Razor clams and Toilet Bowls.

On the 15^th of November we drove to Barcelona, Spain.  On day one we ate a meal that I thought was going to be up there with one of our best. One of a long list suggested to us by our hosts, we picked it because it was the closest to our apartment. Simply decorated, the decor reminded me of a 1970’s doctor’s surgery waiting room (or what I imagine one would look like). Though it lacked a certain style, the table settings (crisp white cloth napkins, a selection of glassware) hinted at something a little more refined.

As it was lunchtime (Paella o’clock) and it was our first meal in Spain (The Zombies didn’t really count) we ordered Paella Mixta for two, Pimientos de Padron and a starter of grilled baby squid. I was actually leaning towards fried baby octopus, but the waiter insisted we get the squid (with a wink and a knowing smile).

The squid was oh-so-tender, tiny (the size of a squished brussel sprout (new season)) and the best I’ve ever eaten. Slightly smoky from the grill, it was dressed with olive oil, lemon juice, flaky salt and finely chopped parsley. I could see Mick’s eyes widen with revelation at each bite. I’m not exaggerating. I'm sure that if every farmers market in Victoria traded their Dutch pancake stall for a stand that sold these by the plate, they would do a roaring trade. Who eats those little pancakes anyway? I’d much rather baby squids on the ends of my toothpick.

Pimientos de Padrón are small green peppers from Padrón, a small green town in Galicia, North Western Spain. To prepare them, you cook them with a little olive oil in a hot pan until blistered, garnish with salt and serve. To eat them, you hold them by the stalk and bite off the flesh and seeds. They are sweet fleshed, delicious and are known as the Russian Roulette of the pepper world. Although for the most part they are not hot (not even a hint of spice) occasionally you’ll come upon a killer. The Galician saying goes "Os pementos de Padrón, uns pican e outros non". The translation is something like the “Hot & Not” column in your favourite glossy.

I might interject for a second (can you interject yourself?) and mention how proud Mick is of me; I haven’t gloated on any form of social media about my absence from retail Christmas preparation. Don’t worry my gloating is equally balanced with jealousy over missing summer and Christmas with friends and family.  Paul Kelly’s “Who’s gonna make the gravy” made me tear up today, even though I haven’t made gravy for my family, in, like forever. And I’m not in prison...

I digress; we washed this all down with one of my favourite crowd pleasers- Torres Sangre del Torro Blanco “Vina Sol” €6, or twelvish dollars at your local bottle shop (wink). The paella wasn’t really what we expected. As yet, we haven’t had another in Spain to compare it to. Maybe the Australian incarnations are nothing like their traditional ancestors. Or maybe we haven’t had a control “authentic” Paella in Australia. This one was, rich, smoky and had a colour that we can only describe as HP brown. Chicken, pippies, langoustines and calamari (could have been razor clams, but us novices wouldn’t know the difference) were peppered through the aromatic rice mix. Moreish as it was, it was certainly not the saffron bright, tomato flavoured and zesty dish we were expecting.

JW, I implore you, please point out my grammatical errors. I know they’re there.

This meal, potentially top of the list... Sadly, gave us food poisoning.

We had a Jerry and George moment as we argued the pros and cons. Did the deliciousness outweigh the illness? I am inclined to say it did. It was totally worth it. I’d eat there again without hesitation and if anybody questions me, I’ll tell them it was just a coincidence. Bad sushi or somthin’. Cross my heart.

Love youz.

And... we’re back.

For all ye naysayers who thought I’d gone down the path of many lost and forgotten bloggers. Cop this.

We had a self imposed holiday from our holiday. If we wanted to sleep in, we did. If we couldn’t be bothered with another wine tasting, we weren’t. We decided the pressure we had put ourselves under not to “miss” anything was making our adventure less enjoyable by the moment.

It is Autumn in the Northern Hemisphere and this, I’ve decided is my favourite season. It’s the perfect mix of the last rays of summer and the invigorating chill as winters flexes itself forward to greet us.

We are staying in a Gite next to the Suze River near the town of Arnay le Duc. It’s a story book perfect, not-quite-a-village nestled deep in a green river valley. Despite our Burgundian location, the area where we are staying is strictly beef country. The local Charolais breed are ivory coloured beasts, large and majestic.

Burgundy (Bourgogne) is however, more famous for its wine (of which, we have sampled plenty). The region is famed for producing the crème de la crème of Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. Autumn here heralds the harvest season and the seemingly endless crosshatch of vines changing from impenetrable green to a fractured tapestry of golds, umbers and lipstick reds.

I think I should abandon D.H Lawrence now. This is all getting a bit Sons and Lovers-esque.

Our host Liz is an eccentrically entertaining ex-pat Brit (who was schooled in Griffith, NSW) who moved here three years ago. She is worryingly forgetful and has a kookily familial manner that makes you forget you barely know her.

She recommended we eat at local restaurant owned by friends of hers. Patrice and Marianne run a restaurant from their home. Les Poulettes des Tables has the ambiance of your fondest childhood memories, children running up and down stairs, mewing cats greeting the guests, friends and family dropping by, plenty of good food and wine and a open armed generosity not often shared with outsiders.

Their main business, Patrice explained was actually artisanal linens. The restaurant was simply an outlet for the couples other passions. Enough to make Tom and Barbara green with envy.

Now I won’t tell you everything that we’ve done since my last proper blog, or else we’d have nothing to talk about upon our return. But I will share another curiosity we noticed at a restaurant in Lille. Chez Max was tres chic, to the extreme of serving pop rocks with fois gras. When the waiter handed us each a menu we didn’t flinch. It wasn’t until we started choosing wine that we noticed our menus were different. Mick’s had prices while mine didn’t! They had his and hers menus!

We figure it is meant to go down something like this. The lady orders to her heart’s desire, whilst the man (the money) sits there uncomfortably trying to calculate how much he thinks she is worth and wishing he hadn’t bought the paper that morning. It wasn’t even a snooty Michelin starred place or an archaic French institution.

Wouldn't sit well with the liberated (cough) and equally paid (cough cough) women of Australia.

We tasted-

Hugel Jubilee 2004 Riesling. C- golden hay, N- nectarine and lime, P- dry but rich, well structured, honey, lemon and a hint of melon.

Etienne Sauzet 2008 Puligny Montrachet 1er cru. C- Pale gold , N- ripe peach and lemon blossom, P- crisp lemon acidity, balanced by a rich honeyed creaminess

Spreekt u Engels?

Goedeavond!

We crossed a border; well at least we think we did. There was no line in the sand, no customs and no passport control. Only ghostly stands of abandoned booths. Quite unnerving really. This is now the norm across the EU and for us, our crossing from France to Belgium could have almost gone unnoticed, if not for the sudden change in language on road traffic signs.

We drove to Belgium today. It’s only an hour from Lille (north east France) and is a UNESCO world heritage listed town. We haven’t had time to explore yet, so I won’t go on too much. Only to say that as we arrived in town the sun was shining down on the biggest antiques fair I’ve even seen. I think I’m going to like it here.

Back to Champagne for a minute.

On Thursday we were hosted by the generous people at the Martel Champagne Group at their winery in Reims. They own the likes of Pol Roger, Taittinger, Ruinart and two big local brands Casanove and Martel. Not having heard of Martel in the Champagne sense (there is a non-related Cognac of the same name) we weren’t sure what to expect.

We were welcomed by the Asia Pacific brand manager Renaud, the wife of the group’s owner Angeline and the facility manager Thierry (a cellar-master-esque role). A surprisingly illustrious trio for two lowly office types (no baby, your role is not lowly, I was just making a point).

As the introduction was made through work, there was a fair bit of shop talk. Highlights for non-industry types include a tour of their expansive underground cave system, a taste of whatever we wanted (I wanted the delicious oak aged (it works) premier cru Victoire) and a walking tour of Reims by Renaud.

The caves under Reims are an astonishing reminder of grand feats of the past. The ones we visited were up to 18 metres under the heart of the city and parts of them date back to the third century. The caves were dug out for the mining of chalk which forms the subsoil of the region. This chalk is also attributed to the mineral tang often found in Champagnes finest.

On our tour of the streets with Renaud, he pointed out the Reims Cathedral. Reims was the capital of France for a while (I have no idea how long for, or when) and the Cathedral was the largest in the country. When Paris was made the capital in (insert your researched date here.) a replica of the Reims Cathedral was built in Paris. Now the more famous and larger of the two, Paris’s Notre Dame was built in part, in the image of Reims Cathedral (don't quote me).

It was breathtaking and awesome (in the traditional sense of the word) and I was particularly taken with the Chagall windows in the back. His work always reminds me of a book I read as a child- The Thief and the Blue Rose.

Renaud recommended we try a local delicacy for lunch, so we headed to a local Bistro for a late meal. We ordered Andouillette, a pork sausage that is a speciality of Troyes (see previous post). I won’t go into to it too much; the thought of it alone makes my stomach churn. Only to say, to our untrained, close-minded Australian noses, the sliced sausage smelt of a particularly disgusting pig transport truck on a stinking hot day. Another awkward French to Aussie conversation ensued about why we didn’t eat it. Le sigh.

Radio Silence.

Blog blog blog. No I haven't fallen off the bandwagon. We were merely forced into radio silence for three days while we were in London. We didn't find free internet anywhere and we weren't about to pay for it. One pound for a measly 20 minutes? I think not.

We somehow made an uber-blunder with our travel plans which resulted in us "losing" a day in London. Neither of us is sure what happened, but it resulted in a hotel room paid for and not used for a night. Money down the drain (expensive London money!).

We arrived on Monday morning, after not having slept in 30-ish hours and were confronted with the knowledge we had a long held booking at St John that evening. Knowing that we looked as deathly tired as we felt, the thought of frocking-up (Mick wore slacks and a shirt FYI) was not very attractive. We were in more of a sleep for a week kind of mood.

We slept, only for three hours though, energy-drinked ourselves and got psyched up enough to call a cab. The bright lights and bustle of London's streets perked us up, so by the time the cab had creeped it's way through a busy peak hour we were excited and eager for a big night out.

The interior was minimalist, with stark white walls, high industrial ceilings and dark wood furniture. Clean and crisp, befitting of the ex- London Marxist Headquarters (1960s).

For entrée we ate fresh whole crab with house made mayo and broccoli with anchovy. These simple sounding dishes are typical of the restaurant's style. Fresh local (ish) produce prepared with minimal intervention, in what I would call a pared down traditional English style. The combination of the al dente broccoli with a fine anchovy sauce was astonishingly good. With this we drank a glass of house Blanc de Blanc. I'm not sure of it's provenance, but it seemed a bargain for a cleanskin Champagne.

For our main course we enjoyed roast beef and mallard. The latter served with confit duck leg and mixed braised veg. The beef was mouth-wateringly tender and served with creamed spinach (with horseradish (we think)). We enjoyed yet another bio dynamic bottle with dinner, Trinch!; a cab franc from the Loire Valley. Lighter in style than what we are used to, it still maintained enough punch to pair well with the flavorsome roast meats. The name Trinch! is apparently a play on the sound the French hear when they clink their glasses together in a toast. To me and Google it sounds more like a misspelling of trench.

Now I held back on the main meal descriptions, purely because the desserts were mind-boggling. We had Eccles cake with Lancashire cheese and treacle tart with Jersey cream. Now I'm no Eccles cake expert but one taste of this and I don't need to be. All the Eccles cakes in the world should aspire to be like this. Flaky buttery pastry erupting with slightly caramelised currants. This was served with what looked liked an unachievably large wedge of Lancashire cheese. It was like when Harry met Sally or when Bart met Milhouse. George and Jerry even. The combination worked so well. Lancashire for those who don't know it (I didn't) is a cows milk cheese that is zingy with lemony flavour, crumbly and fresh.

The treacle tart was equally delicious. Short and crumbly pastry housed a frangipane-esque filling rich with treacly goodness. The "cream" it was served was just short of being butter, Richie Rich would have been jealous of it's richness. *drool*

The restaurants menu changed twice while we were there. As produce was used up and new ingredients were hurried across the dining room. Seasonality, freshness and quality the star.

We left London on Wednesday afternoon via the Eurostar. It was astonishingly fast. Getting us to Gare de Nord in just over two hours.

So now we are in Paris (a city after my heart) eating ham and cheese baguette while a ferocious speed queen does our dirty laundry.

More on the city of love in tomorrow's entry. We have much to discuss.

Chaleureusement,

Annie

Wrackin' Frackin' Varmint

What a day. It's almost as if we have crossed something off our bucket list we didn't even know existed.

Yosemite National Park.

The national park is approximately 750000 acres and the main tourist area is the Merced River Valley. It sits about 5000 feet above sea level in the Sierra Nevada ranges. Originally home to the Ahwahnechee Native Americans. Who, according to Wikipedia, were evicted from the valley numerous times by the US federal government as recently as 1969. We walked the valley floor covering about eight kilometres of moderate terrain.

We were amazed at the bustle of people coming and going throughout the day. Day-trippers, picnickers, walkers, hikers and rock-climbers. Hundreds upon hundreds. Interestingly most visitors we saw seemed content with just catching the shuttle to and from the key sights and taking a few happy snaps. We were virtually alone on the walking trails. Thank God.

Home to the famous giant Redwoods (Sequoias) the scenery was absolutely spectacular. The river valley was bordered by staggeringly beautiful rock faces and waterfalls, which dwarfed the gargantuan trees. Although we didn't see any bears *tears* (but also "phew"!) we managed to spot deer, squirrels and a number of different bird species. Squirrel!

Exhausted (but elated), we staggered back to the car and joined the queue of day-trippers winding their way out of the ranges.

Dinner was at a road side Taqueria (boy, does the Melbourne restaurant scene have some holes). CC's on HWY 108. Cheap tex-mex style. I ate a Supreme Burrito, shredded beef and rice in a tortilla with guacamole, fresh salsa, beans and rice. $7.95. Mick had a Pork Chimichanga, basically a deep-fried burrito (as above) with cheese and salad. Muy bueno.

I don't think this post has done Yosemite justice, however I am so tired I just can't put anything more into it.

We don't actually have a bucket list by the way. I was just making a point.

Peace.

I need a Napa.

We started this morning with a vague plan. To try some wine and enjoy ourselves. Not being at all familiar with the local viticultural regions we took a punt and picked a route around Sonoma, Glen Ellen, Napa and Petaluma (our base). This plan was rapidly turfed when we started battling Labor Day Holiday traffic both on and off (tasting tables!) the road.

Side Note: In the states they have access to an amazing thing called satellite radio. Mick assures me that it's accessible in Oz but we just haven't got on the band wagon (in cars. Teehee). We should. It's terrific. There is a whole station completely devoted to Elvis, live from Graceland. Curious about how an Elvis station would work, we googled. He recorded 553 songs in his career! Uh-may-zing! Come on Justin Bieber, keep up!

Sorry 'bout that. Back to business. Our first stop was Domaine Carneros in Napa. Owned by the Taittinger Champagne House, certified organic and just a little bit fancy! We tried four of their wines for an affordable $25 (a person! Ouch!). The stand out was Le Reve Blanc de Blanc; light golden in colour, lemons and apples on the nose and peaches and shortbread on the palate. The finish was smooth and dry.

Continuing our theme (does two stops classify as a theme?) we headed north west through the mountains to Glen Ellen. Up-hill from the town proper we arrived at Benzinger Estate. A family run Demeter Bio-dynamic certified winery and vineyard. We took a tour of their facilities, including the fascinating insectary where they grow plants to lure "friendly" bugs to the site. I could have wandered the plantings for hours.

As part of the tour our guide discussed the use of different oaks and corks in their product. He adamantly informed the group that no wine worth it's salt should be sealed under screw-cap. Like it was common law or something. Outrageous.

The Benzinger 2006 Oonapais Sonoma Mountain (Bordeaux blend) had an earthy nose, rich with plum and coffee. Well balanced tannins and excellent length supported complex flavours of blackcurrant and cocoa.

We finished our day with a surprising meal in downtown Napa. Not wanting to find ourselves at one of the many tourists traps, I found a link to a New York Times article reviewing West Coast restaurants. This led us to a table at Ubuntu, a community based vegetarian restaurant and yoga centre. We were blown away by the variety and inventiveness in the menu. It should be included in study texts for Melbourne chefs caught in the unstoppable mushroom-pumpkin risotto cycle.

Every dish made us stop and rethink what we were eating. Potatoes roasted in cucumber ash? Yes, it really worked.

They grow many of the ingredients bio-dynamically in the kitchen garden and source the others locally. Can I get a plate of harmony and connectedness on the side please?

Yosemite tomorrow. Sleep now.

xo

Sittin' in the mornin' sun.

We woke this morning to a beautiful sunny day. We started out indulging ourselves with a late breakfast of Chili Cheese Dogs. Delicious. A word to the wise, don't inspect the cheese too closely...

Again we headed SOMA, this time to MOMA (Museum of Modern Art). Their main exhibition was titled Calder to Warhol. A private collection from the Fisher family (founders of The Gap). It was a great mixed collection, including one of my favourite Warhol prints featuring the King.

The exhibition that really caught my eye however, was titled New Topographics. It is a complete restaging of a 1975 exhibition of the same name. It featured photographs of industrial and suburban landscapes; often stark or desolate. Un-traditional beauty highlighted by the artists use of composition and lighting.

We walked north from MOMA along the docks. I sung the song while Mick elbowed me to shut-it.

We lusted our way through the Marketplace. A collection of local stalls selling free range this and local organic that. As we walked north, the famous fog rolled in through the Golden Gates. Fresh off the Pacific Ocean it rapidly chilled the sea breeze. Sweet relief from the hot sun.

We caught the last boat tour of the bay which took us underneath the Golden Gate Bridge, through thick fog, via pods of bay dolphins, around the island home of Alcatraz and back to the docks past a colony of seals being oogled by a thousand tourists.

An observation for you: in Australian English we pronounce Hyundai "Hee-un-day" or "Hi-yun-die" in American it's simply "Hun-day". This is apparently, the official pronunciation they chose when the car company was introduced to the states in 80's. Too many syllables?

We cheerily took our windswept selves towards Fisherman's Wharf for dinner. Fresh Dungeness Crab served in shell with chili, garlic and scallions (trans. Spring Onions) marinade. We resisted the promenade corn-dog stands and the not-so-legal looking churros vendor (man standing on footpath with foil wrapped churros) and headed back into town on Powell-Mason Cable Car.

We are looking forward to tomorrow. We pick up the car and head north to Mendocino.

Open road here we come.

Be sure to wear flowers in your hair.

Jet-lag sucks. We accidentally lost half the day today by sleeping through our alarm until 12:30pm.

A frightening aspect (for a sheltered Melbournite) of San Francisco is the number of homeless people and beggars on the streets. Despite our best efforts, we must still look "tourist" and thus get approached on every street corner with a shake of a soda cup. It's saddening to see the plight of so many people in what is considered such a bountiful and prosperous country.

Don't worry, I'll have toughened up by the time we hit India.

We axed our morning plans and headed downtown on the bus. Through the notorious Tenderloin and on to Haight Ashbury (Hashbury). Which is famed as the Californian centre of the Hippy Revolution. We wandered westward down the strip enjoying the old Victorian houses, known as "Painted Ladies". The street seemed less Summer of Love and more "Brunswick St Tourist Trap" to me. Kind of sad. I wonder whether Joplin or the boys of the Grateful Dead would recognise it anymore.

Our main destination was the Magnolia Pub & Brewery, cnr of Haight and Masonic. Located in the original restaurant of Magnolia Thunderpussy (complete with original fixtures!). They brew 10 different beers on site and serve inexpensive gastro-pub grub.

Mick had the Kalifornia Kolsch, a German style white beer, served extra cold. It was crisp and refreshing with light florals and a slight metallic tang. I had a pint of the Proving Ground IPA, it was bold, hoppy with honey flavours and a bitter finish. Mike decided his whistle was not quite wet enough and ordered a post burger cider. The Two River's Granny Smith Hard Cider was not to our taste at all. We couldn't quite identify the flavour we didn't like in it. Something between Morning Fresh washing detergent and Pert 2 in 1 shampoo.

We both had burgers for the meal. I immediately regretted my order, wishing that I had ordered the Tomato Tartine (heirloom tomatoes, genovese basil pesto and smoked ricotta salata) or one of the house sausages (seafood boudin, andouille or pastrami crepinette). The burgers were good but not mind blowing. Food envy is the worst.

I forgot to mention- yesterday we saw Grant Imahara of Mythbusters fame in Union Square. I was keen to run over and befriend him but neither Mick or the traffic lights were working in my favour.

Frank Family Vineyards Zinfandel (Napa Valley) in hotel room plastic cups with Californian peaches for dinner tonight.

xo.

Live a little.

Day Two. We awoke at ten this morning (after dropping dead at 8pm). I wonder if our jet-lag is still with us.

We made it SOMA (south of Market) for "breakfast" at 1pm. A little Googling led us to Blue Bottle Coffee, a hidden un-signposted, St Ali-esque coffee nirvana/cafe. Mike enjoyed thick cut toast with the MOST delicious strawberry jam I have ever tasted, while I greened it up with a Little Gem (trans. Cos lettuce), poached egg and heirloom tomato salad. The coffee was moreish, but being late in the day already, we had to stop at one. The line of drooling customers that threatened to creep around the block also put us off another round.

After we realised we didn't actually have plans for our four days in San Fran we hot-tailed it to Borders and, like any good food lover sussed out the foodies section. We bought a book called The Tablehopper's Guide to Dining and Drinking in San Francisco a cheekily written guide with smart section titles like "Shituations" or "Ladies who Lunch like Dudes". The only thing it's missing is maps showing where everything is. We pawed the pages for an hour trying to find the locations on our dog-eared tourist map. Not tourist friendly, I guess not everything is meant to be. *sigh*

We indulged with a film in the afternoon. I wouldn't mention the title... but must- only as a warning. Eat Pray Love was cloying to say the least. Roberts owes a lot to her childhood orthodontist. Please! No! No more teeth!

Back in China Town we had a late dinner at the very-un-chinese-sounding Broadway Cafe, aptly named on Broadway Blvd. It was CHEAP, fast and authentic (Cantonese I think?!). By CHEAP I mean really. US$4.75 for a bowl of wonton noodle soup, packed with seafood, fresh baby bok choy and aromatic broth. We had a suprising stand-out dish of XO green beans, I could have finished the plate myself and I probably would have had Mick let me. Oh! I almost forgot, I had a glass of the freshest of fresh watermelon juice (US$1.75). Practically life changing. Have you seen the exchange rate lately? I don't know how they do it.

With J.W and M.J.H in the back of my mind I convinced Mick we needed to live a little. We headed for a local dive, Li Po Bar on Grant St. A small Chinese cocktail bar up top, with a legit underground soul/Rhythm & Blues/breakdancing club downstairs. We had a couple of beers upstairs before sampling their famous Mai Tai (with "secret" ingredient- Chinese Whiskey) and and heading downstairs. Think First Floor crossed with Cherry Bar with the added attraction of free-pouring bar staff and fewer lights.

As we left the harmonies of a capella beat-boxing and rapping trailed behind us.

xo.