Tomatoes - The Darling Children of my summer Crop

Summer Produce and the ongoing abundance of Tomatoes
Well, I’ve gone over this before. I have a lot of tomatoes and at some point I will be cooking them into pasta sauce. Until then? Well, they are perfectly ripe and incredibly tasty so they are factoring into just about every meal. Here is how it works:
Breakfast? Toasted bagels with cream cheese or humus served with thick slices of deep purple or red tomatoes. Yesterday morning I got up and began the morning ritual of wandering around the potted tomato plants. It seems every day now there are more and more ripe ones. For a while it seemed there were nothing but green tomatoes out there and this was cause for concern. Disease, bugs or lack of direct sunlight? (I am told it is bad form to cut your neighbors oak trees down to better facilitate your farming needs.) But? Today, like yesterday I see new tomatoes coming up with color. The purple cherry tomatoes look amazing today. Yesterday the cluster in question was mostly green with only a hint of purple. Today some of the Japanese Trifiele are also getting softer to the touch and ripening with more color. The striped green ones, the “Green Sausage” tomatoes are still a bit firm. I’ve been checking on them daily now to ensure I don’t miss the perfect window of ripeness. Green heirloom tomatoes are, at least for me, a bit perplexing. They do not change color. Green, yet perfectly ripe. A quandary. I study them and continue hoping to be given a sign. Today? We’ll see.
So, yes. Sliced tomatoes with the breakfast bagels. Last night at a BBQ up on the ridge top I tossed a mixed salad of tiny motzerrela balls, a double fistful of mixed basil and six or seven kinds of tomatoes. Large and small… all of them into the mix. It was a mini-caprese salad and it worked out well.
Sliced on a hamburger? Lovely. Can you eat them three meals a day? Well, sure. For a while and then you begin to realize that you can’t eat them all. No need to panic here. Give them to your neighbors. This act of goodwill could earn you points which you might later redeem for transgressions such as loud late night parties with death metal blaring from your sound system. They do taste better than any that you can buy at the store. Yes, I am a proud parent of my tomatoes and am happy to report that the house heirloom tomatoes here in The Santa Cruz Mountains are most certainly on the honor roll. They are better by virtue of their rollicking diversity and their attention to detail. These are some precocious tomatoes. If they had arms they would play the violin. They would be fluent in Cantonese and Dutch. These tomatoes are exceptional. Really.
So, keep eating them. Give them away and, any chance you get be sure to brag about them. Tomatoes are incredibly fun. They are a lifestyle and not just some wacky hobby.

Hayes Street Grill - S.F.

Hayes Street Grill
I’ve always loved this place and try to go there whenever possible.. Simple perfection on most days. It is in Hayes Valley, an area of San Francisco I have never really loved. Too close to the projects and yet still filled with crazy high end boutiques. It would be like Hunters Point with Tiffanys and a Gucci shop. It just seems strange. An ex-girlfriend of mine had her windows smashed twice in a month when I lived in the Lower Haight, spitting distance from those same mean spirited housing projects that are close by here… Ah, well. Regardless there are many fine places in Hayes Valley these days and the waiter at the Hayes Street Grill told me that the grill had been in it’s present location for over thirty years.
So, yes. Exceptional food and clearly catering to the theater and opera crowd based on the framed photos on the walls and the mention in the menu of ordering and timeframes for the opera. Typically I get grilled fish when I am here, but just for fun I had a look at the menu prior to coming over today. Soft shell crabs? Served both in a modified BLT, “Chesapeake Bay Soft Shell Crab BLT with Hobbs Bacon, Bill's Tomatoes, Cole Slaw.” Also available “Chesapeake Bay Soft Shell Crabs Meuniere, Watercress, French Fries.” Soft shell crab is a seasonal delight that should never, under any circumstance be missed. No. Never. A pity they are not as local as our Dungeness crab, but they are so incredible that, similar to sand dabs, when they are in season you must get them. They are always that good.
So, I ordered the Soft Shell Crabs Neuniere. The place was fairly crowded and yet, magically, Hideko and my dishes were served up quickly. She got the Yellow Tail. (billed on the menu as “wild hamachi.” No complaints from either of us. The food was absolutely perfect. Pan fried soft shell crab in a bed of water cress and a side of their signature French fries? Ah, very nice. I asked the waiter about options beyond ketsup for the fries. He suggested a peanut dipping sauce. Clearly house made and with only a nod and a hint to it’s Thai roots this sauce was dark brown and amazingly rich. A glass of the Honig Sauvenan Blac the perfect crisp accompaniment to the meal.
Issues? Ah, yes. The service was excellent. The food was excellent. Somehow I managed to through a wild card to the hostess by asking her to get me change for a bill. I had paid in cash, but was still shy of the requisite tip. Paid cash for the bill and then had a bill changed. Seemed pretty simple to me. After saying goodbye to the waiter and chatting with the hostess who graciously made change for me I parted ways with Hideko. From there I walked a block down the street looking at shiny pretty things in the windows of the shops still savoring the incredible soft shell crabs… “Sir, excuse me sir.” I am seldom approached by strangers in the street calling me “Sir!” I looked to find the charming hostess who, apparently confused, wanted to know if I had, in fact, paid my bill. Did she think…? What? Well, yes. I had indeed paid my bill. I also tipped the waiter with the bills that she had provided. Confused? Not me. I explained. She retreated back down the road. How odd. Is cash such an unusual manner of settling a bill that it can totally unhinge the hostess at the Hayes Street Grill? I think that is clearly the case. Did the waiter not get his tip? Did he pocket the entire amount I had paid? Or perhaps a better question: Did she apologize after realizing it was her error? No, she didn’t.
So? The food was good. The service was great. I have a lot of choices when eating lunch in S.F. and this kind of mistake is inexcusable. Yep. Get it together people.

Grow Fresh Basil!

It is summer and basil is so easy to grow that you should be embarrassed if you don't have some of it in a tidy pot growing close to your kitchen. Thai basil, sweet basil and Italian Basil. You can grow all of them in the same pot and you'll find all of htem are delightful additions to many meals. Do not be shy. Grow as much basil as you possibly can and if you have a bumper crop then start giving basil to your neighbors. This can be seen as a good will mission and will make your neighbors hate you less when you have loud parties that end with squad cars surrounding the property and/or any kind of hostage situation that might occur as a poker night at your place gets a bit out of control. Really. People love basil. Buying basil in the local supermarket is a chump move. Don't do this. It shows the shopkeeper that you are both lazy and a sucker. Keep that extra $4 and spend it on cheap red wine. You will be happy you did this as cheap red wine is a lovely accompaniment to Italian dinners and that fresh basil will more than make up for the fact that you no longer drop $100 per bottle for a decent Brunello. Make Thai soup. Tom Yam Gai is a good one. Garnish with fresh Thai Basil. Make Vietnamese Pho. Again garnish with fresh Thai Basil. The Italian varieties can be used for caprese salad. Fresh mozzerella, olive oil, balsamic vinegar and a fat leaf of sweet basil. Life is good. You do not need to go further here. Nope. So, grow basil in the summer and you will be delighted. Yep. Get some seeds and get started. It's not too late. Really.

Snacking on Wild Blackberry's in The Santa Cruz Mountains

Snacking on Blackberry’s in The Santa Cruz Mountains

It’s summer and the tomato crop is now delivering my favorite heirloom tomato, the ‘Pink Belize.’ Firm and pink they taste amazing and are one of the many heirlooms we are growing that you will likely never see in a farmers market. Well, perhaps you have them at your local market, but I have never seen them in all my years of snapping up high priced heirloom tomatoes while living in Bernal Heights. Nope. Never. Now, we get up and wander around the pots filled with tomatoes and pick a solid cluster of summer goods. Purple cherry tomatoes, white cherry tomatoes and the ‘Pink Belize’ seem to be the order of the day today. Birds are chirping and we are walking around finding colorful treasure hidden in the deep green tomato vines. We’ll be eating these for lunch with some balsamic vinegar and olive oil later today. Why am I yammering on about tomatoes when this piece is supposedly about blackberry’s? Well, it is summer and summer in the mountains is all about summer crops. Summer is also about one of the best free crops around. Blackberry bushes are pretty much everywhere. Kind of like poison oak only far more desirable for snacking purposes.
So, we like to walk the dog up a country road not far from the house. It’s a wide and relatively flat road that has country living all over it. There are places with goats and even one yard that’s has a resident cow. There are towering redwoods above and some very, very thick brambles from the blackberry bushes. All winter long we walked past these bushes in the hammering rains, thinking the multitudes of treats that would be available at some distant point in the summer. “Ah, some day…” That time is now.! Walking up the road now there are always sightings of opportunistic blackberry gathering locals. You might see one tucked into a patch of thorny goodness focused on the job at hand. Carefully selecting only the very best and most ripe blackberries. It seems these are sacred moments and semi-private matters, not a good time to shout out and/or bellow a cheery “Good morning!” We respect their privacy and wander further on the road until we find a particularly enticing region of bushes and then dive in…
I look into the bushes and begin the ritual and selection. The smaller ones seem to be the ripest. Perfect. Not a hint of green left on these delicate summer morsels. Nope. Perfect flavor. The bigger ones look good, but they have a bit of a sour tang that seems not quite right to me. I offer a few of the better ones to Dianthe. She is in heaven. There is something perfectly wonderful about growing your own tomatoes. No doubt about it. There is something straight up magical about gathering wild blackberry’s that are happily grown without any assistance… Which of course reminds me that King Boletus and Chanterelle mushrooms season is coming up and there will be more magical treats to be found on our hikes in the forest.

The Cupboard is bare? Don't Panic. Get creative!

Your Cupboard is bare? A pity, but no reason for panic.
Back in the day I would walk to the butcher for pretty much each and every meal I prepared at home. Living in Bernal Heights was culinary nirvana. When Avedano’s opened my life became effortless. I am not joking. They have the very best of everything. The local grocery store, The Good Life, did a damn fine job of providing nearly everything a new age shopper could desire and all the bacon I could ever need for a Sunday brunch. But the fish was never all that fresh and the steaks were absolutely lacking. (stay tuned for a gushing review of Avedano’s at a future date.)
I live in the mountains with raccoons and wicked squirrels that steal apples off my tree. I can certainly get to one of two grocery stores. Johnny’s is lowbrow Safeway of sorts. The New Leaf is your basic hippie food store that has a solid array of all the basics. If you need hot dogs, BBQ ribs and Captain Crunch you hit up Johnny’s. For tofu, soymilk and weird hemp seed cereal you go to the New Leaf. Needless to say I shop at both with maniacal frequency.
Still, I am a broken shopper. I do not stock up. What can I tell you, my shopping habits were hard wired in Tokyo where people typically pick up what they need for dinner on the way home from the office. Fresh foods in small portions. Less is more. You can only imagine how amazed and repulsed I was the first time I went to a Cost-Co. Baffled and bemused I walked out of there with twenty pounds of beef jerky, a thousand Advil and enough paper towels to mop up the Pacific. I like boutique shopping, I do not like malls. So, are we getting clear on the psychology behind the daily shopper? No? Well, work with me here. Empathy. Yes, if you were me you would shop this way too and you would be fine with it. Regardless, this continual shopping and a definite lack of hoarding has some very obvious flaws. For starters there is that issue of, oh well, sometimes the store is closed. In Tokyo this was never a problem as things are typically available in convenience stores 24/7. No, you can’t get into the basement food stalls in Mitsukoshi Department stores before ten a.m., but there is always 7-11 and, well, they have everything from socks to 'manga' and freshly packaged 'bento' box lunches to gurgling pots filled with ‘o-den’ (a Japanese stew sold primarily in the winter)
What do I do when there is nothing to eat? Best bet is to get creative and to toss caution to the wind. Basics, like eggs? I never run out of these. Dinner time and nothing to eat? Have breakfast! Simple and easy. A simple omelet is a wonderful survival meal. In a pinch you can always dine, if not in style, at least on a fluffy egg treat. Any cheese in the house? You will most certainly need this. Any lunch meat? I am not joking here. I think salami might be a breach of dining ethics, but you can certainly shred some of that lunch meat, honey glazed turkey and toss it into your omelet. Because the dish requires that you fold one side over on top of the other you’ll be hiding many potentially unsightly ingredients. If you are having a dinner date they may not even notice that you put the sandwich meat slices into the mix. I generally have fresh garden herbs on hand at all times. These put a nice touch on a survival dinner. They add the gourmet flare to your meal of empty cupboard desperation.
A glass of wine? An excellent accompaniment to the 'breakfast for dinner' plan. For that matter an excellent choice for day old pizza or even that wretched last resort, the canned soup you found in the nether regions of the cupboard behind the canned pinto beans. Top Ramen? I don’t typically keep this in the house, but if I did? Rest assured it would taste better with an exceptional pinot noir from the Willamette Valley in Oregon…
Dessert? A fine place to dig deep. You must have sugar in the house. Use this to make dessert. In a pinch? Cinnamon and toast would work. Chocolate of any kind helps keep the blues away. Baking chocolate is fine but you will need to add the aforementioned sugar. If you have the ingredients for a chocolate souffle that would be splendid. You might need fresh cream for a topping though... Tapioca is a great one, but you will generally need to wait for it to chill and set. Patience will be rewarded here if you are indeed trying to impress a date. A light dusting of freshly grated nutmeg can also reap rewards on the style charts.
Generally this is not a terrible problem because, well, I like to shop on a daily basis. It’s not like I am holed up here in the woods with nothing but crackers and bakers chocolate to eat for months at a time. Survival training for the Marines involves dining on grasshoppers and worms. I am happy to report that survival in my world as a daily shopper will avoid crickets on the menu and keep the palate at a reasonable state of joy until that damn store opens in the morning…

Chopstix, Felton - The Santa Cruz Mountains

Chopstix, Felton – The Santa Cruz Mountains

Some time back Dianthe and I were riding our bicycles along the tight and winding Highway 9 in the redwoods. There are number of towns between Saratoga and Santa Cruz. There is a significant lack of decent places to eat around here. OK, I know I have been sniveling about this for quite some time now. So, when I find a good meal I am 100% going to mention it and give props where they are do. Such is clearly the case with the unfortunately named Chopstix. Upon seeing this place we both began to laugh. Let’s just start with the clear and obvious fact that they have misspelled the word. Yes, perhaps they did it in a ‘clever’ way and really know, deep down, that this is not how the word is spelled. Sure. My guess is that they place was opened in 1910 by a Swedish couple new to the San Lorenzo Valley. Since then the place has clearly changed hands a few times and now the people running the place offer Pho, which last I checked is a Vietnamese dish and not Chinese as their menu suggests.
Sure, so the place has a silly name. Still, options in Felton? Fast-food burgers, pizza (actually quite tasty. I’ll get to this at some point soon) & of course Don Quixote’s for Mexican. So, not many places to eat around here and after leaving the holy lands of Chinese food options in and around San Francisco where you can take dim sum tastings as varied as the wines of Napa and Sonoma County. So, here we have Chopstix. OK. We are game.
Inside we find tables and take a look at the menu. Pho is pretty clearly being touted as the meal of choice at Chopstix and I have not had a bowl in quite some time. I order mine with raw beef and get some steamed shrimp dumplings off the appetizer list for us to share.
The Pho is steaming hot and flawless. The rare beef is indeed rare. This leads me to wonder if the Swedes (who couldn’t spell chopsticks) had moved back to Stockholm and sold the place to some Vietnamese couple. I am pretty sure this is the case and do not bother the waitress with any bizarre questions about why the place is spelled “Chopstix.” Instead I finish off every bit of my Pho and get the check.
If you are in Felton you should eat at Chopstix. Get the Pho. It is prepared with love and affection.

You will not be disappointed.

Breakfast at Spanky's in Ben Lomond

Breakfast in Ben Lomond, Santa Cruz Mountains

So, when you wake up in the summer with a wicked cold what do you do? Well, for starters the last thing on earth I do want is to get into my kitchen and make any kind of mess. It’s 9am here and already 85 degrees out. Summer in the Santa Cruz Mountains generally means that it’s going to be hot. Which, for those who really wonder, is exactly why I moved out of San Francisco. Yep. I got really tired of the summer months meaning foggy cold days and wind. Nope. A couple of failures with tomatoes in my backyard was another reason, but suffice to say lousy weather is a damn fine reason to move.

So, here I am on another piping hot summer day and I have a cold and don’t want to cook. Let me start by saying my options around here are limited. Very limited. We tried to go to the Mountain Home for breakfast because people had told up that they have a “great” breakfast. Of course some of these same people once told me that Scopazzi’s was good and that place most definitely is not. So, Dianthe and I decided we’d give it the college try. What the hell? Hop in the car and roll into downtown Boulder Creek. The sun is shining and the birds are singing. And? I have a cold. Not your usual run of the mill sniffles, but the sinus infection and sore throat that kept me up for the bulk of the night. A bad cold and a foul attitude. Why is there no place to get bagels in this town? Grrr…

We park. We walk up on this fine Wednesday morning to find: “Closed. Closed on Tuesdays and Wednesday’s.” Well of course. That makes perfect sense. Oh, this kills me. Next option? Get out of town and go to Ben Lomand where they have a somewhat normal breakfast place that, as I recall, sells perfectly straight up and serviceable breakfast and has lunch options. “Eggs and bacon. Burger and fries.” I can live with that. There really are not enough places to eat in this town. Granted we are not in the East Village. I know, I know, I know. Yet still. There are people here. Would not the fine people of the San Lorenzo Valley enjoy a Thai dinner or a steaming hot bowl of Japanese Ramen for lunch? Perhaps not. Curry from Northern India or Cambodia would also make my heart sing… OK. I get it. We are in the mountains now and in the world where pizza, burgers and Chinese are about as exotic as it gets. I know, I know. But still… OK. Enough already. A decent breakfast is a decent breakfast and at this point I’ve already had a perfect French press coffee pot of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee and thus, my gourmet fix.

We pop into Spanky’s. The place was lovingly named after the TV character Spanky from The Little Rascals. The walls are adorned with pictures from the comedic television show, which reminds me, fleetingly, of my childhood. The place is classic diner style with a hard working kitchen in the back. The waitress is blond, thin, cute and efficient. Friendly not chatty. She takes our order and quickly clears up any confusion I may have had on the true nature of their version of cottage fries. (They are just like any other version of breakfast potatoes and not to be confused with hash brown potatoes. [Which in a diner setting I prefer] So, I order eggs, toast and bacon. Dinathe does the same. We are creatures of habit and generally like to go with a known win. No sense getting crazy and trying the pancakes. [Note: there are very few places that make decent pancakes in America. Shocking, yes, I know. ] We also get coffee. Dinathe does not like her coffee. She tells me it is “not very good.” Again. Expectations. Here and in all diners I walk in that door knowing with total assurance that I am going to have some average to poor coffee. I like my coffee strong. I drink my coffee black. Because it tastes more like coffee. Because you can effortlessly detect each subtle nuance of flavor. Cream and sugar are a blanket of warm fuzzy that hides those incredible notes of tobacco and leather or that hint of blueberry and the scent sunlight as it warms a summer field. So, not sugar and no cream for me. Except? Expect when I am in a diner. The coffee is not freshly ground. The coffee was not, by any stretch of the imagination, freshly roasted. The coffee was a bulk purchase. The coffee is a high margin money maker that some accounting minded person deemed another place to increase profit margin while shopping at Cost-Co. So, I sure as hell use some cream when having cups of coffee at a diner. The coffee is also seldom strong. Meaning? You had damn good and well better drink a lot of it or your heart might stop beating from a clear and evident lack of caffeine.
OK, enough ranting and raving about my coffee snob nature. The food is delivered in a fast and efficient manner. We are asked “if there is anything else..” There is nothing else. We tuck into our hot platters of exceptional diner food and I feel that all is good in the world. A simple and perfect meal. There is no need to snivel about the coffee. There is no need to bemoan the bad economy, my chronic neck and back pain or the most recent 24 hours of absolute hell suffering from a cold that would most certainly kill a less able man. No. Now, everything is perfect and I am putting grape jelly on sourdough toast that looks like it was spread with some kind of liquid butter. [the color of the butter is frightfully yellow and the spread itself far too uniform to have been lovingly taken from a slab of salt free Gilt Edge butter.] Yet still, grape jelly (not jam) comes from those tiny white rectangular packets with the peel off top. Generally you’ll find strawberry, orange marmalade and the grape jelly. I like the grape best as it seems almost entirely synthetic in taste and structure. The strawberry often has a near jam like consistency and the orange periodically has a hint or a notion of it’s actual roots with a zest or bit of rind. When in Rome? As synthetic as possible. Yep. So, I slather this bright purple jelly on my toast and enjoy piping hot eggs over easy (two of them) and crisp, perfectly done bacon. (four rather generous slices) and that perfectly devious sourdough toast with grape jelly. Dianthe also enjoys her meal with true, heart-felt enthusiasm.
Soon we ask for our check and wander back out into the increasingly hot summer day in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Another cup of coffee from the French Press would sure me nice….