and will be France for awhile. I am not given to posting recipes from books, as that is stealing from the author, so let me point you to Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Vol. 1 and tell you that you have never had the noble kraut until you have done it this way. I browned spareribs and buried them in the kraut during the braising, and the aroma still haunts me. What a thing to have in your kitchen on a Sunday afternoon!

On the Ugly German Composer

Maybe in my musical autobiography, I gave the impression that I detest everything Johannes Brahms ever wrote. This is not the case. I tend to like his large ensemble music. It is his chamber works that drive me to fits of rage, especially his piano music. I have no beef with the orchestral or choral works (in fact, singing the Neues Liebeslieder Walzer was one of the great musical joys of my life).

A similar situtation is found in Ravel, who could orchestrate like none other, but wrote the noodliest piano pieces known to man. I never could find anything to like in his piano music, even when I played the piano. It just seemed that one was wasting time playing Ravel, when one could be playing Debussy.

I woke up this morning...

Not to sound like a blues singer, but I woke up this morning with the vestiges of my cold causing me far more grief than they really should (I am an impatient Kraut, so ven tings are supposed to get better, zey must get better now or somevun ist going to haf some explaining to do!). Anyway, I had a little sniffle and that made me think "not another day!" But it went away (notch another one up for the martini cure - last evening, sick and tired of slow but steady progress, I drank a martini and ate a rich meal. Sure enough, symptoms faded to near nothingness).

But, not content with a 99% cure, I signed on to the Internet to check email and found that I could have started my day by being found, shivering, dirty, long-haired and afraid in a hole in Iraq, and it dawned on me: any of us who are not Saddam Hussein should be very happy. If he thought that losing the war was bad, wait till he gets a taste of a public trial, which will be tremendously humiliating for him. And just when he thinks that is bad, if he does not repent, just wait for the Last Judgement.

So, since I did not get aroused by many heavily armed soldiers from a dirty hole, with long hair, and facing at least public humiliation and most probably eternal damnation (if you were the confessor, what sort of penance would you give the guy?), I really can't complain.

Instead it was a beautiful fall day (depends on the block, some of the Bay Area is still in fall foliage, other parts have begrudgingly accepted winter. We are in the autumnal sector), mass was beautiful, and Amalia behaved perfectly. I was on head usher duty and did not have to deal with any madmen (the biggest drawback to the job in an urban church is fending off the madmen. If it were just a matter of shooing them away, it would be simple, but seeing as how some of these poor fellows need the church the most, one must always try to get them to first just sit down and not disturb anyone. The second biggest drawback is fending off the ones who think that I must have a direct line to the archbishop (I am passing out programs after all!), and can DO SOMETHING about the outrage that Fr. Such and Such commited at mass last Wednesday).

But we had none of that today. Indeed the only person who was tempted to holler at His Excellency was me, and it is over a trivial matter that really should be discussed first with the offending party, who is really a kind and caring priest. So, it was a very good day, topped off by the smell of braising sauerkraut and pork spareribs.

But we still have the issue of this poor bastard in the brig. Tyrant, monster, genocide, etc. The score is pretty bad. However, if we are to take the Gospel at all seriously we have to look at Saddam and see the Face of Christ.

You see, I read all the CL stuff, and accept that intellectually. But to actually do it. Let's face it, it is tricky enough to accept the guy who stole the parking space from us this morning on Grant Avenue as our brother, how do we take this leap with a man who gasses women and children? Who kills his own family members?

Always something to pray about, I guess.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

In writing the Friday Five answers and dealing with this cold, I got to thinking about a Christmas a number of years ago when I came down with a really nasty cold on Christmas Eve. I had to skip going to the cousin's for dinner on Christmas Eve. It was after I had taken over Christmas Day cooking duties, so it was looking doubtful if we would even have anyone over.

I was running a high fever and sleeping/waking/reading for a bit/sleeping/getting up for more orange juice/sleeping, and was not in the mood to change records, and feeling that a lack of any music was just too gloomy, so I had the radio on to the classical station. Naturally no programmer wants to be putting together really exciting shows on the one day when almost no one is listening, so it was a steady loop of Christmas favorites: Mormon Tabernacle Choir doing the classics, some Mozart, Nutcracker, and Leroy Anderson's "Sleigh Ride," complete with whips and bells.

I don't know the exact frequency of that stupid sleigh ride song, but it seemed to be on incessantly. With my high fever I half dreamed, half hallucinated this stupid song into a music video featuring Benny Hill. To this day I cannot hear that song without picturing Benny Hill in a Santa Hat. I can't say that this image makes the song any worse, although I do tend to giggle when I think of it.

It turned out that the day of rest worked out and I was able to get up at 6am to start making the bread. By the end of the evening, all was well and the cold was gone.

Friday Five

I have not done one of these Friday Fives for awhile, and since I have a few moments (Amalia is asleep, and I was just hit by some nasty cold thing, so I am doing my two days of plenty of fluids, rest, blah, blah, boring, which gives me time for this sort of nonsense):

1. Do you enjoy the cold weather and snow for the holidays?

Sure. If I am dressed for it. I like the crispness and all of that. We don't get that kind of cold here in the Bay Area, nor did we in Sacramento, rather a cold, bitter, gray dampness (locals call it Tule fog). But that New Englandy crisp cold is fine.

2. What is your ideal holiday celebration? How, where, with whom would you celebrate to make things perfect?

Come over on December 25th and find out. Tuna tiramisu, homemade French baguettes, risotto, roast goose, braised fennel, short-braised Tuscan black cabbage, potato and celery root gratin, 13 desserts. Wine. A Christmas martini that gets half forgotten in the rush of getting the first courses to table. Nocino until 3am. All with friends and family (more the merrier).

3. Do you do have any holiday traditions?

Oakland Holiday Parade, a stroll through Union Square at night, going to an octogenarian friend's annual tree lighting, panettone, panforte, the Arhoolie Records Christmas party, then frantic menu planning, goose ordering, etc., then Christmas Eve dinner at my cousin's house, midnight mass, then...See above. Other than that, I move VERY slowly on the 26th. I generally cook something very simple that night (and it was last year that I sliced myself mishandling an avocado, although I don't want to make a tradition of that). Then on New Years Eve we go to The Steps of Rome Trattoria in North Beach, followed by an organ concert and mass at the National Shrine of St. Francis of Assisi, followed by the blessing of the city with the relic of St. Francis at midnight and my annual run, an insane sprint to the top of Telegraph hill to see the fireworks. Then on New Years, we generally are in Sacramento for a Japanese feast chez Ann (of the web design fame). It closes with going to our octogenarian friend's Epiphany/unlighting the tree party.

4. Do you do anything to help the needy?

Yes. As much as we think we can. Probably not enough, though.

5. What one gift would you like for yourself?

I really don't need anything, although a good book is always welcome. Wait, I take that back. Chronicle Books has just put out a book of Richard Diebenkorn's works on paper. Other than that? Well, pork products are always nice, and wine.

More on Baroque Recipes

Another thing for converting a modernized haute cuisine recipe into its more archaic form is to substitute verjus for white wine. Verjus is the unfermented juice of young grapes, and was common in cooking until white wine replaced it (for a variety of reasons). It is an interesting flavor, but you might have trouble finding the stuff. Navarro Winery out of Mendocino used to bottle it, but I have not used it in awhile, so I don't know if they still do. I have wanted to make an almond and green grape gazpacho with it, but haven't been able to break myself of the tomato gazpacho, which is one of the great treats of late summer.

Baroque Recipes

People keep finding this site looking for "Baroque Recipes." Since I write about baroque music and baroque art and a whole lot of different types of recipes, my site comes up all the time. I am not a baroque cook, however. I find that era of food history fascinating, but I do not have the kitchen staff to pull it off. If you want baroque recipes, find a pre-Paul Bocuse classic French cookbook, and look for the recipes with the most elaborate presentation steps, and the chances are great that you are looking at a relic of the baroque. Also, look for a lot of aspics, as those were popular, as well as savory blancmange and recipes with more steps than you would think possible.

I would like to ask my visitors who come to the site this way "why?" Are you interested in trying to cook this way or is this purely for research? I am curious, as I have done meals that were based on an era or movement, and they can be very interesting if meticulously researched. They can also produce food that is nearly inedible to the modern palate, even if meticulously researched. Either way, this sort of cooking can be a whole lot of fun.

One of the best parties I ever did was an opening reception for an art show that used Futurist themes. We did recipes from and inspired by the Futurist Cookbook. It was a blast, and all but a couple of the dishes were quite tasty. One dish was horrid, though.

Maybe if we hit them over the head with the Catechism something will stick!

Last night I was talking to someone who went to a different church than I did on Monday. We were talking about the homily and sure enough the priest had to explain that Monday did not celebrate the conception of Jesus, rather the conception of Mary. Guess what? Our priest had to explain this as well. Looking around St. Blog's, I see that the priests here had to explain that, too. My friend had even encountered an ordained deacon who was confused on this issue!

I don't know about the rest of my readers, but this always seemed a pretty basic thing, something that you maybe had confusion on very early on, but certainly did not get confirmed without this basic distinction explained somewhere. I don't think these priests are explaining this for the fun of it, I imagine that they encounter the confusion all the time. It is just hard to imagine that the sort of Catholics who go to mass regularly are confused on this.

Food Prediction number two

I also predict that you will see lardo on restaurant menus with increasing frequency. Food writers and chefs have known about this stuff for a few years, but because of the fad for low-fat, it never has been an easy sell to the public. Now, with the tides turned against carbs, lardo will start to appear more and more frequently. Not everyone will relish slices of the stuff on toast, but it will make its way into more and more salads, entrees, sausages, etc.

If you want to taste for yourself, the only supplier that I know of in the United States is Niman Ranch, who make an excellent lardo at a reasonable price. Unfortunately they only sell it in large slabs (although I talked to them a few weeks ago and they were considering packing it in smaller packages), so you will want to freeze it or go in on a slab with others (for my Bay Area and Sacramento readers, let me know and I will be happy to give you a piece).

Food prediction for the upcoming year

I predict that the food world is going to turn against white truffle oil this year.

The main reason is that white truffle oil has a dirty little secret to it that more and more people are finding out. Of course if it has fooled the best noses for this long, perhaps it is time to recognize that the stuff represents one of the very few times when the artificial flavors actually get it completely right. In fact, they got it so right that people are complaining that the alba truffles of Piedmont are "not as strong as they used to be." Perhaps they really aren't as strong as they once were, but my guess is that our noses have gotten spoiled by the oil.

Since the aroma is correct, and really adds to food, I say, why not? I am only a purist when there is a qualitative difference. If the artificial really is as good and can be used without any compromise of quality, then I am all for it. White truffles (the Piedmont ones) are rare and priced accordingly. If more people can experience this great aroma, all the better.

The problem will be in overuse. I have already had the experience of being in a restaurant and being suffocated in the aroma of white truffle oil from a pizza two or three tables down. Of course that is the grown-up version of drowning in chocolate, so I really couldn't complain, but if it gets to a point where all one can smell in a restaurant is white truffle oil, I think diners will get turned off to the whole thing. White truffle is like Vanilla, in that we think we can't get enough of it, until we get to where we don't want the slightest whiff of it, and have to take a break from it. I already heard one food writer call it "ketchup of the foodies."

Another problem is that once more and more people learn the dirty little secret of the stuff, there is no way that they will pay $12 for a tiny bottle. Already Trader Joe's is selling larger bottles for $8. I predict that it will be down to $4. Of course a little goes a long way, so I never really had a problem paying $12 for the little bottle that wasn't exactly what it claimed to be (the labelling was always rather vague as to what was in it. If you knew about the nature of the volatile compounds that give truffles their aroma, you had to know that this was not really oil that had white truffles steeped in it. If you had worked in a food lab, you even knew how it was made). Of course, when it is down to $4, most people will be completely sick of it and it will be quite fashionable to sniff at the stuff with a look of disdain.

Too bad, as it really is a pleasant addition to food when used sparingly and infrequently. In many ways the manufacturers were doing us a favor in pricing it so high. One did not waste a precious commodity like that, but as it gets cheap, it will be slathered on so that all one tastes is white truffle. Oh well, as I said, drowning in chocolate...

Soundtrack for my life.

It started with Eve Tushnet, then spread to Don (at my goading), so it is only fair for me to get around to posting this. It is more of a musical autobiography, mostly because if I were to list recordings, I would feel obliged to list all the catalog information, and that would be too much work (sorry, but it is that paying writing taking priority over the blog).

Starting with my early years, you must understand that I was raised almost strictly on classical music, with a smattering of folk and some jazz and even less rock. We listened to a lot of Bach. Now, my parents have always gone for lively performances over historically informed performances, so we had a lot of Academy of St. Martin in the Fields and that sort of thing, which I still enjoy, although I much prefer the Academy of Ancient Music nowadays.

When the McClatchy family got out of radio broadcasting classical music programming in Sacramento was left to KXPR, a public station. When my family joined they put the membership in my name. For a premium I got a gift certificate for any Nonesuch title. That was the first record that I ever picked, a collection of Telemann. I still have that record and still listen to it.

So, for my first years, you can basically pick any Bach, any Saint-Saens, any Beethoven, or just about any classical recording except opera.

My views changed regarding opera when we went to the Vienna State Opera and had Standing Room tickets for The Marriage of Figaro. I was 10 years old and hooked. From then on, I listened to the opera broadcasts just about every week. La Boheme and Aida were big favorites for many years (I still like both, but now tend towards Puccini).

That same year I heard yodelling and have been a yodelling fanatic, an affliction that I still carry to this day. If you give me one too many martinis, I might just give you a demonstration of my own yodelling. It ain't pretty. Back then I was more of a purist, only really into Alpenjodl (if anyone knows the Tirolean dialect they can correct my spelling, but I think that is how they spell it down there), tolerating cowboy yodelling only as a rare diversion. Now I go for any and all yodelling, much to the chagrin of the neighbor's hounds.

Two years later I was turned on to Flamenco and Fado. So add that to the list.

About the same time I was listening to the music my peers listened to as well: standard-issue pop music of the 1980's. Of that stuff, the only ones that I can listen to at all anymore are Prince and maybe Duran Duran, but only because I love the synthesizer that they used.

Then we get to highschool.

I was into the 1960's rock and roll, folk, blues, soul, and folk rock, with particular interest in Bob Dylan, the Grateful Dead (a band I still admire tremendously), the Beatles, CSNY, the Velvet Underground, Hendrix, Credence Clearwater Revival, Steeley Span, Arlo Guthrie, Woody Guthrie (OK, not 60's, but influenced the lot of them), Ramblin Jack Elliot, Leo Kottke, Pink Floyd, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, etc. I also started to listen to reggae, ska and rocksteady, particularly the old Studio One recordings. I still listen to that stuff, but not that often (with the exception of the Dead and Leo Kottke).

The Grateful Dead, via Workingman's Dead, got me into country music, first the Bakersfield sound (they played a Merl Haggard tune on one of their live albums, and I had to check this guy out), then all the rest. Later on Jerry Garcia's acoustic work got me into bluegrass, so I owe a huge musical debt to the Dead.

At the same time, I was starting to listen to jazz. Charlie Parker, Gerry Mulligan, Thelonious Monk, Dizzy Gillespie, Stan Getz, Modern Jazz Quartet. Of all the music that I listened to in highschool, jazz is still my favorite (well, second to Baroque).

It was in highschool that I started becoming a record collector, and Thelonious Monk who was the first artist whose titles I bought every chance I could get. I loved his harmonies, his unique rhythmic sense, his incredible compositions. The first Monk record I had was Underground. It was also the first record that I wore out (it was on cassette, a horrid format that is mercifully all but dead).

The first jazz record that I bought, though, was Stan Getz with the Oscar Peterson Trio, a record that still is a favorite. The first major name that I saw live was the Modern Jazz Quartet, and the first major jazz performer I shook hands with was Dizzy Gillespie, at a free concert in McClatchy Park that I rode my bicycle to.

I had a cassette of Columbia jazz recordings that had Dave Brubeck's Take Five on it. I liked the whole thing, but what particularly got to me was the elegant horn work of Paul Desmond. The guy thought in phrases that were worthy of Bach! He would take an idea and spin it and respin it, all the while maintaining his relaxed tone. One time I found a rare Italian issue of Desmond with Mulligan, and was so excited that I did not even want to play it, for fear that I would wear it out and not be able to replace it (my friend's father gave me the good advice of making a cassette of it - for personal use, no piracy here, thank you - and listening to that, which I did and subsequently wore out. The record is still in good shape, though).

Other musicians that I started to get into in highschool were Mel Torme, Erroll Garner, Chet Baker, Benny Goodman (the Carnegie Hall recording of Sing Sing Sing was on that Columbia collection), Miles Davis, Lionel Hampton, Zoot Simms, Al Cohn, Bill Evans, John Coltrane, Sandy Bull, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Ella Fitzgerald, in short, just about all of the various strands of jazz.

In exploring jazz, I gradually lost interest in the pop music of the day. It just was boring, with dull, repetitive harmonies, banal lyrics, and inspipid rhythms (and it has only gotten worse since then - once in awhile I will listen to one of the pop radio stations and am amazed at how even the craftsmanship, which used to be good, has declined). I think the last pop band that I paid attention to was Portishead. I am told that I would like Radiohead, but I have yet to hear them. I admit that I am somewhat intrigued by Trip Hop and even some of the electronica out there, but am very picky.

Thanks to the great world music programming at KXJZ, I got interested in Middle Eastern music, African music, Bulgarian music, and a whole host of others. Thanks to my friend Ann, who played Taiko, I got interested in Japanese music as well (which later on probably led to my interest in other Asian music: Peking opera, gamelan, etc.).

I also got into Irish music around the same time: Planxty and the Pogues being two bands that I really liked (and still like).

I was just starting to get interested in Avant-garde music as a senior in highschool, but only knew a little bit about it. Shoenberg's Pierrot Lunaire comes to mind, as does Laurie Anderson. In college I studied the history of electronic music with Gordon Mumma, and really got interested in the avant-garde, Karlheinz Stockhausen in particular (if you only can hear one of his recordings, Hymnen is the one to listen to). I found that I really liked where the world of avant-garde classical music and jazz met and started to collect Sun Ra, Ornette Coleman, and late Coltrane. I also discovered Kraftwerk, first through their magnificent Autobahn, then Radioactivity and the rest.

Getting excited about Stockhausen is probably what turned my into a music major. Naturally all that German electronic music led to an interest in 12-tone music, and I was particularly excited by Alban Berg, although Webern was a close second. Then came hyper-rationalism and Xenakis.

Now, don't think that all my early college listening was Teutonic 12-tone (as a music major, I obviously was listening to all of the Western Canon). I was also playing saxaphone in a ska band, and listening to both 2-Tone ska as well as the early recordings (not to mention a lot of Latin jazz at the time, as I found that I got better melodic ideas from that than I did simply trying to sound like Roland Alfonso). I was also listening to a lot of Tango, both traditional as well as the Nuevo Tango of Piazzolla and Dino Saluzzi (if Saluzzi's Mojotoro were not on CD, I think I would have worn it out).

It was also about this time that I started listening to a lot of Lou Harrison, which was perfect for what was to be a major turning point for me as a musician. My piano teacher had been railroaded by a couple of loudmouth no-talents who insisted that he was mean to them and a sexist to boot, completely unfair allegations. The teacher who replaced him was fresh out of grad school, was a heavy-handed pianist, and did not strike me as a great mind either. So I asked the harpsichord teacher if she would accept me as a student, which she did.

Here I was, in a full circle return to my baroque roots, and eager to tackle Scarlatti, who I had become increasingly fond of. I also was interested in playing the sonatas that Lou Harrison had written for the instrument (one of which he dedicated to my teacher). I was listening to a lot of early music, especially Monteverdi, Scarlatti, the ars nova composers, and Bach.

Around the same time I was studying percussion, playing Harrison's percussion music, so Harrison definitely needs to be on the soundtrack of my life. Naturally one cannot listen to Harrison without delving into Ives, so add him. I also was into George Crumb quite a bit.

In all of the switching of instruments I developed a loathing for the sound of the piano (except in jazz, where I continued to listen to it, and also a few works, like Berg's Piano Sonata, Debussy's piano music, and Chopin). However, late one night I was driving back from campus to the house where I lived with a string quartet (that is a whole other set of stories, including part of the reason that Brahms still sets my skin crawling), and some incredible music came on the radio. It sounded otherworldly, and it was played on the piano. I was so moved that I had to pull the car over and just listen. It turned out to be Franz Liszt, a composer I thought of as a bunch of bluff and bluster. But this was a late work, when he had become a tertiary in a religious order, and was paring his work down to the bare essentials.

So, I started to listen to the piano again, first these late Liszt pieces, then Morton Feldman's String Quartet with Piano, then eventually finding myself listening to Shubert and Beethoven, and all the other great 19th century composers.

My last couple of years in college I was listening to a lot of Tony Bennett, as well as Frank Sinatra, Louis Prima, Johnny Cash, and Hank Williams.

After college I continued to listen to jazz, avant-garde, world music, early music, but started to get more and more into country music and fado. Moving to the Bay Area put me in the same region as KCSM, a 24 hour jazz station, so I was able to keep up with the jazz world much better.

About four years ago I started listening to more and more Italian folk music, both traditional as well as modern. Daniele Sepe, Banda Ionica, I Tre Martelli, BEV, Allesandra Belloni, La Ciapa Rusa, and Riccardo Tesi have all had some pretty heavy turns in the rotation, as well as the Lomax field recordings and lots of Tralalleri (amateur all-male a capella choirs, traditionally made up of Genovese longshoremen). About the same time I started to collect recordings of bagpipes, particularly Bulgarian and Italian bagpipes (and one cannot be into bagpipes without getting into hurdy-gurdies, so drones have been important for the last four years).

I also got into Portuguese and Portuguese-influenced music more and more. Morna from Cape Verde, Samba from Brasil, Fado from Lisbon and Coimbra, noisy string ensembles from the Azores, even a recording of Portuguese creole cowboy yodelling from Malacca and a recording by Maria Ana Bobone of fado with harpsichord (and 12-tone pieces on the Portuguese guitar).

I ended up working at Arhoolie Records, where I was constantly immersed in the world of folk music, particularly blues, cajun, zydeco, norteno, and bluegrass.

I still listen to just about everything on the list above, although I have been finding myself in an early music kick again, particularly the pre-classical composers who were associated with Scarlatti in Spain. I have also been listening to Respighi a lot (I never paid much attention to him before, but have found him really quite good).

So that is that. If anyone wants any details on a particular composer or a recommendation on something or a catalog number, I will be happy to provide specifics on request. I am just too busy to go digging around for all of the music that I have been into.

Back from Under the Volcano

No, not Mexico (although with this weather, I wouldn't mind being down there right now), rather Redding, California. It was great to see Melanie's family and to spend time up there. I did not connect to the Internet once, and that was a nice vacation as well. Of course, now that we are back work is piled up, and it will take a couple of days to get my schedule in order, so blogging will be somewhat light. I have been working on some big projects, and that always gets me thinking, and that tends to bleed into the blog, so you might get a rant against excessive measures to protect Spotted Owls ("it's what's for dinner," reads a not-uncommon bumpersticker up North), you might get reflections on country music, you might get some long, boring reflections on watching salmon go up the fish ladder (you should see these monsters - four feet of muscular fish leaping clear out of the water to swim upstream against a raging current). Who knows?

Right now, however, it is late, and I have some hundred emails to sort through and to read, so you will have to settle for this note that basically says that I am still here and will be here more in the next few weeks.

I hope you all had a pleasant Thanksgiving!