How to offend customers
There is a sparkling red wine from Italy called Birbet, and BJ loves it. We were going over to her house for dinner, and wanted to bring her a bottle. You can’t get this stuff at the grocery store or BevMo, it’s relatively rare. I thought I’d try Prima Vini, the wine store attached to the restaurant Prima in Walnut Creek.
This was last Friday, the day after New Year. I tried calling the store, and got the answering machine. Lots of options to leave messages for the owner, the sommeilier, the marketing person with the WordTree Amazon Keyword Tool, the restaurant, anyone you could imagine except the wine shop. I called again. And again. Never could get through to a person. I left a message for the owner, asking if they carried Birbet.
Then, still not having an answer, I drove to the store in downtown Walnut Creek. Miraculously found a parking space, fed the meter. Walked up to the door and found a handwritten notice that they were closed January 1 and 2. I can’t imagine the logic of this, but that’s life.
Monday, I tried again. Called the store, got the answering machine. Same multiplicity of options, none of which included talking to anyone who actually sells wine. Being stubborn, I once again drove to the store, Parked. Fed meter. Walked to store. Found this:
Another professionally made sign.
Reaching a new level of high dudgeon, I went into the restaurant and tried discussing the situation with the hostess. She rapidly assessed the situation and went to find a manager, who was not surprisingly missing in action. Or hiding under the sink.
Remember the message I left the owner on Friday? I haven’t gotten any response. He can’t be bothered to call me back to tell me if they have the wine or not.
If for some reason you want to close your store unexpectedly, it might be wise to at least mention that fact on your phone message, showing some consideration for your customers. Having a phone system that lets people talk to the store would be useful. For instance, getresponse tool that sends out messages to the customers instantly. You can read the latest getresponse review at sprout24.com if this tool interest you. Returning your phone messages is basic good manners. Hiring managers who can take the heat and talk to upset customers rather than hiding out in the kitchen is what owners are supposed to do. Prima Vini falls down on all of these.
I still like P as a place to eat dinner. Hell will be freezing over before I set foot in the wine store again. Is it really so hard to show a bit of consideration for the customers the so desperately desire?
Kitchen Door
The very open and airy interior of the Kitchen Door, featuring a long communal table down the middle.
Dinner last night with Mike and Gretchen at the Kitchen Door, inside the Oxbow Market in Napa. Everything in the Oxbow is upscale, gourmet, modern and super-duper chi-chi, and the Kitchen Door fits in perfectly.
A very hip restaurant with “door” in the name and a decidedly Asian flair makes me think of the Slanted Door in San Francisco, but there doesn’t seem to be any connection.
The menu is wildly eclectic, ranging from burgers to wings to Singapore Noodles, Pad Thai and whole grilled fish. If you can’t find something to like here, you may have an eating disorder.
I started with the Spicy Cream of Tomato Soup, which wasn’t exceptionally spicy thank heavens.
(Not very) Spicy Cream of Tomato Soup
The soup was thick without being overly rich, more like a heavy foam. The croutons had just the right amount of crunch and the basil added a fresh garden zing. A very good starter.
The one wing I managed to snag amid the flying forks at the table.
Chicken wings are a standard item these days, but they are very different here. No tomato sauce, not insanely hot so guys can show off their macho tastebuds, these are teriyaki glazed and napped with a spicy mayo. Probably not manly enough for watching football, they are better suited to wine drinkers. The way it should be in Napa.
Whole grilled Branzino, just in from the Mediterranean
Mike opted for the Branzino, a whole fish grilled and served with a fresh salsa. Mike proceeded to give us all a lesson on fish farming, and how the Branzino is one of only 3 salt water fish that can be farmed and how all of them come from large operations in the Mediterranean. Then he ate every little bit of his dinner–they really know how to cook a fish here.
Armenian Pizza-spiced ground lamb, harissa yogurt, fresh lettuce
Vaulting from the largely Asian influence on the menu, Gail had the Armenian Pizza. She claims it is research for Fat slice, I think she just likes pizza. This one had ground spiced lamb, harissa yogurt, mozzarella, provolone, tomato sauce and fresh romaine. She ate the middle, I ate the crusts. Jack Spratt and the missus at work, I guess. There were no leftovers.
Timmy’s Singapore Noodles. They don’t say who Timmy is.
I had to try something new, so opted for Timmy’s Singapore noodles. This turns out to be shrimp on top of dry noodles with madras curry, bean sprouts and char siu pork (which is like bacon but not as tasty. Definitely the least good part of the meal.) Eating noodles without a sauce is a new experience and takes a little getting used to. I can’t say I’m crazy about it, but I’d try it again. The curry was mild, not at all the overpowering yellow turmeric based curry one is accustomed to. Experimenting with new foods is always a gamble, but this was mostly a winner.
Now for something odd.
Regular and sweet potato fries.
Kitchen Door has absolutely smashing fries. They are not on the menu. We were lucky to be there with a local who knows the place and ordered both. Not telling your customers about something you do this well is insane, but I’m not in charge. Regardless of what you want for dinner, order at least one side of fries.
Prices are reasonable, service is casual and medium fast. It’s in Napa, so the wine list has to be good or the place would fold in a week. You can eat dessert there or walk out into the market and try some gelato or a gourmet cupcake. We had the gelato then cruised home. Another good dinner with Mike and Gretchen,.
Wild
Reese Witherspoon stars in Wild
Sometimes a movie is better than the book. Sometimes it isn’t. I never read Wild, but I should have.
Not that I didn’t like this movie. It’s just that a lot of things happen and there is a ton of backstory and I don’t think it’s possible to get it all into 1 hour and 59 minutes. Leaving the theater I was full of questions that should have been answered.
Wild is the true story of Cheryl Strayed, who had descended into a maelstrom of trouble following the early death to cancer of her mother. Drugs, sex and rock and roll alleviated the pain for a few years, and destroyed her marriage. Before it’s too late, it’s best to take therapies to avoid mental health and addictions. You can read the ibogaine treatment reviews here at experienceibogaine.com to learn about ibogaine. Determined to get on the right track, she decided to walk the Pacific Crest Trail from the Mojave Desert to the California border. This would have been a better idea if she had any experience as a hiker.
Cheryl begins the trek with an absurdly large pack of all brand new equipment she doesn’t know how to use, in too-small boots she has never worn before. Her first day she manages 5 miles, and then finds out that she hasn’t the proper gas for her stove and can’t cook anything.
Parts of this story are like little set pieces, taken from the writers book of tricks and plugged in to fill a few minutes of screen time. She finds a man working and begs him for a ride to where she can get fuel for her stove. He offers to take her to his house for a meal and shower, seeming like a predatory creep. Of course, he has a loving, friendly, obese wife at home and all is well. Later on she meets a couple of hunters right out of Deliverance, hideous redneck stereotype and all. She gets frightened, but nothing bad happens, just some cheesy scriptwriting.
As the hike continues, Cheryl gains skills and confidence. She meets people who help her, but no relationships form–this is a solo journey in spirit as well as body. Skipping the snow covered tops of the Sierra in a year of heavy snow (something we used to have. This movie is set in 1995) she decides to walk all the way to the Bridge of the Gods, over the Columbia river between Oregon and Washington.
The movie jumps back and forth between the journey and the previous life that got her there. Laura Dern does a marvelous job as Cheryl’s mother, loving her children and dying too young. The scenes are excellent, but there is little flow or pattern, just rapid jumping around and little explanation, Why is the little girl running in the store? What is happening with the horse? I still don’t know.
Stubborn, driven, forceful, forging a new life for herself from the ground up, Cheryl Strayed completes her arduous journey. She doesn’t appear to have lost a single pound in the process, but Reese Witherspoon was awfully good looking to start with.
And then she stays in Washington, gets married, has kids and lives happily ever after, The End.
I liked Wild. The acting is excellent, as Witherspoon digs deeply into the role and is able to show considerable depth. Laura Dern was marvelous, as was Thomas Sadolski as the ex-husband who still cares for and supports her in her quest. The book was a best seller Gail greatly enjoyed, but the translation to screen leaves some to be desired. I expect you will enjoy the movie, but better if you read the book first.
How to get through anything
My kid brother, David T. Pisarra, Esq, is not only a family practice attorney, but is the host of the Men’s Family Law podcast. His catchphrase is “A cheeseburger and a chocolate shake will get you through just about anything.” That’s what I think about when we go to our new local burger joint, Mona’s Burgers. (Not a bad way to plug the kid, doncha think?)
For the last twenty years, the corner spot of our local strip mall was held by Chopin Cafe, a tiny Polish restaurant that served a good Sunday breakfast but too many mushroom dishes for dinner. When the place finally closed, it was replaced by Mona’s Burgers,
Mona’s is a decidedly upscale joint. you can have your burger with Angus beef, salmon, chicken, turkey or tofu. The salmon, though, is farmed so Gail says I can’t order it.
I order the Cali-burger, which comes with avocado and sprouts. The buns are seeded and large without being doughy. Cheap joints like The Habit or 1/4 Giant Burger will only cook their meat well done–a good reason to skip them. They know how bad their meat is. Mona’s doesn’t have that problem–they cook to order, and they know what medium rare means.
We go there frequently not just for the great burgers, but the great fries. Gail is a serious aficionado of the fry, and only approves of them thin and extra crispy. The fries at Mona’s always measure up to her unrelenting standards.
Portions are huge–this is a small fries, which would do for 4 people. You don’t want to think about the large order unless you have your kids entire baseball team with you.
Fries good enough to suit Gail
A good burger can only be properly washed down with either a beer or a shake. Mona’s has a variety of good beers on tap, but that’s not my style. I go for the shake, and this place rises to the occasion. Not satisfied with a simple chocolate shake, I order mine made with Nutella.
Love the shake, hate the glass.
I am not a fan of putting things in Mason jars, unless you are serving home made jelly. It’s hard enough to get all the sweet gooey goodness out of a straight sided glass, you don’t need to add the neck and ridges for some meaningless “homey” touch.
When the worst thing I can find in a restaurant is the shape of the glass, you know I like it. Mona’s is a burger joint, not a white tablecloth boite or bistro. Service is swift and friendly. Enjoy your food and let the next group get the table, this is not the place to linger. The crowds at the door waiting for you to get ups are the best sign that Mona’s is a winner.
2014 Annual Report
Thanks for being here.
Here’s an excerpt:
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 20,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 7 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
Trust your friends
Kathleen Turner stars as Molly Ivins in Red Hot Patriot at Berkeley Rep. Photo by Berkeley Rep.
Dan Rubinfeld lives in New York 4 months a year, and goes to the theater often. His wife, Gail, is chair of the board of Zellerbach Hall. He told us that this play was mediocre and Kathleen Turner is past her prime, but we had the tickets already so we went to see Red Hot Patriot: the Kick Ass Wit of Molly Ivins at Berkeley Rep.
Dan was right, at least about the play. I’m still a big Kathleen Turner fan.
The play is about the larger than life Texas writer, Molly Ivins. A good old Texas girl with an Ivy league education who spent her life fighting the liberal fight in conservative Texas. She started with the tiny and underfunded Texas Observer and ended up a nationally syndicated columnist and best selling author.
Ivins was relentless in her liberal pursuit, and hilarious in the process. She was the one who dubbed George W. Bush “shrub”, which alone should grant her immortality. She died at the age of 62 from breast cancer.
I clearly enjoyed her column, but I found the play just a non-linear conglomeration of moments, not well held together by an extraordinarily thin plot device of writing an obituary for her own father–who hasn’t even expired at the start of the play.
Miss Turner stalks and prowls the stage, her voice a cry in the wilderness of Texas politics. She is convincing in the part because she is of the same political stripe as Ivins, with whom she was acquainted. Her red wig is not convincing, and is about 3 times the hair Molly Ivins really had. Like most men my age, I fell in terminal lust with Kathleen Turner when she starred in Body Heat 33 years ago, and haven’t recovered. We have seen her onstage as a vicious Martha in Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf and a man-eating Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate where she bravely got naked onstage every night at the age of 46. Age and rheumatoid arthritis have not been kind to her figure, but she’s still a knockout and does not appear to have fought time with the aid of the surgeon’s scalpel.
Berkeley is the perfect city for this play, which probably explains why its run has been extended until January 11. The words of Molly Ivins are catnip to an audience of the local leftists. It was too far left for me to enjoy, and Gail was pretty actively incensed at the heavy political message.
On the other hand, Gail loves a one act, no-intermission performance, and 80 minutes after showtime we were on our way home. If you can’t be great, at least be short.
The bottom line to all this: If you are very liberal, you’ll like the play, probably. And always trust your friends.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night
Christmas Eve dinner table created by Julie
We’re celebrating the holiday in Fresno with Gail’s son Ross and family. Life is good.
Overpriced and underfed
Lunch Sunday at SPQR, a very hoity-toity upscale Italian joint in the lower Pacific Heights area of San Francisco. The food was excellent, what there was of it.
We were there to catch up with eldest granddaughter Tessa, who is celebrating getting a job as general manager of The Commissary, a newish Traci des Jardins restaurant in the Presidio. Tessa is not only smart and competent, she’s gorgeous.
Beautiful granddaughter. Tiny table.
This isn’t a large restaurant, seating maybe 40 or 50 people, including a couple of tables outside in front. Tessa had the table right in the front window, which was about the smallest 4 person table I’ve ever seen–I would not have been able to get into the chair on her side.
Squeezed in, we looked at the inventive, different rustic Italian menu. I ordered the Bucatini “straw and hay” with blue cheese, walnuts and sage brown butter. It sounded great. Then the waitress brought it to the table–and I asked her where the rest of it was.
A wee, tiny, miniscule appetizer size portion they call lunch.
The pasta was great, the sauce with scented with crispy sage was delicate and delectable. There just wasn’t enough of it, especially for $26.
Gail ordered a different pasta, which I can’t find on the menu posted online. All I know is that it had a serving of burrata on top, and Gail didn’t want to tell us how good it was so she wouldn’t have to share–not that I can blame her, the portion was as small as mine. Also $26.
Looks good. Love the burrata
I had iced tea. When I needed a refill, the waitress brought a tiny pitcher and verrrrry slowwwwwly poured about a half glass. That happened twice because I couldn’t get a decent sized refill the first time. They brought us 3 very good biscuits before the meal, with a miniature cube of butter and a miniscule ramekin of house made jam. This restaurant is stunningly parsimonious with every single bite. If there is ever a world wide famine, they know how to make the smallest amount of raw material go the furthest. Jesus Christ with the miracle of the loaves and fishes had nothing on SPQR.
Still hungry, I ordered dessert. The “peanut and milk chocolate pudding, malt and chocolate gelato” sounded good, and indeed it was. A dessert for $14 ought to be damn good. It was also a decent size–probably as much food as the pasta had been.
SPQR is indeed a very good place to eat. It helps if you have the appetite of a canary and the wallet of Warren Buffett. Lunch for 3 should not be $151 plus tip, and you should not be hungry when you leave. Maybe you ought to stop at Burger King first to take the edge off your appetite.
Birder watching
I like birds. I like the birds I see in my yard, the ones I’ve seen in Africa, the geese flying to and from Canada, Frank and Elizabeth when they visit in the spring. So when there was a bird watching expedition offered at the Ruth Bancroft Garden annual gala, I was right there to sign up. Sunday was the big day.
Our small group met at the MLK Regional Seashore near the Oakland Airport, enjoyed some pastries and set out to watch birds.
A Ridgway’s rail–endangered species not easy to find.
Right off the bat we stumbled on a Ridgway’s rail. Which used to be called a California clapper rail, until the bird naming authorities decided to change it. The rail is an endangered species, and we were apparently lucky to come upon it.
I wouldn’t have had the slightest idea of what I was looking at if not for Linda, our intrepid guide and leader. She and her husband Bob seem to know everything about every bird in the avian universe. That might explain why she’s on the board of the Golden Gate Audubon Society.
Then there was a grebe:
Looks like a duck to me. But the eyes are cooler.
The Regional shoreline has a boardwalk, but somebody decided it isn’t reasonable to expect people to walk without falling into the water, so it is closed–which makes it a great place for the birds to roost. There are hundreds of willets here, and some other birds whose names I can’t recall.
Does this many birds make it a birdwalk?
I see the sign, but I don’t have any faith that any work will ever be done on this fixture.
Are we really supposed to believe this?
There was a great blue heron on the very end of the walk:
Great Blue Heron on the right. Egret on the left.
After an hour or so there, we got back in the cars and went to the end of Edgewater Drive, where there is a seasonal pond full of migrating waterfowl. Because it is quite shallow, we were looking at “dabbling” ducks instead of “diving” ducks–they just stick their heads in the water instead of a full body dive.
Mallards are beautiful.
If two of them dabble together, you get the double duck butt look:
This just amuses me.
Watching the birds and learning a bit about them was seriously enjoyable, but I think it was at least as much fun watching the birders. It turns out that you don’t need to know a darn thing–anytime there is a bird worth looking at, there is a scrum of photographers like paparazzi at a Kardashian barbecue and you can just ask questions and learn all about it.
One of the smaller groups of photographers.
Everyone is looking everywhere.
There’s a bird out there somewhere.
People dress for their own comfort, not for style:
That hat is leftover from WWI, I think.
I love my cameras and try to treat them well, but some people take it to an extreme:
I wonder if he calls his camera ‘baby”?
The worst part of the day is seeing the effects man has on the environment. All the recent rain has washed a ton of trash down the creeks towards the bay:
You’d hope some Boy Scout troop might clean this up.
The amount of trash in and around the water was simply embarrassing and shameful. People can be such animals.
Here’s the best thing I saw all day. Granddad introducing grandson to the joys of nature:
When life imitates Norman Rockwell
Other than the detritus, the day was completely enjoyable. I learned some, took some good photos and got a bit of fresh air. I may end up being a birder after all.
Found the beef, where’s the bourbon?
Dinner with Kate and Brad at Bourbon & Beef in Oakland, across the street from Olivetto in the Rockridge district. Friends have been talking this place up so we wanted to see for ourselves.
Bourbon & Beef isn’t very large, and the bulk of the seating is in bright red booths along the wall across from the bar. We ended up sitting at an extension of the bar, four stools fixed to the floor two across from two. It may have been the only time in my life I wished for more padding in my tush.
The bar area is very nicely done, with the top shelf all backlit bourbons of varying vintage–the place stocks over 30 variety of the iconic American whiskey.
We started with the shishito peppers. Excellent. Quickly blistered in searing hot oil, the peppers are always an experiment because 95% of them are mild, and one in 20 is wicked hot. You can’t tell which is which until you bite into them–which is why I start with a tiny nibble, but the flavor is well worth the danger. It’s my version of living on the edge.
Two of us had beef–Kate had an excellent filet and Brad ordered a burger, which Gail promptly appropriated, leaving the son in law with a huge stack of ribs.
A pile of ribs and a game of Jenga at the same time.
I think Brad got the good end of that deal–the ribs were pretty spectacular, thick, succulent, tender and not overpowered by sauce. The portion was huge–Brad couldn’t finish it, and I couldn’t complete the task for him. I was impressed.
Fried Chicken, biscuit and some kind of slaw
I broke with tradition and ordered the fried chicken. It was probably the lavender honey that sold me. The crust on the chicken was much darker and crispier than I would expect, as though the oil was too hot, but the meat inside was properly cooked, moist and flavorful. The biscuit was not exactly southern style, but interesting. The “house slaw” was made of shredded cabbage, but any resemblance to cole slaw stopped there. This dish was limp not crisp, sour not sweet, spicy not gentle. I guess I’m a classicist when it comes to my slaw: Bourbon & Beef is not.
There are two different brussels sprout dishes on the menu. The first is an appetizer of flash fried crispy sprouts served with goat cheese, sliced almonds and a balsamic reduction, the second features the sprouts sautéed with bacon, red peppers and garlic. We had both–order the appetizer, it’s a ton better.
As soon as the reservation was made, I started dreaming about the dessert I just knew they would have–New Orleans bread pudding with a bourbon sauce. In fact, I was hoping that there might be other dishes on the menu featuring bourbon as a flavoring–sweet potato casserole, for instance, or buttered carrots with a hint of the Kentucky nectar. A few drops in the slaw would be intriguing. A shot added to the barbecue sauce would raise things to another level. Bourbon is a fantastic all-American flavor, and can make an interesting addition of many a recipe.
Nope. None. Nothing. The concept of cooking with bourbon seems never to have occurred to the chef at a restaurant named Bourbon & Beef. I was flummoxed and gobsmacked. What a lost opportunity, what a crashing lack of creativity, what a lost marketing tie in. You would hope that anyone cool enough to name their business Bourbon & Beef would want to make more of it than just sell a few $20 flights of booze.
So I liked the food, thought the service was competent, wasn’t crazy about all the red naugahyde (or maybe it’s leather, I didn’t get close enough to tell), but I’m let down, disappointed and mildly crushed at the total failure to capitalize on their name and the feelings, images and senses it evokes. What a waste of a concept. I’d still go back for the ribs, though.
Totally Unauthorized 