On Pearls, Frank Sinatra, and a Medium-Rare Steak

Last summer we went to Maine for a fabulous vacation.  It was marvelous.  We stayed in a house right on Moose Pond — which meant you could, quite literally, run out the back door, down the steps, across the lawn, down the dock, and jump into the lake.  And to be perfectly honest, I did this every chance I got.  So did Michael.  And so did my dad.  The water was surprisingly warm and we had a grand ol' time out there — swimming or counting '1,2,3, Jump!' with Emilia, and then jumping into the water, over and over again.  Michael's family thought we all had a loose screw, taking to the water as we did, but what can I say?  I grew up doing these sorts of things, which means it is way too late in the game to stop now.  Besides, they have always been some of my favorite memories from when I was a kid.

Anyway, for some reason or another, my dad took it into his head that he needed to send us a giftcard to Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, a month or so ago, as a 'thank-you'.  Now, why on earth he felt so inclined to do such a thing is beyond me.  Because, really and truly, it would have been no-where near as fun without him.  In fact, we should have been the ones sending him a giftcard.  We actually debated saving it until he came for a visit so we could all go together.  However, the man just got back from Jamaica with my sister and her family.  So visits to the Pacific Northwest may not be happening in the immediate future.

And so, last Saturday, being the first day of summer, we all sat staring out the window at the cold and dreary rain.  Just when we were all about to completely lose the will to live, Michael said this: 'How about we go to Ruth's Chris tonight?'  Everything immediately looked a lot brighter.

A Smattering of Napa, Part 2 (Taylor's Refresher/Gott's Roadside)

Apparently everyone is already in the know about this place. So how I managed to miss it for so long is beyond me. Although, I will readily admit that the whole concept is not typically something on my radar. I think it might have something to do with the fact that it is all outdoors -- you know, picnic benches and such.

Anyway, it was brought to my attention while sitting in the restaurant The Market (which I happen to adore -- the wood bar is gorgeous and strangely reminds me of our bed) in St. Helena a few years ago. Along with my ABLT (that would be the heavenly concoction of avocado, bacon, lettuce, and fried green tomatoes, fyi) both Michael and I ordered a glass of Joel Gott Zinfandel (2006, I think). I can't even tell you how much we both loved that wine. (In fact, it was one of the wines we served at Emilia's christening a handful of months later. And I was so glad when I rather sneakily took one of the bottles from said stash for later. It is sadly, [oh, so sadly] long gone now.)

A little while later Michael pointed out Taylor's Refresher to me as we drove down 29, informing me that it is both owned and operated by Joel Gott and his wife. He also told me that David (that would be the one and only Bampa David) had just seen it on the Food Network and was rather intrigued. Rightly so, I say.

Taylor's Refresher, now called Gott's Roadside (I much prefer the retro-sounding original) is always crowded. Driving past the line always seems to go on forever. That is why, as the rainstorm began to roll in over the weekend, we found ourselves huddled up on tall bar-stools by the heat-lamps digging into enormous hamburgers and french fries. (Despite the weather, the line was still amazingly long -- but nothing like when the sun is out.) Emilia sat, perched on my lap, cramming as many french fries in her mouth as she deemed possible. (She only gets french fries when we travel, so the girl has learned to work fast.) Every now and then I was able to get a bite of her 'meatball', as she called her hamburger, into her little mouth. Once she'd had her fill, I ended up handing the rest of my Wisconsin Sourdough (so good) over to Michael and polishing off her hamburger (also so good).

Right as the rain started to come down, we made our way back to the car -- all three content, all three ready for a nap, and all three weighing a bit more than we did before we got there. All in all it was a successful lunch, I must say. However, Emilia's mama and dada sorely missed Bampa David throughout. It is totally his kind of place. And if it wasn't so freaking cold last Saturday, it is also my mom's kind of place. Maybe next time.  (Also my mom's kind of place: Kara's Cupcakes, see below.)

Friday Harbor

Sometimes it is so nice just to get our bums off the front porch. Michael, being a not-for-profit lawyer, has very few perks with his job. In fact, the only perk I can think of is that when he goes out of town for work, Miss Milia and I usually go, too. (Unless he is going to Nevada or something, then he goes by himself.) That is why we found ourselves making the trek to Anacortes and then on to a long ferry ride to the beautiful San Juan Islands last week.

I'm not sure if you've ever been to the San Juans or not, but if you haven't, then get your arse moving. They are glorious. The ferry ride is beautiful, and supposedly you can do a little whale watching while aboard. But what we do is this: Michael hunkers down in a booth with work stuff while I chase Emilia this way and that. She runs to the race car video game where she can sit for ages, even with no quarters it is apparently very exciting, 'Going to Aunt Denise's!' Once mama has had her fill we then run around the rest of the ferry -- people watching**, and randomly dashing out onto the very windy deck.

Friday Harbor itself is wonderful. Once the ferry docks, you can literally walk off the boat and up the street to your hotel. It is a small town, so if you aren't paying attention you will walk yourself right out of it. But that's alright because you will most likely run into cows and the lavender fields. Pelindaba Lavender is based here and rumour has it that their farm is not to be missed. That being said, we keep seeming to miss it. (You need to drive there, and the only time we ever get in the car is to get back on the ferry. Even though our hotel would have loaned us some bikes, it would have been way too ambitious.) The Pelindaba Lavender shop is lovely though, and their lavender products are both unfettered and organic -- which means the smell is so pure they will nearly make you weep.  Miss Milia's hair likes the shampoo and conditioner, and I like the culinary lavender. I also just bought a bottle of their Hydrosol cleaner, which promises to be a wonder product. (Apart from cleaning fruit and veggies, it also polishes chrome, countertops, and wards off bugs.) 

Macrina Bakery

The salon where I get my hair done in Seattle is in the neighborhood of Belltown. That means that immediately after my appointment I head straight to Macrina Bakery. Usually I get a cup of coffee and a piece of coffee-cake, my all-time favorite being the Lemon and Sour Cherry one. (And I seem to recall getting a lavender coffee-cake once upon a time, but I may have hallucinated that. On second thought, maybe it was a scone.)

Anyway, I remember several years ago after I first discovered Macrina, leaving the shop without buying their cookbook, cursing myself as I drove across 520, and heading straight to the bookstore, where I managed to successfully procure a copy. Thank goodness for that, too, because the cookbook is marvelous. Not only have I made the Lemon and Sour Cherry Coffee-Cake, but I've also made the Brown Sugar & Almond Coffee-Cake (several times, and I usually freeze half of it with great results); the Bittersweet Chocolate Gâteau, which is my idea of the perfect birthday cake; Tuscan Tomato & Fennel Soup with White Beans, divine; and the Ribollita, equally divine. I've never delved into making any of the breads — rather, I buy them from Whole Foods or Pasta & Co. (We've just discovered the Rosemary Semolina, which is so good with Butternut Squash soup.)

Another nice touch for me is that Leslie Mackie, the owner and operator of Macrina (also the author of its cookbook), was part of the whole Baking with Julia project. And, as always, anything pertaining to Ms. Child is very near and dear to me. (However, that is only part of Mackie's rather impressive background.) So just remind yourself of this fact as you walk into their shop, and get not-the-best-customer-service you could have hoped for (at least they are consistent), but a lovely Roly-Poly for tea at home later and a loaf of bread for dinner.

Lobstah Roll

We just got back from a wonderful, yet too-short, 9-day trip to Maine. And despite dealing with the remnants of Hurricane Bill in the form of periodic ridiculous rainstorms, we were still able to do, see, and eat a lot.

A couple of years ago I remember plopping down in front of the telly with Michael and watching some travel show on Maine. One of the spotlights on the show was the lobster roll. I still remember Michael turning to me and saying, 'If that was in front of me right now, I'd eat it.' I completely agreed with him, and then proceeded to completely forget about it. About a week before we left for Maine, Michael started talking about lobster rolls again, and we both vowed to eat as many as we could while we were there.

'As many as we could' turned out to be only one from Ken's Cove in Bridgton, and it was delicious — very simple and unfettered. We sat inside this lobster shack, or fish house, or whatever the correct term is, and happily ate every bite. All the while my in-laws sipped iced tea and looked revolted. They were horrified that we made them take part in such gruesome animal cruelty. It's not for everyone, I guess.

Miss Milia, on the other hand, had fish & chips while sitting in the most rickety high-chair I've ever seen. I think it may have actually belonged to Ken of Ken's Cove when he was a wee-one, although I can't say for sure. Ken, not exactly a spring-chicken himself, kept saying as we walked back and forth to see the lobster tanks, that he wished he had a little bit of Emilia's energy. Don't we all...

I've seen a plethora of lobster roll recipes and most of them seem to call for too many ingredients, ranging from celery and capers to white truffle oil. It seems almost sacrilege to bombard the fresh, sweet flavor that is inherent to lobster with so many other flavors — no matter how fancy they are. All you need is a good hot-dog bun (it would be nice to lightly toast this, and maybe put on a little smear of butter), freshly picked lobster meat, and a little dab of mayonnaise. As much as I typically dislike mayonnaise, it is rather essential here. How else are you going to hold it all together? And please don't say plain yogurt.

Traditionally lobster rolls are served with cole-slaw and maybe french fries or potato chips. I think it would be nice to serve it along side a green salad. Or you could even skip the hot-dog bun and just put the lobster on a bed of greens. But then you have a different recipe altogether, and it doesn't really resemble a lobster roll anymore. Instead you would have something that my father-in-law would refer to as 'yuppie-food.' But keep in mind, he once said that all yuppies will eat are garbanzo beans and distilled water. Strange man.

At Ken's Cove they make lobster rolls fresh-to-order. After 'the deed' is done (and by deed, I mean boiling the poor little guy to death), you can see them mix the lobster in a big bucket and plunk it on a bun. Even though their fish is 'so fresh you want to slap it', as one of their signs says, Emilia was not a big fan of the lobster. She much preferred her deep-fried lunch. All in due time, I suppose — or hope, rather. But at least she tried it.