The people behind the scenes at WordPress, who host my blog, give me an annual report. I was fascinated to see that I have been read in 103 countries.
The biggest day was the car crash into the bridge club. I don’t think I can make that happen again.
Here’s an excerpt:
4,329 films were submitted to the 2012 Cannes Film Festival. This blog had 19,000 views in 2012. If each view were a film, this blog would power 4 Film Festivals
We saw Skyfall last night. I loved it, Gail hated it. I thought it was great movie making, taking the Bond franchise back to more interpersonal action and away from the silly pyrotechnics. Gail thought it was too long. Gail thinks most movies are too long. She likes one act plays, too.
One important thing about Skyfall is its return to Bond’s roots. There are many references to the older movies, especially the very early ones. It feels like old home week for a Bond fan.
And that takes me to dinner. Because we went to the AMC theater in Emeryville, Gail got the brilliant idea to go to Trader Vic’s, and it was a hoot.
I’d never been there, although I grew up reading about the place in Herb Caen’s column. The iconic location in San Francisco is long gone, but the one on the water in Emeryville soldiers on.
Going to Trader Vic’s is like stepping back in time to the early 70’s when Vic Bergeron ruled his food empire and the Tahitian/Polynesian architecture and decor were cool instead of retro. We gave our car to the valet, and went back in time 40 years.

It seems like it would be impossible to make Trader Vic’s any more kitschy, but then they added the Santa hats to the Tiki gods
I suppose I should have had a Mai Tai (a Trader Vic’s invention) in honor of the place, but I’ve already had a cocktail this year.
The room is pleasant, especially if you appreciate retro chic. Naturally, everything that didn’t move was draped in Christmas colors, which clash with the regular jungle green and beige color scheme. The windows looking out on the Bay must provide a wonderful view in daytime; we got to enjoy the sight of the many sailboats in the Emeryville marina draped in Christmas lights.
Decor is interesting, but what about the food? The menu is in keeping with everything else–Hawaiian, polynesian, what have you. There is a definite Chinese bent to the menu, as well. All of the meats are cooked in a pair of enormous wood-fired ovens on prominent display as you walk in. I should think it is like walking into the best restaurant in Honolulu in 1957.
Odd though the menu might be, the food is good. I started with the Tuna Poke, cubes of raw tuna and avocado served with Taro chips:
The poke (which is pronounced poke-y) was first rate. Very fresh sashimi grade tuna, ripe avocados, crisp taro chips. This is better than a salad anyday.
Brad had the Trader Vic’s version of mu shu pork:
This is essentially the traditional mu shu pork, except that there was an entire boneless pork chop instead of little shredded strips of pork. A steamer with the pancakes and a gravy boat of plum sauce completed the arrangement. Very good, very interesting.
I went with the coconut curry, served in a very old fashioned style with a 7 condiments in a setting made for the purpose:
The curry comes accompanied with pineapple, raisins, pickles, tomato chutney, chili sauce, sunflower seeds and shredded coconut, to mix in as you choose. A bowl of rice is on the side. It wasn’t perhaps the best curry I’ve ever had, but I enjoyed it. Gail had the lamb curry, and thought it was wonderful.
Iris ordered the mahi-mahi, and cleaned her plate.
The food must have been good, we were all too full to consider dessert.
Going in, the question in my mind was “Is Trader Vic’s a local classic, or a has-been tourist trap?” The Bergeron family still owns and operates the joint, and they are staying true to the original, in style and in spirit. I think I’m going to call this a local classic–you might not want to eat here every Friday night, but it’s clearly a place you want to experience.

Iris Libby has multiple catastrophes to deal with at her bridge club, but she found the time to dig out this guitar she no longer plays. Some lucky student in Oakland will get it.
What’s in your garage? Back room? Under the bed? Up in the attic? I’ll pick it up and deliver for you.
This is Iris Saturday night:
This was Gail and Iris, considering the unbelievable string of disasters that have befallen DVBC:
Today, I got into the club to see what was happening. All the furniture has been moved to the south side of the room, maintenance men have extracted as much water as possible and there are fans drying out the carpeting. Tomorrow, they will bring in dehumidifiers to make the job go faster.
The property owner came by, and must have said he was sorry 12 times. The drainage pipe behind the building, which was simply overloaded the last time, had clogged. It is a 6 inch pipe, surely sufficient for the storm we had this weekend, but it had somehow become completely blocked. You can see the high-water marks on the side of the building here:
Roto-rooter is coming Monday morning with a 6″ blade to make sure the pipe is completely open, and they will run a camera through the pipe to be certain there isn’t ground movement or some other problem.
The walls will be repaired in January–trying to get a contractor to start a job this week is futile.
The good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise (again), the club will re-open Wednesday morning.
Merry Christmas, see you Wednesday.
Eating dinner last night at Juan’s Place, in Berkeley, I asked Jack Scott how he ever found this very off-the-beaten-path taco joint. He just told me “it’s famous”. By the time the meal was over, I understood why.
Juan’s, at 9th and Carleton, is an old fashioned classic, as Mexican as an Acapulco cliff diver. Not the least bit fancy, paper napkins on the table and neon beer signs on the walls, this is the place to go for the real deal in Mexican food.
The goodness starts right at the beginning–here are the chips you get:
I really love the chips made from flour tortillas, and you almost never find them. Here, they come standard. I’m in love already.
The service is just what you’d expect–friendly as a Kansas diner, fast as Speedy Gonzales. Beer and wine available, no hard liquor.
The portions are enormous, this is a half-order of fajitas:
Trying to branch out from always ordering just the fajitas, I had the half-order above, and one enchilada.
The guacamole is excellent, and Juan’s must be responsible for the consumption from entire groves of avocado trees. Almost every dish gets a large scoop.
Gail had her combination plate:
And Jack had tacos:
Friday night before Christmas, the place was jammed and service may have slowed a touch due to a couple of large parties. We still had a great time and loved everything–there were three boxes of leftovers going home with us, and the bill was under $90 for the four of us.
Juan’s is a great place for an informal meal. First rate Mexican food, huge portions, low prices and good service. Highly recommended.
Trisha went to Hawaii, and liked the music so much she bought a ukulele (which the locals pronounce 000-ka-lele) and thought she’d learn to play it. Only 4 strings, not too big, it was a great idea.
And like many great ideas, it didn’t happen. So when she saw my post about donating instruments to students in Oakland, she stepped right up and handed it to me.
Who’s next? Have you checked your garage and attic? I know there are more instruments out there, just waiting to be used.
I’ve written about our friend John before, in the part of his life where he is a professional musician. Today, I’m writing about the music teacher John.
We bought that electronic keyboard for a Christmas party a few years ago, sang some carols and never used it again. I got the bright idea to offer it to John to give to a student who couldn’t afford one of his own, and it found a happy home.
Now I’d like to ask all of the people who read this blog: Do you have any old musical instruments in your house? Did you son play clarinet in the 9th grade and it’s been in your garage for the last 21 years? Did your daughter plead for a guitar that hasn’t left the shelf since Carter was president? Are you still holding on to the trumpet you played in college, thinking someday you’ll play it again?
I’ve got a use for those instruments. John teaches music in 3 different Oakland grade schools, and there is always a need for instruments for children with interest and talent whose parents can’t afford to provide them.
This isn’t a fancy charity. There aren’t any tax deductions. You just get to clear out the garage or the closet and some kid gets a chance he or she needs.
Leave a comment or call me or write me. I’ll pick up and deliver. In general I have as much Christmas spirit as Ebeneezer Scrooge on a bad day, but I like to help kids. I hope you do to.
Please forward this blog post to any of your friends who might be able to help, too.
Thanks.
When I wrote about Morimoto a couple of weeks ago, I looked them up in the Michelin Guide and was surprised to see that the famous Frenchmen had not granted them even a mention, much less a star. Just how good do you have to be to get awarded a star?
Friday night, we wanted to go up to Sonoma with BJ and Larry Ledgerwood to pick up some items we had purchased at Cornerstone. Naturally, we had to plan a dinner, and I decided on Santé, the restaurant in the Fairmont Sonoma Mission Inn. It not only had great ratings on Opentable.com, it has one coveted star in the Guide Michelin. Should be slam-dunk great, no?
No.
Santé is good, but not great. Not as good as Morimoto. It has some great dishes, it has some clinkers. The service is decidedly spotty. The prices are seriously out of line for value received.
None of which is to say that this is a bad restaurant. They provide a quality of food and level of service most restaurateurs can only dream of. But when you hold a Michelin Star, you are expected to deliver an exceptional experience–and Santé didn’t live up to expectations.
The facility is quite attractive. You enter the main lobby of the hotel, where there is a very large fireplace with a very small fire. There was a very forward and forceful woman ostensibly “auctioning” some Chagall and Picasso prints–which is the same scam you see on cruise ships. We were early for our reservation, and it took them a few minutes before they decided to seat us. The lobby isn’t particularly emotionally warm; we were glad to finally get to the table.
The menu offers a 7 course tasting menu for $125, 4 courses for $90 and 3 courses for $75. This is an illusion, since quite a few of the dishes have a “supplemental charge”, ranging from $45 for the caviar to $12 for the soufflé.
Settling on the 4 course tasting menus, we dove in to our meals. First up was the amuse bouche, the chef’s gift appetizer.
The soup was amazing. The service was the showy professional variety I like–two servers came out with two plates each, and we were all served at once. The French Laundry brings 4 servers for 4 people, but they have, and deserve THREE Michelin stars.
My first course was my favorite of the evening, a tuna tartare.

Tuna Tartare Napoleon, with haricots verts, wasabi flying fish roe, pickled ginger, yuzu aioli and sesame tuile
This dish was beautiful, inventive, wonderfully flavored and just all around perfect.
I can’t really describe this next dish.
The “shells” are slices of onion. They were stuffed with cheese, sitting on a bed of kale. None of it made sense to me, I didn’t feel that the parts of the dish really went together or made a cohesive whole. There was quinoa in there somewhere, for some reason. There was a fancy, rare Maitake mushroom just sitting there. If this was a high-concept dish, the concept went right over my head.
Larry had this dish–a plate of garlic sausage, cold potatoes, friseé and grilled onions. It certainly looks good, and he ate it all, so we’ll call this one a winner.
Here we have Gail’s entree. It looks spectacular. It tastes, meh. Not bad, just meh. I tried the fish, which Gail thought was overcooked, and was just utterly unimpressed. The black pearl pasta “risotto” was the best part of the dish.
Larry had this–three different cuts of beef. A grilled skirt steak, a tiny filet, a bite of “Braised Pavé a la Bourguignonne”, which is the $10 was to say stew. Which is appropriate because this dish was one of the ones that carried a $10 “supplement”. Larry liked the filet, loved the stew and thought that the skirt steak was gristly and chewy.
This was some good venison. Often, farmed venison is too bland, but this had great depth of flavor and was cooked perfectly. I wish the huckleberry sauce had more huckle, but that’s probably being picky. I hated the Tokyo Turnips, but I hate all turnips so that isn’t news, or their fault.
Poussin is the fancy name for Rock Cornish game hen. When I was growing up we just called them little chickens. It’s a good looking dish, but the taste was unspectacular and BJ was not impressed.
On to the good stuff–dessert.
What would post-modernism be without deconstruction? Spiced carrot cake, and pink peppercorn mousse. Saffron-lilikoi coulis, pistachio emulsion, candied macadamia nuts and honey ice cream. How you make a cake into a mousse I don’t know. I like a good carrot cake the old fashioned way, this seems like innovation for its own sake. Larry said it was good, I thought it was too clever by half.
Santé offers two souffles—meyer lemon and chocolate. BJ had the former, I had the latter. There were no leftovers. What more could you ask?
OK, what I could ask is that the dishes got there faster. A souffle takes about 20 minutes to cook and has to be served as soon as it is ready. We ordered them at the same time as everything else so the kitchen could properly pace the meal, but that was to no avail. We finished our entrees, we sat there 10 minutes before our plates were cleared and then another 10 or 15 minutes before the desserts appeared.
Larry ordered a cup of coffee when the plates were cleared, and we were almost finished with the desserts before the simple cup of coffee arrived. We sent it back.
A meal like this is meant to be enjoyed and savored slowly, I recognize that. Sitting there for 20 minutes before the desserts were served was not savoring, it was boring. Waiting for the plates to be cleared was something you’d expect in Denny’s. The pacing of the meal and the service needs serious attention from management.
We were disappointed. Getting a Michelin star is a big deal, and one can reasonably expect superb food and near-perfect service for the lucky few. Santé had some excellent food, but some just so-so dishes as well. The service was just unpredictable–mostly very good, but then there was the whole dessert/no plate clearing issue. It’s still a very good place to eat, but I can’t really say it is worth the considerable price and I don’t recommend that you go there.
It was just 7 days ago that a big old Cadillac came crashing through the wall into the bridge club, and still we managed to have a first rate party this afternoon.
Beginning at noon, the choral group Jazz Infinitum entertained with their a capella renditions. The group is headed by Jim Heiner, and includes Iris Libby, Nancy Marling, Ann Bergmann, Jody Praklet, David Eimerl and Chuck Wong. They seem to have a preference for minor keys, which I’ve often heard in choral groups but don’t understand, but it’s an interesting blend of doo wop and uptown jazz. Here is a video of them doing Under the Boardwalk:
There was the customary ton of food, ranging from Costco sandwiches to deviled eggs to John Marron’s traditional English Trifle. Someone brought a box of little liquor-filled chocolates. I saw Eldonna nipping at one, hope she isn’t dancing on any tables tonight.

The classroom is now a romantic, candlelit sanctuary for the buffet. And will be until they fix the wiring.
The bridge game got started: there were 20 1/2 tables, divided into two sections but scores across the field. Don Steedman and Vicki Chang had a 70% game to take home all the marbles.
People came dressed for the season. I got my little camera out, and took a bunch of photos of whoever caught my eye. Click on any photo and then you can scroll through the lot of them.
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