All Hail the Slyly Served Snail

It's a tricky task to single out one thing at Sly's as the place tends to do no wrong. Cocktails, well, Mandy and her crew has got them, and every part tends to be made from scratch, from the orgeat in the Mai Tai to the bitters in the stirred, not shaken Manhattan (as that drink is fond of foaming when shaken vigorously). The service is ever professional and friendly but it still has that old-fashioned air, too--it's not about palsing around, but performance. The bread service I could have easily heaped hearty wheaty hosannas on just as much as the one at Coast's (or the one at Downey's--that Irish soda bread...yum)--how can you beat warm black bread with gooey raisins?

But given all that goodness, this entry's going to be about abalone, even if it took a snail's pace to get around to announcing it as my subject. James Sly gets his from what he bills as Dos Pueblos Local Abalone, for a wealth of reasons, no doubt, not the least of which is nostalgia (Sly's is nothing if not the steak house of your dreams you think you remember, but even better). Abalone hankers back to a different day in California, when the world was rich in their veal-of-the-sea loveliness, when living the coastal life didn't require oodles of cash. Of course that world is long gone--the price of the abalone main course attests to that ($48)--but it's nice to reconnect to a simpler age, even if at a premium. Sly's, too, also loves the local, having been on that trend before it was a glimmer off Michael Pollan's bald head. What's more, Sly is sly about language as much as anything else, relishing in the corniness of pitch-talk like "just blocks from the world's safest beach!" For let's face it, Dos Pueblos Local Abalone is relatively sexier than the Cultured Abalone, from where the little mollusks actually hail. The good news is they are farmed sustainably, so you can eat with a clear conscience.

And you will, as Sly serves them up totally tender, lightly breaded, perfectly pan-fried. Cut each one into tiny pieces and savor--it's a meal that teaches you to eat slow (the one part of slow food perhaps not emphasized enough: just take your time and enjoy what's going into your mouth!). If a clam and lobster mated, they might hope to give birth to an abalone, but it would have to be an exceptional child. That breading adds just enough, well, even crunch is too much of a word, but it's all about texture, something to play off the tender abalone (which isn't chewy in the slightest). All of this is napped--and that's the only word that works for just the exact amount of saucing so you'll get just a bit on each and every bite and suddenly your plate will be spotless when you're finished--in a doré sauce, proving so much of cooking is really just nailing the simple. Butter, wine, shallot, parsley, salt, pepper, and I'm guessing maybe a dash of cream (it's like the exclamation point of Angostura in the Manhattan mentioned above).

If this plate isn't heaven, damn me right now.

Putting the Fun in Gumbo

Last night's Mardi Gras meant it only seemed appropriate to turn to New Orleans for menu inspiration (and a cocktail, of course, in this case the delightfully layered Vieux Carre), and after a bunch of internet and cookbook searching for some sort of gumbo that didn't lay on the links too much (sausage sausage everywhere, and not a gumbo for pescatarians to drink!), we found this Shrimp and Collard Greens Gumbo. So, yes, this isn't my recipe, but we did some tweaking and have some warnings, so I'm going to run through it our way for you to enjoy the next time you want a big bowl of slowly simmering Louisiana heat. Plus one more excuse to eat collards, not that you should need one.


4 TBS. safflower oil
2 TBS. flour
1 1/2 cups chopped onion
1 medium sized green bell pepper, chopped
4 ribs celery, chopped
1 pound frozen cut okra
2 bunches collards, washed, stemmed, torn into bite-sized bits
5 cups shrimp or seafood stock (we used Kitchen Basics seafood stock and it was perfectly fine)
1 14.5 oz can whole tomato, undrained
3 cloves garlic, crushed (these will fall apart more in the soup and be delicious)
1 bay leaf
2 robust tsp. Creole seasoning blend (of your choice)
1/2 TBS. hot sauce ( we used Caribbean Chile Habanero)
salt and pepper to taste
1 1/2 pounds shrimp, peeled and deveined, 72-90 count best size

In large skillet make a medium roux of 2 TBS of oil and the flour. Stir constantly over medium high heat till the mixture gives off a rich smell and is peanut butter colored--at least 10 minutes. Add onions, bell pepper, and celery and cook till the onions are translucent, about 10 minutes. Remove from heat.

In soup pot cook okra over medium heat in remaining 2 TBS of oil for about 10 minutes or until soft and a bit gooey (that gooey will add to the dish's consistency). Add the collards and stock, bring to a boil, reduce heat to simmering, and cook for 15 minutes. Add roux-vegetable mixture, tomatoes, garlic, red pepper sauce, bay leaf, Creole seasoning, salt (start lightly as boxed stock can be sodium-full), and pepper. Stir to combine and break up the tomato a bit. Simmer for another 20 minutes. Add shrimp, cover, and cook slowly for no more than 10 minutes--keep checking on how much those shrimp have pinked up and tightened their little circles.

This goes well with a mixed greens salad and some crusty bread, maybe even a crusty-garlicky-cheesy bread, would be great.

Chicken Pot Chicken Pot Chicken Pot Pie

It's not really that I need another reason to head to Hollister Brewing Company as Eric Rose's ever-diverse and totally-tasty brews would get me in the door all by themselves. (And how wonderful it is he tweaks recipes, too, so, for instance, the current batch of White Star XPA is the creamiest ever.) But having Dylan Fultineeer in the kitchen certainly doesn't hurt HBC any. And while Dylan's mastery tends to show best at the magnificent beer dinners and on the daily specials, the latest re-vamp the regular menu helps show how comfortable he is with comfort food.Veggie lasagna. Pot roast. Cioppino. Pork belly sandwich (bacon's beefier cousin, if that's not an oxymoron).

But this entry is about the beauty photographed above, the new chicken pot pie. (And if you don't know the allusion in the title, please don't get Cross with me if you follow this link.) Get it while the weather's still a bit iffy, for it will warm you deeply, and not just because it comes piping hot from the oven and that crusty cap holds the heat. Nope, it's body-pleasing good--the kind of food we all dreamed our mothers made (instead of serving up the Swanson's frozen models). That puff pastry is flaky and layered but then doughy inside, too, cooked to perfection. And the contents, not just any chicken but the oh-so-au-courant Jidori. A luscious sauce with not trace of flour to thicken it up. Carrots and snow peas that haven't gone to mush in the saucy baking process.

Dough That to Me One More Time

Man does not live by bread alone, but he just might if he got to eat at Coast every night. On a slow Tuesday evening, the pleasant dining room was a wonderful spot for a respite from a crazy work week. And while the entire meal was fine--chef Brian Parks certainly knows his way around a piece of fish based on the fine arctic char and halibut we enjoyed--there was something particularly pleasing about the bread service. Sure, it's homey and all, coming out on its wooden cutting board. But even better, it's all warm, all the better to slather the very cold butter on. And then there was variety, too. Two lovely pretzel rolls, rich in Kosher salt, caraway, and rye, chewy on the outside, delish in the center. Then there was one harder roll sort of shaped like a breaded snail, but it was far from sluggish in taste. And then was a round softer roll, proving two crusts that looked somewhat the same could be totally different animals (if crusts were animals).

It wasn't easy to say no, when we got offered a second board.

Other good news about Coast is how Open Table-friendly the restaurant is: they offer 1000 points 5:30 - 10 Monday through Thursday, 11-2 and 5:30-10:30 Sunday (there's a great jazz brunch), and then 5:30-6:45 an 8:45-9:45 Friday and Saturday. Does wonders for your Open Table account (and your stomach).

Raw Raw Riot

I love a big juicy slab o' beef between buns as much as the next Padma, even if I don't necessarily love the burger, if you know what I mean. That said, I would be one saddened carnivore if I could never drag my knuckles again into Santa Barbara's Paradise Cafe or Los Angeles's Father's Office or San Diego's The Neighborhood ever again and not be able to devour a burger.

Still, man does not live by meat alone. Plus, I like to be open-minded, or make that open-stomached, and be willing to try all sorts of foods and preparations. So, last weekend we were at 118 Degrees in Costa Mesa for dinner. Their menu puts it like this: "118 Degrees is the commonly accepted temperature at which the natural enzyme value and nutritional contents of raw plant foods begin to break down and become useless for the body. One benefit of eating raw food is the energy derived from the enzymes and phyto nutrients available in foods that are still living!"I figure, thems phyto words*--let's see what you've got, 118 Degrees!

You have to grant raw food chefs some ground, after all, as they're willing to give up on really enticing us with scent when they cook. Sure, basil is basil raw even to our noses, but so many foods don't really let their oils loose until heated a bit (put some corriander or cumin seeds in a warmed pan and you'll see, or smell, as the case may be), so that makes the job much harder. That might be one reason raw food is often plated within an inch of its life (if that isn't an oxymoron)--these dishes seem to try to entice the eye even more than a "regular" plate of food. (Yes, I realize I'm writing from the possibly fake dominant notion that food should be cooked to be food.)

It also means dishes are rarely simple. Raw chefs often try to re-create flavors we're used to eating cooked, so there are nut cheeses, julienned zucchini masquerading as pasta,  and so on. Which means, actually, the layers of flavoring tend to be extravagant, in a way, and richer than one might imagine when there's no dairy in there. We started with the 118 Bristol (the restaurant is on Bristol Avenue) Sliders  featuring marinated portobello mushrooms where you might imagine meat might be, tomato, spinach, garlic crème sauce and basil aioli on a buckwheat bun. It was sloppy goodness, the mushroom almost as yummy as a grilled one as the marinating broke it down a bit. For a main we shared the Seasonal Platter of Heirloom Tomato and Asparagus Tapas Salad, Crepe 360, and Butternut Ravioli. That doesn't really sound like something you couldn't eat anywhere, does it? And that's the trick.

While the tomatoes weren't quite peak yet--no surprise in a cold February--they melded well with the thinly sliced on the bias asparagus. That crepe was yummy, and that's no surprise, for here's the vegetable truck dumped into it: marinated mushroom mix, pesto aioli, avocado, sweet peppers, chard ribbons and shaved asparagus, inside sprouted grain and flax crepe shell. That's then topped with sun-dried tomato crème sauce--they're serious about their blenders, of course, and that sundried trick simply adds depth of flavor without heat [no offense, sun])--and olive carmelata.

Since we'd been so virtuous it was even easier to have dessert, so we shared the sampler there, too, figuring the more tastes the better. The coconut macaroons were crunchy (not really gooey) and flavorful; the chocolate ganache deeply rich and best as a bite or two (yeah, sampler), and then an apple cobbler as good as a baked one (even if this one was probably a cashew-date crust, and how bad could that be?).

Beware, though, as a place like this ends up more expensive than you might think. Sure, you're not covering the cost for foie gras or Kobe beef or even diver scallops. But nuts cost, and there's lots of them in vegan and raw food (there's milk in them nuts!). So don't expect to get out cheap. But do expect to get out happy.

Oh, of all things it's in a mall, but a mall unlike most as it aims for the upscale post-hippie crowd--bike stores, air plants and art sold out of an Airstream, even more vegetarian cuisine. The Camp, it's called, and heck, if you have to go buy things, why not a green place like this.

*Phytonutrients are those elements we know are good for us but we just don't know how good--some people want to say they slay cancer, etc., while others say, "sure they help, but don't put all your cuisine choices in one phyto basket."

A Better OC Vegetable than Ketchup*

This isn't just your average North Coast Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout (if there is such a thing). This is one you can get at a very long happy hour at Costa Mesa's Goat Hill Tavern. And, yes, it's a frosty not really glass (so watch hefting it high too quickly, as your mind plays tricks on your muscles) mug that cost me a mere $2.50.

Now, the Goat Hill Tavern isn't the best bar in the world, even with its wealth of taps--you don't come here for the exotic. But if you want an Old Rasputin, or a Racer 5, or a Green Flash IPA, or any amount of Stonesy suds (even had 10.10.10 and the Old Guardian Barley Wine on Thursday), you will be pleased. And far from poor. And you can throw peanut shells on the floor. (And, alas, smoke in the pool room section of the bar, even in California.)

Then there's that Iowa license plate, looking all dilapidated on the column behind my beer. It's from 1986. I lived in Iowa then. So I needed a good strong beer to stop feeling so g-d old.


*Can't find a good link to explain the title, but way back in the '80s an Orange County school board member tried to insist that ketchup was a vegetable....

Get Your Hands Dirty Day

To even begin to suggest that Alison Hensley and Tim Sexauer were leaders would be to miss the point entirely; Hensley and Sexauer are happy to admit they’re just bobbing along on the swells of a sea of seeds. That’s a good thing, too, as what they’re advocating, along with many others in this grassroots (no pun intended) movement, is that Santa Barbarans go out and break the law on Sunday, February 27.

Want to read the rest, then go read it at the Indy's site.