Reflections of a "Private" Chef

So-today is my second day off in the last 5 weeks, outside of one day I took two days after spraining my ankle while trying to watch a late night meteor shower (I took on the nickname "Kankle" for the remaining weeks) . I am relishing being home: I read a magazine with my coffee, ate a proper breakfast~ok, brunch, I didn't get out of bed until 10:45. After 5 weeks and countless hours, I have noticed that the body does not respond the same anymore at 40 that it did at 30!  Summer has turned into fall.

I have mounds of housework to do, as I did not have the good fortune of finding a housekeeper to come help out as I normally do. They never do as good a job anyway. So, I have done the bare minimum, washed my stinky, stale, kitchen smelling clothes, knowing that a few loads a day will whittle the rest away. And I scrubbed my bathroom, and, well, that's about it.

Went yesterday to pick up some essentials, have my filthy car washed, and have my gray roots covered. Hair required a re-do and set my schedule back a few hours. I had to endure incessantly loud, classic rock for 3 1/2 hours, and by the time I left the salon, I thought I might hurt someone. Then, off to Whole Foods. Not much into shopping, an announcement came over the loudspeaker that they were tasting a flight of small production Italian wines. PERFECT!!!! I bellied up to the bar, which was packed with middle aged-elderly men, all jovial and welcoming. I nestled into the middle (upon their urging, of course!), and proceeded to have my glass filled by a very Italian, bohemian/hipster Johnny Depp doppelganger, who also proved to be extremely intelligent, passionate about his wines, and articulate. I ordered a round of olives to share with my ad hoc comrades, and enjoyed a passing moment of feeling "normal" again. After that, I negated to grab some of the very things for which I went there, but did leave with a case of Italian wine. Oh well. What one loses one gains in other ways.

I came home, and the boy next door arrived with a basket full of fresh garden tomatoes and basil, to which we would add my fresh mozzarella. I had a plate of charcuterie, nettle pesto, langoustines, and marinated artichokes. We popped open a bottle of the very Soave I had sampled an hour before. I could not stomach any more California wines after the last month! A lovely evening, the first I've had in many weeks, spent feeling like a normal person, in the quiet, easygoing fellowship of my dearest love.

That being said, I also am going through a bit of withdrawal.  I also created some of my most amazing dishes, pushed myself beyond my perceived physical and mental limits, and had some of the most gut wrenching laughs I've ever had, with my fellow cooks.  We wearily arrived every morning together, despite our puffy eyelids, sore backs, hips & legs, burns, and cuts, and were excited to create our installation art masterpieces over the course of sometimes 16 hour days.  We ate our humble meals together, usually while standing at our cutting boards. One day I had a hot dog and an ale for breakfast! 

Tomorrow, off to the coast. The sound of the waves and being next to the ocean, with no schedule to attend to, will surely continue the mend. Of course, we will pack a cooler!

And so it is. The life of a “private” chef.

Dreamy Weekend...Day Two

The overcast light cascaded gently through the linen curtains.  The faint sound of the ocean in the background hummed rhythmically.  Neither of us stirred, happily cocooned in our bed underneath layers of bedding, which included a Peruvian wool blanket.  Eventually, the Boy slid out of bed and ran a bath in the over sized soaking tub, within the bathroom that is as large as my own bedroom. Over the years it has somehow become "our" custom that I bring the coffee to the Boy while he enjoys his morning soak!  Not that I mind, he adores the pampering, and I well appreciate consistency.  I quietly descended down the stairway, looking forward to a generous full bodied cup of coffee, always done in the pour-over method through very fresh, finely ground espresso roasted beans both from an Italian roaster in San Francisco and one in Fort Bragg-a perfect blend of deep, concentrated flavor, without too much acid. I sipped mine in the comfy chairs of our bedroom's turret, in a relaxed, contemplative mood, perusing the fabulous book on pates and terrines I discovered (which I have subsequently purchased after a long search) .

We went to the kitchen to visit with our friend and to enjoy another cup of joe.  Not long after, it was unanimously decided it was time to have brunch.

I opened a bottle of Cremant de Alsace, while Daniel sliced into generous slabs the lion's mane mushroom we plucked from the tree in my backyard. He drizzled it with his own fresh pressed olive oil, fresh thyme, sea salt and pepper, and put it in the oven to roast to a beautiful golden brown. 
 

To accompany the tasty fungus, he perfectly soft scrambled some eggs, from our own hens, with just a tease of truffled brie. With a simple salad of garden greens, we had made a very satisfying first meal of the day! 
And, we delighted in staying in our lounge wear until well after one in the afternoon!

Finally changing our clothes, we set out for a quick drive to our favorite resale barn, which has everything from meaningless junk to the occasional flow blue china, leaving empty handed this time.  A misty rain had ensued as we made our way onto the wharf in Point Arena, hoping to score some fresh caught local seafood, as we have done many times before.  While we waited for the boats to arrive, we conversed with the local fisherman and met the fish and game officer and his dog.  Soon, the boats arrived-with the first harvest of sea urchin for the season!  Bummer, we could not score any...even more of a bummer, it all goes to Japan!
After returning to the house, we opted for some afternoon yoga and a nap.  Upon awakening, it was time to think about dinner!
We snacked on some thinly sliced Iberico pork~a true treat of perfectly cured tenderloin of boar, fed only acorns.  Along with that, I whipped up a lemon caper aioli to enjoy with some smoked salmon.
Dinner that night was a risotto made with the braised pheasant legs from the night before, and some tiny little, perfectly tender brussels sprouts from the garden. With it, we enjoyed a 2009 Clos de Caillou, and fondly thought how much our french friends that make the wine would enjoy this place, and this dinner.

Reflections of a Dreamy Weekend-Day One

 Like a child eagerly awaiting Santa Claus' arrival, I arose with the dawn to compose the provisions for our weekend respite; a brined wild pheasant given to us by our huntsman neighbor, a voluptuous lobe of foie gras purchased before the recent prohibition, rabbit confit (our own rabbit, of course), a lion's mane mushroom plucked from a tree in my back yard, some rich matsutake pheasant stock made from the bounty of mushrooms we foraged the previous weekend, the last piece of my well aged smoked pork country pate, a crock of homemade duck rillettes, a couple dozen eggs laid by our hens that very morning, a bevy of preserves from our larder, and a few bottles of treasured wines, pulled from deep within the cellar.

Like the above mentioned child, we pulled out of the driveway giddy with anticipation. For the next five days we would be hidden away, nestled on the pacific coast in our dear friend's impeccably restored Victorian manor, with nothing to do but anything we should fancy--which for us is a lot of cooking, drinking, hiking, reading, relaxing, conversing, and romancing-the list being in no particular order!

We embarked on our journey, navigating the winding roads through the dormant winter vineyards, reverently passing though the silent majestic redwoods, eventually entering the cool and briny coastal intermediary. Our first ocean breath found us unencumbered by our tribulations.  We had left them behind, scattered about along the preceding path. Along the stoic coastal precipice we meandered our way north.

Pulling in the driveway is always like passing through the mists of Avalon, where nothing changes, as things are perpetually idyllic. Deer cautiously peeped at us from the corners of their eyes.  The precocious donkeys greeted us with their amusing snorts, eying our bags for possible treats. 

We unloaded, organized our gourmet "staples" into the refrigerator, and proceeded up the staircase to choose our room, one of two master suites. We could choose either the rear garden view, with its bright and cheerful winter white walls, coral coloured accents, asian woven tapestries, and Marcel Breuer Bauhaus chairs; or the ocean view room, nestled into a cozy turret, with Sicilian wool woven rugs and bedspread, aptly appointed in soft blues and greens.  We chose the latter for varieties sake, as we usually stay in the garden room. To feel as though we weren't merely visiting, we immediately unpacked our clothes into the French walnut mirrored armoire, and hid our bags from sight.

Once settled, we returned downstairs for libations.  With its familiar smell of fresh baked popovers and the faint remnants of the morning's finely ground coffee, the kitchen warmly greeted us.  We joined our dear friend, the lady of the house, for some Champagne before she left for dinner with friends. We would be dining alone that first night.

We chose a bottle from the well appointed enoteca: 1990 Domaine de la Chanteleuserie Bourgueil, a rustically perfect choice to go with our simple supper of pan seared wild pheasant breast, potato puree, and broccollini, with a lovely pan sauce fortified with a spoonful of roasted pork demi I packed for good measure.  While we dined, the legs of the pheasant slowly and fragrantly braised on the back of the stove in the remnants of a bottle of white Bordeaux we found in the refrigerator and our pheasant and matsutake stock...another meal in the making.

After dinner, we made a pot of tea and sat in the parlor, playing with the collection of Venetian masks that comprises the west wall, next to the fireplace.  We discussed all of the choices for the day to come, of which the possibilities were endless.  The only thing for sure was that we would set no alarm. The reveling had begun!

Rutting=Ragout

This time of year is charged with so much energy!  The Autumnal Equinox always breeds exciting change.  This last surge of summer energy (and heat), in preparation for the "slow down" of winter, inspires the last of the outdoor get-togethers. The magical, balmy nights of Indian Summer...
Nature knows~
It's also the beginning of the rut. The other day, I came across 3 bucks (deer) on my way "down the hill," all dazed with the intoxication of hormones!  They didn't know whether to come or go!  It is no different in our barnyard.  Our two old rams, friends most of the time, turn their backs on each other twice a year, in a frenzy to mate with the ewes.

There was no more room for our 6 month old li'l guy, whose sprouting horns indicated he was ready to enter the fray. Three's a crowd, and our freezer was empty!
The advent of the full moon this past Saturday meant perfect timing for the slaughter. Quickly and reverently, we let him know how grateful we were that he would be the source of some memorable holiday meals, shared with only our closest friends.
We carefully seam-butchered him last night.
All day today my house has been full of the most amazing aromas...end of season tomatoes, ample garlic, the remnants of a bottle of bordeaux...and the thick neck...a part that my friend Pat Kuleto taught me to covet when I had my first experiences butchering his estate raised lamb. It was also the part most revered buy Thomas Keller on his visit to Kuleto Estate back when I was the chef, where I had a beautiful server offer it, table-side, as the last accompaniment to a Tudor style feast.   
The lamb's liver, kidneys, and heart...will all find their way into a celebratory terrine, wrapped in the caul lining and served with my friend Shannon's quinces, that I lovingly preserved in spices, honey, and local apple cider vinegar.
The legs, bone in and ready for the spit, with 24 varieties of chilis from the garden will await our Aussie friend's visit, with a bottle of Jasper Hill, Emily's Paddock Shiraz. Post-thanksgiving feast?
The racks, likely will be our Winter Solstice quiet dinner for two...
Just another day in the life of Two Funky Gourmets!



 

Crop Circles

(While enjoying the present...)

I have always sought
For something
Just beyond the next mountain
Around the next bend

An amorphous quest
The journey never ends
Forever an adventure
Beyond expectation

As I look back through the window
At yesterday
I am not she
Although I liked her well
  
Never afraid
To walk the next road
Cobble, dirt
The infinite ether

Food
My medium

Nourishing others

Beyond the expected

Each bite
Becomes part of the whole
Becomes one's thoughts
Enables the breath

Steady
One foot in front of the other
From one bite to the next
Contemplation

Contemplation
Decision
Direction
Up, up, away...

Where are you going?
What is your next bite?





 

Impromptu Dinner

After an impromptu weekend at the coast, we arrived back on the hill Monday morning in a state of denial that we had to return to "reality," ours, which is idyllic in countless ways...
Nonetheless, we had to go our separate ways for a while, and try to be productive.
For me, after a long work stint, that meant opening a cold Arrogant Bastard Ale, pouring it into my favorite antique pewter mug, and settling into my teak reading chair on the deck to peruse a few new books I had picked up on our trip, one of which was a vintage copy of a La Varenne textbook.
Then the phone rang.
Typical for us, a memorable evening came about spontaneously, inspired by a single ingredient....
Our neighbor (and they are very few) had gone fishing off the coast over the weekend and happened to catch a blue fin tuna~a rare and special fish.  He had saved for us a choice piece of loin.  (This neighbor is also the one who keeps us in good supply of wild pheasant, boar, and other tasty critters. We, in turn keep his egg supply filled, the honey pot full, and the red wine cellar stocked with special bottles).  He was so excited to give it to us, and kept asking how we were going to "COOK" it.  We kept trying to explain that we were going to do just the opposite...
At that point I was visiting with my other neighbor, and so we invited her to partake of our gift.  She has a lovely garden, so we picked some thick leafed, dark green bok choy, zesty mustard greens, peppery nasturtium, a few candy-sweet red cherry tomatoes, and two big heirlooms.
I had a couple zucchini and eggplant from my work garden, and a bevy of high-falutin asian accoutrements~white shoyyu, aged rice wine vinegar, wasabi, etc.
While we prepared dinner, we sipped a chardonnay from my friend up in Mendocino county, that she lovingly left in my refrigerator on her last visit.
Laid out in a matter of minutes was the most delectable feast: sliced garden tomatoes, a cucumber & garden greens capellini with a rippin' hot vinaigrette of wasabi and chilis from the garden (we like it HOT), and grilled baby zucchini and eggplant drizzled with the aged rice wine vinegar and some of our own olive oil.
The blue fin tuna, perfectly sliced with my razor sharp Japanese blade sushi knife was regal in its vivid purple display, and we payed momentary homage to it before "digging in," with the utmost civility. We sipped a rose made by our dear friend in Sancerre, knowing he and his family would love to be a part of this most precious repast.
You never know where the day will take you~
And so it goes, the life of Two Funky Gourmets!

"The Last Supper"

Where does the time go?  My lack of posting borders on embarrassing, although I think we are all too familiar with the fleeting of time as of late.  It will not get any easier, I surmise.
I am on my last day of a 35 day work run-similar to the last post. 35 days of lunches and dinners, sometimes both in the same day, ranging from 2 people to 100.  It is no holds barred time to showcase food at its best, with a measure of elegant restraint.  Needless to say, it is a challenge to come up with non-repeating appetizers, entrees and desserts everyday.  Add personal "preferences," and you've got a recipe for a marathon!
My friend gave me his collection of cookbooks to peruse.  He tells me I remind him of a mixture of Alain Passard and Eric Ripert, but with my own style.  What an amazing compliment!  This morning, I opened up the first of them with a cup of tea.
Humbly, I indeed saw myself, and every other chef I know, amongst the pages.  There, nestled in the recipes, I drew a final breath of inspiration to conjure up my last magical meal for two very special clients~

Here's to crossing the finish line!!!