It isn’t all black and white.
The above horrific video of Police Officer Michael Stager executing an unarmed man who had been stopped for a bad taillight has once again ignited Americans in a furor over the way the police treat the black population, apparently killing them at will and with impunity.
Only Rush Limbaugh would deny there is a problem with racial discrimination in American policing. I just don’t think it the only problem on display here.
Look at the video, all of it. Notice where Slager’s partner comes in. The partner is black–whatever his flaws, hatred of blacks is probably not one of them. Observe that the partner is utterly unconcerned when Slager trots back to where the original altercation took place, picks up the taser and drops it next to the victim. Planting evidence is so automatic that he just doesn’t care.
Remember the Rodney King video? The one where the 5 police were beating him with sticks? Notice that there were 16 California Highway Patrolmen standing there observing, and not one of them stepped forward to stop the felonious assault.
The thin blue line has little to do with race and everything to do with the corruption brought by unbridled power. Police today live totally above the law. Only the ubiquity of cell phones has been able to rein in a few of the rampant abuses of power.
When Johannes Mehserle executed Oscar Grant, the BART police attempted to confiscate the cell phones of the onlookers, but a few people got away to post their video and that’s the only reason justice prevailed. None of the other officers involved in the BART fiasco were disciplined in any way.
Remember Joseph Wambaugh’s series of books about police work, including The Choirboys, the Onion Field and The New Centurions? Wambaugh was a former police officer who wrote from experience; he made it clear that cops divide the word into cops and assholes. If you aren’t the former…………….
Police still live behind the Blue Wall of Silence–no cop will ever testify against another. Police unions have provided errant officers with tremendous protections. Police review boards almost always find office involved shooting justified.
This is a broken system. We have a set of laws for the citizens of this country, but it simply doesn’t apply to the police forces. Until that changes, all of us, not just black people, are in danger.
Shopping in the big leagues
Harry was in need of some ‘retail therapy’, so he took us to Lebreton Gallery, on Jackson Street in the City. It’s a cross between an art gallery and a furniture store. The place is so amazing I had to share a few items.
We like frogs. We have lots of them.
We entered the store wondering How Much is that Froggy in the Window? It was gorgeous, bronze and crystals. Gail wanted it. She didn’t want it $16,000 worth, though, so it’s still there if you just have to have it.
Everyone needs a coffee table. Here’s one that would fit Gail’s insect sculpture collection:
Welded brass, agate and amethyst butterfly
This is a beautiful piece, created in 1970 by, well, somebody, but “Attributed to” Jacques Duval-Brasseur. No, I don’t know who that is. I know that a work of art attributed to him is selling for $14,000. Imagine if they actually knew who made it.
The next item that grabbed my attention was a table lamp, Or a sculpture. Or decor. Hard to tell, a bit of everything, but a brilliant piece in any event.
Silvered bronze, iris-motif table from Maison Charles, circa 1950
I love this lamp, and could easily find a good place for it in the house. Brother, can you spare $6,500?
Every house needs a vase, someplace to show off a few flowers from the garden. Really big houses need big vases, I guess.
This is a tulipiere, designed in 1963. If you have an enormous entry way, and a huge table, and $24 grand to spare, you can show off your tulips and make your neighbors very very jealous.
Most of the wares in Lebreton are at least nominally furnishings. I saw a mans valet stand, for hanging your coat and holding your wallet and accessories, manufactured in 1950, very beautifully finished, which actually has a use but possibly not $8,500 worth. There was a beautiful patio table and white wire chairs with yellow upholstery, for a mere $38,000. Maybe it would fit on Donald Trump’s balcony.
Then there are some article of pure fine art, like this stone sculpture:
Femme Athlete, by Antoniucci Volti, circa 1947
A nice, relatively modern sculpture of French origin. $68,000. Fine art has no intrinsic value, it is worth what you can get someone to pay for it.
One more:
Adam. Janine Janet, 1968
This sculpture is one of a pair–Adam has an Eve. Made of plaster, they can’t go outside. The little cards the store places to describe each item call almost every thing “exceptional”, but these two pieces deserve the honorific. The price tag for the pair is $295,000.
Who can afford this store? Hereditary trustafarians? Internet bazillionaires? Columbian cocaine druglords? Beats me. Somebody is making a ton of money, that’s for sure.
Going to Lebreton Gallery was as much fun as going to the museum, and you get to touch the goods, too. Give it a try.
Disappointment of Epic proportions
Out with friends in the City, we ended up at Epic Roasthouse, on the Embarcadero and almost underneath the Bay Bridge. It’s a stunning facility, part of the Kuleto restaurant group. Beautifully designed, right on the water, with dining both indoors and out.
Harry, Mike, Gail, Bob and Ruth
We were 30 minutes late for our reservation because it took 45 minutes and a felony U-turn to traverse the 1.5 miles from our previous stop, but we had called and our table was waiting for us. Reservations are clearly needed: this was a Thursday night and the place was packed. Harry had requested a table with a great view, and that’s what we had.
A little later in the evening as the sun went down and the bridge lit up.
The Epic Roasthouse is a place for meat. The menu is heavy on beef, and very heavy on dollars–it may be the most expensive restaurant I’ve ever seen that wasn’t a castle of haute cuisine like the French Laundry or Benu.
These are staggering prices, and everything is a la carte. Spuds are another $10
At least I save money on wine. The iced tea is only $3.50.
Restaurants these days have to do things to distinguish themselves beyond just having good food. Style, atmosphere, sound design, table furnishings, all contribute to the overall aura of the place. One little touch here was the salt. That’s right–salt.
Three kinds of salt to perfect your meal.
A triple salt cellar is something new. We all ended up having a salt tasting, to see if we could discern the difference, if any. The pink Himalayan salt on the left supposedly had more “minerality”, whatever that means. None of us could taste it. The Italian sea salt, center, had the finest granules, and a sharp, biting salt taste. The black Hawaiian volcanic salt has a milder taste and a lovely crunch from the larger crystals–it was everyone’s favorite. There really was a noticeable difference among the three varieties.
I started with the asparagus salad. I got a very interesting and tasty plate, it just wasn’t what you think of as a salad.
Asparagus, poached egg and duck prosciutto.
Whatever it was, I liked it. The asparagus were very (perhaps too) crisp, the egg is always an interesting addition and the duck prosciutto was excellent.
Then I made a big mistake. I ordered fish in a steakhouse. These people know how to broil a slab of cow, they know nothing about what to do with halibut.
Halibut, with asparagus gazpacho. Not a winner.
This, sadly, was the single worst piece of fish I’ve had in ages. Mealy, mushy, tasteless and unseasoned, floating in an “asparagus gazpacho” that was not only flat and uninteresting, but impossible to eat with a fork and not served with a spoon, a serious failure of plating. There was nothing interesting or desirable about this dish, and I didn’t begin to finish it.
I was saved from starvation by Ruth, who had the best dish of the evening.
This is what they consider a small prime rib.
If there is one thing a steak house should be able to do well, it’s prime rib, and here, at least, Epic Roasthouse did not disappoint. This huge slab of succulent, aged beef was cooked to perfection, and Ruth generously shared it with me. As you can see, the plate contains absolutely nothing else–for $45 you get your meat, everything else is extra. (We actually ordered two side dishes for the table to share. Sauteed spinach and Spaetzle Gratin. Both were excellent.)
Gail had the braised short ribs, which were accompanied by a small portion of lobster. She was not thrilled with the meat, thinking it quite overdone and dry. To compensate, the lobster was underdone. Her meal was considerably sub-par, at least the universe is in balance.
Mike had the filet, which had the best presentation of the evening:
Look Ma!! Something else on the plate.
Time for dessert. You can’t ruin ice cream. I had the “make your own sundae” with vanilla, chocolate and Bailey’s ice cream and caramel sauce:
Good, if small, sundae
Plating and presentation are exceedingly important; how the food looks is almost as important as how it tastes. I thought this was a failure from that standpoint. The huge dish made the small portions seem even smaller, the color did nothing to showcase the dessert. My three scoops of ice cream were smaller than a single scoop at Baskin Robbins, and no tastier.
Lemon tart with huckleberries
Mike and Harry shared the tart and clearly enjoyed it. The plating was good, too.
Service was spotty. Some of it was excellent, some was quite poor. We sat with dirty dishes in front of us for almost 20 minutes before our plates were cleared. I recognize it can’t be easy serving everyone at a large round table, but it felt like they were just climbing over us to deliver the plates to Gail and Mike.
The bill for all of this was staggering, close to $100 per person and only 3 of us had wine. Plus $15 to ransom the car back from the valet.
I’m pretty clearly not a fan of the Epic Roasthouse, but here’s my advice if you insist on going: make a reservation, bring lots of cash, don’t order fish, get a view table, don’t be in hurry, order the lemon tart. Or just go to the House of Prime Rib, it’s a better choice.
Baby chicks are here!!
We have been bereft of chickens for almost a year, since the last one was escorted to chicken heaven by one of the dreaded local hawks. Today, that’s all changed.
My phone rang this morning with a call from the Lafayette Post Office (with the caller ID hidden. No transparency there). They told me the birds we had ordered online had arrived and I should hurry on down and get them, so I did.
I think she was a bit scared of the package.
When I told the post office lady about letting the chicks roam free, she asked if that meant we needed real grass, not AstroTurf. The PO only hires the best and the brightest.
That’s a big box for only 6 chicks, but these are big birds–6 weeks old instead of the usual one day old. They cost more but are vastly more likely to survive. We’ll keep them in a coop in the garage for a couple of weeks to imprint it as “home”, then let them wander the yard.
It looks like 4, but there are really 6 in here.
Good looking almost grown birds
There are apple slices in the box so the birds had something to eat. They come priority overnight mail, so they left New Hampshire just yesterday. It has taken me longer to get here on American Airlines.
The coop is outfitted with food and water for them, and a heat lamp. Babies need to be kept very warm; at this age they are mostly self-sufficient but a little extra warmth can’t hurt. I want them happy and healthy.
Already pecking and scratching.
I love having chickens in the yard–it’s one of Gail’s very best ideas. They spend their days circling around and around the house, looking for bugs and seeds and stopping at the door to our office to tap on the window and beg for a handful of corn. We’re going to try harder this time to get some eggs, too, since all of these birds are hens and they are a larger breed than we have had before (which we hope will be less appetizing to the hawks, too).
Oh boy! Baby chicks! Happiness abounds on Teigland Road.
Life is who you know
Dinner Monday at The Commissary, the new operation in the Presidio by noted restaurateur Traci des Jardine. We try new places anyway, but this is special because of the general manager–Tessa Vitale. She’s also Gail’s eldest granddaughter
The beautiful granddaughter Tessa with Gail and Susan
We were out with Susan, Kate and Joji, Susan’s nephew who is a chef at a small, hip Mexican restaurant near the Park.
Susan and Joji
The Commissary is in one of the old Presidio buildings, thoroughly modernized. The area is beautiful, with wide sweeping lawns and too little parking. Inside, incandescent lighting in fixtures salvaged from an old Army gym sets a mood while halogens actually light the room. The Douglas Fir tabletops are salvaged wood, the napkins are heavily starched kitchen towels. It wasn’t crowded on Monday night, so I don’t have much of an opinion about the noise level.
The wine glasses are quite interesting–short, flat, stemless glasses that add a distinct Iberian flair to the wine and have a much lower rate of breakage. The wine list itself is largely Spanish, and Gail recognized precisely nothing, so she had to trust the wisdom of the sommelier, but since that was Tessa there was no worry.
The unique wine glasses.
.
The menu is Spanish, starting out with some tapas, then appetizers/starters. I’m not sure there’s a real difference here, but it makes the chef happy. It didn’t much matter what we ordered because the house just kept bringing out food.
house cured roe, avocado and creme fraiche on grilled bread.
You could think of this as Spanish caviar. We all loved it, and I was particularly pleased to find the “grilled bread” was still warm and soft, not the hard, cold slabs of yesterday’s bread so often served. The roe had a distinct pop and a salty fishiness brilliantly offset by the crème fraiche.
pate de cerdo, pickled onion, whole grain mustard on grilled bread.
This was an excellent house made pork paté, firm and flavorful.
There are only 5 entrées on the menu, and we had 4 of them–nobody was interested in the NY steak. I had the vegetarian option, trinxat. (pronounced “trinchat”). It’s just a potato cake, served with a melangé of cabbage, green garlic and spring onions, with melted idiazabal cheese. It ordinarily comes with King Trumpet mushrooms on the side, but I switched them out for asparagus, as anyone would.
Trinxat
I think there’s a perception that the vegetarian option is for teenage girls and skinny, stringy-haired tree huggers and that’s very unfair. Sometimes it just looks like the most interesting thing on the menu, and I completely enjoyed this dish.
Kate tried the chicken. She ate it all (except the liver mousse, which the rest of us shared) and liked it. I don’t have a photo for some reason. Here’s an insider secret–Michael Bauer, the most influential restaurant reviewer in San Francisco, is reputedly a sucker for a great roast chicken, so restaurants concentrate on perfecting theirs to win a good review. The Commissary knows this, so the chicken dish is excellent. That’s a tip from Joji, and Tessa did not disagree.
Gail and Susan both had the jamon wrapped trout. Jamon is ham, and usually means a cured ham similar to Italian prosciutto. The trout was very pink, to the point it looked more like salmon. It’s very easy to overcook fish, but the kitchen here are experts and it was delightful. There was something in the chanterelles that Gail thought was too tart, but we couldn’t decide what.
Jamon wrapped trout
Joji had the roasted pork and found it acceptable but not remarkable.
Roasted pork, barley, cermoula, carrots and romesco
Cermoula is a North African marinade, and romesco is a Spanish nut and red pepper sauce, so the dish had lots of flavor, but the cut of meat was quite fatty. We were all fans of the Marcona almonds on the dish.
We also had the available side dishes of grilled asparagus and fried baby artichokes. Both were excellent, but the artichokes were spectacular and different–don’t miss them.
Courtesy of the house, we didn’t have to order dessert, as 4 of them magically appeared.
marscarpone cheesecake with roasted rhubarb
Here’s a dish I would probably not have ordered because of the rhubarb, and that would be wrong. The tangy cheesecake is set off well by the mild sweetness of the vegetable. Just another lesson in widening your horizons.
torrijas, strawberries and dulce la leche ice cream
Torrijas turns out to be French toast, served as dessert with dulce la leche (caramel) ice cream, strawberries and yet more of the lovely marcona almonds.
lemon ricotta fritters, coffee cream
The lemon ricotta fritters were Gail’s pick of the desserts–and she’s not much of a dessert eater. These fried puff balls of ricotta cheese were light and elegant, the coffee cream was an excellent counterpoint. This may be the perfect dessert for people who can imagine dessert without chocolate. I’m not one of those people.
double chocolate sea salt cookie and olive oil ice cream sandwich.
This is my style. A very dark chocolate cookie and a fascinating ice cream. I thought I was an expert in ice cream sandwiches, but this is just another level. I have no idea how to create olive oil ice cream, but it’s incredible. The cookie would be too dark and strong without the ice cream; the combination was perfect.
All in all, it was one hell of a good dinner. Of course, everyone in the kitchen knew that Tessa’s gran was in the house, so everything was double super perfect.
Speaking of the kitchen, I was looking for the men’s room and found this:
The Commissary exhibition kitchen.
There was an entire back room I hadn’t seen, and it includes the kitchen, which is designed to be seen. There are chairs around 2 sides, so you can sit at the counter and watch, which is exactly what Gail and I will do the next time we go.
The Commissary is a fun place to eat–the food is good and the atmosphere is warm and inviting. Tell Tessa I sent you.
50% More Evil
It’s not bad enough that I have the evil twins to contend with this week, but last night we went out with their fairy godmother, Margaret.
Gail, Margaret and Susan plotting the overthrow of the universe
Next month, Margaret’s grand-niece is getting married, and because there are no children available, Margaret and the brides great-grandmother have been enlisted to be the flower girls. I think that’s the sweetest idea I’ve ever heard. Margaret refuses to wear a short skirt, pink tights and Mary-Janes, however.
We had dinner at the Nantucket Restaurant, a cheap ultra casual place hidden on the Carquinez straits underneath the bridge. One of the things I like most about California is the quality of the food in the most modest of circumstances. Gail began with a shrimp cocktail, the old fashioned kind with tiny bay shrimp:
This hasn’t changed in 75 years. And it’s just as good.
I had a spinach salad with the thickest, creamiest, gloppiest sauce you can imagine, which is hardly haute cuisine but it sure tasted good. Gail and Susan both had the calamari steak:
Breaded and sauteed calamari steak with garlic sauce.
This restaurant may be owned by a group of cardiologists who want to increase their caseload. The calamari steak is often a commercial product, machine tenderized, battered and coated, but who cares, that just makes it consistent and easy to cut. The baked potato, drenched in butter and sour cream, is a throwback to the 1950’s, but the tender/crisp steamed vegetables (note the orange cauliflower above) were excellent and tres moderne.
Margaret and I each had the angel hair pasta with rock shrimp. There is more sauce here than I care for, but I survived. I’m no fan of spaghetti soup, I like the pasta to be flavored by the sauce, not drowned.
Angel Hair pasta with Rock Shrimp
You know it’s a large serving when I can’t finish my dinner, and that’s exactly what happened here. All four of us had leftovers. The food was all good, but the kitchen seemed awfully slow–the place was less than half full and still our dinners took considerably longer than they should have to get to the table.
Fortunately, we had lots to look at. Sitting under a bridge, Nantucket has an excellent, unusual view. And we were there at sunset, so I had some fun with the camera:
Panarama from the bay to the bridge.
Sunset over the Pacific I like the bright reflection from the life saver.
Carquinez Bridge from below
But the scenery wasn’t the only thing to watch. There was a couple sitting outside behind me, where Susan and Margaret could see them. They were apparently mostly making out, which seemed to disturb Susan.
Not quite so young lovers.
Susan, as you well know, is in charge of the universe. Or so she thinks. She went out to talk to them.
Inviting herself to sit down.
The world would be a better place if everyone would just listen to Susan and do things her way. At least that’s the way she tells it. I’m not sure her message got through, though.
He doesn’t look like he’s loving this conversation.
It isn’t likely that Susan achieved any lasting change in anyone’s behavior, but we certainly enjoyed the show.
We took Margaret home, and all had to go inside to meet Spanky, the “chorkie” (chihuahua/yorkie mix) who keeps her company. Her old wiener dog Louie died after 16 loving years, the last two tended by Spanky. He barks and cries when she leaves, so Margaret engages one of the women in her complex to dog sit when she goes out.
Making friends.
And there you have a pretty perfect evening. Good food, great views, some social engineering and a puppy. What more is there?
The Best Bread Pudding in New Orleans Winner
After a vast amount of high calorie research and hours of careful digestion deliberation, I have a winner. Truthfully, I have two winners.
White chocolate bread pudding.
The white chocolate bread pudding at the Palace Cafe was the by far the most moist, delicious, delectable, all around wonderful slice of heaven I had all week. The little bit out of the corner above was the result of Sally Woolsey snitching a taste before I could take a photo, which was wise because I just about inhaled the rest of it.
The sauce was rich, sweet and buttery, but it didn’t have whiskey in it. That leads us to the the co-winner:
Courtyard bread pudding with whiskey sauce.
The Courtyard Bread Pudding from the Court of Two Sisters is a very creditable effort, but the sauce is clearly out of this world. Close your eyes and imagine what the perfect bourbon sauce would taste like, and that’s what gets served every day at this bread pudding heaven.
In some magical dream world you can order the bread pudding from the Palace Cafe with the sauce from the Court of Two Sisters. Right after your meal of unicorn chops and rainbow chips, I expect. And the dessert would be the best part of that meal..
Courting fine food
Our last night in New Orleans, we had dinner at one of the great, old-time NOLA restaurants, the Court of Two Sisters.
Gail, Micky, Linda, Danny and another Linda
The Court of Two Sisters has been around for ages. The building dates from 1832, it has been a restaurant of some sort since the 1920’s, in it’s present incarnation for about 50 years. The “two sisters” Bertha and Emma Camors, were born in 1858 and 1860, and operated a notions shop in the space until the 1920’s. They died two months apart in 1944.
The Court is an actual courtyard, outdoors in the sultry New Orleans evening. The tiny amount of rain that fell on us that evening was refreshing, not irksome. We were with good friends on a beautiful evening, after a day spent sightseeing and looking forward to a night of kibitzing and kicking back.
The menu had your basic Southern favorites, except for crawfish etoufee. In fact, I didn’t see a plate of etoufee all week long. Is there a season? Has it gone out of favor? I was looking forward to it for months, then was completely disappointed.
Gail had the corn fried catfish:
Corn Fried Louisiana Catfish – Served with jumbo lump crabmeat Napa slaw and green onion & cayenne tartar sauce
The catfish was crispy and delicate, the crab meat was meatier than we expect on the west coast, the slaw was crisp and tart, not creamy–just the way she likes it.”Scrumdy–dow” is not a scientific description, but that’s what Gail said it was.
I had a pasta dish with shrimp and crawfish. Not fancy or creative, but it made excellent use of the local seafood.
Everybody else had the Veal Oscar–a cutlet served on mashed potatoes and topped with local crabmeat. It comes with “tasso hollandaise”, which both Lindas and Mike had served on the side, then they completely abjured it. I tasted the sauce, which is hollandaise flavored with tasso (a cured, hot-smoked port shoulder, highly seasoned and a staple of New Orleans cuisine). I didn’t like it–no lemony tang of hollandaise, too much dark, salty tasso. I think they were wise to avoid it.
Not that you care, you’re only here to read about the bread pudding. It’s great. Heavy, sweet pudding with a caramelized top, drenched in the best whisky sauce in town. It ought to be–they put the recipe for the sauce on their website, and it starts with:
1 ¼ lbs. butter
1 lb. sugar
9 egg yolks
½ cup half and half
I realize that’s an industrial size recipe, but it’s still rich enough to block you arteries at 500 paces. Add some quality boubon and you’ve got a sauce to write poetry about.
The Court of Two Sisters is a New Orleans landmark you really shouldn’t miss. They serve a famous brunch as well as dinner, but have the bread pudding in any event.
Be Afraid.
The Evil Twins plotting world domination
Susan is in town for a week. Lock up your valuables, hide your liquor, keep children and small pets inside. Mischief is afoot, nobody is safe.
Totally Unauthorized 