Following several weeks of upheaval within the Original Certified Santa Rosa Farmer’s Market, six of the seven members of the market’s board have resigned. Interim president, Kelly Parsons of Parsons’ Homegrown, was appointed by outgoing board president Alma Virgil.
“The market is currently working outside its bylaws and the board did not want to be liable for any legal repercussions,” said former board member Nicky Rutkowski of Flour Creations. “I have been a member of the market for 21 years and I have nothing but the market’s best interest at heart,” she said of her decision to step down.
The mass resignation of the board members came two days after a letter was sent to the 111 members of the market outlining what they deemed the illegal actions of a group of 56 members to reinstate market manager Paula Downing on November 8. “It is our obligation as board members to uphold the Market’s Constitution and Bylaws…and represent the interests of the entire Market membership. We cannot uphold illegal and invalid actions that put the Market at risk now and in the future,” stated the letter. Downing was fired from the market by board members on Sept. 30.
It remains unclear if a parent organization will step in to help mediate the ongoing disagreements between the board, Downing and divergent factions within the membership. After a recent dispute over the future of Sonoma’s downtown farmer’s market, the Sonoma County Certified Farmers Market Association (an organization governed by Paula Downing, Sonoma Valley Certified Farmers Market’s Hilda Swartz and Erica Burns Gorman, a manager of two Petaluma farmers markets which also includes the Oakmont Market) ended it’s relationship with the Tuesday night board members and announced it would no longer participate in the Tuesday night farmers market. The California Federation of Certified Farmers’ Markets has a disconnected phone number and states on its website that it does not participate in market disputes.
When reached for comment, Downing said the Sonoma County Certified Farmer’s Market Association has no oversight over the Santa Rosa market, which operates as an autonomous entity.
Several members of the market have suggested that the Sonoma County Agricultural Commssion, which handles the permitting for for the market, may be asked to step in to help mediate.
A meeting for membership of the Santa Rosa market will be held Tuesday night at 6pm at the Veteran’s Building to discuss the future of the market.
K & L Bistro
A kitchen fire at K & L Bistro in Sebastopol on Saturday (11/13/10) has closed the restaurant for several days. Owners say there was no major damage after a fire broke out in the flue, but a BiteClubber on the scene said there was plenty of smoke. The restaurant is expected to re-open on Tuesday (11/16/10) for dinner. No word whether smoked salmon will be on the menu.
This dish came about, like so much of what transpires here in the PK, because it was the obvious thing to do: Driving home with my eldest daughter, we stopped by the small but exceptional Tuesday market. We had very little time were already behind schedule for dinner, so prep time had to be short. And, of course, the ultimate test for any kids’ meal: Would the little monsters actually eat whatever I put in front of them?
Happily, in addition to a wide variety of corn products enrobed in variously flavored high fructose corn syrups masquerading as breakfast cereals, snow white bread with the texture of a damp sponge, and anything remotely billable as “dessert”, my kids love salmon, and the salmon are running late this year. Dave, our market’s designated fisherman representative, either catches it locally himself, or – because of tragic overfishing – sources it from Alaska when can’t, as has been sadly the case for the last few years. Still, surely better to buy wild, from Alaska, than from an industrial farm, or at the risk of wiping out the local population entirely. And if you’ve been with us for any length of time, you already know that we’re hardly zealots – we love local, but above all, we love good.
Just down from Dave’s usual spot is Yael, of Bernier Farms, who consistently coaxes fabulous produce from her patch of dirt. Today, she had basket upon basket of different varietals of beautiful purple and white garlics, blazing green Genovese basil, and – a personal favorite here at the PK – bags of crisp, leafy, young arugula. My kids really dig polenta (and who doesn’t), and the menu cohered: Salmon goes well with corn; basil and garlic make pistou, and pistou is delicious on salty, oily fish; and simply dressed arugula always provides a great contrast in bitterness and acidity. (And yes, if you’re wondering about “Mediterranean salmon”, you’re right – you will not likely fine salmon in much Provencal cooking. But many of the same flavor profiles that work so well with bass and other Med-centric fish seem to do just fine with salmon… And of course, if you’ve spent any time cooking for kids, if they like something good for them, then don’t think too hard, just go with it.) Wild Salmon with pistou, creamy polenta, and arugula
If you’re making polenta from scratch, start it first, following the directions on the package. Heresy, but I will on occasion – as I did on this particular mid-week night – cheat, and start with a pre-cooked polenta. Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s better than you might think, and cuts the total cooking time of this dish by more than half. To make it ‘creamy’, simply whisk in some heavy cream or, better, mascarpone cheese right at the end.
Pin-bone and trim the salmon into neat shapes of roughly uniform thickness. Carefully score the skin side and pat dry.
Heat a pan over medium heat and add a little olive oil. Place the salmon cuts in the pan once the oil is hot but not smoking, skin-side down. (Score the skin first – it looks nicer, and keeps the filet from curling.)
While the salmon is cooking (90% of its cooking time will be done on the skin), dress the salad. A simple vinaigrette would be unimpeachable, but I chose to keep it even simpler and save another bowl in the process by using one my favorite Italian methods: Simply toss the leaves with olive oil to lightly coat, season with salt and fresh ground pepper, and squeeze a lemon over them. This works particularly well as an accompaniment to seafood, and it saves time and dishes.
Once the skin is crispy and the flesh is still rare to the middle, turn the salmon over, cook briefly just to set the other side, taking care to keep not to overcook the fish. There is really no worse crime to an already dead fish than to overcook it; better to be raw than dry. And, for those who abhor “fishy” taste, it’s worth noting that, generally speaking, fish gets “fishier” the longer you cook it.
Arrange some salad on a plate, make a little bed of polenta, place a salmon filet in the middle of the polenta, and spoon pistou over the top.
A final note on wine: Garlic and basil are not particularly food-friendly flavors, and a spicy pistou can be really tricky. The Italians will, correctly, suggest a Ligurian white of some sort, but I had none to hand (I rarely do), and very few of our local wines here in the Russian River Valley seemed obvious (Chards, in particular, would not work). In the end, I had an inexpensive white from the Cotes-du-Rhone, made primarily from Marsanne & Rousanne; the lack of oak, the barely-sweet fruit and young exhuberance, and the local-by-extension pairing of a Provencal wine with a nearly Provencal dish proved just about right.
They should call it "Volcanic Roast"
I’ve said plenty of nice things about Costco in the past, and regular readers will have seen my specific product recommendations in the Costco Reports that I post on this blog (e.g., here and here), but I have no special agenda in support of Costco shareholders, and I don’t pull my punches, so today – as I pour another badly needed but instantly regrettable cup that tastes very distinctly of incinerated carbon- I have to call them out: Dude, your Kirkland coffee really sucks.
Now, before you jump down my throat for being foolish enough to buy coffee in bulk from a warehouse, trust me, I get it: I’ve posted (here) at some length about the importance of both the intensity and the freshness of the roast, as well as (over here) why I prefer coffee that has, at the margin, been roasted too hard rather than gently. I’ve also bought coffee at Costco once before – an ostensibly fair trade and organic Sumatran from the “Seattle Mountain” brand that they freshly roast right in-house – and I was reasonably happy with it, particularly at about $5/lb, or less than half the price of Peets and at least 70% less than the boutique roaster here in town.
The Kirkland brand (pictured at right), however, isn’t French roast, it’s downright volcanic, the beans apparently having been subjected to some sort of scorched earth policy, and produces the sort of coffee that I can imagine the rebels drinking in the future of the Terminator, where the very surface of the planet has been reduced to a bleached out, smoldering husk. You know when you use a charcoal grill and then it rains on the burnt out coals before you can clean them out? Well, take ash, push it through a cheesecloth, and you’ll have a fair idea of what I’m drinking for breakfast today.
I’ve heard it claimed, but cannot seem to vet or verify, that the Kirkland brand is roasted for Costco by none other than Starbucks, which would go a long ways to explaining the egregiously violent application of heat, although I suppose the final analysis sits in my cup, so it doesn’t really matter who burnt the living daylights out of the poor little beans, only that it happened. I would buy the freshly roasted organic version again because, while it may pale in comparison to what a really top shelf local roaster can provide, it represents terrific value and still tastes good in an absolute sense. But I’m struggling to keep from using these Kirkland beans for compost – partly because I’m a cheap bastard who hate, hate, hates to waste food, but mainly because I’m afraid that introducing the sack of coal black berries into the environment could leave the same sort of carbon footprint as Al and Tipper Gore’s McMansion.
100 points, at $1.25 per pointSomewhere in the depths of the Great Recession, presumably because an existing customers decided that even 100-point wines were no longer worth the risk of a foreclosure notice, I cleared the Quilceda Creek mail-order list. In case you’re wondering why I accepted the open slot, let me clarify two things: First, with the exception of Bordeaux and Burgundy from my daughters’ birth-year vintages that I’m cellaring for their respective 21st birthdays , I never spend $100+ on a bottle of wine; and second, I try to keep my contact with wine clubs and mailing lists as I do with weeping rashes. But Quilceda Creek is a little different, because the wines – one of the inimitably influential (and controversial) critic Mr Parker’s most consistent and highly-rated darlings – all sell out directly via the mailing list upon release, after which they remain highly sought and rise commensurately in price. If any bottle of fermented grape juice is worth a Benny, then it’s Quilceda Creek’s Columbia Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, at least if you like your Cabs dense, extracted, and larger than life. Think of the very best “cult” wines from the Napa Valley floor, shoot them up with enough steroids to power the Tour de France and Major League Baseball combined, and then somehow balance all that bulging, bronzed muscle with enough subtlety and grace to keep everything harmonious – imagine The Incredible Hulk dancing a perfect Swan Lake, or The Situation passing abstract algebra – and you’ll have some idea of what this freak-of-nature wine is all about. I’ve heard the superficially outlandish claim that Quilceda produces “value” wines – normally I bristle when people talk about $100 wines as anything but unadulterated luxuries – but score junkies will make the case: The past 6 vintages have earned 598 out of a possible 600 points, including four perfect 100s and two 99s, which probably makes for the cheapest “Parker Perfect” around, and frankly shames the ubiquitous triple-digit price tags that Napa still spawns like bacteria in a warm petri dish. But this post isn’t really about the flagship Columbia Valley offering, it’s about Quilceda’s “Columbia Valley Red Wine”, a blend of declassified lots from its bigger and badder brethren that sells for a small fraction of the price. Unfortunately, it’s also about how even the world’s great winemakers, like Gold Glove shortstops, can post an error on a routine play. At $35 for the current release, the Red still counts as special-occasion material in our house, but considering how good the ’06s – broadly considered an inferior vintage to the 07s – turned out, and the opportunity to get a sense of what the 100-pointer must be like, I figured I had to stock up.
The catch, as with most mailing-list wine offerings, is that you neither get to taste nor read reviews before you commit to the purchase, and which is why I’m posting this, my first Official Bitch About People I Like:The bottle I opened last night was a decidedly mediocre wine, not at all balanced, and profoundly lacking in true varietal character. The professionals reviewers will tell you a very different story, 93 points across the board and oozing with accolades, but I’m here to tell you otherwise: This wine is hopelessly overcooked. The main turn-off is an unmistakable nose of over-stewed, almost raisiny, fruit, but the wine fails in the mouth as well, because all that rich fruit seems steeped in alcohol and creates an aggressive perception of heat. I would have guessed Zinfandel in a blind tasting, and not a great one.
To be fair, I have tasted at least a dozen Quilceda Cabs over the past 10 or 15 years, and I have absolutely loved each and every one of them, until last night; as they say, stuff happens. Maybe it was bottle variation – I really hope so, although I fear the likelihood is low for so young a wine from such a technically proficient winery – but until I try another one, I have to hold up my hand for a big finger-wag at the Wine Advocate and Wine Enthusiast for what appear to be blatantly partial reviews, and for the incredibly talented team at Quilceda Creek for releasing this wine under their otherwise unimpeachable label: I love all y’all, but the ’07 Red just isn’t all that.
Lots of chatter about the possibility of a regular food truck gathering in Santa Rosa starting in January. A handful of mobile vendors, led by Jillian Dorman of Street-Eatz have convened and are working with the city to find a central downtown location. Munch Monday on the way? We say okay!
Meanwhile, several SoCo trucks will be headed over to Napa on Dec. 3 for a Wine Country event with their eastern compatriots. Stay tuned for details.
The entire shopping list for great pistou, and it all grows right here. Let me start with the essential fact: Pistou is seriously good stuff. Made in minutes, from very few (and entirely raw) ingredients, it turns a vegetable soup transcendent, transforms pasta from simple to sublime, and, perhaps less conventionally but no less successfully, it works wonders with certain seafood. The problem is, unlike in the case of its far more famous (and near-mystical-when-done-properly) cousin, pesto, there seems to be no clear agreement on what actually constitutes a true pistou. Or, at least that is what is to be gleaned from a quick perusal of my personal collection of cook books. In the case of pesto, one need go no further than Marcella Hazan (Essentials of Italian Cooking). OK, sure, the exact proportions may be a bit different in your favorite version, but how exact is a “cup of loosely packed basil”, or “2-4 plump garlic cloves”? My point is, there is broad agreement amongst serious cooks (or at least the subset of those whose cookbooks I both possess and have bothered to read) as to what constitutes pesto, but the same cannot be said for pistou. To wit:
Julia Child, in her classic Mastering the Art of French Cooking, suggests a relatively small proportion of basil, a relatively large proportion of tomato, and the more-or-less-usual quantities of olive oil and garlic. And – this being, in my opinion, the critical point – Julia includes grated cheese (Italian cheese, in point of fact – fascinating to the point of uniqueness, in classical French cooking). But, look: No butter. So this isn’t quite pesto, after all.
In Mireille Johnston‘s really good, if overlooked, small tome on Provencal cooking, The Cuisine of the Sun, we find basil, garlic, olive oil, and, again, grated Parmigiano – but here the proportions are distinctly pesto-like, with something like 5-10 times the amount of basil Ms Child would have me use (and a bit more garlic than most Italians would use).
Patricia Wells, in her consistently excellent At Home in Provence, provides a very similar recipe to Ms Johnston, with pesto-like proportions, but – critically – no cheese.
Finding such inconsistencies, and lacking the motivation, resources, and language schools to track down primary historical sources, I went to Gastronomique, which provides (perhaps unsurprisingly, given their shared French provenance) very similar guidelines to Ms Child. However, and importantly I think, Larousse emphasizes that the base condiment is a simple paste of garlic, basil, and olive oil, but that tomatoes and cheese may sometimes be added.
One may fairly ask, “So what?” Because, while I’m not quiet a zealot about it, I generally count myself amongst the Italian school of “no dairy with seafood”, and wild salmon was on our menu recently (a terrific not-so-classic combination, this garlicky concoction with wild salmon – for example, like this or this). So where I come out is this: If you’re going to serve pistou with seafood – and it can be truly exceptional with sea bass, crab, salmon, langoustine, and perhaps most of all, rouget or red mullet – then follow Ms Wells, use lots of basil, and leave out the cheese. As to the radical variation in proportions, I think it really comes down to taste and application: The Childs/Gastronomique versions are really closer to a flavored olive oil, almost a vinaigrette without the acid, whereas the Wells/Johnston versions show case the aromatics of the basil and form a thicker, paste-like consistency, both of which are features I adore (even more so if you’re spreading it on crusty bread, and why wouldn’t you). One thing that is always and everywhere uncertain is the garlic: Which varietal, how young or old, the size of the cloves, and whether you want a mere background hint, or a spicy wallop in the front of the palate… it just depends, is about all I can say.
In the event, my eldest daughter and I decided to stop by the Tuesday farmer’s market in town and, as we were under a bit of time pressure, made only one stop for produce: Luckily, we landed at the Bernier Farms stand, and they had an exceptionally fragrant, easy-peeling, and not-too-hot Tuscan garlic called Rocambole, as well as emerald green bunches of Genovese basil, so the decision was easy. I would use my bulk olive oil from Costco without apology, but it would be even better with one of the local versions from up in Dry Creek. Pistou (food processor method)
Mince 1-2 large (2-4 small) cloves of fresh garlic and form a paste by sprinkling with kosher salt and using the flat side of large knife to mash the salt and garlic on a cutting board.
Gently wash and de-stem 2 cups of loosely packed basil leaves, taking care not to beat the leaves up too much at this stage. Get the Genovese varietal if at all possible, nothing else has the fragrance. (On a side note, if you have sun, basil is a frightfully productive and easy-to-grow plant.)
Put the garlic paste and basil into a food processor and puree, while slowly adding a quarter to a half cup of good quality, extra virgin olive oil. And if you want to be strict about the whole cooking-local thing live in California, you can probably get a very good olive oil from not too far away. (I love our local oils, and I buy but I’m no zealot, and have no objection to buying organic extra virgin Italian olive oil in bulk from the dreaded Costco.) Continue with the oil until it reaches the desired consistency.
Puree just until smooth or you’ll bruise the leaves beyond recognition, a few minutes should suffice. Transfer quickly to a tightly-sealing container that fits the quantity as well as possible – oxidation takes away the wonderful color of the pistou, so the less exposed surface area the better. Keep refrigerated, but allow to come to room temperature before serving.
Well-known Fourth Street deli, Paolo’s, will shutter in December. The family will maintain their second cafe inside the Redwood Credit Union. Here’s a note from the family….
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“I’m writing to you all today in order to inform you of some sad but hopeful news. On December 1st 2010, Paolo’s Ravioli Deli and Café on 1422 4th Street will close their doors for good. Paul and Cookie Schaffer opened their Café on May 1st 1983 and have endured all the ups and downs that the restaurant business provided. With Age and poor economic times this difficult family decision was made.
In May of 1983, Paul and Cookie began a dream of owning their own business in beautiful Santa Rosa. They honestly never thought they’d still be in business 27 years later; let alone have two locations. All they really wanted was to provide for their three kids while enjoying the benefits that Sonoma County had to offer. The idea that Paolo’s Ravioli Deli and Café would become such a staple has been a wonderful surprise. The food, the personalities, but most important you people have kept Paolo’s Ravioli Deli alive and such a success all these years.
But, all is not over! These years allowed Paul and Cookie to open a second Café located within the Redwood Credit Unions Corporate Facility on 3033 Cleveland Ave. They will be joining me in an effort to bring the Cleveland Deli to the success 4th street has been.
Paul, Cookie, Denise, Courtney and I really want to thank every person who has become a part of our family throughout these 27 beautiful years. We hope that even though 4th street will be closed, you’ll find your way over to the Deli on Cleveland to see us. We promise, the food, the personalities and the love will remain very much open, that’s the real reason why Paolo’s Ravioli Deli has been a success all these years and will continue to!
Cheers,
Paulie Schaffer
Oh, this is gonna be good. Clark Wolf’s new show, The Food Show, debuts on TV 50 Nov. 19. Set your Tivo.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KrzyfHkDuFs[/youtube]
Tina Eliason knew better than to open her own food business — any business for that matter. The former banker spent nearly a decade underwriting and risk analyzing small business loans. “After that, I swore I’d never make the mistake of going into business for myself.” Three years later, she’s making (and selling) more than 12,000 raviolis a month as the mama behind Mama Tina’s Ravioli. Very much in business for herself. And growing fast.
It started accidentally, as most good businesses do. Laid-off banker turned barkeep, the longtime Forestville resident whipped up a batch of her tried-and-true Spallina-family ravioli one night at the Rio Nido Roadhouse. “I made 20 servings and they sold out in an hour and a half,” she said. Friends and customers kept asking for more of her family’s ravioli, and despite her initial resistance to calling her pasta-making a business, Mama Tina’s was born.
Several afternoons a week Tina heads over to the commercial-grade cafeteria kitchen of a nearby school where she whips up a a few hundred ravioli, packages and freezes them for her supermarket and farm market clients. But at $8 dozen what’s keeping fans coming back is Tina’s constant experimentation with ingredients: Philly cheese steak (it’s everything but the bread), Thanksgiving (turkey, stuffing), pumpkin pie dessert ravioli as well as more traditional ravioli with local mushrooms; Dungeness crab, lobster, butternut squash and traditional Sicilian sausage and spinach. She’s currently working on another with chocolate and raspberry. Everything’s made by hand, using local ingredients, and Tina’s a stickler for details. Having been the family pasta-maker since she was a kid, she’s had plenty of training. “I grew up in a big Italian family and the person who started dinner didn’t have to clean up,” she said. Each ravioli is rolled, filled and cut by hand, a process that takes her several hours. “Raviolis are a very labor-intensive,” she said. Eliason shops the local farmer’s markets for produce and meats, mixing up each batch herself and making hearty sauces to compliment the ravioli.
You can find Mama Tina’s Ravioli at Speers Market in Forestville, where Tina does tastings each Friday afternoon; the Windsor Farmer’s Market on Sundays, on the menu at Bear Republic in Healdsburg and she’ll soon be on the menu at Lisa Hemenway’s Fresh in the cafe. You can find her at : mamatinas.us or on her Facebook page
Finishing off a batch of ravioli on a rainy afternoon, she says, “I’ve never had more fun in my life.”
(Props to Chowhounder Melanie Wong for finding Mama Tina)
