From One Blogger to Another

Last night I went to meet a friend for a glass of wine at Ravenous in Healdsburg. Handwritten menus, votive candles softly flickering, and a tiny dining room all added to the intimate vibe of the place- the perfect place for a new blogger to be primed by a seasoned one.

And so I was, by Jenna Weber of Eat, Live, Run. We met a couple weeks ago at the Zin lunch at Michel-Schlumberger and I couldn't wait to pick her brain about writing, food, and setting up a successful blog. Hers has been going for over two years and gets hundreds of hits daily, and has also paved the way for published articles and magazine press. Mine started a couple months ago, and it's still working out its kinks.

We split the cheese plate (since when have I ever been able to say no to cheese?). I haven't done a lot of wine and cheese pairing, but my Cab from Dry Creek went well with the crotin spread on walnut bread with grapes.

I lamented my glacial pace at posting, technical difficulties and having no followers. Jenna, who inspired me to take my blog more seriously upon our meeting, listened with patience and encouragement. It is a relief to have colleagues to go to for help. I went away with new found enthusiasm and focus. Finding excuses not to post is the easiest thing is the world- as much as I love to write, I would rather give in to any distraction than to expose my vulnerability on the page. The biggest challenge with writing is to simply sit down and do it.

As much as I wanted tea and sympathy, I hardly expected to find it from a self-made writer and highly motivated woman like Jenna. She could have balked at my whining and told me to stop feeling sorry for myself- I was probably asking for it. Truly, our talk made me realize that the best writers show empathy, openness, and support for each other.

The only thing that could be better than tea and sympathy is wine and cheese with a new friend.

A Model for Main Street- Winemaking Part 2

By the time four tons of grapes were picked, I was desperate for coffee and food if I was denied the option of returning to bed. Our winemaking entourage headed over to Model Bakery in St. Helena to recharge before meeting the truck at the warehouse.

The line was long, so it was a good thing that bakery appeared to run like a well-oiled machine. The group’s wait for me to decide what I wanted took longer than placing my order. The six of us lucked out and found a couple tables to push together (there are less than ten in the whole joint, one of its only downfalls- that and having no restrooms). I was excited for my mammoth croissant order, but settled for a large coffee, since they don’t serve it by the gallon.

A note about making friends at Model Bakery on a Saturday morning: make sure you’re clear on what you ordered and also the name the order is under, especially if it’s a more common name like Steve or Matt. Making friends is difficult when you take someone else’s food and start to eat it before you remember that you never ordered a breakfast sandwich. If you find yourself in that situation, just blame someone else in your group.

The most important thing was that the coffee was great- the best cup I’d had in weeks. Nothing beats the Bay Area’s Peet’s Coffee! My croissant was pretty good, but a little more cakey and a little less flaky than I prefer. I was probably flakey enough on my own.

Since I was too indecisive over choosing any of the Halloween baked goods, I was grateful Steve felt festive and ordered a biscotti shaped like a witch’s finger. Cute, huh?

Next time I need to stop in and get some amazing bread, like their Bacon-Gruyere French rolls and cheddar and jalapeños boule, or a fruit tart as beautiful as anything in a Parisian patisserie. Preferably when I’m a little more awake.

The Grapes of Mirth- Winemaking Part 1

At five A.M., I pulled myself out of bed, bleary eyed and groggy in pursuit of grapes. My friend would make wine today and we needed to pick before the sun came up. I prepared to head to Napa, bundling up in layers and searching for my headlamp and trail mix. My coffee was strong and gone too soon, like most things in this life. I crawled into the truck and meandered over the mountain and through the valley to the vineyards patiently waiting to be picked.

The grapes were far more patient than I was upon arrival. We were at least a half hour early. It was dark and cold, I was tired and cranky. Two very surprising things I learned from harvesting- the first being that the winemaking philosophy is very much like catering’s “Hurry up and wait.” You can be there feeling like you’re waiting forever and anxious to get going, but you had better be ready because once things start, it’s all a flash.

The other surprise was that picking grapes is dangerous. When the pickers showed up wearing thick gloves and wielding curved knives, we were told to stand back, and not to go into the vineyards without one of the winemakers monitoring the pick for quality control.

By the way, our party included two guys who work at wineries; Patrick at a small operation with lots of exposure to the pick and the crush, Steve at a large distributer; his girlfriend, Nik, who advises winemakers; their friend, Matt, who was responsible for the whole operation and needed the startup help for making his first large-scale batch of wine; and his wife, Natalie, who like me, was simply there to learn and support.

Natalie and I chatted excitedly, snapping photos and trying to stay out of the way. I understood why they wanted us to stand back- we were a liability. The pickers were like ninjas, sweeping through the rows of vineyards with lightning speed and sharpening their knives on their belts when they got to the end. The grapes piled up before our eyes, and over four tons were picked in less than two hours.

We were all in a hurry for different reasons. The pickers get paid for yield, not time; the guys wanted to get the grapes to the warehouse to be pressed, as it’s first come, first served; and the ladies wanted coffee and warmth as the sun began to come up.

I was disappointed to not be able to help with the pick, but Natalie and I had no problem standing back and eating them, seeds and all. If I only ate what I picked, does that make me a picky eater?

Like Water for Metal

It’s not a common occurrence for me to buy into trends. I’m usually last on the bandwagon to even hear about the new gadgets, let alone buy them. I bypassed the whole Nalgene thing. I like my water, but don’t feel the need to buy the bottled stuff. I operate directly from the bubbler (that’s a drinking fountain for those of you who don’t have Wisconsin roots), or refill a 7up bottle from the tap if I’m feeling fancy.

So you can imagine my own surprise when I found myself buying one of those trendy SIGG bottles today. Well, it was a generic one from Old Navy at a fraction of the cost. Is the brand name what really makes the difference?

I gotta say, I'm a little disappointed. I like the sleek design and temperature control of the tough stainless steel material, but I'm afraid the final product suffers because of it. All I can taste is metal. Is the bottle supposed to undergo special treatment before it's used?

It's doubtful that I'll kick my frugality and start buying water by the bottle (and frankly, I can't support the claimed "health benefits" if it means the environment suffers). My poor little water bottle will hopefully improve with age, like a wok or copper pot?

If anyone is SIGG savvy, please clue me in on why my water tastes as industrial as the design.

Whiskey and Romance

It was one of those bewitching nights where it was uncertain if it was the end of summer or the beginning of fall. A full moon. I met an old friend for a drink.

He was waiting outside, like it was summer, but he huddled into his shirt with hands in his pockets like it was autumn. It had been years since we'd seen each other and he had grown into himself beautifully, something everyone should do.

Our catch-up began over a glass of wine, and then, like most of my magical evenings, led to whiskey. I know what you're thinking, that whiskey is an aggressive drink and can only lead to shenanigans, not mellow conversation. On this count, I must defend my beloved drink.

We tore down the walls and began speaking openly and honestly like the crowd we were with couldn't hear us. Whiskey is a truth serum and allowed a bridge to cross the gap between two friends who hadn't spoken in four years. It can give the prudence to see people as they really are, as if for the first time, and not who they used to be. It softened my sarcastic edge and cynical heart to admit that maybe he had changed. I knew I had.

The drink was over too soon, and we walked to my car with the hesitance of wearing cement-filled boots. My heart was giddy, with a dull ache at not knowing when I'd see him again.

I can't say what exactly caused this sudden change of heart. Only that some things improve with age, and make a completely different experience upon revisiting after a time. I doubt it would have made much of a difference what we drank, or what restaurant we were in, or the phase of the moon. Yet one thing was for sure. I was really glad he and I shared that whiskey.

Old Friends, New Spices

Sundays are usually reserved for catching up on sleep, running errands, or if you’re lucky, absolutely nothing. I was lucky enough to do all three this week when I was visiting with friends in Sonoma County.

I made my first trip to the North Bay during my extended sojourn in California. Sonoma County will always have a special place in my heart, being the first nest I made after leaving my college town upon graduation. I have to go back at least once a year to maintain my sanity.

My dear friend, Jayashri, lives in a house nestled in the redwoods of Cazadero with her husband, two teenaged boys and baby girl. We enjoyed an entire day of pushing the clock as late as it could go- sleeping in, drinking our breakfast coffee until noon, reluctantly getting dressed soon after, and heading to her son’s football game on a beautiful day in late September. Clocks should really just stop on Sundays. We inhaled a late-afternoon lunch and headed back to the house after the game to get some chores done.

Under normal circumstances, the jarring shift of relaxed day to adhering to an agenda would be unrealistic, and almost cruel. But transferred to a peaceful treehouse with an energetic baby and Rickie Lee Jones fueling us, and it was the best place to be. Along with no clocks, every Sunday should have a perfect moment or two for a few minutes.

You’ll be guaranteed that and more with Jayashri’s amazing popcorn recipe, great for an evening snack and pick-me-up. It must be accompanied with beer, good music, and remarkable friends, if at all possible.

Jayashri’s Super Popular Popcorn:

1 T olive oil
½ tsp Spicy Spike
1 c. popcorn kernels

1 T melted coconut oil (or melted butter)
¼ tsp salt
½ tsp nutritional yeast
½ tsp liquid Braggs
½ tsp “Hing” (Indian seasoning, comprised of gum arabic, wheat starch and asafoetida)
¼ tsp cayenne

1. In a large pot, heat olive oil with Spicy Spike (a spice mixture with everything but the kitchen sink, including salt, vegetable protein, garlic, soya granules, celery, lemon and orange peel, horseradish, curry powder, red and green bell peppers to name a few…).
2. Add popcorn kernels and cover. Keep moving the pot to keep the popcorn from burning.
3. When the popping starts to slow, transfer to a large paper bag.
4. Add coconut oil and the rest of the seasonings.
5. Taste and let it change your popcorn experience forever.

Dear John, Dear New York

Okay, New York. We need to talk. Things have been rocky with us lately. I’m giving my all to you and lately it doesn’t seem to be enough. I care about you, so I’m going to be completely honest. There’s someplace else. A place from my past. It’s California . I thought it was behind me when I moved to be with you. But truthfully, I don’t think I ever really let it go.

The thing is, I’m not ready to let go of you, either. I still love you. I think it’s best if we spend some time apart for me to decide what I need. Just for a while. If we’re meant to be together, it could make us stronger. Maybe a break can help you work out some of your issues with money and the way you’ve been treating people. We both need to decide if we can really make each other happy.

I’ll be spending some time back in California for a change of scene and society. I know you’re both completely different places, but the time apart will do us good. I need to appreciate you again.

In the meantime, you eat your food and I'll eat mine.