A Review of "Six California Kitchens"

 

Sally Schmitt’s posthumous publication Six California Kitchens proves you can write a powerful memoir one recipe at a time. Whether the book will become enough of a legacy to vault her into the position she deserves, praised alongside “inventors” of California cuisine—farm-to-table, local, seasonal—like Alice Waters, Wolfgang Puck, Nancy Silverton, and Mark Peel, only time will tell. But it’s also telling that Schmitt and her husband of 64 years Don were the founders of the French Laundry in 1978, which they sold to now world-renowned food superstar Thomas Keller in 1994 so they could get out of what they already saw was a rapidly commercializing Napa Valley. And note Keller pens one of the two encomiastic forewords; the other is from the founder of the famed Mustards Grill, Cindy Pawlcyn, who also, alas, generally doesn’t receive the kudos she deserves. 

 So, yes, there is a not-so-secret feminist core to this book, as Schmitt argues against the sad sexist trope “women are cooks and men are chefs” one unfussy but brilliant plate at a time. (In 1952 she graduated from UC Davis with a degree in, of all things, home ec.) Schmitt is also very much a mother, too, that “stumbling block” that often derails a woman’s career. Her solution was simple—have the whole family work for you. Not surprisingly to this day the Apple Farm, the idyllic spot the Schmitts took to in Mendocino County, eventually growing 80 heirloom varieties of apples, making all sorts of take-home products from that fruit and more, and most importantly, teaching cooking classes, is managed and run by Sally’s daughter, Karen, and son-in-law Tim. And Don was there all along, going from an Air Force vet to a banker to a sommelier on-the-fly, especially thanks to all their Napa winemaking friends.

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

The Urge in Splurge

Gourmets (not mere, trendy foodies) dream of Thomas Keller’s French Laundry the obsessive way the starstruck dream of George Clooney or Marion Cotillard, except all the gourmets need to attain their dream is to be quick on Open Table or the phone, at exactly 10 a.m. two months prior to the day they care to dine… and to be able to pay $270 per person, for nine courses and service, with tax and alcohol additional. But you don’t quibble cost with Keller (I can’t say for Clooney or Cotillard), for you’re in for the culinary experience of your life.

Want to read the rest then do so at the Indy's site.

The Beer-Waiting Is the Hardest Part

I'm pretty sure it's not just since dining at the French Laundry that all service has seemed to go to pot. At the French Laundry, it's clear every possible moment has been considered; how that moment could go absolutely the best has been chosen (always accurately); that way is taught to every last person on staff; said staff manages to do that exact right thing every single time. That leaves plenty of places for service to go wrong in lesser establishments: most places just seem mindless; when they do figure out the right thing, it's often not part of training; if there is training it's inconsistent; and then the waitstaff might just not be able to, or care to be able to, pull it off.

For instance, it's been a thing lately--if two data points count as a thing--that servers fail to bring the second drink I've ordered in a timely manner. Now this might just seem like whining, but if the server asks when he or she leaves the food, "Do you want anything else?" and you say, "Yes, I'd like another beer please," you're sort of hopping that beer shows up to go with the meal just brought to you. And it's only been a draft--it's not like the drink involved muddling or flamed citrus or anything in the slightest time-intensive. I didn't order that second beer for dessert--the point is it will go well with my burger. Get that Ninkasi over here! This failure smarted even more at a place that usually has great service--well, at least your favorite server in town--and when you don't get her (she doesn't work every hour of every shift, sadly), things fall apart. At a place that makes its own beer, so you think would like to get you to drink it. Oh well.

These issues pale to the disaster that is the spot I called Mike Harkey in my complaint/rant about it two years ago. I guess you have to give it credit--it's consistent. Consistently infuriating. I met two people already there last night, hoping I, too, could get a cocktail, since, after all, that's what they do. Upon arriving another table empties, so we are the only three people in the bar (at about 7 pm, so no one should be too exhausted from a long evening of exercising their cocktail shaking muscles). There's no recognition that a new person has joined the table and might be curious to order. Then again, one of the people at the table has an empty glass, too, and for a good 20 minutes no one asks if she might like another cocktail. Finally we do get a waitress's attention and order. My drink comes without its signature candied ginger garnish. But why should I expect attention to detail when they can't even bother to do that "let's ask customers if they want to buy something" part of the business.

Drinking the Laundry: Wine, iPads, and Thomas Keller

An evening at a restaurant usually doesn't go like this for me, but my wife and I are just two glasses of bubbly into dinner and have already added $48 to our wine bill. Then again, this is an once-in-a-lifetime dinner, as we're at the French Laundry, Chef Thomas Keller's original masterpiece, and to suddenly get too cheap when you're already $270 a person in for dinner (nine courses plus) and service makes you seem like the guy who doesn't get pot odds at the poker game. If you want to win big, at a certain point you've got nothing to lose. So you order that Schramsberg, "Cuvée French Laundry," Extra Brut, Blanc de Blancs, California 2008. It's creamy, bright, an evening's kick in the tuxedoed pants even if you're not that dressed up yourself.

Want to read the rest then do so at KCET's blog.