chez pim

How to get in without a reservation at The French Laundry

It's entirely possible, and I've got proof!

My friends Liz and John were The French Laundry again yesterday -they are going for the record of having the most meals there, I think- and they told me this story. At the lunch, after about the 10th course, John was taking his usual break in the front garden when he spotted a ragged and forlorn looking lost dog wandering near the front door. Dear John picked up the poor dog and went to find Jen, the hostess, to see about finding the dog's rightful owner. Laura, the GM, decided that John should take the dog to a safe place, which in this case was the office, while Jen made phone calls to find the dog's home.

John went back to finish his lunch, and a few courses later, Lizzie took her break and decided to go check on the welfare of the mangy dog. She found the dog happily fed in the office, Thomas -yes, Thomas Keller- had cooked dinner for him. Not just any dinner even, he made a steak dinner for the poor animal, a culotte steak, done beautifully rare and sliced perfectly. The ragged thing got a French Laundry meal cooked by Thomas himself, without a reservation and a 2-month wait like the rest of us. Lucky dawg.

The moral of the story is it's sometimes good to be a dog, I suppose. If I showed up there ragged, lost, and underfed at the French Laundry's front door, would I get a steak cooked by Thomas Keller you think? Oh, wait, lost, ragged, and underfed? I might have done that already. :-P

Tomato salad, green tea leafs, Matcha vinaigrette

My participation in Is My Blog Burning! has been lagging of late, due to excessive traveling and other going-ons in my life. But you're not interested in that stuff today, are you? You're interested in seeing whether I could pull a comeback kid move worthy of Clement's fun theme: Taste Tea. Well, shall we see?

I'm a veritable tea snob. In fact, my love of tea crossed the line to an obsession long, long ago. At home I have a cupboard dedicated to tea and tea accoutrement. I probably have at least 20 different teas at any given time in that cabinet, not to mention an arsenal of teapots, each one designated to a particular type of tea. There are a couple of Yixing pots for Chinese oolong, a Japanese iron pot for green tea, a delicate porcelain pot for Yin Zhen white tea, a Chatstford pot for delicate First Flush Darjeeling, and so on. You see? I wasn't kidding about that obsession bit, was I?

Well, but none of that is going to help me today, because the aforementioned cupboard is in foggy San Francisco, while yours truly is down here in sunny Santa Cruz. Oh dear, what is a girl to do?

Softshell crab pong kari

I spoke many times of the summers of my youth spent in a small beach town called Hua Hin, in the south of Thailand. Back then, sleepy little Hua Hin was the antithesis of the more internationally known beach destination Pattaya. Whereas Pattaya was full of tourists, weekenders, beer bars, and a night life of somewhat unsavory nature, Hua Hin was steadfastly low key, full of vacation homes and very few small hotels.

Far from the glitters of Pattaya, the most vibrant Hua Hin night life was the night food market, selling everything from the ubiquitous Pad Thai, to Pa-tong-go, the sinfully delicious Chinese fried-dough which -as though being deep fried was simply not enough- was eaten with sweet condensed milk. I loved munching on crispy Roti, a Thai subversion of the indian fried bread, adapted to the Thai sweet tooth by a generous dousing of -yes- condensed milk over the top. I also loved to visit a Nam-keng Sai stall, the name of which derived from the block of ice sitting atop a Mandoline of sort, ready to be shaved over a variety of jellies and fruits and topped with multi-colored syrups and perhaps a dash of coconut milk. Nam-Keng Sai means, simply, shaved ice.

One of the most popular dishes at that market was always Pu Pad Pong Kari. Every little shop selling fresh, made-to-order foods made a version. The crabs were always so fresh they were in fact alive and kicking, waiting to be picked out of the bucket, cut up, and thrown into a searing hot wok to be stir-fried with a little curry powder and some onions and garlic. Such a simple dish, but it was always delicious, the slight heat and spice from the curry powder perfectly complimented the sweet flesh of the crabs. The roes and fatty bits from the crab bodies added to the intense sauce.

At home with Ferran Adrià: Cocinar en Casa, no, seriously..

I've recently come across a book that got me hooked -not from the first page- but from the very front cover. It was a picture of Ferran Adrià walking, looking ever so slightly morose, a grocery bag in each hand. The book is called Cocinar en Casa, Home Cooking, a collaboration between the famous grand wizard of elBulli and a Spanish grocery giant Caprabo. And since Ferran has famously proclaimed in many interviews that he used up all his cooking juices in elBulli's kitchen and did no cooking at home, the photo on the front page was even more ironic than it was intended.

The basic idea is a semi home-made of sort, taking common foods from supermarkets and sprucing them up a little. Well, in this particular instance, quite a lot, since these ideas came from that amazing brain of Ferran Adrià. Whether you like the food or even agree with the approach at elBulli, it's hard to not acknowledge that Adrià is certainly a genius - a mad one, perhaps, but a genius none-the-less. Here the genius is again at work, doing his thang on humble ingredients from a common supermarket. And, no, you're not required to get a degree in Biochem or even a chemistry set to use this book, just a Sifon or two will do nicely.

"So, then eat vegetables!"

If you can't stand meat that looks like meat, then eat vegetables. That's a wise advise from Barbara over at Tiger and Strawberries. She touched on a subject that was resting squarely on her nerves, as on mine: those people -and you know who you are- who were squeamish about eating meat that looked like it had once been a living animal. That is such bollocks. Meat comes from animals, not from Styrofoam packages, if you couldn't stand that, then be a vegetarian. That's perfectly respectable, you know, far better than being a hypocrite, I'd say.

I'd even go so far as to add to my list of annoyance those people who refused to eat anything beyond white meat chicken and steak. There is more to an animal than a tenderloin, you understand? What's wrong with a little chitterlings now and again? Waste is such a waste, don't you think? This is why this place, and this man shall forever occupy a special place in my heart.

And, pray tell, precisely what is the chicken's nuggets? Hmm?

EoMEoTE: omelette with softshell crabs and XO sauce

EoMEoTE - a spoof of a meme that has itself become a meme. This world is funny isn't it?

I've never participated in this before, preferring to take a back seat and enjoy month after month of eggy hilarity from down under. But this week I've got quite a fun eggy dish so I thought I'd play.

This was an omelette, a plain omelette cooked up with just salt and a bit of pepper and lots and lots of butter, topped with a sauteed softshell crab -happened to have a few lying round the fridge - and with many spoonfuls of Chinese XO sauce. The softshell crabs were tossed gently in a bit of flour, then salt and pepper and pan fried in - yes - lots and lots of butter. The XO sauce - which in fact contained no XO at all - was added at the very end, right off the fridge.

The toast was on the side. Was that against the rule?

I'm the Boss, and I Say No Beets

Actually, the title of the article from today's NY Times Food Section is I'm the Boss, and I Say No Lentils. That funny article is all about chefs and the food items they found insufferable.

Hey, if Bobby Flay could ban lentils from his new restaurant, Bar American, and Wiley Dufresne could dismiss dill because it tasted like soap, I certainly find no shame in continuing my hate-affair with all beets. Oh and in case you're wondering, yes, yes, that's the same Wiley dude who thought frying mayo was a good idea! Heh.

Most of the chefs said that they would make an exception if they are invited to dinner, owing to politesse. As for me, I don't think so. If Alain Passard couldn't make a beet dish I could eat, my hosts certainly couldn't. I even sent something back chez Pierre Gagnaire last month, the plate came back a mere few moments later with turnips instead of beets, and all was well again in my world.

Perhaps the best thing to do with bread

I'm talking about pan con tomate, the ubiquitous Catalan bread and tomato. It's so simple, but to me, it's perhaps the best thing that's ever been done to a bread.

Take a piece of crusty bread, preferably a little stale, toast it a bit, rub a clove of garlic all over one side, cut a super ripe tomato in half, rub the cut side of one of the halves on the bread until the juice runs all over your hand and the bread, making a grand mess -making a mess is an integral part of this, trust me-, douse the piece of bread liberally with good olive oil, Spanish of course, and sprinkle a bit of sea salt all over. Done! That's it. Glorious in its simplicity, isn't it? It's a wonder that the same culture, the same people, gave rise to the overwrought cuisine of elBulli.

Scarywurst museum!

Those of you who have been reading Chez Pim for a while might remember that, last February when I was visiting the German Boy in Heidelberg, currywurst was part of my cultural education. I called it Scarywurst, but many Germans love it so, there's even a movie made about it.

Currywurst is one of those food quirks that every culinary culture has. In this case, for the Germans, especially Berliners, the quirk takes the form of a perfectly good wurst, freshly cooked so the skin snaps like only German wursts could, cut up into small pieces, doused liberally with curry powder and eaten with ketchup -with a plastic fork and on a paper plate, no less- and often with a side of fries, or sometimes on top of a pile of fries.

Cooking should come with a warning label?

I've been going to Shalimar for ages, but this last thursday was the first time I really looked at the menu. And look what nugget of wisdom I found hidden in it:

Cooking in your own kitchen
can make you go bananas!

Oh, that's what cooking has done for me. Explains a lot, huh? Now that my kitchen is all packed in many many boxes, would I regain my sanity soon, you think?