Repas CG: The Aftermath... October 21

 New is often fun, but it can also be scary. So be it! After only a couple of sessions playing with friends Righter and Kelly's wood fired oven, Katie was keen to see if she'd gleaned enough of the nuance to make good use of it for a table soon to be filled. Like the surrounding micro climates of the Bay Area, the oven has it's own "sweet spots", not all created equal. Righter, ever patient and insightful, stayed close at hand as he had in her previous visits. Kelly,  juggler of many a ball this day, ably integrated her black and white Springer Abbey and our Honey with each new arrival. Thus, with almond and oak popping, and the sun sliding from a cloak of high gray clouds, we gathered on a remarkable "double lot" for a repas done from open flame. Guests from near (the City) and far (Sonoma) were greeted by wood smoke in the air as they toured the plot well planted in everything from huckleberries to tomatillos, eggplant to New Zealand spinach.

 We settled on a paved terrace surrounded by fig, apple, and Meyer lemon trees, autumn cool giving way to warming rays. Savory gallette of zebra pumpkin, crispy lardon, and sage, having finished their parade about the varying hot spots of the fire, emerged flaky and browned, a streak of crème fraîche across the face. Went with an unusual blend of Ugni Blanc, Colombard, and Gros Mensang to begin, the varietals normally used to make cognac. Light and bright, citrus very present, it fit with the tender cubes of pumpkin, the nice bite of salt from the pork.  There was word of rain to come, but that could wait for later. So I turned up some Tommy Flannegan, Katie pulled tartine and a pan of braised radicchio from the oven, and a Vouvray was opened. To the toast and chicory, mounds of rillette and pear conserve were added, the sleek and full chenin blanc by Laurent Kraft melding with the fatty-crunchy-bitter-sweet mouthfuls.

 Katie found a challenge in quail much larger than those she's used to in France, but a solution in good sized red peppers that resembled the Jimmy Nardello variety; even if it took an assist from a bit of buthcher's twine. After a quick searing for color, the little birds were slid into the "slip covers" which then found their own beautiful blistering of color beside the flames. A bit of tossed purslane, that slightly bitter "gourmet weed", was added as we oh-so-ungracefully plated table side. No matter, as knives and forks were quickly set aside in favor of hands, the better to nibble on bones, and get at the prize hidden inside: fresh pork sausage that Katie had done with smoke pimenton, clove, cinnamon, and fresh ginger before stuffing to insure succulence. Oh yeah, there were a few fingers licked. An old vine mourvedre from Pic Saint Loup was called on, earthy and deep berried.

 A pan of toasting hazelnuts was next pulled from the heat, tossed with arugula and vinaigrette, a wedge of young goat cheese added; runny from being left on the lip of the oven. Chose a Corbières for this, mostly carignan, but accompanied by familiar friends(grenache, syrah, cinsault). Although not at all heavy in texture, the fruit read deep and soothing, a good transition to the pears poached in grenache and warm spice. (Of course, some crème fraîche was added!) The sun was still up when coffee and cognac made their way around the table, but shadows prompted candles to be lit, the wool lap blankets to be tucked in.  A trouble maker let slip there was a birthday to acknowledge, igniting a spirited rendition of song. Despite intentions of keeping it... discreet, there was little to be done but blow out the small candle found centered in a steaming halve of pear. Pretty humbling... pretty cool.

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Repas CG: The Aftermath... September 23

 As we're committed to focusing the next repas around the remarkable wood fired oven in the backyard of friends, we slid one more meal into the cottage. A chance to enjoy the flowers and foliage before autumn, at least what we in northern California refer to as autumn, sets in. More than a little surprised that the heat of our "indian summer" has yet to arrive, the high clouds and hazy light had me prep logs in case a fire might be needed later in the afternoon. Mocking my preparation, the sun blinked out to stay as I made my way back from clipping young fennel fronds from a nearby park for some color on the table.
 Guests trickled in, each dealing graciously with the focused attention of Honey, who approached them like they were rock stars. Such indulgence probably should not be encouraged, but the wagging tale, soft pats of tiny paws, and shaking rumba-booty swayed most to give a caress or three. New faces and old introduced themselves, invariably gravitating to the kitchen to give Katie some love. With the smell of butter and pastry filling the room seats were taken. On an airy base of mille feuille, Katie set varied slices of Heirloom tomatoes in red, gold, purple, and green. Fromage fraise, France's answer to ricotta cheese which Katie had made earlier in the morning, was then added along with fresh herb. On the day after Summer, the light and fresh tart bore the essence of the season just past. A search for fruit to balance the acidity of the tomatoes, yet a brightness for the butter and cheese, led me down Bordeaux way to a Sauvignon Blanc/Semillon blend. The Romage family can rest easy as the they have passed operations to the able hands of daughter Estelle. (Chateau Lestille, Entre-Deux-Mer, 2011)

 Butter in the air gave way to roasting fish. In preparation, Katie had slow roasted halved Early Girls, pulling some of the moister but intensifying the earth and sweetness. She did the same for small whole shallot, caramelizing and softening the flavor. Just before setting filets of halibut  atop these for the oven she did what I've come to love: She changed her mind. So beautiful was the fish, she used only the tomatoes and a bit of salt, adding a fresh sprig of thyme and drizzle of olive oil once plated. The result was hard to argue. To keep it clean and simple, a white burgundy was chosen from Côte Châlonnaise (Montagny). (Buissonnair, Les Vignerons de Buxy, 2010)

 Cooked herbs spoke of the pork. Katie'd chosen her roasts small, then tied them up before rubbing on chopped parley, marjoram, chive, mint, lemon zest, garlic, and chili. About half way through the process she added whole garlic cloves and small purple Italian plums, both finishing tender but keeping their shape. It was here that she chose to include the shallots, tucking them in with the others beside the thinly sliced meat, along with a mound of dressed arugula. A dark and earthy Gamay from the foot of Mt. Brouilly got the call, the granite soil pleasingly apparent. (Domaine de Vissoux, Brouilly, Pierre-Marie Chermette, "Pierreux", 2009) Missing "home" Katie found a chabichou de Poitou, a goat cheese from our region of France that was aged to a firm texture, a deep flavor. She added to it something she made the mistake of tasting, rendering her unable to pass even though it was from Holland! The pumpkin orange gouda was also firm, yet tender due to the cows milk. Wanting spice and fruit, I poured a Syrah and Mourvèdre blend which offered many layers in the glass. On top of that, how can you not love a wine made by an old rugby player?! (Gérard Bertrand, Saint Chinian, Languedoc-Roussillon, 2009)
 Dessert came as a result of a craving that resulted in fleur de sel caramels and pain d'amande, the wafer thin crisp of almond cookie. Mission figs joined them on the plate as coffee and some Remi Landier cognac were passed around. Butter, sugar, and salt are a tough combo to pass up, so it was no wonder that hands found their way into the large glass cookie jar Katie presented when guests departed. Just in case...

 For some strange reason, she and I looped back to savory. The idea of a let's-postpone-the-dishes glass, turned into cold pork and tomatoes, washed down by icy Stella's. We let the failing tea-lights tell us when to move, which they did thankfully quite a long while later.

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Bye Summer...

So simple... Sweet & dry vermouth with lemon.

 While we wait for that last blast of heat representing the Bay Area's true Summer, it's hard not to be aware of the coming Autumn: the sun dropping closer to the horizon, mornings more cool, leaves changing in various stages of color even though never a rival to New England's. It's been good, though, this transition from the City to the East Bay. Yes, I still miss the rumblings of the passing street cars, the evening moan of fog horns, not to mention dim-sum, pho, and our favorite coffee roasting guy all within a few blocks. But, we've done okay.
 As has been mentioned, having the sun pop out each day just after breakfast doesn't stink. To be within a short stroll of Monterey Seafood, The Cheese Board, The Local butcher shop, Monterey Market, etc. makes filling bellies and senses very easy. The fog leaches in, but does so after sundown allowing for lunches in the garden, evening cocktails in the last of the warm light. Ah, yes, and to be able to barbecue! What a concept!!! About this time last year, we had some old friends in from Hawaii who I took up to the roof, our normal grilling spot. It was a short visit. Neither the intense shock of green just beyond the roof line that was Golden Gate Park nor the tales of seeing the Faralon Islands on a clear day could keep them.

Rockfish over kale and fennel.

 So, while our unwavering love for the City takes us often over the Bay Bridge, it is with gratitude that we have enjoyed these past few months across the bay. If it's time for Fall, fair enough. We'll eat the last round of tomatoes from the garden, steal a trip or two over for rays at Stinson, and set the weathered table in the courtyard for as many meals as will allow. Then...
 Already Katie's lamenting the lack of a good hard rain. (How quickly they forget!) But, the last of the neighbor's figs are dropping over the fence, the persimmons on the tree are approaching color, and a cord of oak and almond wood stands ready for the fire. No, not the same as waiting for the pop and chug of Jean Ive's tractor to climb up out of the village to our place in Charmé, but Alfredo made fine work in placing the truck load of hard wood perfectly at our gate. (A little too perfectly for Katie's liking, as she was less than keen for the stacking process, having just finished an hour work out with the ladies.)

The offending pile!

 With guests having to defer to the Spring from what had been a scheduled Fall Session in France, we had looked forward to just playing about the house there, no tug of responsibility. We didn't count on, however, the crush of work (If you can call meals, markets, and wine work.) filling in here the void left from our change in schedule there. Not possible to convey the emptiness of missing friends, neighbors, and the land, we will instead savor our return to the Charente early next year, while warming our cottage with a crackling fireplace, and filling our table with food and good people to share it with.

Repas CG: The Aftermath... August 26

If it feels good... Last Sunday's repas found us back at our cottage in North Berkeley. Felt so good the first time, it was an easy choice. That thing called the sun was out again, a revelation from our vitamin D deprived previous lives spent in the Inner Sunset across the Bay. Guests gathered, exchanged greeting and intros, lingering a bit longer in conversation than usual perhaps to keep me company as I got the fire going early. Had to be ready for the "big fish".

 Eventually we settled in, letting the seared scallops get us started, sealed with a slight golden crust, moist and medium rare inside. Katie's concern over using a pea purée somewhat late in the season faded away, the sweetness still very much there, a fine balance to the acid of her lemon oil. A silky Vouvray from Domaine des Aubuisières, Cuvée de Silex(Bernard Fouquet) fit in well, the 100% Chenin Blanc full, yet balanced in fruit to minerality. While I snuck out to bank the coals and scrape the grill, Katie continued, setting the mussels in white wine to "pop" then adding shaved fennel. Before we sat to share in the steaming bowls, we set the whole salmon on a bed of sliced onion and lemon, a buffer between the whitened wood fire and king salmon. Ambition, no doubt, had us with a fish reminiscent of the Scheider line in Jaws, "I think we need a bigger boat." A bit of tail and snout peeking over the lip of the b-b-q proved of no concern, well tied and stuffed with thyme, dill, mint, lemon, and onion, it was cooking evenly when we turned the beauty. Back table side, the mussels were small and sweet, the fennel still with a slight crunch. The round of crusty sourdough tartine Katie had hidden in the bottom of the bowls proved a nice surprise, soaking up all the juices and wine. Wanting something brighter and a slightly more dry, a Macon-Villages(Domaine Fichet, Maçon-Villages, Terroir de Birgy) was chosen, clean on the palate, crisp with soft citrus, not distracting from the shellfish.

 With a flip and a prayer, we moved the salmon from grill to platter, letting it "rest" while clearing. The salmon falling from bone made for a plating uncomplicated: fish with a drizzle of olive oil, summer squash gratin, a couple of lemon slices. The herbs... the smoke... the lemon, had to go to Burgundy for this, an Alain Burgeut offering (Les Pince Vin, Gevrey Chambertin): Soft in tannins, good structure, fruit not overwhelming the fish. Three cheese of very different textures/flavors (Poitou de Chabichou, a classic young crottin from our home region; a firm Gouda-style cheese; a crazy triple cream something-or-other that had me licking my plate!) led me to a wine from Fitou, a rather obscure southern spot in the Languedoc-Roussillon. Juicy, but not too heavy coming off the Pinot Noir, it offered smoke, fig, and anise in a bridge to the three cheeses.
 As the meal was light all around, Katie wanted to do the same for the "sweeties": an ice cream of peaches roasted in cognac, served with ginger cookies. Playing off the deeply caramelized fruit, pulled out a bottle of Jules Gautret (Jonzac, Petite Champagne), floral, honied, some soft caramel.  Coffee made a couple of rounds, the conversations showing no signs of slowing. When eventually we all made our way out to the drive way, the sun was still clear and warm. Not surprisingly, we found it easy to splash a bit more into our glasses, savoring the afternoon for a bit before tackling the dishes.

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Repas CG: The Aftermath... July 22

With a change of address from the City to North Berkeley, we chose to celebrate last Sunday's repas by having it at "the cottage". Still in the throws of moving clutter, we prepped, pushed, hid, and stashed all that had yet to be orderly disposed, in the process answering the question, "Where do you 'hide' 27 boxes of books?" The promised heat arrived with our guests, any fog being long gone. Greetings were passed about, and in some cases old friends rediscovered, as all assembled about the lavender, tomatoes, and other assorted things recently put in the pots or ground of the courtyard.

 The heat remained at the door as we settled table-side, cool air reigning, a benefit of the high ceiling. Katie took her cue from the change, opting to serve the roasted corn soup warm instead of cold, the sharp chill and acid by way of her pickled courgette offsetting the sweetness. The corn, sunny day, and just a hint of smoke had me thinking "pink sparkler", and the fruit, yeast, and earth of the crement de Bourgogne (Louis Bouillot, Brut), mostly Pinot Noir with a hint of Gamay Noir, held up very well. (Kept in bottle for 24 months, as opposed the usual 9, made for a nice finesse in the glass.) With dueling grills going outside, a topped off glass was needed as sardines were put to flame. Stuffed with thyme, cervil, sweet onion, and lemon, tied off to maintain shape, they were met on the plate by a drizzle of aioli along with some tossed arugula. Maybe it was grill smoke or perhaps the herbs, but chose a white from just outside of Aix-en-Provence (Chateau de Beaupré), whose blend dominant in Rolle (Vermintino...?) with help from Sauvignon, Bourbelanc, and Grenache Blanc offered enough fruit for the grilling and a crisp acidity and citrus to ease the aioli.

 The replenished wood softening to white, the meat hit the fire next, but only for a short stay. Once rested, a strip of the relish (olive oil, parsley, chili, garlic, and lemon) was added, as were little roquefort soufflés and swiss chard tossed in garlic. Stayed down south for this one, with a Grenache (Carignane and Syrah added for depth) from Chateau Etang des Colombes; sound fruit, good earth, tannins present, but soft. For cheeses to go with the mixed greens, Katie chose a firm, wash rind cows milk from the Rhône (Secret de Couvert) and a creamy, pungent Pont-l'Évêque. Stay in the same neighborhood for this, the rich and round fruit of the (Domaine de la Damase) Grenache seemed familiar with the former cheese, bold and young enough for latter.
 Gallette was served, the bright flavor of apricots balanced against the musky blueberries, a bit of crème fraîche as well. Coffee and cognac followed, the  smooth and balanced Remi Landier from Cors just outside of Foussignac, representing well it's 5 generations. We lingered again in the courtyard, this time for goodbyes. At least, for now. A good spot, this new place. Have a feeling there may be a meal or two more to come here.

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

La Liberté... France (Spring Sessions... 2012)

A last thought of Spring...
 Not long after our recent return to France, Katie and I set out early one morning (Comme d'habitude) to a local open air market, only to find it closed. Subsequently it was revealed to us that nearly all was closed (markets, banks, the post office, etc.) as it was May 8, the day marking the end of WWII. Red faced by lack of awareness, along with a poor marking of history, our presence was soon requested by neighbors for a commemorative lunch. As Charmé was part of the region of "occupied" France during the war, the appreciation and relief of liberation are still present.

Katie's Spring favorite: Lilies of the Valley
in the garden's corner.

 Again it was Alice and Aleric, forever thoughtful, who were our hosts, along with dear Laurence (the aunt of Aleric). Much like Sunday's, holiday's in France bring all pleasantly to a halt, adding to the still of the tranquil countryside. We began with Alice's gallette of lardon, mushrooms, and a bechamel, rich and savory, the crust delicate and light. Some of the local rosé fit in very well here. Grateful of a sun too recently rare, they took advantage of the opportunity to grill sausages (a pork and herb, as well as a Merguez, of course). With these, Alice included pomme purée. Butter, cream , and potatoes. Yes! A bottle of Roland's Merlot, smooth with a good weight, was opened. Cheese and greens... Coffee and éclairs chocolat from the patisserie in Aigre (Which Aleric thankfully found opened half-day due to the holiday.)... A pass on the cognac, but an absolute giving in to the sieste.

 The sun was hanging low in the sky when we made our way out for a late afternoon wander. Looping up past Antoine's rows of vines, and on towards the tiny hamlet of Moussac, we ducked down into the Marais; a pocket of fields split by a mill stream, where those in the village with an interest are able to lay out more expansive gardens in the dark, nearly black soil than those at their homes. Perhaps because of the recent extended rain, they were slow in growth for this time of year, but the pride and care were on full display: immaculate rows of strawberries, lettuce, and radish; stakes and string already in place to enhance the tomatoes and beans to come; white asparagus, hearty and determined, pushing up through the mounded soil, asking for the table.
 The paths of narrow packed earth, just large enough to allow for a small tractor, provided a good test of the progress in letting our new pup "off leash". Despite setting out sniffing and exploring, she would only allow for a few paces before checking in by way of "come on guy's" turn of the head, before continuing. It was not long until she kicked up a couple of chevreaux (small dear), previously hidden while napping in a patch of young wheat, sending them loping effortlessly away over the green waist high buds. A male pheasant, brilliantly dressed in claret and gold, was soon flushed from a parcel of sprouting corn. It was a handful of Didier's cows, trotting over through their meadow of tender grass that stopped Honey dead still, nothing like this having ever been seen on the mean streets of Hayward (where she had been picked up by animal control a few months previous). Unsure what beasts be these, she froze beside the fence shaking, a ferocious bark no doubt hidden somewhere deep inside her 7 lbs. frame, not able to surface. Unconvinced by my lifting her to be licked, we continued on home, just making it as the sun dipped behind the low hillside, and the small road that snakes its way up to Bessé.


Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Honey Does Paris... Spring Sessions (France 2012)

 For anyone who's ever been to Paris it will come as no surprise that it's very dog friendly. Assumption can be an anchor when traveling, however. Thus prior to our customary wander of the city, done each time when returning from the countryside, there were conversations to be had with the proprietors of both the small family run hotel we preferred and the restaurant of choice for dinner that night. Although each was touched by the courtesy, neither was the least bit concerned. The Madame of the hotel even going so far as to break into english (a first in our dealings) to echo my description of our petite chien nouvelle, qui est très mignon ("Wee luuv, uhm, cuute leeetle dugs."). The owner of Le Severo in the 14th, that tiny gem home to perhaps the best steak frîtes in the city, merely responded with an un-bothered "Oui...?". (Easy to imagine over the phone the accompanying shrug of shoulders.)
 So northward we trained, the latest installment of our fêtes de voisins from the day before still fresh in memories: foie gras made from the geese of Suzanne's daughter, Katherine, served with Alice's confiture d'oignon; Katie did a course of grilled mackerel, stuffed in thyme and lemon, and served with white asparagus; Suzanne roasted one of those beautiful chickens from the farm in Juillé with young potatoes. The countryside sped by under a sky with few clouds, as we got into a "fridge emptier" picnic of bread, saucisson, a few cheeses, and Kronnenbourgs wrapped in foil. Dinner would not come until later that evening, and a few hours of exploring would need to be done before then.

 Bags were dropped, but not before most everyone working at the hotel emerged from the back for kind words and a caress of the pup, leaving us relegated to bystanders. (W.C. Fields had it right about being rendered useless in the presence of kids and animals.) Through the nearby Jardins de Luxembourg, stopping for some sun by the large fountain, we strolled long enough to make the cold pressions at Au Petit Suisse seem earned. Spoke at length with a very cool art dealer in the process of setting up an interactive on-line form of gallery comprised of Europe-wide artists, so much so that we cheated ourselves of the long walk down to the lower 14th. A cab was hailed.
 Greeted warmly in the very small (29 seats?) restaurant, Honey was easily deposited at our feet. Meat is prominent at Le Severo, with only one of the... 8 starters (white asparagus) and one of the 8 or so "mains" (sole meunière) being the exceptions. Ordering too much food and being un-bugged by it, we started with poached pig trotters shaped into little "cakes", seared in a hot skillet to give a nice crust, a mound of water cress to cut the fat a bit; steak tartare, so fresh, and ground to order; a terrine of head cheese, rich in warm spice. Then it was on to the steaks, Katie opting for a fist sized rumstek ("rump" steak) and I for the entrecôte ("rib eye"), served perfectly saignant. (Should you be one normally tempted to go further with your temp, the "Saignant!" written in the center of the chalk board wall mapping the available wines should discourage. You won't be sorry.) Pink, rested, damn good. With them came crispy golden frîtes done in duck fat, and (to assuage any guilt) an order of the white asparagus, tossed in a whole grain mustard vinaigrette was included.

 Rather than further test what had been commendable patience for a young dog, we jumped ahead to espresso; the better to get out and walk off some of what we consumed. The cool night air was welcome, a faint remnant of twilight lingering as we slid up the tree lined Rue Emile Richard that cuts through the Cimetière de Montparnasse. It was only when passing a gelato shop an hour or so later that our resolve weekend, leaving us sitting on a stoop just down from the hotel sharing small plastic spoons of chocolate-hazelnut, stracciatella, and dolce de lece. We would be off early in what was already the next day, separated by only few hours of sleep, warm croissants, and a café crème.

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Family Reunion... Midwestern Style

Road trippin'!

What do you do when a "family reunion" is called for, but the family in question is spread all over? Meet 'em in the middle! The middle of the country that is. Such was the case this past July 4th week when Gathrights from East and West converged on The Cottonwood Ranch in (round about) central Nebraska. Set on a couple thousand acres, a ribbon of the Platte River sliding through, the property is a legacy of Katie's Dad's family (The Petersons) who homesteaded back in the late 1870's. A carefully protected balance has been created between the farmers who work the land (corn, wheat, soy bean, etc.), the various family members who visit each year, and the abundant wildlife that flourishes about the woods and riverbank.

 For the gaggle that comprise my family, most all of whom hail from the Bay Area, it was an opportunity to eat big steaks, drink many a cold beer, roam freely with thoughts, and lounge gratefully in beach chairs set in the flow of the Platte. The consistently 100+ degree heat made the latter a necessity. When even the river wouldn't do, we'd immerse in a large, round metal "horse tank", fed icy well water pumped by the rooster-tale windmill pictured. Just push aside the numerous beers and odd watermelon or two, and soak as long as your heart (among other things) could take it. Ahhhhh!

Buttermilk soaked then fried chicken.

 An added benefit was the inclusion of members of Katie's Mom's family(The Belschners), who settled in the area not long after her Dad's. They joined us to celebrate the 4th, freshly ground burgers and a selection of house-made sausages in tow. Originally opened in 1892 as a classic "general store", Belschner Custom Meats is overseen by 85 year old patriarch Uncle Jim, and the steady hand, and strong back of his grandson Casey. They graciously and patiently welcomed, toured, and endured a parade of Gathrights eager to wonder about the "store". Then, we all got together to celebrate our Independence with b-b-q, cold beverages, remarkable baked goods (Cousin Shawn's rhubarb pie!!!), and some serious river sittin'. A lazy and perfect way to spend an afternoon, plopped in a beach chair set in the river flow, only stirring to refill the glass or see if maybe one more piece of something yummy could squeeze into an already protesting belly.

The principal suspects + Marilyn

 As most of our family are city dwellers, the raw beauty of the the ranch seemed to captivate. Shimmering cotton woods, sweeping river grasses, along with the Platte herself serve as home to deer, rabbits, coyotes, bald eagles, hawks, quail, pheasant, wild turkeys, and (in season) ducks and Sand Hill cranes. One night at dinner we watched a massive "Tom" turkey zigzag his way along the opposite bank only to be followed 15 minutes or so later by a deep red and brown coyote, making the same exact twists and turns. The following sunrise a female coyote made her way through the shallows and a  string of sandbars, pups tagging closely behind. Each evening we'd head out to walk off dinner, the ritual closing of the main gate augmented by the swelling moon. For those a bit reluctant, the small John Deere was employed, outfitted with trailer bearing two long reclaimed "bench seats", giving better vantage of the sea of fire flies (lightening bugs) swimming over the darkened alfalfa fields.

Enough bacon on that "baker"?!

 Picnics were packed for hikes down river to "deep water", not so deep in this dry year, but satisfying none the less. Cool water and colder beers (You see the pattern developing here?!) kept pace with whatever leftovers we put together. Our shaggy little pup, bravely venturing in the water for the first time, learned to swim... ehr survive! No doubt emboldened from trips along a trickle of stream (all of 3 inches deep) near our new North Berkeley cottage, she'd launch herself in whatever water she could. When her trotting led to high-stepping, then to being swept away by deeper flow (much to the concern of my wife), Honey didn't disappoint. Although exposed when wet for the little skinny that she is, her spirit seemed lifted by the accomplishment which was repeated many times in the day's that followed. After several hours, the heat and sun would encourage us homeward, not before combing a finger or two of slow moving river for agates, the prizes washed down by water and time.

 Naps would replenish, and then it was time to cook: steaks of various types (of course), roasted pork loin and whole garlic, fried chicken, roasted chicken, chicken tacos, and even pizzas. There was corn on the cob, found easily from local farmers, along with creative interpretations of the classics: cole slaw, baked potatoes, three bean and potato salads. Wine that had lined nearly all our suitcases flowed, family stories soon followed, and glasses were raised to our folks now both passed. In the last of the golden light, the Platte set in orange and gold, we'd summon the courage to ease some icy water melon into full middles. Even better were the s'mores fests, done around drift wood fires, where adults were hard to tell from the kids; laughing, mouths full and smeared in chocolate, licking sooted marshmallow from fingers.
 Families are never perfect, but we somehow managed to strike the delicate balance between fine meals, a stunning location, and small doses of family drama. No, not all the fireworks were reserved for the 4th, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. You love 'em, wrestle with 'em, then love 'em some more.

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Northern Run...

 A while back as Spring first began to emerge, took a road trip up to the northern woods, a chance to wander in an expanse of open land, catch up with old friends, and of course eat some good grub. A few hours outside the City, having followed the twisting bends of the Eel river, we cut up through rutted road, snow still dusting the surrounding hills implying the possibility of needing a "tow" out should it drop any lower during our stay. Wood smoke served as our welcome, along with the wagging tails of hearty dogs sitting at the drive's mouth.

Quiet spot by the chicken coop.

 The cool air tasted good, the sun broke from a lingering fog, and my long frame was grateful to stretch from the small European car not intended for me. Embraces and small talk, dogs sliding about our legs, the day was slowly coming into focus as we stood under  the canopy of scrub oaks that were set about the main house. Ushered inside, the popping of newly placed logs could be heard coming from the iron wood-burner, the sole source of heat. We were offered a late morning beer, very cold and good, and settled in at the kitchen table; a perfectly weathered picnic version.
  It didn't take long for food to come up in conversation, signaling the time to retrieve the bags we'd brought. With several raised beds forming the garden, the growing season offers an abundance. As that was still a ways off, we came prepared. First was a kale salad tossed in a brown sugar and balsamic vinagrette with shaved red onion and fresh goat cheese that my traveling buddy (Katie having opted out of the trip.) had picked up as the Sunday Marin Market opened. As all were "pescatarian", a departure for one so meat centric as myself, I put together a fennel and cauliflower soup, drizzled with a salsa verde. The Heinekens, preferred drink of the house, kept appearing, sections of the Sunday papers were passed around, and naps descended upon all.

 And so, the pattern was set. Good food seemed constantly to find its way to the table, wood to the fire, the odd beer to be opened. The large valley-to-peak parcel of land demanded to be hiked, and we would set out to explore, following one of the many streams that fed the property's water tanks, along with providing power by way of turbines. When changing light or cooling wind reminded us of time, we'd be led by the wood smoke back down, cutting along the tiers of waterfalls, past the turtles sunning themselves in the failing sun on large stones exposed in the small pond.

 

 Once back, the cooking would again start. A spaghetti of aglio-olio-pepperoncini... pizzas of Spring garlic, chard, and goat cheese... tossed chicories, with roasted beets, Spring onion, and crostini of early season salmon. When a few days had passed, and the City called for our return, no tow was needed. Instead, the sun held true, as we headed back refreshed, ready for another go round with reality.

http://www.chez-gautier.com

Spring Rain... France (Spring Sessions 2012)

We returned to France on the heels of several weeks of wet weather which left the rolling terrain beyond our train window understandably green, a color heightened by the electric yellow of rape seed fields. While farmers are struggling Stateside with the early heat and dry conditions it brings, our French farming neighbors in the Charente spoke of the want for sun. No strangers to re-entry, we pride ourselves on being able to pop shutters, lift linens, and have a fire going in short order. No need. Thoughtful friends had been airing the house for a few days, then filled our fridge with staples (cheese, milk, butter, ham, etc.) to ease the arrival. Humbling is such generosity.
 That evening we were treated to dinner, as well, so as not to have to struggle with the fatigue of travel. Alice and Aleric, two friends who go out of their way to make sure we are always well received, insisted we take dinner with them. The afternoon had warmed a bit, but I got a fire going anyway, the better to lift any residual damp from stone walls. Alice, seemingly taking a cue from the show of sunshine, treated us to a taste of North Africa with a chicken braise and couscous meal that was perfect and light considering we'd be hitting the sheets promptly. A shredded zucchini salad and small balls of bufala mozzarella had gotten us started, Aleric opening some of local vintner Roland Villneau's rosé. Just right. Some young goat cheese... a few small strawberries... some crème brûlée... a short coffee. (I'm weird that way. Able to hit a coffee, then sleep directly afterward.)
 And sleep we did. Rain returning as we settled in for the night made me glad to have added a log to the fire;  the better  to "open" the house up a bit more. Then sleep, that wonderful, thoughtless sleep after having traveled long distance.

http://www.chez-gautier.com

Repas CG: The Aftermath... April 29

A very welcome gift.

With the sound of the jet engines warming to take us back to France, a few quick words of sunshine, Spring, and lamb. As the cassoulet repas of March fell amid a series of late season storms, and the less than ideal cooking conditions they instilled, Katie asked that I toss her a "softball" for our next location. No more comfortable and welcome embrace than our beloved Dopo over in Oakland. A space so well known to us, it's as if cooking at home. And so it was that we set to open the doors to a warm, sun washed day, the breeze full of budding flower and cut grass.
 A friend, and very talented young East Bay sous chef, recently remarked, "It's a great time of year to be a cook." With the markets awakening, becoming more plentiful each week, his words rang true when we were making our way through the early morning quiet of Allemany Market ("The People's Market."). From full baskets, Katie began with a soup of young asparagus, a mound of baby artichoke hearts in the center that had been tossed chervil, olive oil, and lemon. For this we began with a Petite Courbu from the Madiran. Referred to as the "Viogner of the Southwest" for it's weight and rich, silky texture, there also is the added benefit of a nice natural acidity. She followed this with her lamb sausage, broken into little mounds that were sautéed with fava beans, Spring garlic, radish greens, and lemon zest, served over a round of toasted baguette. A Minervois from the 4th generation Andrieu family was seleted, the peppery Syrah well able to stay with the lamb, and the full berry of the Mourvedre softening the Calabrians (some of the last of our hanging Winter bunches) Katie tucked in before plating.

 Then it was time to unveil the Spring lamb, boned and tied, studded in herbs and sea salt. Pink and lovely, she sliced it thin, and served it with the potatoes Dauphinoise; sliced paper thin, crispy brown on top, cream and butter oozing from within. The dish called for a Burgundy, and Les Dames Huguettes 2009 from Mongeard-Mugneret (Hautes Côtes de Nuits) slid into glass, mouth, and belly very nicely; well balanced, soft cherry, and a minerality that added to the finish. With a pungent and gooey Pont Levesque chosen to accompany the wild arugula, it was back to where we started (the southwest) for a Malbec from the Cohors (Georges Vigouroux).  The Gouleyant (Loose translation: Gulp-able!) had the cocao and licorice you might expect, but also a fresh, bright berry to ease the intense elements of the cheese. Lastly: Gateau Fraise with Crème Citron! Ahhh... Stacked little vanilla cakes, layered with a lemon laced butter cream, the first small strawberries spilling about. Not wanting to bury the freshness, went with a slightly more light cognac (Pierre Ferrand, 1er Cru, Ambre), subtle in it's apricot, rose, and pear.
 As the afternoon stretched into early evening, and guests slowly trickled off, the jazz turned to R&B, another splash of cognac tossed into the glass. Familiar faces from Piedmont Avenue appeared in passing, pulling us happily from our chairs to visit, catch up. Sunday's... Good meals, longs talks, and friends.

http://www.chez-gautier.com

Repas CG: The Aftermath... March 18

 Set between a series of late season storms, we managed to sneak in the Cassoulet repas. Wet gave way for a day, in it's place a cold, dry northern wind, perfect for cassoulet. Tucked in among the French country gems of Garden Court Antiques in the Design District, Jim and Matthew served as our most able and generous hosts. Chandeliers and candles lit the space, and bounced off the waxed string of tables, perfectly dented by time and meals past.

 Katie started us with flaky tarts of Spring garlic, leak, and goat cheese which were paired with an Alsatian Pinot Blanc, crisp and light as not to overpower the subtle pastry. Then it was choux farci, a favorite when found in season in the Charente. There the mixture of ground pork, herbs, and onion is set inside of blanched cabbage leaves which are rebuilt to resemble the vegetable as found in the garden; the filling a treat revealed when slicing. Katie's take on it was to make it more individual, wrapping the pork mixture in the blanched leaves, then steaming to order before setting on a pool of roasted red pepper coulis. To this was offered the soft spice and ample fruit of a Grenache, Carignan, and Censault blend by Abbaye Sylva Plana (Les Novices 2009) from the Languedoc, able to hold up to the richness of the pork, and yet also the smokey tang of the coulis. Next came the cassoulet, a mixture of confit of duck legs, crispy pork belly, and lengths of sausage braised with white beans, all hidden beneath a thick crust of garlic and herbed bread crumbs. Turned to a Gigandas (Domaine Saint-François-Xavier, 2009) for this, mostly Grenache with a bit of Syrah, and was very pleased how the dark fruit, good weight, and soft spice ket pace. Snuck in a Domaine de Labarthe from the small Gaillac region east of Toulouse which made great use of the seldom seen Fer-Servadou and Duras grapes, resulting in a deep , earthy glass that set well with a triple cream Brie Robert and arugula.

 By the time the dark chocolate pot de crême and coffee were served, the wind had eased up, giving us few excuses to packing. But... comme d'habitude, there was cognac to sip, and we weren't about to have our guests drink alone! So we settled in for a taste of Le Reviseur, smoke and caramel in the glass, which comes from the southern edge of the Petite Champagne growing region. Eventually, eyes began to wander about the space, hands to reach for the smooth old finishes of armoirs and end tables, and us to offer an embrace and a kiss in thanks for another Sunday well spent.

http://www.chez-gautier.com

A Little Easter Love...

 Easter began early, a bit too early for the side of me that craves a good lie-in on Sunday mornings. We had promised to join friend George before the weekend crowds filled the trails, on a hike up Mt. Tam. The sun eased the fatigue, and gave comfort no doubt to the large group doing the holiday run across the Golden Gate. We somehow managed to get a word (if only briefly) to our dear Suzanne in Charmé, wishing her a "Bon Paque", Katie excitedly trying to convey the description of the sun, the bay, Alcatraz...
 Snaked our way up trails left green from recent Spring rains, the stream beds echo of falling water staying with us until high up in the manzanita. Not lost were the few turkey buzzards which kept pace with our ascent, seemingly waiting for a waver in our resolve. We watered on top, the Bay giving way to the Pacific, the thicket of redwoods that was Muir woods tucked just the other side of Stinson,  a turn in the far coast marking Point Reyes, the City looking much too small. Our recent addition of little mop-head mix rescue puppy took seamlessly to the change from kennel to hillside. Once down, we made up for the lack of breakfast with margaritas, shrimp tacos, and crab enchiladas in Mill Valley.

 A nap was not far off, and a short, yet hard sleep very appreciated before the afternoon meal at Jon and Kayta's. Increasing clouds had them shift the tables in from under the massive oak out back, running instead through their Glenview District Craftsman. With an ease that we've come to expect from them, they offered platters of deep pink lamb chops, grilled young asparagus, and a lamb stock rissoto turned light green by a purée of mint, chive, and parsley. A trio of cheeses, tossed greens, and red wines in abundance left for little room, but I still managed to sneak in a few of Katie's citrus shortbread cookies with just a bit of cognac.
 As their little ones were put down for sleep, and even the energetic dogs showed a slowing in their play, it was time to head back to the City. So content at the long day's end, even the absence of a single chocolate egg couldn't shake the satisfaction.

http://www.chez-gautier.com

"Where do you guys like to eat out?"

 The one question put that comes up often: "Where do guys like to eat out?" It's generally followed by a soft exhale, a little toe scrape of the ground, maybe even the always welcome time-buyer, "Pardon?" It's an awkward question if only because he and I eat at home. ALOT! I almost feel bad except... that I don't. Being out, working in food several nights a week, leaves us craving the quiet and ease of our own kitchen table.

 Oh sure, when we throw off the fatigue, and get dolled up for a nibble out, maybe a bit of jazz, we invariably end up wondering why we don't do it more often. Fortunate to live in a wonderland of talented chefs, remarkable butchers, bountiful markets, a wealth of seafood... The list  is long, and could go longer. So when we do make it out, albeit rarely, it's for something we can't overlook: The steak tartar and icy martinis bar side at Bix, carnitas and hand made tortillas at LA Palma in the Mission, large steaming bowls of phô  at Loi's in the Inner Sunset or Turtle Tower in the Loin, the cleanest of clean Chinese from Irving Street's San Tung, or maybe just the best burger in town with a cold one from it's next door neighbor. (Sorry, keeping this one a secret. As much as a place can be secret that only serves burgers one day a week. Hint: Tuesday.)
 So, when free from commitment, it's off early to a local market, a stop by our favorite wine guy (Hey David!), a coin toss between seafood (Fish!.... Monterey Seafood) or meat (Avadano's or our local guy, Bobby), and then... simply share it all with friends.

http://www.chez-gautier.com

Repas CG: The Aftermath... February 19

 Despite the long holiday weekend, and the Bay Bridge closed for construction, we settled into a meal featuring some tried and true French "classics" last Sunday. Big doses of thanks to all who joined in, especially those that trekked over from the City on BART; the bridge be damned! Café 817 proved home for the day, the charming spot in Old Oakland owned by the talented duo of Scott and Emily Goldenberg; until recently fixtures at the Zuni Café. Once the storage room for Ratto's Market (Est. 1897) next door, 817 has maintained the old (chipped subway tiles, wood molding, and ample ceiling) without sacrificing the new (iron support beams, cast cement bar, and blown glass pendants).

Stealing a stove side bight.

 A warm sun and nearly empty streets allowed for the doors to be open for a pleasant breeze to flow. Katie wasted little time in plating the onion soup, gruyère bubbling at the bowl mouth. With the beef broth rich and onions sweet, a hint of cognac drizzled just before crouton and cheese hit the broiler, a Vatan Sancerre was poured; walking the line between clean acidity and distinct minerality, just a hint of flint. For the goat cheese soufflé that followed, a mound of roasted golden beets tossed in champagne vinaigrette included to tease the mouth, a Picpoul de Pinet from Languedoc was needed. Known as the "lip stinger" for it's bright acidity, it rounded out nicely,  the citrus finish seemingly softened by the Mediterranean air. From this light perch, it was then time for the deep, dark flavors of the boeuf bourguignon, braised with pearl onions, wild mushrooms, and carrots, served over  pommes purée; cream and butter present, to be sure. Tempted by a few options from Burgundy, it was a Mourchon Grand Resérve from Séguret (southern Rhône Valley) that proved true. Fat and full of dark fruit, tannins subtly present, it was Grenache driven with enough Syrah to keep it interesting. With Kate's choice of an intense Reblochon to accompany the tossed arugula, a Morgan by Laurent Guillet was opened, the cooked cherry and brighter acidity offered ample balance to the cheese.
 In the failing light, with the strings of white holiday lights that wrap the trees of Washington Street having come into focus, the smell of sugar and butter announced the tarte tatins coming from the oven; a bit of whipped cream soon added. As coffee and cognac followed, a calm took easy hold of the room. Content to let the herb and apricot of the medium weight Park Borderies (Single Vineyard) play about my mouth, acting as if the room would clean itself (It never does!), we spoke of it's origins, the smallest of cognacs six growing segments. Ben Webster was blowing a soft sax accompanied by strings, when we reluctantly began our goodbyes.


http://www.chez-gautier.com

No Fair: Snowballs out of reach!

 Winter has been hard to Europe, very hard in some areas. For our little pocket in the Charente, however, it's been pure joy. Known to get a day or two of light snow every other year or so, they have been hit with the white, and quite a bit of it. Several inches blanketed our village recently, with cold temperatures to keep it around for several day's of play.
 Snow men mark property lines, and snow ball fights ("Les batailles de boule de neige.") gladly have broken the measured routine of the non-growing season. Only one problem as Katie and I see it: We're not there! Not meant to be back until Spring, we've listened with envy to the stories of silent nights of snowfall, fireplaces heaped with extra logs, and the sneak attacks of neighbor-on-neighbor snowball fights. Ah, how good the cognac must taste when brought to cold face...

http://www.chez-gautier.com

Repas CG: The Aftermath... January 29

 With a soft Winter sun lighting the normally gray Avenues of the Inner Sunset, we sat to enjoy a bit of duck weekend before last. Tucked into a side street just beside Golden Gate Park, the Everybody Bikes + Art Gallery was our home for the afternoon; an eclectic mix of art and bicycles created by Michael Penza, who also owns the bustling bike shop around the corner on Irving. With a rack of the two wheeled beauties running the length of one wall and the canvas of fashion photographer/film maker Daniel O'Neill set upon the other, tables stretched out before a wall of old windows rimmed in Christmas tree lights, the conversation bouncing from stained cement floors to the soaring ceiling above.
 Duck was the focus, but shared the stage. As guests assembled, Katie pulled hot gougieres from the oven in welcome, little puffs of pastry rich with gruyère. She then proceeded with a fennel soup prurée topped in crab meat, a tartine smeared with a blood orange butter for dipping. An Aligoté from Bruno Clavelier, cool and "minerally", was used to pair. Next began the duck, as a salad of endive, escarole, and radicchio was tossed in a warm wild honied vinaigrette, to which was added tender sautéed duck livers along with crispy, salty strips of lardon. With this was poured a Cabernet Franc from Phillipe and George Vatan of Chateau du Hureau. The "Tuffe", named for the local limestone of Saumur-Champigny in which the vines grow, was more rich and round than it's Loire Valley brethren of Chinon to better handle the livers, but finished with distinct tannins as not to overwhelm with fruit.

Then it was time to get serious as confit cuisse de canard were plated with a gratin of cauliflower, a bit of lightly tossed pepper cress littered about the plate to ease the richness of the dish. In an effort to finesse the succulent, fall-off-the-bone duck, a Mercury 1er Cru from Patrick Size was needed. New blood in an old growing family. The product: elegance in the glass. Tossed wild arugula came next, along with a trio of cow's milk cheeses: a firm Morbier,  a sharp and pungent Camembert, and a bright and salty Vendéen Bichoné. Opened some Santenay by Domaine Jessiaume for this, full yet floral with just a hint of annis; added depth to handle the varying flavors of the cheese. For desert, Katie went subtle on the sugar in the form of a goat cheese pot de crême, topped by a few strands of candied grapefruit. Having said that, she did slide onto the plates some layered cookies of caramel, chocolate, and shortbread, in honor of a good friend's beloved Brittany.
 With dusk settling, muting the warmth of the brick building that had filled our view across the way, candles and track lights filled the room. Coffees were served, cognac poured; a Gilles Gautret, old school in deep , rich caramel, a hint of smoke. Too soon it was time to head on, another afternoon well spent.