When They Do the Double Duck, That's Me Dancing*

To be honest I'm surprised that I have used the tag "duck" only six times in the history of George Eats. It is one of my favorite dishes to order out, partly because it still seems special to me--we certainly never ate it in my house growing up--partially because, even though I realize the ones you get out are farmed, it feels like someone had to hunt for your dinner, and how cool is that?, and partially because the few times I've tried making it at home have been mediocre at best, plus a mess to clean up after. 

So I have ducked twice in the past two weeks, both memorable, and both drastically different despite being versions of duck confit at their base. How could anything cooked very slowly in its own fat not be delicious? Duck has a distinct advantage being filled with duck fat, of course. The result is tender yet still gamey, with a flavor that lingers.

Above you see the duck from Gala, in Santa Barbara in the chic redo of the old Pacific Crepes (and beloved and lamented wine bar pop-up Five and a 1/4) location. Get ready for buzz--people are eating at the bar that fronts Anacapa, large groups are partying, cocktails shakers make their magic song--yet it can still feel romantic and special. The couple who opened the spot, Tara Penke and Jaime Riesco, have tons of industry experience and a restaurant in Barcelona, so sure enough, Gala has a European feel to it. 

And a delicious dish of duck. Note it's a full dish, too, and that's crucial. While you can get sides, what comes on this plate expresses all sorts of balance and delight. Confit by its nature is rich--that's why you order it--so having some greens with a piquant vinaigrette is a perfect counterweight. Those velvety mashed potatoes add creaminess to the mix, and a different kind of richness than what the duck delivers, both earthy--potato, after all--and ethereal--no doubt more than you want to know of cream and butter. And then there's the duck gravy, that embarrasses any pan-dripping alchemized into genius sauce before it.  They could sell that on its own, no doubt. The sprinkle of preserved kumquat adds just enough whimsy and acid and color.

Unfortunately I don't have a photo of the second duck dish, as I was too hungry to take one. We were in Cambria recently, staying on Moonstone Beach, and had the great pleasure doing a holiday twilight tour at Hearst Castle (bonus photo below). That meant we were dinner hunting on a Sunday at 7:30 pm, which, we discovered, was a risky position. We had hoped to just walk to one of the two places near our hotel, either the Sea Chest or the Moonstone Beach Bar & Grill, but both shut down for weeks in December. Thanks, off-season! 

So we ended up at Robin's in the village of Cambria itself. Tucked in a hobbit-esque cottage decked out tastefully for Christmas with a fireplace roaring, it tuned out to be a delight. Its ethos is straight from the Moosewood era, but unlike some places you might remember from Santa Barbara's not-too-distant dining past, it also evolved a bit with the times, doing veggie and healthy without simply steaming your broccoli and dousing your brown rice in Bragg's. There I ordered Duck Colorado: duck confit, roasted polenta, cumin sumac roasted baby carrots, red mole sauce, queso fresco, and a handful of tortilla chips. The old pro of a waiter brought out the sharp knife with the gorgeous bowl of food only to say, "Not that you're going to need it." Sure enough, the meat dropped from the bone like someone losing their robe to seduce you. That mole hit all sorts of wonderful notes from its mix of sesame seeds and almonds and who knows how many spices. The heat didn't blaze, but slowly warmed, perfect for a chilly December evening. 

Clearly there's more than one way to serve a duck.

*Pardon the 32-year-old Liz Phair non-sequitur of a title....

Third Window's Boffo Bierbara

I don't know how I have been so remiss never to post about one of my favorite annual food-drink events in  Santa Barbara, in particular because it honors Saint Barbs herself. The St. Barbara origin stories, as with most of the old time saints--you know, the ones before the Romans even knew they'd need an M to count years--is murky, but basically she was a babe so her dad locked her up in a tower to keep her safe. (And keep her valuable to sell when a rich suitor came a-courtin'. It wasn't the good old days.) Pagan dad was later shocked to learn Barbara found the Catholic God in the meantime. Indeed, she convinced workmen to put a third window in a bathhouse on the family property, in tribute to how light comes in to one's soul through the trinity. Unhappy dad asks her to recant. She refuses. Turns her over to be tortured into recanting. She refuses. (Note: bad parenting.) Sentenced to death, her dad Dioscorus offers to wield the beheading sword himself, killing Barbara, only to be instantly smote by a lightning strike. So henceforth, St. Barbara is the patron of protection from things that go boom, especially thunderstorms and gunpowder.

Kris Parker, owner of Third Window Brewing, jokes, "Since all the mountain ranges were taken when we were looking for a name for a brewery that had an affinity for monastic ales, we turned to St. Barbara as a way to honor the town we are in." A graphic designer loved the idea--no surprise, as they have a nifty logo for all their merch--and Third Window was born. Every year for St. Barbara's feast day, December 4th, Third Window releases Bierbara, a strong ale that varies from year to year, and holds an actual multi-course feast. This year was number X. (Might as well stay with that Roman counting, no?)

There's Kris Parker, left, discussing one of the special pours before one of the courses. To his right is chef Logan Jones of Tamar, who has had an off-and-on pop-up at Third Window in the past (and currently at the old Tyger Tyger location Fridays), and given his foods all about Middle Eastern flavors, it seemed a particularly good fit for a feast day for someone rumored to have lived in that general region. It certainly worked this night, and he joins the line of esteemed chefs to prepare the Bierbara Feast these past ten years, including John Cox when he was at Bear & Star and Justin West when he owned The Mill's Wildwood.

Please note that non-optimal lighting makes these photos less the sell they should be. Every dish, brought out family style and placed so every four people had a platter to share, was as gorgeous it was delicious. Take that salad above, vivid with its Castelfranco and Treviso red-ivory streaks and then enough variations of shades of white to make you want to bring in an Eskimo who has all those supposed words for snow to help make distinctions--mixed chicories, Belgian endive, Asian pear, sheep's milk cheese, daikon radish. Toss with some toasted hazelnuts, sugar snap peas, and preserved lemon vinaigrette and you had a wonder of a winter salad. Especially when paired, like-to-like, with a lambic beer, a Ranch Koelschip re-fermented on Regier Farms peaches for an extra-sour-sweet snap of fruit. 

The second course offered the delight of ranch oak-smoked lamb kofta meatballs, crisp on the outside, tender on the inside, full of flavor, sat in some of the yummiest cucumber and mint tzatziki I've ever had, somewhere between that Greek dip and a raita, punched up with black garlic chili oil. As a delivery vehicle there was Michelline Parker's soul-satisfying sourdough bread, grilled and drizzled with just enough olive oil. All of that good taste was amplified by the vivid Winter Saison '23 poured alongside, an imperial aged in Cognac puncheons, mellow and bright and artfully acetous, with the exact additions of ginger and orange peel without overpowering the ale's balance. The beer did that fine cleanse the palate trick that helped keep the food course seeming light.

The third course proves yet again brown foods might be made for the belly but not for Instagram. That's the fall-off-the-bone tender braised Fess Parker (what else?) beef short rib amidst a stew of homey loveliness--braised wheat berry porridge, pomegranate, toasted pistachio, roasted turnip, butternut squash, smoked dates. Atop the savory crunch of crispy shallot. Winter savory eating at its finest, so good you could have it without the beef and be completely pleased, and I say that usually not a huge fan of the whole porridge/oatmeal/congee texture of foods. (I tell myself I'm saving them for my toothless 90s.) But this dish I ate with relish. And drank with the '23 Bierbara, this year an abbey-style quad aged for a year in Willett Bourbon barrels, then rested on roasted pistachio and pomegranate. Super smooth for its no doubt high alcohol content, it was vivid with vanilla, piquant with the pistachio and pomegranate that the food also delivered. As ever, something special. (It's probably on tap/in bottles at the brewery soon if you want some.)

Note the reason for the season beer was poured alongside course three. For dessert we each got a generous glass full of dark chocolate budino, a very adult pudding that took a bit to get to through the whipped cream, tangerine segments and candied rind, and the peanut brittle that Chef Jones should be selling on its own. The beer match once again went for the samesies trick--the method of this feast's madness was always amplification, intensity, underlining--a bourbon-barrel aged walkabout, an imperial chocolate stout made with Third Window's almost neighbors 24 Blackbirds cocoa nibs, vanilla, and backyard orange peel. It could have been dessert in a glass itself, but we also had a dessert in another glass. 

And at least two of us were very glad we waddled our fested selves the 2.3 miles home on foot, reminiscing of deliciousness all the way.

All Hail Another Year of Jubelale

Given Anchor Brewing is gone, and along with it its annual Christmas Ale, it's good some seasonal winter warmers are continuing their traditions. Take Bend, Oregon's Deschutes Brewery, which has released its 36th edition of its Jubelale. This dark ale is long lingering and warming, offering aptly seasonal notes of chestnut and allspice and smoke. Think of Jubelale as one of those beers that teaches you how to drink it, moves your taste buds around to best accept its enveloping warmth. With surprising oomph for a mere 6.7% ABV, it's a strong ale that won't punch you upside your head if you drink two. Bring on the snow, or at least the ugly sweaters.

Not that the art for Jubelale is ugly in the slightest. In face, there's a contest every year for new art. The festive scene for 2023 showcases a design by former Deschutes Brewery employee, Ben Woodcock. Deschutes press release informs: "Ben worked at the Deschutes Brewery Portland Public House for nearly a decade where he served up tasty food and beverages as he made his way through graphic design school at Portland State University. During his time with Deschutes, he also created elaborate one-of-kind chalk art that frequently graced the walls of the restaurant. Today, Ben is a multidisciplinary artist, designer and educator in Portland who still creates unique chalk art for Deschutes at the Portland Public House." So that's a cool way to support the employee team and make things a bit more personal and personable. Which is what a good beer does, no?

Way Back Machine: "Reed It and Weep" (Nov. 2, 2006)

 

One from the vaults: This originally appeared on an old blog, and I like it enough to republish and share, especially since it's the 10th anniversary of Lou's passing. (Ten years already!) As for the image, that's from a compilation disc that turned me on to Lou and the Velvets when I was a freshman in college and I was busy growing my ears. To be honest, as much as the music, I was thrilled by the wonderful Ellen Willis-penned liner notes, which got me into her as a writer, too. 

Heading into last night's Lou Reed show right here in Santa Barbara, instead of having a Reed or Velvet's tune in my head, I just kept running that Pixies' lyrics, "'I want to be a singer like Lou Reed,' 'I like Lou Reed,' she says, sticking her tongue in my ear." Perverse, I know, but what better thing to be to prepare myself for Lou, the man who sang about how heroin was his life and his wife the very same year the Beatles got by with a little help from their friends, the man who would deign to play a brittly-sweet version of "Femme Fatale" at this very show, only to hold off singing the title words until the very very last run through the chorus, the man who got the line "she never lost her head even when she was giving head" onto the radio in what is the only song of his ever really to be played on the radio in a 40 year career. 

Sure enough, the show was perverse, too. Reed's touring with longtime band-mate Fernando Saunders and Rob Wasserman, thereby kicking out the drums for a double bass approach that suits many of his songs quite well (even ones he never played--would have loved to hear "Doing the Things that They Want To" or "Perfect Day" or "Kill Your Sons" with one bassist sawing and one plucking, but that's just a way to say Reed has too many good songs and most of them create rock art, and I flip the words very intentionally). They opened with a noise-strumental that functioned as sound-check, which was a good thing since Wasserman's bass originally was mixed so as to move the audience's viscera. Then they set the tone for the evening with an odd lope through "What's Good" and while Wasserman and Saunders pushed the song with its nifty lifting little bass hook, Reed seemed indifferent to the guitar riff, toying with it and the lyrics, too. The tension kind of worked, as the song itself is all about oxymorons like "life's like Sanskrit read to a pony" and "what good is seeing eye chocolate." Reed's great theme all along has been thanatos v. eros, and how much we can love death and kill love. It's not accidental that his Robert Wilson collaboration, which he played a bunch of songs from, is The Raven. 

So the show was far from perfect, but nobody looks to Reed for that (you want perfect go fall asleep to Celine Dion or somebody). He played two cuts from Songs for Drella, the terrific work he and John Cale created for their mentor Warhol, and instead of blasting through "Forever Changed," which would have really rocked with the double-bass-bottom, he did the talksong with wind effects "The Dream," which Cale does on the recording, as if to reclaim that cut and prove he is and was and will always be the genius (while reveling in the lines about how Andy thinks he's a jerk--despite his immense talent, Lou's one of those assholes who likes to walk around saying, "Yep, I'm an asshole"). I mean, when the show opened and he got a partial standing O just for coming out on stage he did this little hands palmed-out at his sides Jesus blessing like we could all lick his stigmata or something. Then after "The Dream" he revamped "Faces and Names," one of those songs that makes it seem as if his favorite lyric-writing trick is to repeat phrases till they turn noise. 

But then there was a you-got-your-money's worth "Sword of Damocles," too. The synth riff from the recorded version got turned into a bowed bass part, and Reed was even generous enough to let Saunders play one amazing solo on some bassthingy he had on a stand. It was so hot that Saunders just tossed his bow mid-run, as it cramped the free flow of the picking. This song also features some classic Reed lines like, "There are things we can't know/maybe there's something over there/Some other world we don't know about/I know you hate that mystic shit," which is good for a goof, bad for scansion, and very much like something he might have actually said to a dying friend. Even when he's full of it, that's who he truly is. 

When "Damocles" started I thought it was "Street Hassle," but then they did close the full set with that epic of the demimonde. Why not, when you've got a mini-string section? Even after decades of rap music, the lyrics still kind of shock ("when someone turns that blue it's a universal truth and you know that bitch will never fuck again"), and the music was pretty relentless--neither bassman ever relieved the "do-dum-do-dum-dum" with the "bum-boo-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum" rising part on the recorded version--so it was sort of "Street Hassle" on its way to "Sister Ray," but that's Lou for you. He giveth, and he taketh away. Someone from the crowd at one point yelled "We love you, Lou," and he replied, "I love you, too...it's been a long time, I guess you could call this a relationship." that might sound heartwarming, but he did write and sing "Street Hassle," so there's no rest in a relationship with Reed. Then again, here's a guy who you know is always thinking--cause he says it in almost every song--that we're all gonna die anyway.

A Review of "Why We Love Baseball" by Joe Posnanski

 

There’s that terrific anticipatory rush you can get when attending a classic movie in a theater and a beloved scene is about to happen. Think Gene Kelly wearing that manic, just-found-love grin, waving his driver along and starting to doo-doo his way through the intro of the unforgettable title number of Singin’ in the Rain. The whole crowd practically sighs, ready to relish four minutes of splash-dancing perfection.  

That’s a huge part of the fun for a fan reading New York Times bestselling author Joe Posnanski’s latest, Why We Love Baseball: A History in 50 Moments. Ah, it’s the Jack Morris-John Smoltz Game 7 World Series duel from 1991. And here comes Willie Mays’ over-the-shoulder catch in the 1954 Series, lost in the deepest depths of the Polo Grounds’ centerfield.

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

This review was also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on November 16, 2023.

Have a Little Hedonistas de la Fe in Me

 

It's National Mezcal Day, so let's celebrate with a terrific artisanal product, Hedonistas de la Fe. As with many mezcals sold in the U.S. market, Hedonistas came to be when some Americans obsessed with the drink and enough money and business acumen to want to build a brand went hunting in Mexico for a mezcalero they loved. Co-founders Bhalin Singh and Jim Beaubien discovered Gerardo “Kaín” Santiago Hernandez in Matatlan, Oaxaca and knew they had their man. Kaín is a fourth-generation mezcalero, doing things the right old way, from sourcing agave to roasting for days over mesquite to natural fermentation to double distillation. 

Hedonistas also gets to celebrate the wide-range of flavors mezcal permits. While tequila must be made of Blue Weber agave, there are actually over 250 varieties of the plant, and about 30 have been used to make mezcal. At this point, Hedonistas keeps its product line to four, but each is quite distinct.

They kick off with the mezcal most folks have had, an Espadín. This bottling is the only one of the four that comes from cultivated agave, and as part of the their sustainability efforts, Hedonistas replants as many as they use to distill. As you can see from the photo above, all four styles are crystalline, bordering on shimmering clear--part of the no additives process. Let's get to the smoke issue quick, too. Yes, that's one of the major distinctions between tequila and mezcal, but to act as if that's the only difference is like saying the only difference between the New York Giants and the San Francisco Giants is which coast they play on. I'd rather suggest the difference is more like that between football and baseball itself, with mezcal the more interesting, evolving, thoughtful, and varied, just like the national pastime. 

So with the Espadín you get the smoke on the nose and initial palate, but some of the taste of smoke is from burnt grapefruit peel, it seems. Each sip is integrated, complicated, lingering. There are floral notes, and notes of white pepper. It lasts. Hedonistas suggests you can mix this one for cocktails, but it seems too good for that, unless you really want to impress. And I am quite taken by some of their cocktail recipes on their website, in particular the Last Rite No. 1, made with the Espadín, yellow chartreuse, Italicus Rosolio di Bergamotto, and fresh lemon juice.

Moving up the ladder of complexity and price we get to the Tobala, the first of the wild agave sourced by trained jimadors who harvest the plants near the end of their 10-12 year life cycle. Think of Tobala as the whisper-to-a-scream mezcal--it starts attractively come hither on the nose with orange blossom notes, but then builds to a crescendo on its long finish with a hit of pyrazines--that green pepper flavor that makes Cab Franc so distinctive. For its late oomph it still is both sophisticated and inviting.

The Cuishe is kind of the flip side to the Tobala, enticing you in with a nose that makes you feel like a walk through a florist. Tropical, with a lingering note of petrol like in a Reisling, it's a tender mezcal, even down to having the smoothest mouthful of the four. Note that it doesn't give you a bit of alcohol kick at the back of the throat, like you got snapped with a tiny towel, just to remind you you're drinking firewater, if still very elevated booze. (All four come in at a kicky yet controlled 46% ABV, if you were wondering.)

Then there's the Tepeztate, which will make you rethink what mezcal can be. Green and grassy, the plants that make it up mature at 20-22 years (they're old enough to drink themselves in the States!). Think of it as the sturgeon of agave, well, not in flavor, of course. Hedonistas suggests it has a Calvados-quality I didn't quite pick up, but it is to be savored like a fine Cognac, without a doubt. 

You've probably guessed from the buzzwords handmade, artisanal, wild, and all those years it takes for the plants to be old enough to be harvested and distilled that this stuff doesn't come cheap. The range goes from $64.99 - $199.99. It's up to you to decide what's too dear for you. But if you can afford it, you won't go wrong.

Bluewater's Terrific Second Tuesday Tastings

Bluewater Grill has been opened five years now, but it has had to re-think itself constantly thanks to pandemics and the like. The focus has always been on sustainable seafood, though, served in one of Santa Barbara's inimitable locations, on Cabrillo, staring out at Stearns Wharf and the harbor. Heck, it's even got a mock lighthouse tower to draw visitors in. 

That doesn't stop them from instigating a program called Second Tuesday Tastings. For October and National Seafood Month, Bluewater turned to Spain for inspiration (mostly with the wine parings), and offered up this deal: an appetizer of panko artichoke hearts with brava sauce with a glass of Abadía de San Campio Albariño and an entree of chipotle blackened swordfish alongside a pour of Marqués de Riscal Verdejo. The special two-course with wine pairings ran $55 per person, which is quite a deal, especially if you consider that signature swordfish dish goes for $38 on the regular menu. I mean, I usually don't get an app and two glasses of wine for 17 bucks, do you? 

Besides photographing well with some palm trees as a back drop, the Albariño, is a perfect it takes some time for fall to fall on Santa Barbara wine, super-grippy, presenting its lemonsicle flavors with a richer mouthfeel than usual for the varietal without going flabby.

That also made the wine a fine foil to the heaping helping of artichoke, golden brown fried in that panko so it almost looks like mozzarella fingers, but is much lighter inside. Clean, crisp, and crunchy. Brava sauce makes you say bravo on the finish, tomato's hearty essence ringing out and bringing some acid needed to the fry-ness of the artichoke. It's so good, you will no doubt sop up any left over with the old school San Francisco-style sourdough (which arrives at the table warm--nice touch).

The Marqués de Riscal Verdejo comes off as more of a country cousin compared to the sleeker Albariño, greener and grassier and more Sauvignon Blanc-y, as it were. Still, it pairs very well with what a GM insisted is a blackened swordfish with chipotle dirty rice, as opposed to a chipotle blackened swordfish. Distinctions do matter, in numerous ways, starting with the dirty rice that had some warming not burning chile heat, a scattering of black beans, endnote a hint of pork (good news, pescatarians!). The swordfish rub offered a bit of a kick, too, but it doesn't hurt for theme to end with an inner glow, especially if you're sitting outside. (And if you can, snag one of the amazing tables outside the second floor bar, as the view alone is worth it.)

Also note this is a serious plate of food--it's not a precious dollop of rice besides an inch by inch fish cut. And that corn and avocado add just enough Southwest to help the dish soar and sing.

Service was flowing smoothly--pleasant, attentive, unrushed. It was a new GM's first day, so if you go in be sure to welcome Annia Bonifaz, who is happy to be back at the Santa Barbara location (Bluewater is everywhere, from Catalina to Phoenix). 

Even better, since they didn't feel they got the word out fully about this month's Second Tuesday Tasting, they're going to repeat it next Tuesday, October 17.