chez pim

La Bourgogne, j'adore

I came back to Paris yesterday, after six glorious days in Burgundy. When I boarded the Paris-bound train that morning, the strongest imprint on my mind was not the gorgeous, radiant yellow leafs that painted golden swathes on the slopes, ardently true to the name the Côte d'Or. The far more profound mark was left by the new, abiding respect for the people, their collective love of the land and the terroir, and, of course, the astounding wines they make. Although, they would be the first to tell you that the wine is far less a product of their own making than simply the inevitable result of their stewardship of the land.

It should tell you something when perhaps the best compliment one could give to a Burgundian vigneron is that his wine is true to the expression of its terroir. Laurent Ponsot went even further, explaining to me that even the cépage, the Pinot Noir grape itself, was practically inconsequential. The Pinot Noir was merely there as a conduit entre le sous-sol et le vin, between the ground underneath and the wine it makes. Despite how fanciful that statement sounded, it was difficult not to take him seriously. How could I, when each wine, each made from the same grape, by the same wine maker, using practically the same method, aged in the same cave even, yet each tasted different, even to my amateur palate? The only determining variable appeared to be, as all Burgundian wine makers would gladly tell you, the terroir.

Pim is off to Burgundy

I'm off to Burgundy tomorrow. Somehow I managed to hoodwink my friend Claude, who writes a great wine newsletter called The Fine Wine Review (not a blog, sorry) to let me follow him around on his tasting trip this year.

I'm not entirely sure how I did it. I think my argument was something like, I wouldn't take up much room in the car, I'd just be very quiet and go stand in the corner by myself, not a peep out of me, and no one would need to translate for me even. Whatever it was, Claude kindly let me, so I am off tomorrow to Burgundy, for an entire week. Yay.

We will be visiting Mugnier and Roumier, two of Burgundy's greatest vineyards and producers in Musigny and Bonnes-Mares, also Rousseau, Gevrey-Chambertin's greatest producer. Another day will be Clos des Lambrays, Clos de Tart, and Domaine Dujac. We will also be tasting some great white wines with Pierre Morey, Domaine Leflaive, Lafon, Roulot, and Sauzet, all in a day. Also on the schedule are Drouhin, Jadot, and Coche-Dury, and I'm sure others that haven't yet confirmed. Just thinking of all of this made me a little dizzy....

Check back in a week. I'm sure I'll have lots of fun stories here by then. In the meantime, I found an interactive map of Burgundy for you to play with, from there (or by clicking on the graphic at the top of this post) you will get to a map that can zoom in on an area, appellation, or commune, and learn more about this fabulous wine area. Have fun. I'll see you when I get back!

Cheers!

Graphic credit:
The background was cropped from the interactive map of Bourgogne referred to in the post. The cute luggage and legs were snipped from this funky bag company. (This is not advertising, by the way. I got these images out of Google, and thought I should credit properly.)

In on a little secret: how to pick good value wines from fancy lists in Europe

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I'm speaking of my secret to get the most value out of my sadly depreciating dollars from the wine lists at fancy restaurants in Europe. I've been doing this for a while, but never thought to tell anyone about it. You -yes, that's you- will be the first. ;-)

It occurred to me that my little trick might be of use to others when, at the beginning of our recent dinner at the lovely Greenhouse in Mayfair, my friend Tony commented that the sommelier must have taken a liking to me, spending a long time concurring with me on which wines to pick for our table. The sommelier on duty that night was a sweet, bespectacled Frenchman who really did spend a lot of time with his nose buried in the list searching for something suitable for us. Something like this happened not infrequently with me, but I'd never really noticed it until Tony made that comment that evening. I gave the sommelier a little puzzle to solve, you see, and he was doing his best to solve it.

Who's on First --London style

On the phone, sometime last week...
V: Where are we going Tuesday night?
Pim: to Moro
V: No, no, Tuesday night
Pim: We are going to Moro.
V: Not tomorrow, I'm not free tomorrow, I'm asking about Tuesday night, has Max booked us somewhere?
Pim: Yes, and it's at Moro.
V: Oh, right.

Early Tuesday evening,in a cab, chatting on the phone with David in America...
David: Where are you going tonight?
Pim: To Moro
David: where?
Pim: To Moro?
David: You're not going out tonight? Are you feeling alright?
Pim: Yes I am fine, and I am going out, in a cab this very moment to get there. I'm going to Moro, the restaurant.
David: Oh, to Moro.
Pim: That's what I've been saying!

This very morning, on the mobile...
Moby: What are you doing Friday for dinner?
Pim: I'm going to Dine.
Moby: Where?
Pim: To Dine.
Moby: Fancy are we, but where are you going to dine?
Pim: at that new place called Dine!
Moby: Oh, the one that used to be Tooks!
Pim: Heh! That's what I said!

Cooking Thai in London

It's a good thing I find cooking Thai food in London such fun –there are always rare ingredients that I couldn't find in America- because I am always made to work when I am here. My London friends insist on a meal, but luckily they are also happy to help me shop and chop and pound and do all the things required for a proper Thai meal.

Finding a kitchen for me to cook in is a different story. I have a history of demolishing nice kitchens and leaving indelible marks of oil spatters on ceilings, chilli stains on aprons and tablecloths, imprints of a mortar on the hardwood floor, to name but a few damages I've left behind. And I'm not even mentioning the garlic burn on poor V's fingers –I didn't even know one could get garlic burns. Miraculously, this time the mad scientists John and David volunteered their kitchen, to the resounding cheers of the other friends cowering in the corners for fear that their kitchen might have to be sacrificed.

It is really a lot of fun to shop and cook with these friends, because they are real foodies, and so interested in everything regarding Thai food. Unfortunately for them, I am a cook and not a chef, so I am horrible at planning anything, from the menu to the shopping and the cooking itself. David -no not my David, not the other David either, this is another one entirely- tried to sit me down on two different occasions at Monmoth café to write down what we were going to cook so he could make a shopping list. The menu was finally haphazardly drawn, only to be changed on a whim as soon as I found an intriguing ingredient at the market.

Pimus Ignoramus

Hi there Aussie readers,

It seems like I've been receiving a lot of you new visitors from way down under there, thanks to the Sydney Morning Herald reprint of the Observer article. Nice to meet you mates. All of you. Yes, even if some of you have been a teeny-bit miffed at me for not showing proper respect to the incredible and energized food scene in Australia. Well, um, sorry. I can't do everything now can I? Who do you think I am, Anthony Bloody Bourdain? Ha.

Actually, I would have loved to talk about the scene there if I'd actually known anything about it. The last time I was in Australia, and it was only Sydney even, was 2001. I had lovely meals at Tetsuya and Rockpool, but back then my blog wasn't even about food so I never wrote about them. Oh, yes, and I haven't forgotten the mind-blowingly good coffees to be had everywhere, even at the most random of cafes. I know, I know, I'm due for a visit very soon. Perhaps someone would like to sponsor a trip?

And of the food blog scene over there, I must admit that the only one I've really read on a regular basis is my man Anthony's Spice Blog. Sorry. Would it help if I said I've been reading our man Anthony's antics for years now....he's been on my sidebar for about that long, even. I don't really know much about the other ones, but I'm sure I will look you all up when I make it down to there again. In the meantime, I just found this little Australian meme, Omnivoribus Australis. Check them out, there are plenty of links there to food blogs from all over Australia.

ta, (or whatever it is you say down there)
Pimus Ignoramus

Hello London

So I made it to London. This time I'm staying in a neighbourhood that's almost entirely new to me, Bermondsey. I'm renting a little flat here for a couple of weeks before I make my way down to France for Burgundy-spitting fun.

I wondered if London would feel a little odd, coming back into town for the first time since that horrible day. Living in America, and especially on the faraway West Coast, it's easy to feel insulated and disconnected from the world at large. We are very much the world unto ourselves.

Am I scared? No, I don't think so. It would be supremely silly to, no? But then again I haven't made it down the Tube yet. We shall see. I should hope not though. So many things in this world are completely out of my control, if I were to worry about all of them that would be all I do.

This is where I'd be Tuesday..

...if I were in San Francisco, that is.

Yes, if I were in town, I would certainly be at 1550 Hyde at their Fat Tuesday in the Bay Area party. They will be pouring free wine and passing around delicious appetizers, not to mention a live jazz band (featuring the Ruben Salcido Quartet) from 6-10pm. No, you don't need a reservation, and no there is no door charge, but they do suggest a donation of between $20-40, with all the proceeds going to the Red Cross and the Jazz Foundation of New Orleans.

Earlier this year, Kent and Peter of 1550 Hyde raised more than $4,500 for the victims of the Tsunami in Southeast Asia. Perhaps we could all help them raise even more for the folks in New Orleans?

As for me, I am at the airport, waiting to see if I would make it to London today as planned. This is a result of quite a comedy of errors that would have been hilarious had it not happened to me! I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that I am cooling my behind on stand-by. Being super big cheese on their mileage plus program should give me some very good odds, but just in case, if you know someone who's heading to the airport right now for a flight to London, will you stop them so I could have the seat! Pretty please!

(photo from 1550 Hyde website)

How to rehab a city girl

I am feeling my city girl cred receding by the day here. Hanging out in Santa Cruz does that to you I suppose. I mean, I always shop farmers market and all that, but even that can't compare. Here, the farms are practically steps away, and I find myself learning all kinds of new things all the time. You know, stuff you never thought you needed to know, but it's kind of cool now that you do. Things like, tomatoes on the vine smell like flowers. Did you know that? I didn't, for sure.

The first time I went to see Joe at his farm, I took a walk among the rows of his dry-farmed tomatoes. Walking along, I absentmindedly let my hands brush gently against the vines and the fruits. Back in the house, I kept smelling this fabulous fragrant on my hands, bright, green, flowery scent that was completely foreign to me. I sniffed my hands, mumbling to myself how amazing this mystifying scent was. Joe overheard me and shook his head incredulously. It's the tomato, silly, he said. And it all made sense, tomato fruits grow out of tomato flowers, nothing mysterious about it. So of course vine-fresh tomatoes smell like flowers. Duh, me.

Speaking of eating locally

Lunch today was really super local. I tagged along with David to our friend Joe's farm, Dirty Girl, to pick up produce for Manresa. The farm is barely a mile from downtown Santa Cruz, but its beauty seems a million mile away. The produce David ordered had just been picked and box this very morning, and was there ready for us when we arrived. That I am a fan of Joe's dry-farmed tomatoes is no secret, and the ones I saw this morning were especially beautiful. I couldn't stop myself from sneaking a few from one of the boxes intended for the restaurant, imagining in my head a simple bowl of pasta with fresh tomato sauce. I knew we had no basil at home, so after a quick glance around to see that no one was looking, I sneaked into the field and snipped a bit of basil for the sauce. Just two teenie weenie springs, my dear Joe, I swear. Sorry, desperate times called for desperate measures. Shhh....