My life is complete
Mike was late to dinner tonight. Throughout all the decades we’ve been friends, he’s always early, I’m the one skating in just under (mostly) the wire. Tonight, he decided to take a shower when it was really time to go and was 6 minutes late to the restaurant. That may not sound like much to you, but it completes my life.
Back to the beginning. A quick 11 hours of sleep got me pretty refreshed. We met the family for lunch in the hotel–this is what they think is a club sandwich:
This huge pile of chicken, bacon, lettuce, tomato, avocado and a flood of tomato aioli is what they think is a Club Sandwich here.
So it isn’t what you got at Woolworth’s counter, but it was pretty edible and I choked most of it down.
Then most of us got on the the city tour bus–Mike and Linda went walking, of course. It’s one of those double decker busses you can get off and on for the whole tour, although we never did get off and explore any areas.
We saw the usual touristy sort of things:
The original castle of Cape Town, from the 1600’s
Interesting engraved stele on the side of the bank building. The artist reputedly used his friends for the faces.
Engraved stele
We sat on the top of the double decker bus, natch. The front third is covered and has windows, the rest is open to the fresh air. The air in Cape Town in June is very fresh–it was about 60 degrees out. Gail sat under the cover.
Granddaughters Chloe and Demi
No tour would be complete without a trip up Table Mountain, the massive monolith overlooking the city. We got about 3/4 of the way up the hill to the base of the gondola. Some will be going up the gondola tomorrow.
Panorama from the bus park on Table Mountain
Then we headed down the mountain, through a pass and out to the ocean and Camps Bay, where the rich folk go to party, or so the tour guide said. From there you can see the back side of Table Mountain.
Table Mountain from the back, with a gondola just reaching the summit.
There are more stone cliffs, all in a line, extending along the coast. There are called the Twelve Apostles, which is odd because there are 17 of them.
Looking south towards the coastline and the Twelve Apostles
Eventually, the bus got back to where it started and we walked back to the hotel.
The marina behind our hotel, Table Mountain in the background.
That’s enough for now. Nap time.
Starting off right–Cape Town
If it’s December 1941 in Casablanca, what time is it in New York?
There may be nothing more disorienting that waking up on an airplane on a intercontinental flight. All the window shades are drawn, the lights are dimmed, you quite literally do not know if it is day or night, where you are, what time it is anywhere. How long since you left? How long did you sleep? How long until you arrive? All questions without immediate answers. It’s one of the great existential moments of life.
So there I was, somewhere over the Atlantic, in the middle of a 15 hour flight from Atlanta to Jo’burg. (Gail will hate that elision, but even the newspaper uses it.) We had already gotten up at 5:30 and flown 4 hours to get to Atlanta. The good news is that we are flying Delta, and their Business Elite provided us with individual compartments with a seat that lays out completely flat, a power socket to keep all the electronic toys charged up, an individual television screen with a decent selection of things to watch and a good sized blanket.
The food isn’t very good, though. Gail and I both chose the “tenderloin” which was a seriously overcooked piece of something sort of bovine. On the first flight of the day we had a mediocre omelet, and a roll that was nowhere near the joy of the hot biscuits we have come to love on American Air.
Eventually, we landed in South Africa, cleared immigration and customs, and went to retrieve our luggage. The big bag was there, but not the small one. I had Delta staff looking for it when Gail was paged over the public address.
We went to see, and were told that someone had taken her bag by mistake, and was returning to the airport with it. In a few minutes it arrived, we were relieved as all get out, and we went to find our way to the next flight of the day, the two hour hop to Cape Town, where we begin our tour.
Through security, naturally, then we were waiting in the South African Airways lounge when the reception woman came up to me with my coat, which I had left at security. It turns out that being a very large man in loud suspenders has its benefits–everyone remembered me, noticed where I was going and got my coat back to me. Two great pieces of luck in one airport, I guess that’s a good omen for the rest of the trip.
There was a meal on this flight, and drink service, of course. I ordered a Baileys, as is my wont, and came to find out that they don’t have it, but they offer something much like it. So I tried one:
I don’t know what this is, but I like it.
This is a liqueur made from the Marula Fruit, a native South African fruit which contains a pulp used for making juices, jams, jellies, ciders and liquors, There is a myth that the elephants wait for the fruit to ferment and then get drunk on it. What I had tasted quite a bit like Bailey’s, with perhaps a more pleasing aftertaste. It’s a definite keeper, and I’ve found my drink of choice for the next two weeks.
The US has gotten rid of most of the foolishness about electronic devices on airplanes, but that hasn’t happened here. Lots of sober sounding announcements about how everything must be turned off so it doesn’t interfere with the instruments–which we all know to be utter bullshit. They even cavilled at my headphones before landing. Bureaucratic stupidity is not limited to America.
Cape Town airport doesn’t believe in motorized walkways, and the walk from the plane to the baggage carousel and then to the exit is about a mile. Or maybe 3. Seemed like forever. Finally, we emerged into the main hall, and were met by a tall handsome man holding a sign with our names. He took us to a Mercedes, and then the driver brought us to the Cape Grace hotel, a beautiful establishment right on the waterfront. I even had to sign my name in the register like the old days. Then they entered all the important information into the computer.
Now I’m ready to collapse into bed. The rest of the gang gets here tomorrow–Kate, Brad and the granddaughters flew via London, Mike and Linda are coming from Dubai. More excitement to come.
Off on another adventure
We are off on our trip to south Africa. Signing up for this 15 months ago, it seemed like an impossibly long distance in the future. Somehow, time rushed by and here we are.
Of course the insanity of modern travel continues. We are flying Delta because that was where I could get a flight on miles. This morning, we checked in, cleared security (thank you TSA pre-check!), and headed toward the gate.
I wanted to find the Delta lounge at SFO. Imagine my surprise to find that it was outside the secure area. What an insane design that is.
The photo of shows our feet cramped against the bulkhead. On Delta, even in first class there is no legroom.
It’s time to close the doors. I must turn off the phone. More later
All technique, no passion
Dinner last night at Taro’s by Mikuni, in Arden Fair Mall. I was not impressed.
Sushi is not assembly line food. The best sushi comes from tiny places where the owner is the chef, where his pride and reputation are on the line every day and quality is the only consideration. Taro’s by Mikuni is just one part of a sushi empire in the Sacramento area, their only consideration seems to be the bottom line.
It’s a big, good looking facility–it used to be Max’s Opera Cafe. Mike noticed that there seemed to be a lot of square footage with very few tables. I guess you don’t want everyone to see a ton of empty seats.
Here’s the first clue that you aren’t in a good sushi bar–the sushi is made with “crab mix”, not crab. Not even “Krab™”, but “crab mix”, which is some kind of imitation crab cheaper than the brand name imitation crab. There will never be a Michelin starred restaurant that uses “crab mix”.
The menu is extremely large, which always makes me worry. There are full meals, small plates, individual nigiri sushi, sushi rolls, hand rolls, noodles,soups and salads. Too much to assimilate for the diner, too much to perfect for the kitchen.
Some things were good. I started with a bowl of garlic edamame, and they were excellent. Lots of garlic, perfectly cooked beans, I loved them.
Here’s what’s wrong with uninspired, assembly line sushi–it all tastes the same. I had a “Mel” roll and a rainbow roll. I doubt strongly that I could tell them apart blindfolded.
This is a rainbow roll.
The menu listing for the rainbow roll includes “kanikama”, which turns out to be yet another name for imitation crab.
Mike and Linda could not resist ordering a “Marilyn Monroll”. It sure looks good:
Marilyn Monroll–this time they call the filler “crab mix”
It looks good, it tasted alright, it just isn’t great. More “crab mix”.
Bob and Dan had the seared Ahi, which looks magnificent:
This looks wonderful.
It would be wrong to say that there was anything bad about Taro’s, it just isn’t great. There is no passion, no heat, no obsessive concentration on excellence.
The dessert sounded great–tempura ice cream. The presentation was excellent, a scoop of ice cream coated in pound cake crumbs and quickly tempura flash fried and napped with a brunoise of mango. Unfortunately, the ice cream was some cheap commercial brand, not the rich, high quality product one would hope for.
Taro’s by Mikuni is a mediocre, cookie cutter, pale imitation of a good sushi bar, a place to serve hordes of people who don’t really understand or appreciate good sushi. You deserve better.
You can go home again
Or at least, back to the same restaurant.
There are so many great places to eat that we don’t often repeat, and I even less often will write about a place twice. Seasons 52 is an exception on both counts.
It’s time for the Sacramento Regional again, and we’re in the Doubletree Hotel for the 35th year 9or so) in a row. I wish I had kept a list of every room I’ve stayed in.
The bridge is desultory, but the dinner Friday was great. We actually drove across the street, because the traffic on Arden Way is so horrendous that hoofing it isn’t any fun anymore.
Last year, Seasons 52 had just opened, and we loved it. Now that it is a year old and they have hit full stride, we consider the place spectacular. One of the best chain restaurants in the country.
I started with the warm caprese salad–fresh mozzarella sandwiched inside warm roasted tomato. Caprese is always my favorite salad, and this is an interesting and different take on it.
Then came the scallops. A phenomenally beautiful plate with 8 or 9 scallops, as many thick, roasted asparagus and a line of a wonderful lemon risotto. The presentation is world class and the food matched it. Each scallop was cooked perfectly, each asparagus stalk was cooked through but still crispy. I’ve never had a better scallop dish.
The dessert presentation should be illegal–it is impossible to say no. They bring out 8 tiny desserts, each created in a large shot glass, and you take your pick. They are small enough that you can’t resist, and there must be one among the 8 that is calling you name. In my case, it was the fresh blueberries in lemon curd. You might enjoy the key lime meringue pie, the raspberry chocolate chip cannoli, the mocha macchiato or one of the other 4 choices. You won’t be able to say no to all of them.
The level of service is what you would expect from a much more formal and expensive establishment. Mike’s dish was delayed because the waiter dropped the very hot plate–so he brought Mike a bowl of soup so he shouldn’t be sitting with nothing to eat while the rest of us had our plates, then rushed out another order of his dinner. Any place can have a problem or mistake, only the good ones handle it so gracefully.
Prices are moderate. and well in keeping with the value. I wish they would open one of these in our area so I didn’t have to come to Sacramento to enjoy it.
Like father, like son
My all time favorite restaurant is Jake’s Crawfish House, in Portland. It’s the anchor to the McCormick and Schmick chain, founded by Bill McCormick. Now his son, Andrew, who started his first job at Jake’s, has opened a great new restaurant in Lafayette, The Cooperage.
This new monument to fine dining is in the completely remodeled space where Petar’s ruled for 50 years or so. Not a shred of the old remains, it’s all new and beautiful, with a vast amount of outdoor seating, a big bar area with 12 beers and 8 wines on tap, a semi-open kitchen and a large private “board room” for special events.
We ate there tonight with The Rip (Mike Rippey) and his sweetie, Gretchen. I made a reservation on OpenTable and was surprised to see that they were booked solid for all the usual dinner hours–I took the 5:45, the next available was 8:15. There were 3 tables in the dining room that stayed unused all through our dinner–it makes me wonder if they are playing games to look busier, although the place is an obvious smash hit.
The food, you ask. What about the food? OK, I’ll tell you. It’s good. The menu seems very limited to me, but everything we had was excellent. The central theme of the menu is the rotisserie–they turn chickens, loin of pork and prime rib on a very cool looking glass enclosed spit. They also grill New Yorks, filets and rib eyes. That’s all well and good, but this is California, and we want our fish, and more than just the one (mahi-mahi) on the menu. They offer a few dinner salads and lots of veggies, just not enough fish. There is also one, only, pasta dish, fettuccine, three buck extra for some chicken to go along with it.
I started with the warm brussels sprouts salad; deconstructed brussels sprouts, crispy shallots and bacon dressed in a bacon/red wine vinaigrette, topped with a poached egg. It’s wonderful.
Warm brussels sprouts salad.
The waiter was pushing the chicken wings appetizer, pushing like a carnival barker with a new fat lady. So we gave in–either they were really great or the chef got a deal on a boatload of wings and had to move them.
Very sweet and crispy wings, on fresh corn.
The wings were great. Not the hot, spicy, tomato covered dreck that is the usual sports bar fare, these were what you get when you have a real chef create something special out of a cheap cut of meat. We had them as an appetizer, then Gail had a second dish as her entree.
The Rip is in the middle of a gout attack, so he is sticking to veggies. He had a couple of side dishes of them–I stole some asparagus, and it was as good as everything else. Gretchen keeps her great figure by eating like a canary. She had the wedge salad, with one of the most interesting presentations I’ve ever seen.
The salad as it comes to the table. A head of lettuce, roasted beets and rye croutons alongside a cruet of dressing.
That looked interesting enough, but then she cut into the lettuce:
Surprise!! The Point Reyes bleu cheese is already inside the lettuce.
The cheese is stuffed into the head of lettuce in the kitchen, but you don’t realize it when you see the presentation. It’s brilliant.
Gretchen may eat like a canary, I eat like a flock of ostriches, so I had the mahi-mahi.
Mahi-mahi on coconut lime rice.
The fish was cooked perfectly, the rice was rich with coconut and bright with the lime. The menu says that’s a mango-pineapple salsa, but it sure looks like avocado to me. Whatever it was, it accentuated the fish nicely.
Service is expert and smooth, but they have given in to the modern fashion of serving the water without ice. What is this, France? Garcon!! Beaucoup de glasson, sil vous plais. This is California, give me some damned ice in my glass.
There was a dessert menu, but we had no takers. The butterscotch pecan bread pudding was calling my name, but I resisted manfully. Maybe next time. And there will be a next time, this place is very, very good. I’d like to see a few more dishes on the menu, especially in the fish department. They need to work out why I can’t reserve a table for 6:00 and then see empty tables for the entire evening. In the best of all worlds they’d bring in the crawfish etouffee recipe from Jake’s, but that’s probably too much to hope for.
Clean living works again
Friday night, we took Margaret out to dinner, and planned to find someplace nice on Main Street in Martinez. Gail and I ate there a couple of months ago and were intrigued by the renovation the street has enjoyed.
You win some, you lose some. All the restaurants were jammed and getting a table was impossible. On the other hand, they were jammed because Martinez has a car show, farmers market and outdoor festival on Friday nights. Before heading out of town to find some dinner, we walked the street and gawked at the cars.
Here’s a gallery of what we saw. I think they will be there every Friday night all summer. Next time we’ll make a reservation and then walk the show first. It sure is a pleasant way to work up an appetite.
The Eagle soars
All the photography magazines tell you to carry a camera with you at all times. “The best camera is the one you have with you”, they all cry.
Needless to say, I didn’t have one with me today at lunch. Even forgot to use my iPhone camera.
Which is a shame, because we had lunch at a new Mexican restaurant in Pleasant Hill that was incredible.
El Aguila {The Eagle} is just a small place in a strip mall at 1300 Contra Costa Blvd. Barely seats 30, but every seat was filled and we had to wait at 1:30 this afternoon. Of course, that may be because there was a hugely laudatory article in the paper about them, which is how we found it ourselves. But with food this good, there will continue to be a wait for tables.
The chef/owner is a veteran of local top-drawer establishments Prima and Esin, and has brought modern sensibilities to what is often fast and cheap cuisine.
Ingredients are fresh and locally sourced, organic and healthy. Recipes are authentic and not the standard Cali-Mex tacos and burritos. I had the chicken con mole verde, free-range Rocky Jr. chicken in
“the most delicious Oaxacan Mole Verde sauce, made with toasted ground pumpkin seeds. Served with grilled calabacitas, spanish rice and 2 fresh handmade corn tortillas”
The sauce was purely spectacular. I scooped it up and put it on the rice, the sopped up the remainder with the thick, soft, hot-off-the-grill, handmade corn tortillas. Calabacitas turns out to be grilled zucchini. I still don’t like zucchini, but this is the best zucchini I ever didn’t like.
Gail had the daily special, which today was Taquitos, little crispy rolled tacos, served with guacamole and rice and lettuce. There were no leftovers there, either.
In fact, the portions are sufficient that we didn’t even want the dessert I ordered, so we brought home an arroz con leche, rice pudding. I expect to enjoy it later tonight.
El Aguila is a strange hybrid–very different, upscale Mexican food in a downscale strip-mall setting. You surely don’t have to dress up or make reservations. Prices are reasonable, they have beer and wine and diet Coke and they’ll pack your leftovers for later. Don’t go on Monday, they’re closed.
Service is decent for this kind of eatery. You place your order at the counter and they give you a number on a table marker, then the food is brought out.
Happy, Sappy, A Star is Born
Leanne Borghesi and the Cast (except for me) (Photo from Center Rep)
We saw The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee tonight with Mike and Linda. Theater may never be the same.
Entering the theater, we noticed a sign looking for volunteers who wanted to be in the Spelling Bee. Micky passed up the opportunity, but I could not resist. The director picked 5 of us to join the cast and be part of the play. We had a short meeting, where we were instructed to always ask for the definition of the word and to have it used in a sentence, not to try to be funny and to just go with the flow of the scenes. Then we went back to our seats, to be called up onstage as part of the play.
Spelling Bee is pretty light fare, not the heavy gut-wrenching drama that Gail would prefer. It’s just entertainment, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Each of the volunteer cast members sat on stage in the bleachers with the rest of the “contestants” and got called up to spell a word. Get it right and you can stay on stage, get it wrong and you’re off, just like a real spelling bee.
My first word was “selfie”, which I managed to spell correctly. My second word, though, was coulrophobia, the fear of clowns. I don’t think they pronounced it properly, so I couldn’t spell it. The cast sang goodbye and the “comfort counselor” led me offstage with my parting gift of a box of juice. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Each contestant has a story, song and star turn. The stories are sappy, the songs are happy, the characters are cute and very well performed.
Even though you won’t get to see me onstage, I think you will enjoy Spelling Bee. It’s 90 minutes without an intermission, they sell ice cream in the theater before the show, there are some fantastic voices in the cast and if you get there early you too can be a star.
How to lose friends and customers
Gail’s new totem, by Donna Billick
Remember a few weeks ago we went to Davis to see the art? Gail saw a piece she had to have, so I started negotiating with the gallery owner. I sent him an email:
John
Gail really likes this piece by Donna Billick. Could you deliver it on Tuesday evening May 13 and stay for dinner? We’d have a small dinner party.
That seems pretty clear to me, and the dealer agreed.
So we planned the party. Invited people. Made food. The day came, and the dealer showed up 90 minutes early, announced he had places to go and thing to do, placed the sculpture, collected his cash and hit the road.
What about the dinner he agreed to? He never heard of it. Muttered something about being “set up”.Couldn’t wait to get out of the place.
Nobody is indispensable, especially not John Natsoulas. We had a great party without him. There was food:
Cooking an enormous pan of paella on my super duper paella maker
There were people:
Buffet line
There was friendship and conversation:
The best of life is friends around the table.
The 20 of us had a wonderful time, enjoying the dinner and the conversation about art, politics and what a jerk John is. I suppose if he’d stayed we would have had to talk nicer about him, but he saved us that problem.
So I recommend you all have parties as often as possible. Just don’t invite John.
Totally Unauthorized 