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
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