I first appreciated this when I lived in France and worked for a French family.  My employment as an au pair, or ‘mother’s helper,’ involved caring for the family’s four children and helping in the kitchen.  Sitting at table in France is very important.  It especially was in rural France in the late ’70s when I was there.  Lunch, the main meal of the day, lasted two hours.  My employer, Mr. Zundel, drove across town from his office everyday to sit at table with the family.  One of my favorite memories of this experience is how we called the children to the table.  The French phrase à table literally means ‘to the table.’  So whenever the meal was ready that cry went out far and wide: à table, les enfants! Come to the table, children!  The house the family lived in was four stories and quite large.  The main living quarters including the kitchen and dining room were on the second floor.   To get the children to the table we’d have to call that out several times — up the stairs to the third and fourth floors, and over an intercom that went out to the street where the children often played.  The intercom was actually the door bell.  When someone rang you asked who it was before buzzing them in.  In the case of mealtimes we used it to summon the children.  À table, les enfants!

Our version of this when I was growing up was ‘dinnertime!’ yelled out the front door if my sister and I were outside playing.  If we were too far afield to hear the message was passed along by our friends.  ‘Your mom is calling you.’  That meant we better get home fast.  We spent half a school year living with my grandparents outside Sacramento, California in a fairly rural area.  My sister and I were often out running around in the fields when it was time for dinner.  My grandmother took to ringing a cowbell to call us in.  It worked every time.  It was hard not to hear it clanging  away.

Not every meal I eat out, or at home, is as fancy as it may seem from what I have written.  I do eat at inexpensive restaurants sitting at outdoor picnic tables eating off paper plates, or on the curb after grabbing something from a food truck, or worst of all before my computer screen at home but I will always enjoy sitting at a nicely set table whether at home or in a restaurant the most.  It’s the excitement of expectation: the drinks, the food, fellow table mates.  What’s on the menu?  Will it be good?  Will the other diners be fun and interesting?  Hopefully, yes.  If all goes well it’s one of the most glorious experiences life has to offer.  So on that note: bon appétit and please come to the table.  Dinner is served.

Coming Up: International Food Bloggers Conference (IFBC), August 27 – 29, 2010, Seattle Washington.  So much fun last year that I’ll be attending again this year.  Are you?

Upcoming Posts: Interview with Chefs John Stewart & Duskie Estes, owners of Zazu & Bovolo restaurants in Sonoma County. Cochon 555 Napa, a write up of the amazing pork festival that I attended this spring. Cookbook Reviews: Steak and Friends: At Home with Rick Tramonto by Rick Tramonto, Spice Dreams by Sara Engram and Katie Luber, Cider Beans, Wild Greens, and Dandelion Jelly by Joan E. Aller.

Non-Food Fun: ‘Secret Stairs: A Walking Guide to the Historic Staircases of Los Angeles’ by Charles Fleming.  Robert and I recently discovered this fascinating book about the hundreds of  ’secret stairs’ all over the Los Angeles area.  Fleming documents 42 stair walks centered around these secret staircases many of them built when streetcars were the norm and people needed access from their hillside homes, or for those who lived and still live on walk streets, and use(d) them to reach their homes.  ‘Secret’ because most of them are hard to see from the automobiles we all drive.  We have completed 8 walks to date, (3,688 stair steps!) and what an interesting side of L.A. we are seeing.  Robert has started his own blog, Climbing L.A., and is documenting our journey.   Please read along, or join us (details on Climbing L.A.)  Every walk does end with a meal at a local eatery.  Follow Robert on Twitter @ClimbingLA.

My Nepenthe: Bohemian Tales of Food, Family and Big Sur. Romney Steele. Andrews McMeel Publishing. $35.00 (352p) ISBN: 978-0-7407-7914-5

My first visit to Nepenthe Restaurant in Big Sur, California was in the fall of 1983. It was a hot day and we sat outside on the massive terrace with a cold drink — in those days white wine, or possibly beer — and looked down at the unbelievable view. A view of the Monterey coast that went on forever. I’ve never forgotten that first visit. Or that first view. Yes, the parking lot was full of rental cars, and yes, there were crowds of tourists snapping photos but none of that mattered. I didn’t know what to expect as we climbed the winding stone steps up through a canopy of oak trees to the restaurant. But once I stepped foot onto the large terrace and saw the view, I understood the magic of Nepenthe. No matter where you are at Nepenthe, the Phoneix Shop, the Café Kevah or the restaurant itself, the view is there. Always and forever. In my memory there were hawks floating on thermals almost at eye level. That is how high up Nepenthe is. In the clouds. At the end of our drinks it was very hard to pull myself away. Over the years I have gone back to Nepenthe each time I visited the area. How can one not visit such a spectacular place?

I was thrilled when I heard that a granddaughter of the original owners had written the Nepenthe story in celebration of its’ 60th anniversary. I was even more excited when the book arrived on my doorstep for review. It is everything a book like this should be: a celebration of a place and time, a memoir from someone who lived it, and a cookbook with both family and restaurant recipes. I was recently in Big Sur, (see my last post) and I took Robert to Nepenthe for his first time. It was a joy to be back, and to see the magic at work on someone else. He was just as wowed as I was on my first visit. I love the Bohemian-hippy vibe that still exists in Big Sur and thankfully author, Romney Steele, infuses her writing with a lot of that historical detail. Nepenthe was and still is a gathering point for all sorts of interesting and unique souls. From writers, to artists and artisans, to film people, to through-voyagers. As a child Romney Steele was lucky enough to watch it all happen. From stories of her grandparents Bill and Lolly Fasset who bought the property from Orsen Welles and Rita Hayworth in 1947, to frequent visits by writers Henry Miller and Jack Kerouac, to filming of the Elizabeth Taylor-Richard Burton movie The Sandpiper, Ms. Steele was witness to it all. And a magical storyteller she is, as well as an accomplished cook.

The book is woven through with history, stories, memories, archival photos and recipes. Many of the non-archival color photos are beautifully shot by Sara Remington. The look and feel of the entire work is evocative of the free-living Bohemian lifestyle that permeates Big Sur’s past and present. For me it was a fun read as I have been to Nepenthe, and to Big Sur many times over the years; it was wonderful to learn more about the history of both the restaurant and the area. Nepenthe is woven into the fabric of Big Sur and vice versa. They are a part of each other. I tried several recipes from the book and all worked very well, and were a pleasure to eat. On a recent Sunday I cooked this menu: ‘Lolly’s Roast Chicken with Sage Stuffing,’ ‘Cranberry Sauce,’ ‘Beet Salad with Sherry Vinaigrette’ and ‘Lemony Lemon Squares.’ This time Robert and I were the only guests; we devoured everything, and loved it all. A few of the leftover lemon bars were passed along to family and friends — all of whom have asked for the recipe, they were that good. What I like about the food in this book is that it fits in with the down-to-earth vibe the book embodies. Ms. Steele encourages use of local, sustainable ingredients. In fact she has a chart at the beginning of the book, ‘Cooking notes,’ that tells, (and suggests to), the cook the nature of each ingredient used when she developed and tested the recipes: ‘Meats are prime,’ ‘Baking powder is aluminum-free,’ ‘Fruit is seasonal, organic if possible, and preferably locally grown,’ and so on. This isn’t fancy, five-star cuisine nor should it be. The food is earthy, hearty, filling and direct. It’s food that makes sense for a restaurant and place perched high atop a hillside above the crashing surf in the wilds of Big Sur. Steele encourages the reader to find their own Nepenthe within the pages of her book. Steele is my kind of cook, this is my kind of book, I expect to pick it up often to both cook from, and to read more and again about life at Nepenthe. My Nepenthe.

Lolly’s Roast Chicken with Sage Stuffing (Pg. 113)

Cranberry Sauce (Pg. 114)

Beet Salad with Sherry Vinaigrette (Pg. 279)

Lemony Lemon Squares (Pg. 250)

Upcoming Posts: Interview with Chefs John Stewart & Duskie Estes, owners of Zazu & Bovolo restaurants in Sonoma County. Cochon 555 Napa, a write up of the amazing pork festival that I went to in Napa. Reviews: The Spirit Kitchen: Everyday Cooking with Organic Spices by Sara Engram and Katie Luber and Kimberly Toqe.

The Languedoc reminds me of an Audrey Hepburn movie. I’m not sure which one; I’m not even sure it’s actually one of her films. The image I have stuck in my head. It could be any one of several American movies made in the 50s and 60s set in the French countryside. Those films that have the young lovers driving along a quiet French country road in a convertible; the road lined by large plane trees on both sides. They rise up and meet in the middle; dappled sunshine peeks through the canopy of leaves above. The young lovers laugh and smile as they drive off. We rode along many of those roads during our recent time in the Languedoc: land of the Canal du Midi, Carcassonne, cassoulet, spectacular seafood, incredible wines, and pretty tree-lined roads.

I’ve enjoyed visiting Provence and the Côte d’Azur; but somehow the Languedoc felt calmer, less populated, and a little less popular. Our time there was relaxing, unhurried. The region is also stunning in its natural beauty. The sea, farmland, vineyards, the mountains. Not far from the Spanish border so influences of Spain are ever present. We visited the medieval walled city of Carcassonne, a place both Robert and I had always wanted to see, the medieval villages of Pézenas and Minerve; we went to the open air markets in Béziers and Narbonne where we shopped for meals with our hostess, Anne de Ravel of Saveur Languedoc.

And we ate. And we cooked. And we drank. And we ate some more. Four incredible nights cooking with Anne at her family’s ancestral home near the hilltop village of Montady. We arrived on a Wednesday and Anne had the menu set and the shopping complete for our first meal. She made us, I helped a bit, Tielles, a local delicacy of octopus pie, Gigot (leg of lamb) with Artichoke Sauce, Gratin of Braised Swiss Chard, Anne picked the chard from her garden when we arrived, Salad of Escarole and Garden Lettuce, again picked fresh from Anne’s garden, or potager as the household vegetable garden is called in French, ending with les fromages, a local Cantal, a local brebis (sheep’s milk cheese) and a chèvre. Rosé, a popular local spring and summer wine, quenched any thirsts. A wonderful meal for our first night in the Langeuedoc. And it only got better from there.

Anne and I met in New York City in the early 80s when we both took classes at Peter Kump’s New York Cooking School. Each cooking station needed two people and Anne and I were paired up. Surprise to me that she was French, and surprise to her that I had lived in France and spoke French. We both took classes to add to our cooking knowledge and skills. We became fast friends, cooked together when we could, and have remained close over the years. It had been quite a long time since she and I had been in a kitchen together, and it was great fun to cook with her again. The meals she planned, the food we cooked, it was all simple, local, fresh, French country food. A menu is often not decided upon until one has been to the market, or the butcher or fishmonger, to see what is good or fresh that day, or checked the potager to see what is ready to pick. This is how we cooked and ate for the four days we were guests at Anne’s house. Food heaven!

I hate flying. And I don’t particularly relish staying in hotel rooms. Being a tourist is not a favorite pastime either. But I still love to travel. What I really like is being in a place. Letting the effects of a place slowly seep into my awareness, slowly take over my senses. At times one must kick start that process by being a typical tourist, bus tours and all. But that’s just a primer to really starting to know a place. Travel is ultimately about discovery. Discovery of a new place, culture, language, food. There’s a mysteriousness to uncovering, and exploring a new city, a new country. I don’t know Spain the way I do France. Before this recent trip, I’d been to Madrid for a day before flying to the island of Mallorca for a week long wedding. Mallorca was total, complete heaven. I could have stayed and never left. That trip was long ago. Being back in Spain for an extended period of time allowed me to re-discover and discover more of this wonderful country. I’d definitely like to spend more time there.

After my year long stay in France when I was eighteen, I went on a three-month tour of western Europe by train. I saw almost all of the western European countries except for Spain. It was the late 70s and it was still this fairly unknown place with a recent quasi-facist past . And it was far away; stuck down by itself along with Portugal. It just didn’t quite fit into the big geographic circle I was making through France, Switzerland, Austria, Italy, Greece, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Scotland, Ireland and England. And on return trips I never quite made it there either. I didn’t know what I was missing.

France, as stated in my last post, is still my home away from home, my self-adoptive country but I do have a new appreciation for Spain and the Spanish. Robert and I found the people to be warm, friendly and open. There was a sort of laissez-faire attitude that was very comfortable to us. Barcelona was a dream place. I had heard that it was. With Gaudi leading the Modernist movement, and building amazing buildings like the Sagrada Familia cathedral, the city couldn’t help but be dream-like. The food followed suit. Bold, direct and vibrant. I learned how to eat and order tapas (finally!). The city is dotted with cervecerias on every corner. They’re open morning, noon and night. Stop in for a cafe con leche and a montadito of egg and potato for breakfast, go back in the evening for beers, sangria and five or six tapas dishes. I’ll be writing more about our food experiences as soon as I am over my jet lag and back on track but some of the delicious things we ate included: tortilla (potato omellete), patatas bravas (fried potatoes in spicy red sauce with garlic mayonnaise), pimientos del padrón (deep fried peppers), montaditos (little sandwiches with all manner of ingredients), oxtail stew, grilled shrimp and much more (to be revealed).

One of our favorite places, a block away from our amazing hotel, was Cervesería Catalana. Always busy with people spilling out on to the street. Traditional tapas; very well prepared. Our first night, and our initiation into ordering tapas, was at Cervecería Ciudad Condal. A big, bustling place with a wait for a table. After we were seated at a corner table in the back of the restaurant, we both looked at our all Spanish menus then at each other: what now? Robert speaks Spanish fluently and I can easliy get by. It wasn’t that the menu was in Spanish; it was that we had no idea what the things listed on it were. The very nice waitress (used to clueless tourists) offered to bring us an assortment of dishes. It was perfect. Just enough, not too much. All amazingly delicious. We’d managed to successfully order and eat tapas in Spain. We walked off into the warm night, sated and happy. We were falling for Barcelona fast. By our third and final night it was full on love. I now understood why everybody raved about this city. Our final night in Spain was spent in Madrid, and it was another love fest; a magical city that felt a bit like London due to the cool, damp weather and a bit like Paris in its vast grandness. We both liked it all over again. Spain was quickly becoming a new favorite European country. One we’d both like to explore further.

¡Buen provecho!

Watch this spot for more about our travel and food adventures in Spain (and France).

My Status: Robert and I returned home on Saturday, June 6. I am recovering from jet lag, getting caught up and wishing I was still in France and Spain!

Upcoming Posts: France and Spain: more detailed blogs about food and travel adventures in France and Spain. The Wedge Salad: a recipe, the origins of the salad and of Iceberg lettuce.
]]> http://www.100miles.com/spain/feed/ 10 http://www.100miles.com/france/ http://www.100miles.com/france/#comments Sun, 31 May 2009 12:42:00 +0000 Charles Thompson http://100miles.com/?p=36 My love affair with France began at age sixteen. I was lucky enough to spend an entire week in Paris with my high school French class, thanks to the generosity of my father and step-mother. It was the Spring of 1976 and I fell in love with Paris and the French almost immediately. A lot has changed in Paris since those heady first days. I have returned often but somehow each time is like that very first time. Always exciting, always something new to see and discover. This time was no different. Once Robert and I stepped out of the cab in front of the hotel I felt that wonderful frisson I always feel in Paris. Somehow I feel more alive in Paris. I tell people often that France is my second home. I have traveled a lot, been to many foreign countries, liked most all of them but when I am in France I feel at home. Like I belong. Being back in Paris was like returning chez moi. I now feel so very comfortable there. I know how to communicate, how to order in restaurants, how to travel by métro, how to deal with the quirks of the French and France most Americans are confused by.

Our two days went by quickly and were filled with seeing friends who live in Paris. We ate well but that was not the focus of our time there. Because time was so short and because I was trying to see three French friends and two American friends we didn’t have the chance to really focus on food. We did eat as much bread, butter and café crèmes as we could. We did grab wonderful leek quiches and fruit crumbles from the corner patisserie for the TGV ride to the Languedoc. We did walk more than we have walked in a very long while. The city enveloped us, wrapped us up in its magic charm and almost didn’t let us go. I found it very hard to leave. But another friend in the Languedoc awaited us so I reluctantly boarded the TGV to Béziers.

The Languedoc was all about food (more extensive blogs coming when I return) due to my French friend Anne de Ravel of Saveur Languedoc. Anne has returned from the U.S. to her family farm near Béziers and now runs a cooking and lifestyle company that concentrates on the food and wine of the Languedoc. Those who wish to can spend five days with Anne learning to cook local food and eating in regional restaurants, touring wineries, and meeting local chefs and food purveyors. Because of her connection to food her home, and our stay, was food-filled. Fresh lettuce and Swiss chard from her garden, local seafood from the open air market in Narbonne, local cheeses, fresh bread bought in Montady, the closest village, each morning. Anne and I cooked together and we all ate like kings. Some of the dishes we prepared were fresh sardines barbecued over grape vine cuttings, or souches, a mixed grill of beef short ribs, fresh sausage, chicken that we picked up in Béziers – a medium-sized town close to Anne – also cooked over les souches; local delicacies like tielles, an octopus tarte. We also ate a lot of fresh vegetables either from Anne’s garden or from the farmer’s market. That is only some of what we ate.

I am going to stop this short as we have a train to Barcelona to catch but I wanted to get something posted at the mid point in our trip. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that my laptop doesn’t accept the media card from my camera before I left so this post is without photos but I have taken hundreds that I’ll be posting with new blog posts I add when I get home next week.

A bientôt!

My Status: Robert and I leave for Barcelona this afternoon at 3:45 p.m., and return home on Saturday, June 6.

Upcoming Posts: Spain: if time allows, I’ll be posting blogs from Barcelona. The Wedge Salad: a recipe, the origins of the salad and of Iceberg lettuce when I return. As well as several posts about our food experiences in France and Spain.

Seattle is most definitely a food (and coffee!) city. It’s also a gateway city: to Alaska, to the Pacific, and Asia further off. Large numbers of people come and go from it. Several flights a day arrive and depart to and from Asia and Alaska; cruise ships embark heading north up along British Columbia through the Inside Passage to Alaska, or out into the Pacific to far off destinations; Canada is just over the border a few hours north. The city is diverse culturally, and cosmopolitan in feel, yet still has a Northwestern charm all its own.

The Emerald City

I spent this past weekend in Seattle attending the International Food Blogger Conference, sponsored by Foodista, a cooking encyclopedia everyone can edit — the Wikipedia of food. The last time I was in, or near, Seattle was when I was about fourteen years old. My mother took my sister and I on a three-month long driving tour around the Northwest. I have dim memories of the city itself but do remember stopping at the beautiful Olympic Rain Forest on our way north. In any case I was anxious to visit this city again. Especially considering that since the early 7os when I was last there it has become a food mecca. I found it to be quite wonderful. It reminded me a lot of San Francisco, the damp weather, the hills, all the water, and the food. When I was in the Capitol Hill and West Seattle neighborhoods, I was reminded of Hillcrest in San Diego. Quiet, friendly neighborhoods, like small towns set amongst a thriving city. Yes, there is quite a lot of rain, wet and cold to reckon with if one lives in Seattle, but the beauty and quiet pace of life seemed like a nice balance. The amazing, sunny, mid-70s weather we had all weekend probably helped weave an emerald spell but even on the one damp day I was still smitten.

Food & Eating

Now let’s get to the food. My first night I ate alone at Spring Hill restaurant in West Seattle and I could not have been happier. The kitchen is open and I had a table at the very back facing forward into the dining room with the kitchen to my left. I sat, ate, observed, listened, ate more. I was quite impressed with the way the kitchen and dining room staff operated; with a quiet precision. Very few unnecessary movements. Almost like watching restaurant choreography. Not something I experience often. The restaurant is owned by the very capable husband and wife team, Chef Mark Fuller and Marjorie Chang Fuller who handles the front of the house. I spoke to Marjorie and learned that they’d be serving us lunch at the IFBC on Sunday so I got to see them again which was a treat. I ate the Chicken/Shrimp Paté, Green Garlic Mayonnaise, Turnips, Asparagus as a first course, and the Handmade Tagliatelle, Spicy Pork Belly, Hen of the Woods, Grilled Green Garlic, Parmesan as a main and I was, sadly, too full to squeeze in dessert. It was as delicious and as perfectly prepared as it sounds. Both dishes.

Earlier in the day I went to Pike’s Place Market — something I’d wanted to see for quite a long time. It didn’t disappoint. A lively, bustling and touristy place but it was all good. It was fun to see the original Starbucks and the not-quite-original Sur La Table store (it had moved from the original market location to where it is now). I had a very good lunch in a French place called Café Campagne. I sat in a window seat looking down the hill over the market to the water below and ate a delicious Burger d’agneau — Lamb burger with balsamic grilled onions, roasted peppers, aïoli and pommes frites. A perfect late lunch.

Food Bloggers

The IFBC was a lot of fun, I met some amazing people, ate great food prepared by local purveyors and learned a hell of a lot about food blogging. I now have two new Los Angeles-based food blogger friends, Jo Stougaard of My Last Bite and Afaf Serrato of Simply Heaven. The three of us had such a great time together. We all went to dinner at a great Italian restaurant, Spinasse, in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, on Saturday night after attending a Q&A with Ruth Reichl who is out promoting her new book, “Not Becoming My Mother”. It was a hoot to see her, we all got a copy of the book which she signed for us. At Spinasse we shared several dishes two of which were Tajarin al ragu (fine hand cut egg pasta with ragu), and Ravioli di tapinambur al burro e salvia con pignoli (ravioli of Jerusalem artichokes with sage butter and toasted pine nuts). Jo and I had another amazing meal at Le Pichet on Sunday night, a Molly Wizenberg of Orangette fame recommendation. We ate L’Assiette de charcuterie and a salad of greens with confit of duck gizzards, Jo had the Boudin blanc et sa salade tiede aux chou-fleur et pommes de terre (Chicken-pork sausage, roasted, on a warm salad of cauliflower, potato, cornichon and spring onions) and I had Onglet frites (Grilled Oregon Natural beef hangar steak, on escarole, sauteed with olives and garlic, rosemary-red wine sauce). Old-fashioned, wonderful French food. We both were quite happy with our meals.

One of the more interesting IFBC panels took place on Sunday: “Passionate Purveyors & Producers”. One of the passionate purveyors was Carrie Oliver of Oliver Ranch. Carrie and Oliver Ranch promote ‘artisan beef’, and knowing where your beef comes from. As they say on their website: ‘Like fine wines, beef flavor & texture are influenced by breed, growing region, diet & the unique skills of those who raise it’. I’d never actually thought about it like that but it does make sense. I found all she had to say very interesting and wanted to know more. Jo, Afaf, Phil Nigash of My Life As A Foodie and I are hoping to do an artisan beef tasting this fall that Oliver Ranch organizes. It should be a lot of fun as well as informative.

Some of the amazing bloggers I met over the weekend: Chef Reinvented, Fork This, My Last Bite, Not Without Salt, Phoo-D, Plumpest Peach, Recipe Girl, Simply Heaven, The Well Tempered Chocolatier. A long list of local chefs, restauranteurs, and purveyors supplied the conference with wine, cheese, coffee, chocolate, breakfasts, lunches, drinks, snacks, hors d’oeuvres. All locally produced using local products when possible. We ate very well. There seems to be a nice community of food people who seem to support one another in Seattle.

There’s so much more to tell and write about but this is long enough so I’ll end it here leaving you with a little hodge-podge of things that happened during my frield trip to the Northwest. It was an amazing weekend and I am now a huge fan of Seattle, and all the food people who live and cook there.

My Status: Robert and I leave for Paris, the Languedoc, Barcelona and Madrid on Sunday, May 24, returning home on Saturday, June 6.

Upcoming Posts: France and Spain: if all goes well technologically, and time allows, I’ll be posting blogs from Europe. The Wedge Salad: a recipe, the origins of the salad and of Iceberg lettuce when I return.
]]> http://www.100miles.com/seattle/feed/ 16 http://www.100miles.com/the-local-report-canele/ http://www.100miles.com/the-local-report-canele/#comments Fri, 24 Apr 2009 21:08:00 +0000 Charles Thompson http://100miles.com/?p=30

.7 miles, about 3 minutes, from my home in Atwater Village.

A canalé is a specialty of the Bordeaux region of France. A small pastry with a soft custard center and a dark caramelized crust. They are eaten for breakfast, as a snack, and for dessert. Canalé is also a favorite neighborhood restaurant. Just a few walkable blocks from home. Robert and I were there on a recent Friday night. We have often wondered how the recession is affecting restaurants. It didn’t seem to be having much of an affect on Canalé this particular night. The restaurant was full and people were still waiting for tables when we left around 9:15 or so.

It’s great to see this place doing so well. The food has been called French-California-Mediterranean. And it is, but some of the menu items are classic French. Those are the ones I like the most. Like the bouef Bourguignon with buttered noodles I had on my first visit, and the pissaladiere with herb salad. They also have sides like pommes Anna, a very old-fashioned potato dish of layered potatoes and butter; starters like leeks vinaigrette, and brandade, a salt cod dish originating in the Languedoc and Provence regions of France. On our most recent visit we both had the bistro steak with sauce bordelaise, pommes Anna, and creamed spinach. Prepared perfectly. We were quite content at the end of the meal. They also offer a starter of Spanish ham, an Italian pasta dish in honor of the restaurant that was in the space for many years: Osteria Nonni, and a simple roast chicken. All less than classic French but equally good. Both the chef-owner, Corina Weibel, and general manager-owner, Jane Choi, come from other celebrated American restaurants: Campanile, and Lucques for Corina, and Pastis and Balthazar in New York for Jane.

The place has the feel of a Parisian bistro. Once inside it’s easy to pretend you are at a back street bistro in Paris. One Parisians living in the outer arrondissements might go to. The kitchen is open and practically in the narrow dining room which is part of the fun. There are a few seats at a counter looking into the kitchen, and a communal table in the front window. The staff is welcoming, attentive and congenial. We were seated near the front door so we watched as people arrived. It was obvious that a lot of the clientele comes from the neighborhood, and that many are regulars. The hostess knew a lot of the people coming through the door. That is what, after several visits now, I like most about the place. It’s unstuffy neighborhood vibe. It’s honest cooking. It’s not fancy nor does it need to be. And to top the meal off they offer you a warm canalé as you are going out the door.

http://www.canele-la.com/

Canelé

3291 Glendale Blvd.

Los Angeles, CA 90039

323-666-7133

*The Local Report(s): are occasional blog posts on restaurants, and/or businesses that either support the idea of one-hundred miles, and ‘living life locally’; or are small, localized businesses in my neighborhood, and/or within one-hundred miles of my residence, that I prefer to support over the larger, national, corporate chains. For other The Local Report(s) please go the Archives section of this blog. Also, I’d love to hear from my readers about businesses that they support in their neighborhoods: write to me at charlesgthompson@100miles.com, or leave a comment here.

Follow The Local Report on Twitter: @TheLocalReport

One of my earliest memories of a great dish — when I first understood that food could be amazing — took place when I was 10 years old. My mother, sister and I lived on the Central Coast of California near Hearst Castle in San Simeon. We lived in a trailer park across Highway 1 from the Pacific Ocean about fifteen minutes south of the castle and about twenty minutes north of Cambria. The entire area is stunningly beautiful. We spent many afternoons walking the rocky usually chilly beach five minutes from home picking up shells and rocks, and collecting driftwood.

As I remember the day, after one of our afternoon walks, we returned home and upon opening the door the most wonderful, amazing smell wafted over us. I was instantly intrigued as it smelled delicious. Like nothing I had smelled before. I went to the kitchen and looked in the oven, and inside were six papaya halves baking away. But there was no one in the trailer. Who had made this amazing dish?

It turns out that, Wally, a family friend had come down from Carmel and while we were out made one of his signature dishes: Baked Papaya. The smells of the cooking process had permeated the small trailer. He had stepped out to get something. For a 10-year old it was all very magical and mysterious and who knows how much the interceding years have affected those memories. It is still one of my earliest and strongest food memories. When Chef Wally returned we all sat down and ate the baked papayas and they were as delicious as they smelled. I asked Wally to send the recipe and he did. I have made it many times over the years.

The funny part to this story is that when I recently asked my mother about it she had to correct a few things. I thought Wally really was a chef at a restaurant in Carmel – all these years I thought that. He had signed the hand written recipe ‘Chef Wally’. Well, as my mother patiently explained, Wally was not a chef but a traveling auto parts salesman — albeit one who liked to cook and was quite good in the kitchen. So my memory of this great chef giving me one of his coveted recipes was dashed. No matter it’s still a recipe that I cherish, and make, to this day.

This dish can be eaten alone, or can be served with pork or fish dishes — like pork chops, roast pork, or a sturdy fish like Mahi Mahi, or red snapper, etc. A full-bodied white wine like a Chardonnay is a good wine to accompany it.

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Bon appétit.

Serves

2-4

Preparation Time

1 – 1 1/4 hours

Ingredients

2 papyas; if green when purchased allow to ripen 1-2 days to a green-yellow color.  Soft to the touch.

1/4 cup fine bread stuffing

1/4 cup Parmesan cheese

1 cup onion

1 tomato

2 Tb. butter

Salt & pepper

Method

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Mix the stuffing and Parmesan cheese together in a bowl and set aside.  Cut papayas in half length-wise, remove and throw away black seeds.  Dig the meat out of each half with a spoon leaving the remaining shell intact for refilling later, chop the meat coarsely then set aside.  Skin and chop the tomato and set aside.  Finely dice the onion.

Heat the butter in a skillet until it bubbles then add the onions and cook until clear not brown.  Add the papaya meat.  Add the tomato.  Stir the whole mixture together.  Season with salt and pepper.  Cook over medium heat, stirring gently from time to time.  When mixture is thick, after several minutes, turn off the fire.

Place the papaya shells in a casserole dish in a half-inch of water so they won’t burn, or stick to the bottom.  Spoon the cooked mixture into the shells evenly.  Top each off with the bread crumb-Parmesan mixture.  Dot each with butter.

Bake in the oven for 30 minutes or until the tops are brown.

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I also learned to enjoy the regional dishes of Alsace. Colmar sits a half-hour away from the German border and the Black Forest. Much of Alsace’s cuisine is influenced by its proximity to, and history with, Germany. That combined with the cold, wet weather of northern Europe lends a certain heartiness to its dishes. Alsace is known for such dishes as choucroute garni, an Alsatian version of the German sauerkraut, baeckeoffe, a baked dish of pork, beef, mutton, potatoes and white wine, tarte aux oignons, onion tart – a dish I liked to eat often, spätzele, the German influenced small dumplings served with meat dishes, and for dessert kougelhopf, a coffee cake, and tarte aux quetsches, or plum tart.

Aside from the everyday shopping, I also helped Madame Zundel in the kitchen to prepare the lunch meal. For the evening meal I was solely responsible and I usually made a simple soup like leek and potato, a salad, cheese and bread. As it turned out Madame Zundel was American; she came from Northern California so when I first arrived to the household we spoke a lot of English until she insisted we speak French only. She also had cookbooks in English – one of those being Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. That book quickly became my bible. I used it often throughout the year, and from it I learned the basics of French cooking. By the time I returned to the states I was well grounded in French cooking techniques. Madame Zundel and I made many wonderful dishes together. If she had guests over she always let me help with the menu and meal preparation as well as sit at table with the other guests. For Christmas she and her husband gave me Raymond Oliver’s La Cuisine – sa techniques – ses secrets. In French, recipes in grams and liters, and a cookbook I still use today.

My experiences in France that year started me on a lifelong journey involving food and eating. The simplicity of the way of life; the daily revolution around meals and sustenance; the quality of the ingredients that were the rule not the exception all showed me the value of living in a forthright yet uncomplicated way. A way that feeds not only the body but the soul.

Here is a very easy but fun recipe for yogurt cake that Madame Zundel and I made often. The measurements are based on 1 small yogurt container. We usually served it without frosting but with melted chocolate and ice cream. The children loved it.

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Bon appėtit!