We're riding the dinosaurs right into the La Brea Tar Pits. I'm talking about newspapers. Today, The Oregonian announced it's reducing the number of comics it carries from 33 to 23. At the same time, Doonesbury is re-running the segment where Rick Redfern is downsized from his newspaper job, and starts a...check it out...blog! Does that sound familiar?
Right now, it takes me approximately 20 minutes, or a cup of coffee, to get through The Oregonian. I used to finish a whole pot before getting to the comics page. The paper's looking more and more like the wafer chip that is replacing it.
One of the few reasons I even keep the paper is because of the comics section. Now I might have to rethink my strategy. I have tried to sign up to Comics.com, but I keep getting that 'invalid username' thing, so I gave up.
Still and all, The Oregonian manages to run some interesting tidbits. Today there was a story about the legislature trying to make the marionberry the official state berry. But guess what? The blueberry and raspberry contingency got in a hissy fit, and not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, the lawmakers backed off.
But the line that grabbed my attention came when, in its defense, one of the backers of the marionberry called it the 'Cabernet of berries.'
Cabernet? Hey, bonehead, you're in the Willamette Valley, where some 90% of all marionberries are grown. And we don't grow Cabernet in the Willamette Valley. The grape is Pinot Noir. Marionberry is the Pinot Noir of berries. See, I can get in a hissy fit, too.
So it looks like the future belongs to us loser bloggers. In fact, I'm taking it so serioulsy I've started another one. I may end up with a dozen blogs (somehow the Springsteen song '57 Channels and Nothing On' comes to mind).
I'm not sure I want to live in a world without Luann or Wizard of Id, but if I must, the least I can do is blog about it.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Great Appts
The greatest appetizer in Clark County?
Considering I haven’t had every single appetizer in every single restaurant in our fair county, it’s safe to assume not –but it would be equally dangerous to dismiss it altogether.
The first time I had La Bottega’s Gorgonzola Cheesecake it was a revelation. In part, because I was working on a cookbook (‘A Seriously Cheesy Cookbook’ to be published next fall –if I can find a publisher), and in part because it was fantastic.
I immediately ran home (no, I didn’t, I took the car), and found on the Internet several recipes close to La Bottega’s, right down to the polenta crust. I tried a couple, and found one that was quite good, but the result was a little too dense, almost like a brick. Another recipe was even better, the main difference being the La Bottega version uses roasted garlic cloves around the edge of the cake. But even so, it wasn't quite what I remembered.
So I went back to La Bottega recently, to try it again, and sure enough, their version is light and fluffy, creamy, almost to the consistency of ricotta cheese. It’s easy on the gorgonzola, so if you’re not a huge fan of blue cheese, it’s not in your face. On the other hand, if you love blue cheese, there’s enough gorgonzola flavor to please.
It’s served in a light marinara sauce, with crusty smoky, grilled bread, adding complexity and depth of flavor to the whole dish. It gets two Yums Up.
While there, I decided I’d better find a wine to go with it, and the most obvious choice on the ‘by the glass’ list was the Pravis, 2007 Vignetti Delle Dolomiti Pinot Grigio, $18. Perfect match. The marinara sauce threw it off a bit, but it’s easy to avoid that.
May not be best, but until I try every appetizer in Clark County, I wouldn’t count it out.
Now if I can just duplicate it at home, so I can finish my cookbook.
Considering I haven’t had every single appetizer in every single restaurant in our fair county, it’s safe to assume not –but it would be equally dangerous to dismiss it altogether.
The first time I had La Bottega’s Gorgonzola Cheesecake it was a revelation. In part, because I was working on a cookbook (‘A Seriously Cheesy Cookbook’ to be published next fall –if I can find a publisher), and in part because it was fantastic.
I immediately ran home (no, I didn’t, I took the car), and found on the Internet several recipes close to La Bottega’s, right down to the polenta crust. I tried a couple, and found one that was quite good, but the result was a little too dense, almost like a brick. Another recipe was even better, the main difference being the La Bottega version uses roasted garlic cloves around the edge of the cake. But even so, it wasn't quite what I remembered.
So I went back to La Bottega recently, to try it again, and sure enough, their version is light and fluffy, creamy, almost to the consistency of ricotta cheese. It’s easy on the gorgonzola, so if you’re not a huge fan of blue cheese, it’s not in your face. On the other hand, if you love blue cheese, there’s enough gorgonzola flavor to please.
It’s served in a light marinara sauce, with crusty smoky, grilled bread, adding complexity and depth of flavor to the whole dish. It gets two Yums Up.
While there, I decided I’d better find a wine to go with it, and the most obvious choice on the ‘by the glass’ list was the Pravis, 2007 Vignetti Delle Dolomiti Pinot Grigio, $18. Perfect match. The marinara sauce threw it off a bit, but it’s easy to avoid that.
May not be best, but until I try every appetizer in Clark County, I wouldn’t count it out.
Now if I can just duplicate it at home, so I can finish my cookbook.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Crossed the Swiss border into France at Grinwald. When I peered at the border guard for directions, or some kind of sign, like, ‘hey, dude, you’re in France,’ he turned away, more like, ‘dude, don’t bug me.’
Yup, we were in France, alright.
With LB riding shot-gun, navigating us up through the incredible slopes, our black Passat crammed with five of us, plus luggage, we went whizzing past thousands upon thousands of acres of vineyards, on steep slopes facing -it appeared- due east (may have been a bit of a southern cut), trying not to take my eye off the road, but could not believe all the vines. We got off the autostrasse onto Hwy. 21 heading for Evian-les-Bains. You guessed it, that’s where Evian (water) comes from.
But I wasn’t interested in water, I wanted to know what wine was being grown on those slopes.
That night at dinner, a funky outdoor restaurant (after Champagne), I asked our waiter what the local wine was. He brought us out a bottle of Apremont, a bright, refreshing white wine. Had to be from those vines lining the road.
Very tasty, and fantastic with my duck salad.
And as far as I was concerned, that was that. A nice obscure local wine, never see it again. Wrong-o!
Back in the states, the first wine tasting I went to at Mt. Tabor Fine Wines, I was leaning on a shelf, and looked down to see Pierre Boniface, 2007 Vin de Savoie Apremont, $13. No way!
Obviously snatched it up, and well, you know how sometimes you have a wine at some little Tuscan roadside cafe overlooking a vineyard, with a plate of proscuitto and cantelope, and you think, my god, that’s the best wine I’ve ever had, so you buy a couple bottles, get it home, and it tastes like crap? It’s called the ambiance fallacy.
So did I fall into the same trap? No, in fact Apremont remains one of my favorite white wines. Made from the Jacquere grape, its bright, lemony, crisp, refreshing, with all sorts of nice floral notes. And it’s an excellent seafood wine.
It’s readily available in the Portland market, but up in my neck of the woods, Clark County, it’s not. So if you happen to be down across the border (at Grinwald, for instance), look it up.
Yup, we were in France, alright.
With LB riding shot-gun, navigating us up through the incredible slopes, our black Passat crammed with five of us, plus luggage, we went whizzing past thousands upon thousands of acres of vineyards, on steep slopes facing -it appeared- due east (may have been a bit of a southern cut), trying not to take my eye off the road, but could not believe all the vines. We got off the autostrasse onto Hwy. 21 heading for Evian-les-Bains. You guessed it, that’s where Evian (water) comes from.
But I wasn’t interested in water, I wanted to know what wine was being grown on those slopes.
That night at dinner, a funky outdoor restaurant (after Champagne), I asked our waiter what the local wine was. He brought us out a bottle of Apremont, a bright, refreshing white wine. Had to be from those vines lining the road.
Very tasty, and fantastic with my duck salad.
And as far as I was concerned, that was that. A nice obscure local wine, never see it again. Wrong-o!
Back in the states, the first wine tasting I went to at Mt. Tabor Fine Wines, I was leaning on a shelf, and looked down to see Pierre Boniface, 2007 Vin de Savoie Apremont, $13. No way!
Obviously snatched it up, and well, you know how sometimes you have a wine at some little Tuscan roadside cafe overlooking a vineyard, with a plate of proscuitto and cantelope, and you think, my god, that’s the best wine I’ve ever had, so you buy a couple bottles, get it home, and it tastes like crap? It’s called the ambiance fallacy.
So did I fall into the same trap? No, in fact Apremont remains one of my favorite white wines. Made from the Jacquere grape, its bright, lemony, crisp, refreshing, with all sorts of nice floral notes. And it’s an excellent seafood wine.
It’s readily available in the Portland market, but up in my neck of the woods, Clark County, it’s not. So if you happen to be down across the border (at Grinwald, for instance), look it up.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Contrarian Chardonnay
What, no oak?
What, no sugar?
And you call yourself a California wine maker. Shame, shame, shame.
Right in the middle of my recent snit over sweet, oaky California Chardonnay, what should slip over the transom, but a nice under-oaked Chardonnay, completely screwing up my tirade.
Now let’s be clear about this, we all know California leads the American wine market (mostly by the nose), and so when the Golden State dictates sweet, over-oaked Chardonnay, the U.S. consumer salutes, and cries, ‘bring it on.’
So, I was surprised, if not shocked, when I received a bottle of this Festival ’34, 2007 Central Coast Chardonnay, $13, which (back label) describes itself as ‘crisp… with hints of refreshing citrus.’ Key words for –no oak. By the way, keep an eye on back label descriptors. If you see words like buttery, vanilla, toasty, you know you’re in for an oak ride.
And did this one live up to its self description?
Sure enough, despite fairly high alcohol (13.5) it is crisp. And yes, there are citrus notes. Very aromatic with hints of peach and apple. It’s lean, with intense flavors of green apple, lemon, and a slight grassiness, almost like a sauvignon blanc. Almost.
In other words, a fruit driven, wonderfully tasty Chard.
I gather from the accompanying (vague) notes, this a new winery (or label), so not sure about distribution, but if you want to support the effort to trim excessively oaky wines –look for it.
What, no sugar?
And you call yourself a California wine maker. Shame, shame, shame.
Right in the middle of my recent snit over sweet, oaky California Chardonnay, what should slip over the transom, but a nice under-oaked Chardonnay, completely screwing up my tirade.
Now let’s be clear about this, we all know California leads the American wine market (mostly by the nose), and so when the Golden State dictates sweet, over-oaked Chardonnay, the U.S. consumer salutes, and cries, ‘bring it on.’
So, I was surprised, if not shocked, when I received a bottle of this Festival ’34, 2007 Central Coast Chardonnay, $13, which (back label) describes itself as ‘crisp… with hints of refreshing citrus.’ Key words for –no oak. By the way, keep an eye on back label descriptors. If you see words like buttery, vanilla, toasty, you know you’re in for an oak ride.
And did this one live up to its self description?
Sure enough, despite fairly high alcohol (13.5) it is crisp. And yes, there are citrus notes. Very aromatic with hints of peach and apple. It’s lean, with intense flavors of green apple, lemon, and a slight grassiness, almost like a sauvignon blanc. Almost.
In other words, a fruit driven, wonderfully tasty Chard.
I gather from the accompanying (vague) notes, this a new winery (or label), so not sure about distribution, but if you want to support the effort to trim excessively oaky wines –look for it.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Rooted in a Sea of Purple and Red
I circled the parking lot three times before finding a parking place. Whassup with that?
After all, this a brand new restaurant. Couldn’t have been open more than a month. I thought only us die-hard foodies had heard of it.
So I pushed in the door, and uh-o. The place was packed. It wasn’t even noon yet.
“Table for two?”
Maitress d’ looked worried. “Have reservations?”
“No.”
She bit her lip, ran her finger up and down the seating chart, then, ah-hah. “Follow me.”
Phew. She led me past the bar, stacks of logs, the enormous wood-fire grill, wooden slats of the partition, turned a corner, and Holy Schmoly! A sea of purple and red. There, taking up virtually the entire dining room was –you guessed it, the Red Hat Society. I thought they were some urban myth. A crock. But o no, some 25 elderly ladies, all in purple dresses and brilliant red hats.
We doggie-paddled past and around the society, where a tiny table for two sat lonely and waiting. The maitress d’ told me it was one of only two tables left in the whole restaurant. Her eyeballs rolled to the sea of purple and red.
I waited while LeAnne circled the lot four times, before finding a place, and joining me.
We ordered a glass of wine (her, proseco; I, pinot gris), and then we perused the menu.
It was our first chance to sample the fare of Brad Root’s new venture, Lapellah. Ever since opening Roots, his first sleek and elegant Clark County restaurant, Brad Root has proven the adage; ‘if you build it, they will come.’
Or more precisely, if you put something of quality in the oft maligned market of Vancouver, Wa., people will come. Even dressed in purple and red. Across the parking lot from Roots, next came the superb 360 Pizzeria, an adventurous, ‘trattoria’.
And now, Lapellah, in the Grand Central complex near downtown Vancouver.
Onto the food. While the lunch menu is rife with ‘comfort food’; pot pies, steak and fries, meatloaf sandwich, tuna melt, fish and chips, mac and cheese, there is also a definite nod to N’Orleans cuisine, with Fried Oyster Po’ Boy, Jambalaya, beignets, and gumbo.
LeAnne settled on the cornmeal roasted trout, which was excellent. I had two starters, Oysters Rockefeller and Savory Shrimp Beignets in a red pepper remoulade. Both wonderful.
The prices are more than reasonable, with nothing on the lunch menu over $12.
The wine list is brief, but more than sufficient. I finished up with a glass of Barnard Griffin Syrah, which to my palate is over-oaked (but don’t listen to me, I’ve become a no-oak snob).
Meanwhile, the Red Hat Society finished up their meal, and the leader stood and led them all in bizarre ‘whoosh’ and ‘oooo’ chant. Beats me.
At least they found Lapellah.
After all, this a brand new restaurant. Couldn’t have been open more than a month. I thought only us die-hard foodies had heard of it.
So I pushed in the door, and uh-o. The place was packed. It wasn’t even noon yet.
“Table for two?”
Maitress d’ looked worried. “Have reservations?”
“No.”
She bit her lip, ran her finger up and down the seating chart, then, ah-hah. “Follow me.”
Phew. She led me past the bar, stacks of logs, the enormous wood-fire grill, wooden slats of the partition, turned a corner, and Holy Schmoly! A sea of purple and red. There, taking up virtually the entire dining room was –you guessed it, the Red Hat Society. I thought they were some urban myth. A crock. But o no, some 25 elderly ladies, all in purple dresses and brilliant red hats.
We doggie-paddled past and around the society, where a tiny table for two sat lonely and waiting. The maitress d’ told me it was one of only two tables left in the whole restaurant. Her eyeballs rolled to the sea of purple and red.
I waited while LeAnne circled the lot four times, before finding a place, and joining me.
We ordered a glass of wine (her, proseco; I, pinot gris), and then we perused the menu.
It was our first chance to sample the fare of Brad Root’s new venture, Lapellah. Ever since opening Roots, his first sleek and elegant Clark County restaurant, Brad Root has proven the adage; ‘if you build it, they will come.’
Or more precisely, if you put something of quality in the oft maligned market of Vancouver, Wa., people will come. Even dressed in purple and red. Across the parking lot from Roots, next came the superb 360 Pizzeria, an adventurous, ‘trattoria’.
And now, Lapellah, in the Grand Central complex near downtown Vancouver.
Onto the food. While the lunch menu is rife with ‘comfort food’; pot pies, steak and fries, meatloaf sandwich, tuna melt, fish and chips, mac and cheese, there is also a definite nod to N’Orleans cuisine, with Fried Oyster Po’ Boy, Jambalaya, beignets, and gumbo.
LeAnne settled on the cornmeal roasted trout, which was excellent. I had two starters, Oysters Rockefeller and Savory Shrimp Beignets in a red pepper remoulade. Both wonderful.
The prices are more than reasonable, with nothing on the lunch menu over $12.
The wine list is brief, but more than sufficient. I finished up with a glass of Barnard Griffin Syrah, which to my palate is over-oaked (but don’t listen to me, I’ve become a no-oak snob).
Meanwhile, the Red Hat Society finished up their meal, and the leader stood and led them all in bizarre ‘whoosh’ and ‘oooo’ chant. Beats me.
At least they found Lapellah.
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