Toast

Class holiday: Chapter Three, the last

Heaven on Seven, a farmers market, and the Jam Class Buffet

By Thursday morning, I had concluded that there was no denying my unexpectedly ravenous morning appetite. I guess I'm not usually particularly hungry for breakfast, because my real job is sedentary, and I don't generally work until nine at night, either. So I took my hungry self to Heaven on Seven, described by the Slow Food Chicago guide as "New Orleans North, " where I had the above-pictured breakfast of poached eggs and andalouille sausage on cheese grits.

I'm afraid that I chuckled when I saw the plated breakfast, which looks like the Fisher Price play clock we used to teach my daughter to tell time, in the analog days of yore. The waiter seemed a mite offended, though I meant only to show my appreciation. I made sure to tell him how delicious it was, and I think I was forgiven. It really was wonderful, everything cooked perfectly, and the chopped green onions on top were just the right touch.

Heaven on Seven is located on the seventh floor (hence the name) of the Garland building at 111 N. Wabash, across from Macy's- formerly Marshall Field.* The ambiance is Early Tabasco, and they serve a variety of wonderful looking gumbos and estoufees and other cajun specialties. It was seriously crowded for lunch, by the time I left, but easy to be seated for a late breakfast.

After breakfast, I headed on over to the Daley Plaza Farmers' Market, one of many downtown and neighborhood markets sponsored by the Mayor's Office of Special Events. This one is open on Thursdays. Beautiful flowers and fruits, vegetables, baked goods, surrounded by umbrella tables, and there was a cooling fountain, too. There is a rule that all food must be identified by point of origin, which is pretty cool-pretty much everything I looked at was grown by the people selling it, and was from Illinois or Michigan.

As a traveler, I was kind of frustrated, I would have bought loads if I was at home. But I did have a fridge in my room, so I got me some homemade cheddar and a mini ciabatti for sandwiches, as well as a small box of apricots. I was really pleased with everything, especially the apricots. I had just about given up on fresh apricots- though I love the dried ones.

Supermarket apricots generally taste like potatoes. These little guys were not particularly soft, but they were a lovely dark orange, with speckles, and the little boy selling them explained that there might be a few worm holes, as they hadn't sprayed for 2 years. I was glad I took a chance on them, they were sweet/tart and spicy- just delicious.

I gave one to the elderly lady sitting next to me on the plane home, and she agreed that they were heavenly. I also bought 2 bunches of beautiful Michigan asparagus, and carried them home in my tote bag on the plane. I was a little worried that they might be a problem with the security folks, but they passed through the x-ray without comment, and I was able to serve them to my friends Friday night.

The third night of class was as busy and informative as the first two; we finished and bottled up our chutneys and jams, and made numerous bottles of garlic dills. I was able to wrap my jam bottles in my laundry, to bring home in my checked suitcase, but had no room for 4 quarts of dill pickles, so those were donated to a classmate driving home. The final photo is Chef Bob Hartwig , arranging a gorgeous buffet of his beautiful baked goods and our mutual jams, jellies, chutneys and pickles. We tried everything, then packed up our loot, our certificates(!), and our French Pastry School aprons. Much though I love this supply of goodies, my most valuable memento is my little notebook of recipes, annotated with my class notes. And you will be seeing the results here, as time goes on.

Addendum

Things we made:

Lemon jelly with sliced lemons
Apple jelly with vanilla
Strawberry Mint Preserve
Orange marmalade
Blueberry preserve with red onions and sherry vinegar
Chocolate raspberry jam
"Nutella" type chocolate and hazelnut spread
Hazelnut praline
Dill pickles
pickling spice
Shallot confit

Demonstrated (and eaten!):

Pastry cream
Brioche dough
sweet tart pastry
lemon pound cake
Scottish buttermilk and cream raisin scones

Class Holiday: Chapter Two

Tuesday class, Wednesday wanderings, and Russian Teatime

I arrived at the French Pastry School offices a little early, as requested, to be given a pre-class tour of the place, which wound up in Kitchen Three, where Chef Bob Hartwig and his assistants were all set up. And I mean all set up. Unlike the students in the certificate program, continuing education participants have all our ingredients pre-measured for us and set up at our workspaces each day. Talk about pampering. There were only ten in the class, some food professionals, some semi-pros, who cater a bit, or sell some product to the public seasonally, and rank amateurs, like yrs truly.

Our instructor was a very clever young fellow, a good teacher, and a pastry chef of note, who clearly loves what he does, and communicates his passion for his work in a low-key, low-ego style, which is charming- and helpful. If you are thinking of taking a class at the FPS, I'm sure you will like this guy . You can read his bio on the FPS website, but what it does not tell you is that for the last year, he and his fiancee, also a chef, have had their own bakeshop in Chicago. It is called "Lovely".I wasn't able to visit it, but perhaps you can; I think it must be terrific, judging by the baked goods we sampled in class.

As a bonus, besides the jams, jellies and pickles, which we made ourselves after his demonstrations, Chef Bob, demonstrated and baked fantastic pound cakes, brioche, and some insanely good scones. There were also tarts in an special sweet pastry, with our marmalade, vanilla pastry cream, and pretty berries on top. I watched it all, tasted everything, and brought home the recipes, so look out! A member of the class asked him who would have the nerve to make their wedding cake, and he said that they were having pie instead. Which is genius in my book.

The first day we made, or started, orange marmalade, apple jelly with vanilla, strawberry-mint jam, chocolate raspberry jam and "nutella", and Chef Bob made or started the best scones ever, a sweet pastry with almond meal, brioche, and beautiful little pound cakes. You see in the photo two of my classmates- each of us shared workspace with another student. The mirror above allowed us to watch the product in demonstrations, a very handy teaching tool. It was very cool to see the various caramelization stages and techniques as they happened. Thus we learned to make a hazelnut praline for our nutella-nifty.

There were chef jackets to borrow, aprons and funny hats to keep. My partner was a real chef, Tim, who has an extremely cool, and apparently very upscale restaurant, the Stonehorse Cafe in Tulsa, Oklahoma. He was very kind and tolerant of my amateur clutziness.

I learned a whole lot of stuff, and am not going to attempt to convey much in the way of that sort of information here- I hope it will be reflected, to some extent, in future posts. However, one standout bit of info, which I somehow managed to avoid learning while making jam over the years, and was totally news to me, was the concept, and existence of the measurement of Brix. Brix (abbreviated"Bx") is a measurement of the ratio of dissolved sugar to water in a liquid. It is the ratio of sugar to total of the solution- so a 25Bx solution is 25% sugar and 75% water.

Here is the cool thing- if you didn't already know- perhaps this is general knowledge and I just missed it?- is that a solution which is going be jelled will be from 61-65 Bx. And you can measure the Bx with a little hand held Refractometer! Which we did. The deal is that it is not as magic as I thought it might be, our strawberry mint jam didn't jell properly, and made a lovely thickish sauce instead.

There are serious additional factors- eg. strawberries have a lot of water that leeches out over time. You are measuring the liquid while cooking it down, but it gets more water from the strawberries. Possible solutions include macerating the strawberries and sugar for a couple of days before cooking and including the exuding liquid in the measuring of the water. Or, as a classmate suggested; she lets her strawberry jam sit out and evaporate for a few days, then boils it up again before bottling up.

Nonetheless, the refractometer is a great tool, and I'm thinking about getting one. They are expensive- especially if you go for digital models. A handheld analog model, like the one we used in class is about $165. You have to make a lot of jam to warrant it, but still....Very easy to use- you smear a bit of your solution over a glass thingie like a lab slide, close it, and hold it up to the light to read.

Well, after class, I was really beat. 5 hours standing and/or perched on a stool after a major shopping day? Too old for this approach. So, I decided to take it easy on Wednesday. Basically, I ate too much breakfast again, goofed around, read my book, and visited an excellent poster shop, and had a lovely, if diminutive lunch at Russian Teatime. This restaurant, near the Art Institute, offers a variety of eastern european treats, and I wish I'd left myself the appetite for more. It is pleasantly dark and old-worldy looking, I'm a sucker for a gleaming samovar, and I dug it.

My lunch was small because I was still full from breakfast, alas. I had an appetizer portion of asparagus vareneky, a ukrainian dumpling- thin half moons of very thin noodle dough, filled with asparagus, red pepper, and feta cheese, boiled and served on a plate, drizzled with basil butter. I also had a glass of really lovely, properly hot russian tea, served with several kinds of pretty sugar cubes and lemon slices, as well as a complimentary loaf of some kind of oniony black bread, the remainder of which, I took away with me. All was delicious, and this time, I'd left myself enough time for a nap before class.

More about that, later.

First photo is from the FPS website; my camera photos of the process were too sad.

In Which She Goes to Nantucket and Not So Surprisingly, Walks, Eats and Shops

Call me crazy, but my favorite bit (apart from seeing my friend Cindy, of course) of my little New England holiday was the sperm whale skeleton at the Nantucket Whaling Museum. Is it not awesome? You can see the size of the whale, as compared to the whaling boat below it. How would you like to ride for hours in one of those, attached by a harpoon to an angry whale trying to detach you and your whaling cohorts?

We heard a talk, and saw a whaling film from 1922. Also, though you can't see this, really, in the photo, the whale is almost all head, with a curved pre-historic looking tail, but also these amazing flipper-things. The flipper bones are exactly like the skeleton of a huge human hand- all the digits, and knuckles -everything. Oh, what can I say, I am a big geek. I adored it.

The Whaling Museum, and indeed Nantucket in general, is in such quiet, pretty good taste as to set off warning bells. Cindy thought her daughter, who has very specific, somewhat spartan aesthetic standards, wouldn't like it- for being too picturesque and perfect, and I could definitely see what she meant.

We stayed in a grey shingled B and B with shining white trim, in a sweet attic room with sloping ceilings, and crisp white cotton curtains, whch was perfectly coordinated with all the rest of the surrounding pretty houses, set off by just enough really nice flowering shrubs, and brick and cobblestone streets.

I was somehow just fine with it, anyway, despite the whiff of expensive stage set- it just completely hit the spot for unboring restfulness. It was delightfully cool- as compared to the ridiculous record-breaking high temperatures at home. Also, I just really like seeing sailboats in water. Does something for me every time. I should get a toy boat for my bathtub.

We took the ferry from Hyannis, lugged out suitcases up the steps at the B and B, and basically spent the rest of the weekend wandering about lazily, looking at the museum, shops, sailboats and menus in the numerous restaurant windows, deciding what to eat later. We had some damned good food, which sort of surprised me. Not that I was expecting to be poisoned- I realize that the general moneybags summer Nantucket crowd would expect, and get a decent effort, but I hadn't hoped for actual wonderfulness. And we had some wonderfulness, plus quite a bit of very goodness. The food was a real treat.

We hadn't done much in the way of research about food ahead of time- just a wee bit of an egullet scan. This revealed a number of good candidates for serious breakfasts, and I do love breakfast out. But the B and B came with a perfectly adequate buffet breakfast, so we didn't try any of that. Our two best meals were dinners, one casual, one dress-up. At the Brotherhood of Thieves- which may be better known as a bar than restaurant, I think, we had a local not-too-pale pale ale (forget name-sorry), and shared some oysters. Cindy had a really good big dinner salad- and I had a lobster BLT which was excellent- with, inter alia, huge chunks of lobster in mayo- plus outstanding curly french fries of total fresh hotness. I would be happy to have that meal again several times over.

At The Bistro at le Languedoc (fancy but comfortable, dark, quiet-ish, plenty of space between big tables, long wine list), we each had the same entree. It was sweetbreads and pork cheeks- 2 each- in a deep red-brown madeira sauce with itty bitty onions and peas, over a soft puree of sweet potato. I kind of picked it because it was that-which-you-cannot-get-at-home, and I love sweetbreads. I had read of pork cheeks-but never had any before. Wow-they set each other and everything else off a treat. I was so not disappointed, and pretty much wound up licking the plate. There was excellent crusty bread, which looked ordinary, but was outstanding, so I went the mopping it up route-I couldn't bear to leave any. Cindy also though it was all great. By far the best food I've eaten out for a good long time.

The Bistro's menu is a little puzzling at first, but the waiter explained, when asked. Entrees seemed divided into two types-the usual and the unusual, though not so-labeled. The unusual entrees were available both in full and small sized portions. The full-sized portions (we had these) were just right- neither skimpy arty little dodads, nor giant, gotta-have-a-doggie bag opulent. Only the anoerxic would seriously want a half sized portion for dinner- but these entrees did not seem the sort of things you'd want for an appetizer, either. Per the waiter, the half sized portions were for those unsure of their reaction to the more novel items. Still, I don't see what the rest of their order would be. This was of no consequence to us, as we didn't fear any of the more creative entrees, and had a hard time choosing.

Also at the Bistro, there was a super good classic creme brulee for dessert. Someone once said that the true test of a restaurant, or chef, or something- was the quality of the simple roast chicken and the creme brulee. Despite the ring of affectation..I think it's probably true. Cindy had a sort of deconstructed tart tatin- she seemed to think it was nice, but wasn't moved to tears or anything. I did taste it, but was by then so stuffed that I don't really remember it. I sure would like to eat there again some time.

I'm kind of winding down with the yakking here, though I probably should mention some expensive, but really good homemade icecream- at a place the name of which I forget, but it's just right by the ferry. There was blackberry-so good, and there was green tea/ginger- also so good.

Oh, and there was shopping of the sort to induce dawdling, including a shop called Majolica, filled with an incredible selection of the same, with many eccentric individual pieces. There were antique shops of several kinds. I bought a couple of things, one at a Tibetan shop. There I got me a warm, pretty winter hat of black velvet, lined in silk with a satin ribbon and a border of fake fur (per the proprietor, whose father made the hat, the D.Lama suggests the use of the fake fur whenever reasonably possible, instead of the real article!). I have a giant head, like an extra large man's hat size- so it was both unusual and cheering to find a nice hat that neither sits atop my skull like a clown's derby nor looks as if it was meant to be worn by a lumberjack. I almost wish I'd bought two- there was another very nice one which also fit.

I also found some slippers to take to my two year old relative (first cousin twice removed -ha- sort of a grandcousin) Ella, when I go to England in February. These are like tiny multi-colored bear feet, beautifully made and lined, and with 3 golden fabric claws on each foot. I think they will make her look like she is from Where the Wild Things Are. Which, judging from her pictures, she already rather does- a Sendak-ish lovely little face.

Ah well, I am a bit wistful about being back to home and work. I liked those gray clouds and sailboats..I do believe the salt air and gray skies are therapeutic, and that ocean breezes blow the cobwebs out. Also, islands are cool. I think I'd better go cook something. In honor of the (at last) cool weather, I'm going to make Arlette's pea soup.

Davio's

This year my friend Ellen had a really good Christmas idea. Those of us who have dinner together most every Friday night, and usually buy each other Christmas presents, would forego the gifts, and spend our Christmas dollars on a fantastic dinner together. We made reservations for seven at Davio's, and this was a very, very good choice. I was the only one among us who hadn't been there before, though I've been hearing about it for years. I don't actually eat out very often, and when I do, it's usually cheap and cheerful, rather than Fine Dining.

I took my camera, but I am no good with a flash, so I will have to tell you about it. The clown picture you see, is purportedly Davio, and hangs on the wall of the itty bitty restaurant, which looks and feels like the slightly baroque living room of someone's home, in candlelight, with a few extra crystal chandeliers, and a warm glow. It is cozy, the waitstaff is charming and friendly, and it is, atmospherically, a perfect place for a special celebration.

I'm not sure I can convey how good the food is. It is hard to explain, and you are probably going to think I was just in a very good mood, or something. Well, I was, but it was in large measure because of the amazing food. The menu is southern Italian , and the food is not odd, arranged in unusual configurations on the plate, or in any way fusion-ish. There is an enormous amount of everything served-I took home at least two dinners worth of leftovers, which I am guarding with my life. Sound ordinary? This food is emphatically not ordinary.

Every ingredient is obviously the most beautiful, freshest, and most perfect...seafood, fruits vegetables and all, and it is clear that there is some special relationship with the purveyors of ,well, everything. All The filled pasta is whisper thin and delicate, and fillings are beautifully seasoned, different, in no way place holders. Every dish and every sauce is interesting without being weird, and tastes special...more intense, more cleverly seasoned,more something, than other versions you may have had. I'm not kidding. I was blown away, and driven to asking rude questions about ingredients, most of which were graciously unanswered.

They start you off with their own bread and a plethora of dipping goodies, olives etc. We also shared an appetizer of roasted peppers in some kind of insanely delicious vinagrette. Someone had a lobster bisque- and lost a lot of it to friendly triple tastings. There is so much that sounded great that none of us ordered...I was especially regretful about a gorgeous veal chop thing I saw go by. Some things I ate or tasted included a salad with roasted pears (wow), romaine,arugula, toasted pine nuts, stilton and some other gorgeous cheese (creamy, English, not cheddar), and an incredible and mysterious dressing... tortoni with a "lobster" sauce and huge chuncks of perfectly cooked lobster and giant, tender scallops, a spicy linguini thing... my stomach is starting to hurt.

Desserts, made on the premises, included a flourless "russian" chocolate cake-which was quite different from the myriad other similar cakes I've had, but I'm not sure how..at this point I'd had a lot of wine, and fine distinctions were even harder to make..an incredible real key lime pie with cashew crust, and a spumoni unparalleled. Homemade macaroons appeared as if by magic. I knew I wouldn't do a good job of describing the food- but truly, it speaks for itself. The cooking is perfect, and sort of ego-less. I mean, I'm sure the chefs are more than proud of their work, but it is so very fine without being the least bit show-offy. If you were dreaming up the perfect restaurant for an occasion..this would be it. I'll bet there have been quite a few proposals of marriage on the premises, for example.

We were totally unrushed, and spent many hours eating, talking and drinking our BYOB wine.It is sooo nice to be able to bring your own, especially as this place is, by my standards, extra very expensive...costing a hundred bucks each, with tip. Everything is a la carte- you could get by with less, and certainly, quantity wise, you don't need starters, salads, desserts-there is so much to eat in your entree. But we were celebrating, enjoyed the variety, and took masses home. If you were paying for wine at restaurant prices, it would blow the thing sky high. As it is, this is a once a year thing for me, and a better present I could not have.

Davio's is in Beechview, in the South Hills of Pittsburgh, in what looks like a largish family house with a warm glow in the windows. Needless to say, you need a reservation.

Pizza at Roberto's

Although Roberto's in Belleview, just outside of Pittsburgh, is apparently named for it's proprietor, and has a casually Italianate style, it is also graced with a few pictures of that other Roberto , close to the hearts of Pittsburghers, Number 21, Mr. Clemente himself. I find this especially endearing, as a long time fan/hero-worshipper from childhood. My own late, lamented big grey fluffy cat, Roberto, was named after the man in right field.

These and other non-food factors-(coziness, friendly smart waitstaff, nice old-fashioned ceramic tiles, marble, flowers and the gorgeous woodburning stove you see in the photo) predisposed me in favor of the place.(The picture was taken by one of my friends, as I take hopeless indoor photos, especially those with a larger subject than, say, a cookie. ) Actually, the stove is a major food factor. It is over 1000F in there and the pizzas cook in about a minute. You can watch the cooks stretch the flubbery dough thin, top it with good things, and slide the pizzas in and out.

The three of us shared an antipasto platter, with thin slices of bread, caponata (a really good one), tuna-artichoke spread, and roasted peppers and mushrooms-good and pretty much just right for 3 people who are about to eat pizzas. My delicious pizza (you see it to the right, but it was larger than a cookie)- the name of which I forget- had a thin scraping of tomato sauce, little balls of mozzarella, folded bits of ham, and chunks of artichoke which were just the right size. There are quite a few choices of toppings, and they are applied lightly, so the weird soggy over-topped pizza thing never happens.

There's an espresso machine and homemade tiramisu if you want a dessert. I've been to Roberto's twice in the last 3 weeks, and I'll go there again soon. The only thing I would change- and I plan to ask if I can next time, is that I'd like my pizza a bit browner/longer cooked. I imagine it would just be a matter of a few more seconds. I would point out that nobody else wished for this, and that I am a fiend for very browned yeast dough- which is not so popular in these parts.

The pizza is good, the place and people are friendly...oh, and my good sized pizza was $9.99, big enough to bring some home, too.

Midnight Onion Soup Anytime

Patricia Wells , in The Paris Cookbook, noted that there are "few Parisian traditions as solid as the late-night onion soup feast at the Brasserie Balzar on the Left Bank." Had I been fully aware of this, we probably never would have set foot in the place. We would have assumed it would be crowded and overpriced and full of grumpy waiters and determined tourists. We would have been not have been 100% off base in those assumptions. But we wouldn't have been 100% right, either.

I was in Paris for a few days with L, my cousin and friend, having come over from her home in England for a few days, without a lot of money to spend. We had a Left Bank hotel bargain and plans to meet up with her Parisian friends S. and husband J-L. for one really nice meal, which had been planned by J-L, a clever fellow about food, who loves to figure out special food and wine treats. Other than that we were really just wandering around having a relaxed, wonderful unplanned time, oogling the flower markets, listening to free concerts and eating more or less on the fly-picnicing and so on.

One evening though, we returned to the hotel pretty hungry, after a lot of time on our feet in hilly Montmartre, and had not done anything much about food. We decided to spend a bit and go out for some supper. The Brasserie Balzar was near our little hotel, and looked fine, dark wood , brass and all. It was only about 6:30, early for dinner, so not too crowded. We had some really very nice roasted chicken, a tomato salad, and an exemplary creme brulee, for not too much more than it was all worth. Though the waiters made it clear that they were extremely unimpressed with us, they weren't hostile. The service was, while not actually pleasant in any way, reasonably efficient, and we thoroughly enjoyed our meal.

The place looked the complete Parisian brasserie in every detail, almost like a cartoon. As I was eating and looking around, an American mother and her teenaged daughter came in and both ordered only onion soup. (Evesdropping was unavoidable; we were seated at the next table.) This seemed an odd order for the time of day, and I started putting two and two together. I realized it was that place, and they were ordering the obligatory onion soup- only earlier than prescribed time.

Thus, though I have been to this iconic spot, I did not try the onion soup there. I have always liked traditional gratineed onion soup, and have not tired of it, or decided that it is old hat, or anything of that sort. I suspect that it is uncool, but then, so am I. In fact, I was thinking I'd like some for supper tonight. I am not working today- it is chilly, and I am spending the day indoors, nursing an incipient cold, napping with cats, and being entirely lazy, except for some unavoidable laundry.

Instead of just starting to make some soup, I decided to lazily potter around looking at some recipes, and came across the Balzar one in Ms. Wells' book. She answered a question which had puzzled me- Isn't onion soup at midnight asking for trouble? Sure, it would be warming and fun, but talk about indigestion.... going to sleep on a big gooey pile of cheese and dark cooked onions seems like tempting fate, no? According to Ms. Wells, this is a much more digestible version than some others, in part because chicken stock, rather than beef broth, is used. All over, the recipe is a bit lighter than the usual- but don't worry, you won't be hungry. It suited me, as I had a supply of homemade chicken stock, but no beef stock. I only adapted it slightly, to suit myself. I'm not going to be saving it for midnight. It's awfully good - and this is how you do it.

You need:

3lbs onions, peeled and sliced very thinly
6 tbspoons unsalted butter
3 tbsps canola oil
1 tsp sea salt
4 tbsps flour
3 cups rich homemade chicken broth and jellied juice from a roast chicken, if you have it
2/3 cup dry white wine (I used Muscadet)
freshly ground pepper
sprigs of thyme and 2 bay leaves, which I put in my recently acquired large stainless teaball for easy removal
thin slices of toasted good bread ( pref. the sort with a chewy interior )
2/3 lb of freshly grated gruyere, best you can afford

This is what you do:
Melt butter in a big soup pot. Add oil, onions, salt. Cook, stirring, over a low heat until onions are soft, but not browned. Sprinkle with the flour, and stir to coat. Add stock, wine and a quart of water, pepper and herbs in tea ball. Bring to a boil, turn down, and simmer gently, uncovered for half an hour. correct seasoning.

When you are ready to serve, preheat the broiler. Ladle soup into individual heatroof bowls. Top each with toasted slice of bread, and plently of grated gruyere. Broil. When the cheese is clearly bubbling, remove and serve, with warnings to watch for burning. This is incredibly hot, as soup should be. It is pretty important to use very nice stock and cheese, which can make all the difference. I happened to have some onions from my CSA farmbox as well, which were lovely and crisply fresh.

I believe that both onions and chicken soup are good for the treatment of colds. I feel quite well treated.

Lunch : Cafe at the Frick

When I was a little girl and we drove past the Frick Mansion in the family car, I announced that I was going to live in that house when I grew up. I was more than a little daunted when my usually encouraging parents said, "No you won't." They were right.

This Fifth Avenue victorian dinosaur of a house was then owned by Helen Clay Frick, the devoted spinster daughter of the late Henry Clay Frick. (you know-the guy who called out the Pinkertons to beat the workers to death during the Homestead Strike, while Andrew Carnegie was out of the country avoiding blame) When she died, Ms. Frick left the house and grounds and wonderful out buildings for a museum in honor of Dad. The museum includes the house and all its contents.

Thanks to her obsessive preservation of everything to do with her family, the house is a fascinating and detailed permanent life size exhibit of exactly how an upper class victorian/edwardian family lived in Pittsburgh. The grounds are beautiful, and there is a wonderful art museum. The art museum has shows of just the right size, so that you can see the whole thing, without getting exhausted and glazed over.

My friend D. and I went for a second look at the super exhibit of Margaret Bourke White photos scheduled to close next weekend, and had lunch at the Cafe at the Frick. This pretty place is in a separate out building with lots of windows, a patio with tables and an arts and crafts era look. They do lunches and teas. The food is very nice, but also quite expensive for what it is. Lucky for me, D. had a coupon for a substantial discount, part of his bonus for being a member of the museum. Needless to say, I neglected to bring my camera, so could not take pictures of my food, which was very pretty, as well as tasty. Virtually all of the tables are window tables, so you sit looking at the patio and garden.

Our server brought some really nice breads, which they make on the premises, with an olive oil and vinegar thingy to eat while contemplating our choices. One bread had sunflower seeds on the top, and was especially tasty. I picked a barbequed Duck Sandwich, and D. had the Veal Saltimbocca Burger, but we agreed from the start that we'd have half of each, since we had both been undecided as to which of the two we wanted.

They were both really good. In the Saltimbocca burger, the proscuitto was apparently ground in with the veal, since you couldn't see it, but the taste was there. It had cherry-sage cheese, tomato and frisee topping, and was served on an onion bun, with a very nominal amount of excellent green-bean/ potato salad. The sandwich itself was huge and delicious.

Also huge and delicious was the Duck sandwich, served on a "panna bella" roll. This crisp crusted round roll was so good that I inquired after it, and learned that unlike the other breads, it was made at a place called "Meditteraineo" or something to that effect, not in house. Hence, I am determined to find it and get me some. The nicely sauced barbequed duck was topped with a jicama-chipotle slaw, and served with "plainain chips." I am not real familiar with plantains, but I know this wasn't a chip; it looked like half a carmelized banana. Because of my lack of familiarity with this fruit, I don't know what the texture is supposed to be like. If it was a banana, I would have thought that it was pretty, uhm, firm. I wasn't really crazy about that touch. Small matter, though. the sandwich itself was yummy and substantial too.

I had some truly delicious Russian Caravan tea, served in a pretty china cup, with a teapot, loose tea, strainer and sugar lumps. They blend their own and it is well worth drinking several cups. You can get more hot water, and go to town.

Someone of note once said that if you order roast chicken or creme brulee, and a restaurant does it well, chances are that it is a reliable place to eat. I am always quoting this chestnut to justify ordering these items, both of which are favorites of mine. The Cafe at the Frick passed this test with flying colors. D and I shared a Green Tea Creme Brulee. I consider myself something of an expert (having sampled so many), and this was absolutely one of the very best. It was served in a shallow white porcelain mini tart pan, which allowed for a good bit of carmelized surface. It was creamy, it was fragrant, and the caramel crust was thin and shattery and perfect.

I have never experienced their afternoon tea service, but I'd love to, as their tea and pastry and sandwiches are terrific, and that's basically what there is, or you can get artisanal cheese platters, which sound pretty good, too. Anyway, the whole afternoon was a treat. The Margaret Bourke White exhibit is amazing.

Nittany Pickings

Annually, my coworkers and I attend a three day statewide meeting. Four of us generally make it our business to spend pretty much all our time (except the time when we are required to sit in straightback chairs listening to speakers) eating and drinking, or looking for things to eat and drink. Although we sometimes splurge on a fancy dinner spot we hope will be worthy, we more frequently look for special diners, farmstands, homemade pies, and the like.
As we were in State College, PA this week, we made a trip to The Creamery, at the University, well known for its ice cream. I understand that this is where Ben and Jerry learned their ice cream fundamentals.

We had just had a splurge meal at a place in town called Zola,on Beaver, which was really very good, and surprisingly filling. As we had had a drink and snack before we arrived at the restaurant, which specializes in a "seasonal menu", no one ordered a first course. Since we were going to the creamery, no one had dessert either. I had a dish involving seared sea scallops, arranged on a large plate, in a sort of salad like fashion. There were pea shoots, little balls of summer squash, carrot nuggets, slivers of black truffle, and comma-like smears of a thick balsamic glaze. There was some sort of pale, very tasty sauce too, in quantities too minimal for me to deduce the ingredients. It looked saladish, but it turned out to be a huge meal, because there were so many of these giant, tender, very tasty scallops. There was a nice mushroomy tasting olive bread to mop up the sauce. It was also very pretty, much prettier than the garish ice cream picture, for example. However, I allowed my friends to talk me out of taking a flash photo in the dark restaurant. I might have gone ahead and done it, despite their fear of public disgrace. However, I am not so good at taking flash lit pictures of food, and I thought it would probably look lurid anyhow.

Once we had paid up at Zola, we took quite an uphill 30 minute hike to the Creamery, which was in the middle of the very large campus area. By the time we arrived, overheated and sweaty, any guilt at topping off a big dinner with icecream had vanished. The Creamery is a separate, glass sided little building among other campus buildings, and has a stainless steel, practical dairy look to it. Outside, there are picnic tables and chairs. The menu is simple, about 10 flavors of ice cream, in cones or dishes, a few types of sundaes, and that's about it. I should probably have had vanilla, or some simple, true flavor, but I was carried away by nostalgia for mint chocolate chip, which I had loved in my college days, from the Wisconsin Ag School dairies. I went for the "Bittersweet Mint" in the unnatural green you see before you. It was really tasty, with huge bites of good bittersweet chocolate and a comparatively understated mint flavoring. It was hard to know if the ice cream was exceptionally good, in a basic way, because of the assertive tastes. (Even the mildest mint taste pretty much takes over.) But I enjoyed it thoroughly, and those who had the vanilla and strawberry were also pleased. It was the sort of ice cream I (possibly erroneously) remember from childhood, creamy, but not a custard, and nice tiny ice crystals. Well worth the walk.

As our seminar coffee had been particularly nasty, the second day I decided to get up early, go for a walk, and find my own coffee. I stumbled upon a place on Calder Way, called the Cheese Shoppe. It was very early, and dark, and I did not really examine any cheese. It appeared to be primarily a coffee, tea, and fancy groceries place, but also
seemed to be a bit of an early morning coffee club. It is below street level, and down a flight of steep stairs. It was very dark there at 7 am. I sort of crawled and bumped in between the seated and standing coffee drinkers (the place is tiny), who showed no signs of minding. I got the impression that these folks are here every day for the coffee, and all of them knew each other and were kidding around pleasantly. The proprietor hung out in the back, but when I decide to buy some sherry vinegar and grainy mustard, one of the coffee drinkers helped me figure out how much to leave on the counter for my purchases. There was quite a selection of coffee, brewed up, and an even bigger selection for grinding and purchase.

The proprietor came out for a bit, so I got to ask him if he had Malden' s Sea Salt, which I really like and have a hard time finding in my usual Pittsburgh haunts. He carries it, but was all out at the moment. I forget which of the coffees I chose to fill my cup, but it was very good, and improved my outlook on the morning meetings.

On the way home this afternoon, we stopped at Clem's barbecue,near Blairsville, where they do really fine ribs or chicken on a big outdoor wood fire, and have dynamite rootbeer. You can generally smell Clem's from pretty far away, and the parking lot is never empty. You can eat there, at a picnic table, or take it home with you. It was nowhere near time to eat, so I bought a quart canning jar of their excellent sauce, in which I will make pulled pork, at a later date. I have done this before, and know it to be quite decent.

I am very glad to be home, and happy to see that my new kitten Sid (about 12 weeks ) and older beloved golden cat Archie seem to be getting along, more or less. I was worried about leaving them to duke it out, even under the watchful eye of Lou, my cat minder. But Archie is such a peaceful cat, he probably wore her out with kindness.