Christina Waters

That would be the “Original California-Style” hot pepper sauce known as (ta-da!) The Pepper Plant.

We discovered this zippy hot sauce at Margie’s Diner in Paso Robles on the way back from the Mojave last week. Made in Gilroy, this all-natural product is saucy and thick (unlike Tabasco). It is also much, much more peppery than Tabasco, and lacks Tabasco’s distinctive vinegary subtext. The Pepper Plant is loaded with jalapeño puree, chili peppers and garlic. It adds miles of peppery panash to even the most ordinary soft boiled egg. Your condiment shelf needs this product!

You owe it to yourself to stop at Nine-Ten, smartly tucked into the landmark Grande Colonial Hotel on Prospect Street. Here you can taste what California cuisine has transformed itself into, thanks to the feisty imagination of chef Jason Knibb. The chef brings a blazing trail of culinary conquests to this little dining room in the upscale seaside village. He’s worked with Wolfgang Puck, Roy Yamaguchi and most recently as executive chef of Robert Redford’s Sundance Village. Credentials are great, but the proof is in the eating.

My mom and I splurged on lunchtime wines by the glass, because this food demanded respect. Her entree of thickly sliced wild halibut filet was done just to the translucent point, and adorned with tiny chanterelles, Chino Farms fresh corn and a handful of orichiette pasta. My sea scallops (above) bordered a central island of carrot risotto, dusted with toasted hazelnuts and infant arugula. Soft clouds of coriander-scented foam infused the scallops with a subtle spice. (more…)

Granted this is high-end tourist dining, but still…when in the belly of the downtown LA art scene — I refer to the splendid, if self-congratulatory performative smorgy known as the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, the Mark Taper Forum, the Disney Hall, yada yada — you will invariably find yourself with few dining choices. Of course you could always buck the worst traffic this side of the East Bay and head to some chi-chi hot spot on Melrose, or in Santa Monica. But let’s say that like me you’ve got only one day and one location — the Music Center complex. Your options are limited - and pricey. But you know that going in. So. Last Sunday, armed with a ticket for a 2pm matinee of Mozart Dances, I needed a light lunch, and a light post-performance dinner, before heading back to LAX and the flight home.

Kendall’s Brasserie obliged with the lunch part - Kendall’s is very conveniently located in the street-level front of the Dorothy Chandler, i.e. downstairs from the huge plaza and performance hall itself. Right across the street, the Frank Gehry crumpled spaceship that is Disney Hall blazed in the late morning sun. The huge boulevards were largely empty, it was already 85 degrees out — a typical Sunday in downtown, Civic Center Los Angeles.

Kendall’s — part of the spiffy Patina empire of performing arts caterers — is a comfortable, generic grill with a no-brainer menu of crowd-pleasers. I chose a ballotine appetizer ($13.95) of Long Island duck, studded with pistachios, foie gras and a violet mustard sauce. A fluff of lettuces, and an entire jar of cornichons (I counted 14 of them) topped the tasty, if uninspired creation. Wonderful grainy bread and a too-chilled, but generously poured Covey Run 2005 Sauvignon Blanc rounded out my meal. Maybe the glut of little pickles signaled that this was a dish for a man? But in the same generous spirit, there were at least 20 pistachios in the delicious duck paté. Service was perfunctory, but given the convenience of the whole thing, it wasn’t exorbitant. I left half the wine so as to be able to soak up more of the amazing dance performance.

After the performance, I roamed the broad sidewalks outside the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion along with most of the Mark Morris Dance Group audience — we were trying to come back to earth. Across the street in the gleaming Disney Hall is Joachim Splichal’s flagship Patina, one of the icons of California cuisine. I had wisely made an on-line reservation for an early dinner there - in time to unwind, have something clever to eat, and still get back to LAX for the flight through the burning hills, and home.

Pretentiousness reigns at Patina, where the woman at the front desk is wearing BCBG and two guys show you to the bathrooms. One points, the other opens the door. The head waiter/sommelier has a French accent — which might be genuine. Or not. I decide that ordering well is the best revenge, and begin with a glass of Tempranillo. A Viñas del Cenit Tempranillo 2003 ($14) to be precise — lots of fruit and bold tannin. Another waiter brings around a tray laden with bread possibilities — I choose something with enormous whole grains and several tiny rounds of sourdough that are fabulous. An amuse is presented by waiter person number 3 - it is a morsel of lobster hiding under a transparent disk of daikon, sauced with something too sweet containing perhaps grapefruit. It is very pretty - and almost flavorful enough to be called delicious. (more…)

There are still a few things that justify enduring the slings and arrows of outrageous airport security checks, sitting for 10 and a half hours in a tiny, cramped seat, being rudely herded through the Frankfurt airport - and then getting into a smaller plane and sitting for two more hours.

Italy is one of them.

I spent last week in the perfect Mediterranean climate of Florence, where the Renaissance and its passionate architecture are still alive and well. Dining is effortless here, even though the dollar went on its all-time plunge while we were in Euro-land. But the artwork was our real destination — and this visit was wrapped around an eccentric Mannerist painter named Pontormo, and a visit to his frescoes in cloister outside of town, up in the extreme Tuscan landscape dotted with vineyards.

Like many visitors who’ve already seen the obligatory sights, we let the days stretch out into more wandering, lingering and relaxing than in previous trips. Aiming toward a particular restaurant each day, we focused on a destination each morning and another in the afternoon, and tended to seek out cool corners of a cathedral, to draw in sketchbooks or take notes and let the 500-year-old ambience transport us to a time before the internet or expiration dates.

The first afternoon, for example, we let the cool opulence of San Lorenzo wash over us and our jet-lag, and then had a simple dinner of caprese and niçoise salads at the splendid Caffe Gilli on Piazza della Repubblica, where our hotel is located. (more…)

The maccioroncini with wild rabbit and celery ragu at Beccofino.

One of the best parts of travel is the walking — not only does it help to digest even the most generous meals, but on foot the details of a city seem to emerge from the shadows. The street furniture, ledges to sit on that the princes of Florence thought to include in their palazzi five centuries ago, or the countless sidewalk shrines and frescoes. Alleys that lead up into zigzag archways — Dante might have passed through them. Michelangelo and Leonardo almost certainly did.

One place we wanted to visit was the city’s Museum of History and Science — our destination was Galileo’s telescope. We arrived only 40 minutes before closing time, but went in anyway and found ourselves dazzled by telescopes, microscopes and measuring devices of the Renaissance, and even earlier. Up on the second floor, looking for all the world like a long cardboard tube with pretty gold embossing, was Galileo’s telescope. This simple device, containing a few strategically-placed lenses, allowed the courageous astronomer to discover the rings of Saturn, the moons of Jupiter, solar flares and evidence that the earth was not (gulp!) the center of the universe. You’ll recall he got into trouble over that last bit.
Here was the best part. In the glass case right next to his telescope, was Galileo’s finger! Well, the finger bone of his middle finger, right hand, in a very ornate glass and gold reliquery. This was more than worth the $10 price of admission (which had probably grown to $12 by the time we left the building).

This portable toilet with Botticelli’s Primavera on it cracked me up. Proof that marketing knows no bounds. (more…)

Since there has to be a last day of any visit to Florence, we spent ours enjoying the warm weather, sampling one more straciatella gelato and visiting the Casa Buonaroti. The house was purchased by Michelangelo, but he never lived in it - instead leaving it to his family who filled it with the maestro’s memorabilia and give the public a glimpse inside a private home of the 16th century.

There we saw the most beautiful drawing in the world — so astonishing that it stopped us in our tracks. Yes, we all know that the man who painted the Sistine Chapel walls and ceiling could draw. But here was paper and conté crayon that came to life before our eyes. And since there’s nothing like the Renaissance for working up an appetite, we were completely ready for lunch at the Osteria Caffé Italiano, one of the cafe off-shoots of the temple of cucina, Alle Murate, where we’d eaten four years earlier.

Yes, this was yet another dining experience inside a wood-lined room with vaulted ceiling and clerestory windows, 16th century - the heyday of the palazzo.

We chose glasses of a fine Rosso di Montalcino “Avignonesi” 2005 and a burnished Ciliagiolo Principio filled with black cherry aromas. I jumped at the chance to try an authentic buffalo mozzarella di Monfialco — the milky delicacy that never makes it across the Atlantic, and what I got was just that. A single sphere of snowy white cheese, that spurted milk when I cut into it. Tightly wound from layers and layers of curds, it was like eating delicate sausage, and went nicely with the crusty house bread and the red wine. Jack’s spiedini of grilled meats offered an outstanding wood-grilled selection of chicken, beef and sausages, along with grilled vegetables. My angel hair pasta was topped with calamari and basil. Simple. Wonderful.

Cantuccini and vin santo finished off the lunch, which required a lengthy meditation inside the Baptistry and a lengthier passagiata outside the Duomo before we paid a visit to Orsanmichele, and then back to our room to pack.

In the heart of old Florence, home to the power brokers (the signoria), the Palazzo Vecchio, the Uffizi and the outdoor sculpture garden organized by Georgio Vasari and Medicis — the Piazza della Signoria offers some of the finest people-watching, cafe-sitting and sunsets on the planet.

So we decided to spend our last evening at the fabled Rivoire, a ring-side seat on Saturday night action at the spot where Savonarola was burned at the stake.

Negronis so big you need two hands to lift them come with pretty trays of appetizers, bowls of nuts and olives — and a pricetag to match. So you nurse your drink for hours and enjoy the sparkling scene.

To make matters perfect, just as the sun was setting on the old crenellated bell tower, a rogue band of Hare Krishnas entered the piazza — singing, drumming and dancing their way through the 16th century.

Wonderful fun - the Medicis would have loved it.

The outdoor terrace overlooking the Palazzo Vecchio on the second floor of the Uffizi Gallery.