Question
Where can I find “Profumo di Genova” basil? Seeds, plants, leaves – anybody got a source?
Anglo Philia
Those words do not describe a naughty predilection. It just means that I love England and never more than last month when I spent a few days on the moors of the Peak District, Derbyshire, hiking with my friend Graham and spending huge sums of money on memorable, if hearty food. The reason I spent huge sums of money is that there is no other way to spend American dollars in England. Pausing between wind-swept vistas, where the sheep were so plentiful they had to be nudged aside as we walked, Graham and I toured a few shrines of old world empire such as the monumental country estate of the Duke of Devonshire, known as Chatsworth.
After feasting our eyes on the plunder, uh… treasure from all over the world collected — and nicely displayed it must be said — at this glorious estate surrounded by the Duke’s 65,000 square acres of green, green, green rolling meadows, streams, hills and dales, Graham and I headed to Chatworth’s tasteful lunch room for salmon, tea and cakes.
The latter (seen here) involved a delectable tribute to English culinary wisdom — containing at least 600 or so calories — called a “Bakewell Pudding.” Now Bakewell is a nearby, impossibly quaint hamlet, centuries old and built of venerable grey stone cottages. And its gift to the world is, by all accounts, a variety of dessert involving custard tucked into a flaky, buttery crust, with a bit of jam spread along the bottom. This is dessert before there was panna cotta, before there was cheesecake or lemon meringue pie. Before donuts. This is dessert to make a grown woman weep. Given that I was never going to be able to afford to return to this neck of the woods, I said “yes!” when offered the extra cholesterol incentive of clotted cream (the voluptuous cousin of butter) atop my already richer-than-Bill-Gates “pudding.”
Some things do not need improving. Ever. By anyone. The Bakewell Pudding is one of them.
Are They Kidding?
We just returned from a breakfast outing to an establishment north of Santa Cruz – old place, new revamp – that can’t possibly be serious about serving food. It can’t actually desire to win the hearts and minds of customers. Can it?
I mean it took thirty minutes for three separate wait staffers, at least two managers that we could see (maybe more in the wings) and someone in the kitchen to FINALLY produce two out of three dishes worth eating. My pancakes was devoid of flavor. Wait. They did have some flavor. And it was not good. Plus the pancakes were the size of hubcaps on steroids, thick and dry as old sponges left out in the sun.
Dry, flavorless and thirty minutes in the making. Not a recipe for success.
Surely this isn’t an actual restaurant? and if not, what is it? Hmmmm.
Flashpoint!
And another thing……I’m not the only Santa Cruz resident who has to think twice about going to dinner or movies downtown. Problem is — the two hour parking meters, each one of which is attached to a predatory meter “person” with a stop watch.
How the hell are we supposed to go to a movie? Or a dinner that last longer than 2 hours?
Case in point. We went early to Soif on Bastille Day Рto make sure we could find a parking spot. We loaded the meter with quarters, and proceeded to have a terrific time with the never-better cuisine of Chris Avila (killer pork rillettes, tuna tartare, heirloom tomatoes, pat̩ de compagne) and French wines to match. We even went back out a few minutes before our meter was going to expire, and added MORE quarters.
When we left – after 2 and 3/4 hours of wonderful dining and vivacious conversation at our festive table of eight – there was a ticket on my car. Even though we’d put in enough money, the meter was programmed for only two hours. Now. I repeat my question. Where are we to park in order to spend quality ($$$$) time downtown? (And don’t tell me the “parking structure” – which for a lot of reasons isn’t an option).
Why not install three hour meters? Most people would gladly pay more (if it’s about the money) and not have to agonize about getting up in the middle of dinner just to move their ^$&*(_ car!!!
Volcanic Red
Here’s my new favorite wine — from Sicily, home of volcanic soils, radiant climate and sensuous foods. This lusty cabernet sauvignon is Timpaia 2004, from Feudi di San Giuliano ($17.99 at Shoppers). At 13.5% alcohol it’s big enough to have a mind of its own, but not aggressive. As it opens, it moves through a soft yet full-bodied vocabulary of intriguing opinions, starting with plums, leather and a center of ripe tomato, into a lake of cherry, licorice and gunpowder (that’s the sulfuric, mineral terroir talking, no matter what Dan Patterson says). Finally you’re in a world of sumptuous strawberry.
Terrific with cheeses, it also partners lamb and grilled yellowtail.
Inside the Flame
A book of sensory adventure: The rituals, passions and discoveries of an engaged life.